Nick Griffin and other idiots

Last week was a bad one for British Politics. The hysteria and gimmicky 'water cooler' gossip surrounding Nick Griffin's appearance on Question Time, was like Obama fever all over again, only this time the vast majority of media commentators mindlessly rushed to voice their disgust and impertinent anger without actually bothering to address the events of Thursday night with any basic sense of proportion.
Lets be certain about one thing: Nick Griffin is a complete and utter catastrophe, and his appearance on QT merely underlined what a thick fucking bag of spanners the twat really is. His semi deranged giggling and idiotic gurning, that fucking terrible hair cut, his wonky eye, muddled arguments that made about as much sense as The Sun rushing out to condemn him the following day and a proficiency for public speaking that makes Chelsea's Joe Cole sound like an eloquent sage, everything about the man suggested that he is still coming to terms with being the odd child everyone took turns to bully at school.
But whilst Griffin succeeded in little more than suggesting he's one raisin short of a fruit pudding, those up against him, and I include 90% of the audience in this, were even worse. Endless questions directed at the BNP leader began with comments alluding to personal disgust which were then applauded and cheered by the kind of people who knit their own porridge and live semi permanent Yurts somewhere in Islington. Jack Straw, supposedly an experienced elder statesman and a highly rated public speaker was representing the current incumbents of 10 Downing Street, but chose to read a complete load of toss from a fucking script. Bonnie Greer was deliberately positioned next to Griffin in a cringe inducing act of political pantomime. I could go on for hours ranting about the BBC's lack of judgment, that young twat in the Newcastle shirt who asked the first mind numbing 'question' (How the fuck does he represent London) and the fat, bald cunt (clearly a BNP fanatic) who started moaning about about British jobs for British people, but I won't. They were all foolhardy idiots in their own way and the only people who emerged unscathed from the mess were David Dimbleby; who has a knack of reducing those of a self important bent into stuttering blunderers, and the man who rose above the follies of the mob and asked an intelligent and cutting question about the government's refusal to address the problems associated with uncontrolled immigration to arch blatherer Jack Straw.
As Mathew Paris argued rather well in his Times column the saddest thing about last Thursday was the sheer stupidity of it all. The BNP have an incredibly narrow agenda solely based around hatred, race, nationalism and bigotry. What they don't have are coherent policies regarding the central concerns of modern Britain: the economy, the environment, technological revolution and scientific advancement. Why didn't the BBC and the audience challenge Griffin on these kind of issues? He would have looked like a spare prick at a same sex wedding had someone questioned him on the BNP's environmental agenda, approach to the Free Market or the arguments surrounding embryo research. Instead we had nothing but a stream of rhetorical, phlegm flecked diatribes; whose sole purpose was to elicit the foolhardy racism that Griffin is already famous for. Just as James Delingpole wrote in the Telegraph last week, the kind of people who appear to have a coronary at the mere mention of the BNP are as singularly stupid and emotionally driven as those they claim to hate. With the supposedly liberal left there is no analysis or argument, just loud wails of outrage and shock that achieve the princely sum of Fuck All.
Anyway as expected the ensuing twenty four hours saw the entire viewing public suddenly morph into experienced political commentators eager to display their disproportionate disgust by writing things like: 'Nick Griffin is horrible' as their Facebook status. Brilliant, full fucking marks, its like the whole class ganging up on the weirdo who smells of piss and stabs girls with his plastic protractor until he does something suitably quirky and then over much mutual backslapping reiterating to one other what a freak he is. Ultimately the whole process just reflects very badly on the general public.
Oh well never mind, what could be worse then having to sit through an hour of indignant Guardian readers and simpletons berating a man who looks like Hitler crossed with Uncle Fester from the Addams Family? Hmm well watching that pile of filthy, work dodging shite from Anfield Road beating us at the home of dole scrounging, murdering filth was pretty fucking terrible, I can tell you. I'm still trying to get the bitter taste out of my eyes.
Until next week, tootle pip!

A month away, Barnsley, the 52nd BFI Film Festival and Komodo Dragons

Been away a while and feel bad about neglecting my blog and all three of my loyal readers. Well thank goodness I'm back. Anyway I have my excuses: work has been keeping me from doing much else during the week and yet another political party conference; this time the Conservatives up in Manchester, wiped me out for a couple of days. Politicians are an odd bunch, both the Labour and Tory party representatives were far more polite than other clients I have previously worked with and many seemed genuine, conscientious people . I won't start bad mouthing those who showed themselves up but there were a couple from both sides who are clearly nasty little fuckers, and some in quite high positions too. Then again, who would you rather have running your constituency? A friendly know nothing nob or nobette from the home counties who pays far too much attention to the Daily Mail and opinion poles or an oily, backstabbing shit with the intelligence and political acumen of Malcom Tucker (of The Thick of It fame) who has the courage to make unpopular decisions? Tough choices will have to be made in early summer next year.
Meanwhile back on planet football, after the inflatable mayhem at the Stadium of Light on Saturday, Liverpool are swiftly morphing into Manchester City circa 2007 (ie. a laughing stock undone by balloons) whilst City are seem to be basing their game around the example set by the Dippers circa 2008 (ie grinding out fruitlessly boring draws at the likes of Wigan.) United still look far from certain but are doing remarkably well considering some poor performances. Apart from finding out what Wazza and Coleen are going to call their first born later this week and the longed for moment when broadsheet journalists eventually cease talking absolute shite about England and the World Cup, I'm also looking forward to my first United away of the season next Tuesday, all the way up in Barnsley. 5800 reds will be there for a midweek Carling Cup tie against relatively local rivals in an unfriendly and passionately partisan town. With a low number of day trippers this is one for the die hards and should be absolutely fucking class.
Returning to the world of film; where the majority of my attention is currently focused, it is good to see that London, albeit for two and a half weeks only, has become the focus of the industry; as stars, directors, producers, studio execs and enthused crowds mingle in Leicester Square or down by the BFI on the Southbank for the 52nd BFI London Film Festival. I have so far taken in two of the gala premieres: Men Who Stare at Goats and The Road, whilst also enjoying another prominent release; A Prophet on DVD courtesy of the office. All three were great films, it was fun to do the red carpet thing on Thursda for MWSG starring a rather famous American actor called George. He was there in person and I am glad to say that it was a fun film about depression, mental disorders and war. Strange topics for comedy but this kind of stuff is always suitably close to the bone.
A Prophet was a French release set inside a grim prison. Moving, powerful, engaging, realistic and poignant, the tale of an illiterate Arab, the type of fellow that total cunt Sarcozy labeled scum a few years back, not only surviving but actually flourishing in an environment dominated violence and misery was heartwarming and honest. A must see on general release.
Finally The Road. If you have read Cormac McCarthy's 2006 masterpiece you need little introduction. If you haven't then get it, consume it and watch the film when it comes out next month. It's a damn fine effort from John Hillcoat (last seen directing Aussie Western The Proposition) but its Viggo Mortensen as 'The Man' and Kodie Smit-McPhee as 'The Boy' who steal the show. It's not perfect, and finds it hard to match the quality of the book, but its a beautiful film which nevertheless leave the viewer shocked, terrified and troubled. I will try to review it some time next week.
Finally just watched a program on BBC1 called Life. It's a ten part Wildlife series from that golden oldie nature god David Attenborough, and though I often view this kind of stuff as nothing but Sunday night fodder for lonely Estate Agents and those absolute chumps who used to be head boy at school, it was really rather good. The final part showed a number of Komodo Dragons (fuck off venomous Lizards) poisoning and slowly killing a Water Buffalo. They then tore it to the bone in less than four hours. These slithering reptiles could teach scousers, politicians and maybe even some of the unsavory types who feature in The Road a thing about cold blooded killing.
It's Liverpool at Anfield on Sunday. Fingers crossed they won't be turning us into metaphorical Water Buffalo as they did at O.T back in April. Till Monday, G.