International Women’s Day

Yay! It’s that most glorious of festivals, “International Patronise a Woman Day.”

What fun will be had! The media gets to trot out stories of token women “achieving” perfectly ordinary things or behaving as arrogantly and ignorantly as men, or bragging about their lifestyle choices… <sigh>

Women account for over 50% of the population. Why isn’t every elected official in every public body up to and including Parliament female? Why aren’t men the gender fighting for equality? We hear time and time and time again that women can do everything a man can, at least on an intellectual level.

So what, for hundreds of years, has stopped them? Why have they failed so miserably to achieve superiority? Laziness? Indifference? Incompetence? I really don’t know.

Yes, it’s true that we live in a patriarchy. That’s is obvious to the point of being a truism.

But who gave men that power? They took it – yes, that’s also true. But it’s only half the story. For less than 50% of the population to have such a stranglehold over the remainder, they also have to be given the power by the rest. Perhaps it suited women not to do the job? Again, I really don’t know.

Today does, I suppose, give sycophantic beta males a chance to use feminism as their mating strategy. It’s good that they get a look-in once a year.

Anyway: if all this begging for attention makes you feel better, if it validates your sense of professional victimhood, if it gives you a chance to moan to a disinterested world, you go for it. Enjoy your day of patronisation.

Happy International Woman’s Day.

Boris Johnson: The Very Definition of “Out of His Depth”

Johnson’s actually managed to achieve what I didn’t think was possible. He’s proving to be even worse as a Prime Minister than I expected.

The arrogance, over-entitlement and lying were entirely anticipated, of course. But the rank amateurism, the desperate cronyism and above all his deep-seated insecurity and the absolute terror in his eyes, in his speech and in his body language are all far worse than I thought they would be.

All of his life he has been desperate to be Prime Minister and now he’s got there, he is hating it. He has spent his entire life seeking out the limelight and he has only now realised that what it is illuminating are his weaknesses not his strengths.

His political manoeuvring is proving to be nothing like as effective as he thinks it is, and his frustration at being mocked instead of respected is showing more and more. The arm-waving, the stream of unfinished sentences and the rapid-fire speaking patterns all tell a story of a man already on the edge of a breakdown.

His strategy of pandering to the prejudices of the uneducated, the unthinking and, yes, the racist portions of our population is coming unravelled as he encounters people who know what they’re doing and are determined to stop him.

He is a triumph of ambition over ability and of education over intelligence. He’s nowhere near as clever as he thought he was, he’s starting to realise that and he absolutely hates it because he knows that we all see it too.

1st November 2019. Our first day outside the EU. Erm… Oops.

Oh look. It’s 1st November 2019 and we’re still in the EU. This is now Leavers’ 4th attempt at leaving and we’re not even allowed a 2nd referendum. Hmmm.

I’ve checked out of the window and I can’t see any vast plumes of smoke rising over the London skyline, just as I didn’t on the 30th March or the 13th April either.

I don’t hear any smashing windows, crashing cars or rioting knuckle-draggers. It’s almost as though the fearful stories of mass civil unrest, of fighting in the streets, of looting and of death & destruction if we don’t leave on time were all just some fear-based project designed to intimidate people into supporting an otherwise unsupportable cause.

Almost as though we’ve all been lied-to. Again.

Almost as though under-endowed White Van Man and his fishwife missus with their notoriously stunted, punctuation-free vocabulary have decided that although they could beat us all to a pulp if they wanted to, unfortunately at this very moment they have something else to do, sorry.

But we’d better watch out, ’cause next time…

Yeah. Sure. See you on the 1st February next year.

“Look at me, I’m gay” – Who cares?

A year ago, the Metro newspaper did a piece offering advice to young LGBTQ+ people about dealing with life in general. My response was this, which I think bears repeating:

My advice to young alphabet people leaving home is to never forget that you’ll be subject to the same pressures, disappointments and expectations that everyone else is.

There’s still a way to go, but being gay is a lot more mainstream these days which mean that a lot of people, quite rightly, couldn’t give a toss. That indifference is, after all, the ultimate aim of any drive for equality.

If they’re expecting to march into a room, throw their arms wide open shouting “look at me, I’m gay” and have the world fall at their feet in an orgasm of admiration, they’re in for a lot of disappointment.

If there’s nothing more substantial to their character than their sexuality then they should expect life to be trivial, shallow and full of sneering contempt from other people.

Acceptance and indifference are pretty much the same thing, so don’t make the mistake of thinking that the world is building you a pedestal. It isn’t.

7 years ago was my first Games Maker shift

Seven years ago this afternoon was my first-ever volunteer shift at the Olympic Games – working at Stratford Gate getting people into the Stadium for a technical rehearsal of the opening ceremony. I remember it being a weird combination of excitement that it was all starting, fear at the sheer scale of what we were attempting, and worry that it was going to go wrong somehow. 

Of course, it didn’t go wrong at all. It turned out to be utterly brilliant and the best ever advertisement for this city and this country. There was hope and optimism and people were talking to strangers and they were smiling all the time. It was exciting, inspiring, thrilling and the community spirit was phenomenal. A real shared experience of everyone pulling together where we threw a huge party, invited people from all over the world and did our best to make sure they had a good time.

I miss those days. I miss them terribly. It breaks my heart to see just how far we have fallen in seven short years. From a country that stood proudly on the world stage and was applauded for “doing it right” to a country slinking off the stage as an example of exactly how not to do it. From a country that opened its doors to friends from around the planet to a country determined to slam that door, friendless, in the faces of everybody outside.

From inspiration to embarrassment, from leader to left-behind, from participant to pariah.

So sad. So very, very sad. Not least because we did this to ourselves.

“I don’t judge”

I really wish people would stop saying & writing “I don’t judge”. 

It’s a lie. Everyone judges all the time. 

It’s how we decide how to vote, where to shop, what to wear and who to like, marry and have sex with.

“I don’t judge” is just virtue-signaling, smug, sanctimonious bullshit and a juvenile attempt at putting themselves on a quite unjustifiable pedestal.

It’s their attempt at saying “Don’t judge me” and it never – *ever* – works, because by saying that you’re automatically judged and found wanting.

Bored already with the Danny Baker fuss

Bored already by the Danny Baker fuss.

Was it juvenile? Yes. Was it inappropriate? Yes. Was it racist? The intent was not, but the interpretation was. The second that the racist interpretation was pointed out to Baker, he deleted the post and apologised for it.

But that’s not good enough for the professionally-offended fuckwits on social media who love nothing more than being judge, jury and executioner. The people actively seeking offence, usually unrequested and on behalf of someone else.

These days, sadly, it’s not enough to raise an indignant eyebrow, tut, and metaphorically slap someone around the head, telling them to grow up.

These days, at the very minimum, it has to be career-ending in order to placate the mindless and moronic audience around the social media gallows.

It’s fucking pathetic, it really is.

I’m no fan of Baker – I have him blocked on Twitter because his whitterings irritate me. So this doesn’t come from any fanboy perspective. I don’t even like the guy.

But I’ve used this phrase so often lately that I want it on my gravestone:

Where did all the adults go? I miss them.