I've had this in my inbox since yesterday, courtesy of a friend who appreciates the pleasures of a boerewors, and whilst pretty unsavoury, it is extremely entertaining. Is it me, or does that guy look a little like the equally unsavoury Eugene Terreblanche? I thought it appropriate to share it with you as I sit here listening to 'On The Hour' ("Nyooooz"). It's that kind of a tale, I think.
Blimey, a really tedious day if you don't mind my saying so. I was also a bit tired, 'cause I was up late last night. I'd been to the book group, for the first time in ages, and it was great...but there is a new member and, well, she really isn't my cup of tea. She spent most of the two hours making sure we're all aware of just how clever she is, and establishing her left-wing credentials; she's been to lots of meetings to discuss the terrible things that naughty people are doing around the world, don't you know, and she's got the souvenirs and t-shirts (I bet that makes a real difference), and then illustrated why, for me, no-one can be arsed with intellectual lefties anymore. Because whilst two of us where discussing a book about Apollo astronauts she muscled in and harped on about how she couldn't believe in the moon-landings because, as a scientist, she needed proof. Then why don't you fucking prove they didn't go there, arsehole?
Her main argument is that the Americans needed to claim they got there because they wanted to put one over the Russians. So actually, she doesn't want to believe because it was the Americans who went there. The problem with people like her is that they're so busy being clever that they take the easy option of doubting, rather than enjoying, the magic of momentous achievement and the wonder at the difficult, and taking inspiration from it, as the product of collective human endeavour. Why do I admire Brunel? After all, he was crap at managing budgets, his ships were never commercially successful - only one remains and that having been rescued from rotting - and he had to start again with his railway line 'cause broadguage didn't catch on. But he had vision, real vision for what was far, far beyond his time, and achieved wonders - Paddington Station and Royal Albert Bridge are awesome structures - and I don't care whether the sun shines through Box Tunnel on his birthday or not, because I don't doubt that a man of that capability could've made it happen if he wanted.
The left, in this country anyway, has allowed mainstream politics to pass it by because it has become represented by a bunch of sanctimonious killjoys like my new acquaintance or amusing, but ultimately irrelevant, Seventies throw-back nutters like Bob Crowe. It offers nothing to the majority of British voters. That's why so many of them aren't voters anymore, as there are no alternatives.
Oh, did I mention her ethnicity? She did, repeatedly. No love, I don't care, I realise I'm a toothless awe-struck peasant, but I can decide whether I like you as an individual. The only thing that we heard more about was her even more brilliant teenage daughter. You just know that she sends a round-robin at Christmas. Although I suspect that Christmas is a bit bourgeois and just so obvious. Think David Baddiel without the laughs. Hang on, that is David Baddiel.
iPol was on amazing form today, quite perfect timing, because I needed my phantom phriend to be in the right groof - yes, there was Byrds - though no Small Faces - but it chucked up Spiritualized for the first time in yonks, and a double helping of both ZZ Top and.....Johnny Kidd & The Pirates. I struggled not to sit there 'Shakin' All Over'. And more Tijuana Bible. It still has a preference for 'City Kids' when offering Motorhead. Oh, and there were back-to-back covers, Gypsy Kings 'Hotel California' and They Might Be Giants 'Yeh Yeh'. But any inkling of a lapse into our old ways and I just mutter the words 'Mistletoe and Wine'.
I saw a little bit of the football tonight, with Middlesborough getting a bit of a pasting. Now, at the risk of causing controversy, does it really merit grown men crying? There were shots of blokes in the stands weeping, and lots of drivel from the commentator (is that tautologous?). I'm sorry, but I find it hard to take people like that very seriously - it's a fucking game.
Right, I'm off to my pit, I'm knackered.