A Flame Extinguished

We were promised that the Olympics closing ceremony was going to be a celebration of bad miming to British music and, with the notable exception of One Dimension, this proved to be the case. The tone was set from the start when those titans of the British rock industry - Huw Edwards, Hazel Irvine, and the other bloke - were chosen by the BBC to make fatuous and banal comments over the music we were supposed to be celebratin'.

The quality was, of course, variable. The aforementioned gang of schoolboys, One Direction, simply gave up on even bothering to mime and just postured on the back of a lorry instead. The one direction they should have gone in was straight out of the stadium and into the Thames. One Dissection have, in fact, been referred to the International Boyband Federation after allegations they simply weren't trying to qualify for any applause, but I suspect that was as good as it gets from them. George Michael's 'Freedom' was a good choice and chimed well with the Olympic ideal, but his second song was protracted, obscure, and just too crap for such an event. I wasn't convinced by the need for the hirsute, priapic Russell Brand to declaim 'I am the Walrus' into a loudhailer either. I suppose we should be grateful that Liam Gallagher managed to refrain from bellowing a hail of profanities at the assembled throng; it certainly would have been a treat to see Noel's luxuriant mono-brow gyrating like an apoplectic caterpillar at the sight of his treasured sibling sneering through his composition on the world stage.

The parade of the athletes into the stadium clearly took a lot longer than the organisers envisaged and soon became wearisome; there are only so many shots of Montenegrin yachtsmen or Costa Rican fencers taking photos of each other and yelling "Hello Mum" one can take. We were occasionally treated to shots of some of the volunteers windmilling their arms at the Olympians in a vain effort to get them to get a shift on. Elbow tried manfully to extend their uplifting anthems but it ultimately meant the soundtrack of the songs we had already heard were played again, giving us another chance to hear One Digression's lame effort.

And then there were The Spice Girls being driven around on the top of London taxis. I am pleased to confirm that another world record was broken during this segment: Victoria Spice has now held the same sulkily pouting facial expression for 15 years and 27 minutes so shove that up your six-pack, Ennis. It seemed she might fail to break the record at one stage as she was filmed making increasingly panicky grabs at the handrail but her features held firm.

Posh Beckham breaks world record and adopts celebratory splay-legged Bambi stance 

That old trooper, Ginger Spice (who was 73 last month), also set personal bests  in the unsynchronised dancing and asymmetric boobs. I surely can't have been the only viewer, though, to hope the drivers would suddenly slam their brakes on and cause the the caterwauling coven to dash their talentless bones to pieces on the stadium floor. Mind you, it was during their turn that the camera thankfully fastened on Bozza Johnson 'dancing' like an electrocuted beluga whale; at least he managed to avoid impaling the Mayor of Rio on the Olympic flag. However, I really could have done without a gaggle of models stalking surlily up the catwalk; Kate Moss could only have been there as a reminder of the great debt British music and fashion owes to the Colombian narcotics industry, whilst the presence of violent yobette, Naomi Campbell, was baffling. I suppose we should at least be grateful she avoided ramming a stiletto heel into the eye of a disabled volunteer, or kicking Mo Farah in the knackers.

The ceremony also confirmed what many of us had long suspected: Prince Harry and Kate Middleton are now clearly stepping out together. Poor Wills was left at home in an empty, echoing palace, polishing his bald patch and playing with his toy helicopters, while his wife and brother openly cuckolded him in public. Poor show!

Harry: "Back to your places or mine?"

But there were stand-out moments - Madness; a Kate Bush song; the Mod scooters; Ray Davies performing the sublime 'Waterloo Sunset'; Eric Idle leading a decent sing-a-long; and The Who showing they can still perform live, with power and passion (take note Mr McCartney) - and it was good to see Anita Dobson can still churn out a decent guitar solo. Overall, not a bad gig and the Brits done good.

Chariots of Fire

There is a miserable, non-entity of a Conservative MP called Aidan Burley who infamously tweeted that the gloriously eccentric and anarchic Olympic opening ceremony was "leftie multicultural crap". We should not, perhaps, be surprised by this as the last time this chap bothered the news was when he attended a stag do with his very funny mates dressed as Nazis. Burley whimpered that his tweet had been "misunderstood" which merely proved that he had no idea what his own witless fingers were writing. It would have been interesting, therefore, to be a fly on the wall in Burley's household when black Muslim immigrant Mo Farah romped home in the 10,000 metres last night and then draped himself in the Union flag; perhaps he shared a consolatory beer with Nick Griffin and John Terry.

The magnificent, soul-swelling, heart-bursting victories of Farah and Jessica Ennis - glowing with vitality; exuding radiant grace and elegance; smiling pure sunshine - represent the life-affirming victory of a Britain that Burley and his egregious ilk will never understand and will never accept: a Britain that is open, inclusive, warm, and welcoming; a Britain that joyfully welcomes the fact that, no matter your colour, your creed, your background, you are British and can represent Britain with as much pride and distinction as anybody. That was the truly memorable message of yesterday's events. I mean, even a pale, ginger (GINGER!) bloke won the long jump and there is no minority more traduced than us gingers! The only sour note of the whole day occurred in the velodrome when Sir Paul Macca's querulous yowling caused deep distress and offence to many spectators.

When these athletes, including the rowers and cyclists, give their post-race interviews they are characterised by good humour, self-deprecation, and generosity to everyone who has helped them. With the rowers, in particular, this is all the more remarkable as they clearly go through intense physical, mental and emotional pain to achieve victory; some almost physically disintegrate with weariness at the finishing line. Many are clearly grateful for the massive avuncular frame of Sir Steve Redgrave to collapse onto once they reach terra firma; sometimes, his brawny arm will appear from off camera and give them an additional celebratory/consolatory pinch that would make a polar bear yelp. Compare this to the whingeing, whining, inarticulate, self-exculpatory and self-aggrandising interviews given by many footballers (and their managers) after their latest tedious failure. As the banking scandals have proved, paying people vastly more money than they deserve does not mean they will perform any better. For no amount of money can ever match the commitment, passion and determination shown by Farah, Ennis, Pendleton, Sir Hoy, et al.

 

G4S-on-Sea Security Fiasco

Anger erupted and uproar was roared this week when it was revealed that G4S-on-Sea platoon will be unable to provide the number of security guards needed to make the Olympics interesting, I mean safe. Captain Mainwaring, CEO of the lamentable platoon, and also a banker, said he was aware only nine days ago of the problems. I have obtained a transcript of that fateful meeting:

MAINWARING: "Right, gather round, men, I have a top secret mission for the platoon. We have been awarded, after an open and transparent bidding process, and rigorous contractual negotiations, the contract to provide security for the Olympic Games. Pretty impressive honour, eh?"

SERGEANT WILSON: "Do you think that's wise, Sir?"

MAINWARING: "Oh, don't be ridiculous, Wilson. That's defeatist talk".

WILSON: "I'm most awfully sorry, sir, it's just.....well.....do you think we have enough men?"

MAINWARING: (livid) "Have enough men?! We are Blighty's finest provider of security solutions for a wideranging customer base. We specialise in outsourced business processes. Of course, we'll be.....

PRIVATE GODFREY: "Excuse me, Captain Mainwaring, I'm terribly sorry but could I be excused? My sister Dolly and I polished off a delightful bottle of sherry last night and I'm afraid......(tails off)

MAINWARING: (exasperated) Oh really, Godfrey, go on if you must. Now.....

CORPORAL JONES: "Permission to speak, sir?"

MAINWARING: "What is it now?"

JONES: "When we provided security for the Sudan Olympics, the fuzzy-wuzzies...."

MAINWARING: (interrupts hurriedly) "Jones, we don't use language like that anymore, this isn't some 1970's comedy show. Didn't you attend the Diversity and Inclusivity Focus Group last week?"

PRIVATE PIKE: (sidling up to Wilson, tugging his sleeve) "Uncle Arthur....Uncle Arthur".

WILSON: "What is it now, Frank?"

PIKE: "You know Mum doesn't like me going to East London because of me chest..."

FRASER: "I tell ye, Mainwaring, it's going to be a shambles, a total shambles. G4S is DOOMED, DOOMED!"

Theme music plays:

"Who do you think you are kidding Lord Coe?
If you think the Games will be well run
We are the boys who can't provide security for your little games...."

(G4S security guards on manoeuvres)

Theresa May MP, Home Secretary, has issued a statement on the debacle:

"'The Government's over-riding priority is to use all resources necessary to deliver a safe and secure Olympic Games but concerns have arisen about the ability of G4S-on-Sea to deliver the required number of guards for all Olympics venues. I have been constantly monitoring the situation and it has only just become clear that Private Godfrey has a urinary tract infection, Private Pike is a stupid boy, Corporal Jones is 124 years old and has a tendency to panic, Walker is a thief, and Fraser is insane. In addition, it is now clear that most of them are, in fact, dead. I can confirm there remains no specific threat of excitement at the Games and the boredom threat level remains unchanged at IMMINENT".

Mrs May then went on to defend the Home Office's apparent inability to organise a piss-up in a brewery.

What is Depression?

What is Depression?


Depression is: mind-sludge, brain-filth, thistle-thoughts, thorns jagging and tearing, barbed-wire in the skull

Depression is: being home to a leprous toad, a putrescent rat, squatting in your soul, seeping foul, noxious fumes into your thoughts

Depression is: pyroclastic flows of misery, magma chambers of broiling fear, lava beds of scalding terror

Depression is: lying entombed in abyssal sediment, rusted and corroded; becalmed and beached on a grey and desolate shore

Depression is: seeking womb-warmth, foetal safety, amniotic comfort, the maternal shield

Depression is: craving monastic solitude, cloistral serenity, turning your face away, hiding under the pillow, loathing the world and its bruised beauty

Depression is: seeing the world through a steel mesh, a black gauze; seeing your life on a film screen, alienated and uninterested, fast-forward to the end.

Depression is: brutal, cosmic loneliness, alone in the Universe, cries fading, unheeded, across the inter-stellar emptiness; galactic grief

Depression is: being flayed alive, eviscerated, exposed to cruel scrutiny and malevolent laughter; nerve-ends quivering in torn, harrowed, scraped flesh

Depression is: limbs encased in concrete, body pressed by iron weights, soul mangled and crushed by geological boredom

Depression is: abject humiliation, avoiding the stranger’s gaze like a wounded animal, imposed servility, crawling abasement, shame-riven, guilt-tossed

Depression is: searching for healing herbs to strew in the chambers of the maimed brain; for aromatic balms and soothing lotions to smear on mind-wounds, soul-lesions

Depression is: the lozenged sunlight on rippling water, the blackbird’s song in the summer warmth, the bluebell’s vibrancy in the woodland glade: seeing all this, recognising all this - but feeling none of it.

Depression is: cupping your hands around the frail, flickering candle-flame of hope, sheltering it from the gusts and tempests that would blow it out and extinguish all light and all hope.

Chickens in Kiev

Hell's patio, who would have thought England would reach the quarter-finals of London 2012, or whatever, only to lose on penalties to a far superior footballing nation? That scenario seemed as likely as Andy Murray reaching the semi-finals of Wimbledon 2012 before being defeated by Roger Nadalovic - but that is what happened last night. The (un)match resembled nothing so much as an episode of any ITV drama: gruelling for the viewer, far longer than necessary, and with a wholly predictable ending. Our valiant boys, courageous lads, and ineffectual blokes are on their way home.

We were warned beforehand that the Italians, and Andrea Pirlo in particular, indulged in what is known as 'passing the ball', so England countered this threat by allowing Pirlo enough time and space to spray the ball around the park at will for the whole game. In contrast, England's main playmaker, ex-Hollyoaks star, Stevie 'Steven' Gerrard, performed an impression of recently deceased Lonesome George, before apparently retiring from the game completely after about 48 minutes; he made a brief reappearance after about 72 minutes when he contrived to get cramp, despite having previously shown no signs of using any of his muscles. Wayne Rooney, too, finally put paid to the oft-intoned canard that he is a 'world-class footballer' - he is not. Rooney is a very good footballer who occasionally scores world-class goals for Manchester United but, on the international stage, he has never delivered when it mattered, apart from a very brief efflorescence in Euro 2004: his last World Cup campaign, for instance, was notable mainly for an ill-tempered outburst against the fans who were foolish enough to travel half way round the world to cheer him on. In fact, he often renders himself incapable of playing when it matters by wildly swinging his Scouse studs at foreign flesh and being summarily dismissed for his efforts.

The game was often saved from being merely torturous by the entertainment value of Mario Balotelli, permanently poised on the cusp of outright lunacy. Has anyone on a football field wore a facial expression so expressive of imminent savage violence/childish tantrum/sublime talent as this ridiculous specimen?

Joe Hart: "Smell my wrist, Balotelli, smell it! SMELL IT!"

The penalty shoot-out ran to script despite the fragile flame of hope engendered by England briefly taking the lead. Pirlo responded with a penalty of daring and delicacy, before Ashley Young tried to ensure the Euros moved further eastward by attempting to leather the ball into Moldova, the crossbar inconveniently interposing itself. Ashley Cole actually looked surly and indifferent before his attempt, as if resenting the fact that he actually had to prove he was obviously going to miss. Cue a return to the studio to a giggling Alan Hansen. Our abysmal record at penalties hides a more fundamental failure: at every tournament, the England players are completely knackered by half-time of the quarter-finals. There is no way we will ever win a major footballing tournament if you can barely drag yourself on to the field of play at the start of a match. Even Rooney, who had languished in the stands in the group stages, biting his skull and punching his teeth, looked shattered early on, the sweat glistening on his tuberous cranium.

Rooney's thorax and abdomen

This campaign has, though, marked a refreshing break from recent tournaments as it was accompanied by a welcome blast of hard-nosed realism about our chances of success; gone were the chest-beating, posturing nationalism, ludicrously over-hyped expectations, and bellicose, embarrassing and historically inaccurate blaring tabloid headlines ("ENGLAND EXPECTS EVERY BLOKE TO GIVE SWEAT, MUCUS, AND......er.......FIGHT THEM ON THE PLATEAUS........LET'S SHOW THE NAZI ARGIES WHO REALLY WON THE BATTLE OF DUNKIRK......er........CHURCHILL"). Instead, most people were astonished England progressed beyond the group stage.  Perhaps, ahead of our futile World Cup 2014 campaign, the red tops will go the opposite way entirely: "ENGLAND'S REJECT BENEFIT SCROUNGERS NOT FIT TO WEAR ADMIRAL CROMWELL'S FLIP-FLOPS". Our defeat, though, did have one avert one nightmare scenario, darkly hinted at by comic genius Gary Lineker when he signed off the BBC's coverage - what would the Germans have done to that team if we had won?  

The Madness of Chancellor George

There was relief yesterday after it emerged that the police have finally cornered extremist fanatic, George 'Paleface' Osborne, in his Central London apartment. Osborne is wanted after the anaemic maniac recently went on a murderous rampage, cutting and slashing wildly and indiscriminately at poor and vulnerable minorities across the land. It is understood that Osborne was already known to the security services as a petty Qonservative and that he became seriously radicalised after a spell in the Bullingdon Club in his youth. A source told me:

"We know that Osborne has also been heavily influenced by the crazed free-market rantings of the notorious hate cleric, Thatchertollah Maggieini. He also attended an al-Qonservative training camp where he learned how to damage or destroy those less privileged than himself. Like many militants inspired by the radical ideology of al-Qonservatives, Osborne seems to have believed he would be rewarded in heaven if he reduced the 50p tax rate".

When he went on the spree against the poor and the elderly in Parliament on 21 March, Osborne shouted "Allahu Maggie" ("Thatcher is great" in Toryspeak), "Britain is open for business", and, chillingly, "I commend this Budget to the House".


Osborne: "It is easier for a rich man to pass through a camel, than to collect the 50p tax rate off him""

Questions are now being raised about how Osborne was able to get away with these terrible crimes. Perhaps the lesson is that the UK needs to be more aware of the different faces that violent al-Qonservative extremism can assume. The security source continued:

"Belonging to the al-Qonservatives is not an offence in and of itself, though some people think it should be; we cannot mix up free-market fundamentalism with hate crimes, even if we know there are elements that unite them."

For young, grossly wealthy, posh boys, of Tory background, in the Southern banlieus (suburbs), to feel the call of al-Qonservatives is not in itself unusual. What is different in Osborne's case is that he appears to have revelled in committing his brazen crimes in the middle of the day and with plenty of witnesses.

This whole episode should cause the whole of UK society to look at itself very deeply and question just how it was possible for our society to produce such a disaffected and odious young millionaire. Better intelligence may have stopped him sooner but, ultimately, only united opposition to this virulent and hate-filled faith will protect us from spiralling inequality and despair.

God moves in mysterious ways.....

The Archbeard of Canterbury, Rowan Williams, has been sensationally sacked as manager of The Anglicans after 10 years in charge. In a characteristically ruthless move, God, the secretive oligarch owner of the Anglicans, wielded the axe today. In a commandment delivered by His spokesman, Archangel Gabriel, God thundered:

"I am sorry to have to smite Mr Williams but the team's performances recently have not been good enough and attendances have fallen to an all-time low. I would like record our gratitude for his work and express our disappointment that the relationship has ended but we need to remain competitive on all fronts, especially as the Muslim United team are challenging strongly."


Williams is said to be "dishevelled and hysterical" by his dismissal

Williams's reign was dogged by reports of the kind of changing-room unrest that previous Anglican managers have said led to their own downfall; there have been consistent reports of ongoing battles with senior players, such as Didier Sentamu. His team talks have been incomprehensible and he has lost too many players to hated rivals, The Catholics. The final straw appears to have been Williams desire to pick openly gay players for the first team.

There is no doubt who Anglican fans would like to see replace Williams - their favourite former messiah, Jose Christinho. However, doubts remain that Christinho will agree to a Second Coming, after the way God got rid of him the last time. He is said to still bear the scars of that ordeal and cannot understand why God forsook him. If there is no miraculous return, then Sentamu may become the first gap-toothed manager of the Anglicans.


Sentamu in the Anglicans new away kit

Olympic Dreams

The Olympic Games is the world's most exciting, important and brutally expensive sporting event; only Derby County v Nottingham Forest (and vice versa), The World Cup, The European Championships, The FA Cup Final, The Ashes, Horse of the Year Show, Cheese Rolling, and Moustache Growing can beat it. This year, of course, London will host this extravaganza of performance-enhancing drugs taking and, as an essential part of the interminable build-up, His Royal Highness Lord Sir Sebastian Coe, OM, MBE, has ordered me to inform the agog world of the latest hot tips for some of the events. So here goes:

CROSS-COUNTRY VOTE RIGGING

Vlad 'the Imposter' Putin's team have hit top form at just the right time, with some awesome displays of ballot box stuffing and multiple voting in the Russian qualifying rounds. Putin himself is also tipped to do very well in the Topless Brown Bear Grappling and Tiger Clobbering.

100 METRES PHOTO OPPORTUNITY

German sprinter Harry von Windsor has suddenly emerged as the favourite after his comprehensive defeat of a strangely lacklustre Usain Bolt in Jamaica last week. Harry left Bolt for dead after unleashing a devastating burst of Public Relations. Bolt's tardiness has been attributed to his appearance as Richard Branson in a recent pisspoor advertisement. Every mode of transport associated with Branson goes very, very slowly.

SABRE-RATTLING

The Argentinian team were fancied by many after recently resurrecting their renowned Malvinas manoeuvre. However, in recent weeks, those in the know say the Israelis, funded by US money, have recently embarked on vigorous and sustained rattling and now apppear on the verge of causing a real explosion. The secretive Iranian team are predicted to currently lack the firepower to defeat them in the first round.

GRECO-GERMAN WRESTLING

This seems the most one-sided contest in the whole of the pointless games. The German team, headed by dumpy, dour heavyweight Fraulein Merkel, is expected to continue the German run of success against the Greeks and have them in a deadly Fiscal Headlock immediately. Some say the Greeks have submitted already and there are rumours the team does not even possess the cash to travel to the Games.

THE BORE-ATHON

No contest here either. The US trio of Mitt Mittney, Rick Rickney, and Newt Newtney, all members of the Republican team, have been mercilessly boring their home crowd for seemingly months already and there is no sign they intend to stop anytime soon. The 'banning abortion' and 'anti-gay' routines prove particularly lethal.

INCOMPETENT SAILING, SYNCHRONISED DIVING, FRANTIC SWIMMING

The Italians, sponsored by Costa and badly led by their perma-tanned, womanising, crooner pilot Francesco Schettino will take some stopping (unless they hit an island). Recent exercises off Giglio and the Seychelles have proved wildly successful and the Back-to-Shore stroke is a real speciality of Schettino's, frequently leaving his team far behind while he returns to his hotel for an agreeable lunch.

INAPPROPRIATE BOXING (LOSERWEIGHT), TOSSING THE TRIPOD

Imbecilic British duo, David 'Haylord' Haye and Derek 'Arsehole' Chisora have been in noticeably good form. Their recent bout in Munich was a roaring success and manager Frank Warren is convinced the pair will garner lots of gold and silver for his pocket.

Wedding Balls

The baroque grandeur and moral authority of the Roman Catholic Church has been somewhat diminished of late by the appalling child sex abuse scandal; a scandal that destroyed thousands of innocent lives and caused terrible mental and physical anguish to its victims. This anguish was compounded by the reaction of the Catholic hierarchy to these allegations: obfuscation, dilatoriness, cover-ups, and outright denial were deemed the appropriate response to these criminal acts by some of their priests. Most people would agree that such abuse represents a stark example of a grotesque subversion of a universally accepted human right.

Of course, many Catholics were shocked and disgusted by these acts of betrayal, just as the vast majority of Muslims are shocked and disgusted by the murderous acts committed by jihadi extremists in the name of their religion. The Church hierarchy did finally issue a laughably belated apology, extracted through their teeth with red-hot pincers and the use of the rack......oh sorry, that was how the Church used to extract confessions from its enemies. Anyway, one would have thought that a period of quiet repentance and heartfelt humility - all traditional religious values - would have gone some way to repairing its tarnished image.

But lo! from the icy land of the Scotsmen there comes forth a voice in the wilderness by the name of Cardinal Keith O'Brien (former lead singer of The Prodigy), who is none other than Britain's senior Catholic. This visionary prophet, in a fiery sermon in the Sunday Telegraph, declares that two people who are in love getting married is, in fact, "a grotesque subversion of a universally accepted human right." Now, these two people, in the scenario he is alluding to, would be two men or two women: Dave 'Boy' Cameron is reportedly strongly in favour of legalising same-sex marriages.


O'Brien: "Hmmm, this feels like a gay head to me"

O'Brien is, of course, perfectly entitled to his voicing his objections and his views are unsurprising, if expressed in unnecessarily extreme terms. O'Brien raves on:

"it is clear that this proposal is not about rights, but rather is an attempt to redefine marriage for the whole of society at the behest of a small minority of activists".

Now, I may be wrong, but I was under the impression that Catholics are also a minority in this country; in fact, practising Christians are a minority. O'Brien is effectively accusing his opponents of the same tactics thhat he is employing so that argument won't wash. Also, O'Brien himself says that marriage is a "universal human right". If it's universal then it applies to every human being, whatever their sexuality. Any attempt to limit marriage to a man and a woman would therefore limit its universality so O'Brien is the one attempting to subvert it not its supporters.

I happen to think that same-sex marriage represents a welcome extension of an accepted human right to make it truly universal. To me, the fact that the people concerned are in love and want to marry is enough; their gender is irrelevant. I cannot believe that heterosexual mariage will be undermined by this extension:

"Morning, our lass, I'm afraid I've got some bad news for you. The wedding's off - I've decided to marry Big Larry from the Dog & Duck just because I can".

Can't really see that happening. Mind you, I expect gay weddings would be far more fun than heterosexual weddings, with better dresses and far more flowers.

This intervention comes hot on the heels of a number of public figures complaining that religious people are under the cosh from rampant and brutal atheists/secularists (Professor Richard Dawkins mainly). Baroness Warsi, co-chair of the Conservative Party, recently warned, in a speech at the Vatican (go to Narnia and turn left), that British society was under threat from a wave of "militant secularists." She was moved to say this after 20 Christians were burnt at the stake at Smithfield. Once again, that was how "militant Christianity" used to behave - not quite the same level of severity, is it?


Militant secularist leads Warsi to her gruesome fate at the stake