Month: August 2022

Over Gove

Over Gove

The current peaens of praise for Michael Gove, obsequies to all intents and appearances, are remarkable and wonderful. At least, they make me wonder where Fraser Nelson et al have been for the past ten years.

Never has there been such a puffed-up popinjay as Michael Gove, a parliamentary peacock whose sky-high opinion of himself he has barely tried to conceal. It seems to me at least that this itinerant courtier has floated from one cabinet post to another without ever leaving a lasting legacy.

Let us consider the remarkable praise for his tenure as Education Secretary.’ Michael took on the Blob – and Won!’ the received wisdom goes except that one or two facts run counter to this legend.

  1. Gove sought to impose an English Baccalaureate composed of broadly academic subjects examined in traditional ways. Revolutionary? Reactionary more like. Presented with a golden opportunity to radically reshape education to provide the majority of students with fulfilling, exacting and rewarding technical, managerial, medical, or service courses leading to useful and employable young people, he fluffed it. He flew straight into the arms of academia and the mania for university started by the scoundrel Blair and directly ensured we would be in the catastrophic educational mess we have today. He even called his ‘new’ schools Academies. How posh. What a great step up from grammar schools. Except they were all still comprehensives and preserved the appalling comprehensive movement Labour via Anthony Crosland began in 1974. Well done, Mr Gove, you gave your full backing to the most disastrous experiment in social policy this country has ever known. (As is well known, Crosland and all his cabinet colleagues save Harold Wilson were all the products of private schools and Oxbridge. Another milestone for parliamentary hypocrisy.)
  • The Great Betrayer: MICHAEL GOVE has finally admitted he was wrong to blow up Boris Johnson’s leadership campaign in 2016, saying he bitterly regrets it.

He claims he has told the Prime Minister he is sorry for stabbing him in the back and added: “Everybody knows I made a mistake then.”

 “Boris cannot provide the leadership or build the team for the task ahead.”                                                                          Michael Gove publicly explodes Boris’s leadership campaign after Brexit success together. The most cold-blooded political betrayal in history. 

In stabbing Boris in the back, front and face, Gove committed his own hara kiri and yet . . .

Such is his brazen and unscrupulous effrontery he scurried back to Boris as soon as Johnson replaced Theresa May and won the General Election in 2019.

What integrity. What character. If it looks like a rat and smells like a rat . . .

  • The Level Crossing Guard

After bobbing about the Johnson cabinet doing not very much as Chancellor of the Duchy of Lancaster (or CDL, as Gove preferred to be called) BoJo jumps on ‘levelling up’ as the Big Idea and promptly makes Gove the leveller upper Minister-in-Chief.. Revenge is a dish best eaten cold, the Italians say, and this was a dish straight out of the freezer. What the precise brief Boris gave Gove will never be known, because the PM had no idea and Gove was stumped. Essentially to exchange Sunderland and Surrey would have done the trick but no-one in Whitehall knew how.

So what did Gove plan to do to level the UK up?

The chancellor, Rishi Sunak, announced in November 2020 that he was changing the way that the benefit of investment was calculated to allow projects with big regional impacts to be prioritised. In October 2021, the government revealed the successful bids for the first round of the £4.8bn Levelling-Up Fund. A total of just under £1.7bn was shared between 105 towns, cities and areas.

In May 2022, BBC Panorama sent freedom-of-information requests to councils in the 100 most deprived areas in England.

It found that 28 councils had their bids rejected. This included 18 areas that were on the government’s top priority list, including Knowsley and Blackpool. Meanwhile, 38 councils won all, or some, of the money they requested, and 34 councils did not submit a bid in this round.

A report from the Public Accounts Committee in June 2022 criticised the process on the basis that ministers had only finalised the principles for awarding the money once they knew which bidders had been shortlisted. It expressed concern that some bidders were successful because they were too optimistic about how soon their projects could be delivered while more realistic bidders missed out.

BBC: Long-promised plans to close the gap between rich and poor parts of the country have been announced by the government.

The strategy, unveiled by Levelling Up Secretary Michael Gove, will take until 2030 and aims to improve services such as education, broadband and transport. Mr Gove said it would “shift both money and power into the hands of working people”. But Labour said the plans contained no new money and little fresh thinking.

Mr Gove told the BBC the strategy was not aimed at providing new funding but ensuring it is spent effectively on local priorities.

Let’s cut to the chase: Pure Govery, a re-heated stew of abandoned ideas and blue sky thinking blown apart by every think tank and Treasury report since 1979. Pure boloney, sliced wafer thin. With Magic Mike at the helm, seismic improvements are on the horizon toschools, colleges, universities, transport, communications and broadband, freeports, incentives for entrepreneurs and start-ups, a giddy whirl of frothy fantasy with not one thin dime to pay for it all. Pure Gove, 100% Bullshit.

  • The Lockdowner General

And never let it be forgotten that Gove was the leading zealot in the cabinet from the outset. From 23 March, 2020, when Boris embarked on the most catastrophic usurpation of democracy, free will and human rights to establish totalitarian control over the public inspired by the likes of career psychotics, demented professors and charlatans like Dominic Cummings, Neil Ferguson and Matt Hancock, Gove was at hand constantly to keep the PM’s wavering hand firmly on the tiller of lockdown. Every single aspect of our welfare state and society, every pillar of what passes for western civilisation was cancelled at a stroke. Gove made an unholy alliance with the ‘fucking useless’ Secretary of State for Health Matt Hancock to ensure that other views were silenced or marginalised. The cabal of Gove, Hancock and SAGE cornered Boris who, of course, capitulated at once. The bold libertarian left the building, the cowering, timorous beastie moved into Number 10. If you seek Gove’s monument, look around you.

  • Economy –                            bankrupt
  • Education –                          bankrupt
  • Parliament –                         bankrupt
  • Criminal Justice System –  bankrupt
  • NHS –                                   bankrupt
  • Police –                                 bankrupt
  • Ambulance Service –           bankrupt
  • Social Care –                        bankrupt

I could go on. Please add to this list. Let it be known that Boris et al did more to ruin this country in six months than Adolph Hitler and the Third Reich did in six years of total war.

Let this be his epitaph: All Bullshit, All Bollocks.

The Office. What Office?

In taking stock at this fin de siècle moment, it seems fair to say that Boris Johnson has proved to be the David Brent of British politics. As Brent regarded management as a branch of show-biz, so Boris showed supremely that the premiership is a stage for ever more brazen jokes at everyone else’s expense.

Dishonoured, shamed repeatedly and cast out by his own parliamentary party he uses his minions to foment discontent in the shires, drumming up deluded battalions wanting Boris on the ballot paper so unrivalled failure and corruption can be reward lavishly with the keys to Versailles once more. Not content with viciously and vindictively maligning his former Chancellor and damning his Foreign Secretary with faint praise, he leaves the ship of state on the high seas in a raging gale with ne’er a backward glance or a farewell to his crew and flies into the sunset with Carrie and co for several far from well-earned holidays.

To cap it all, while away arranges to abandon Number 10 and spend the dying days of his premiership in the grand grace and favour mansion at Chequers, complete with full retinue of armed guards, servants, chefs and sommeliers. If you want a symbol of abdication, look here. If not, look to Joe Biden who spends his 3 day weekends at his palatial home in Delaware only returning to the White House to snooze away the hours.

What dedication! What a stirring display of duty! What a supreme sacrifice!

What rotters. Biden is senile and knows no better but Boris? As Eddie Mair famously said to his face on air at the end of a lengthy TV interview: “You’re quite a nasty piece of work, aren’t you?”

Boris blinked his piggy little eyes, gave half a shrug and looked blankly into the camera.

Although Ricky Gervais and Johnson may seem miles apart, the next time you watch ‘The Office’ look closely: Boris has Brent under his skin.

The Hell of Celerity

                                 The Hell of Celerity

We live in an age that prizes celerity above all. An ever-increasing velocity of life seems to be our collective wish. Possibly our death-wish. We want our limitless labour-saving devices and our technologies to go ever faster and faster, our cars, trains, planes, everything from motorbikes to microwaves. When the internet fails to connect us in seconds we are aggrieved.

Faster and faster everything must go – food, travel, entertainment, the news cycle. As a result we have a greatly diminished capacity for concentration. One might say we have the attention span of gnats, mental may-flies flitting about, going nowhere. In 1966 my O-level set books included ‘Great Expectations’ and ‘Twelfth Night’, texts which you would rarely encounter on a degree course today.

And all to extend our ‘free time’ for leisure and relaxation. What nonsense. Celerity has brought us lives more stressed, frenzied and frankly maddening than ever in human history. If we had a remote control to run our lives as we run our televisions, recordings, DVDs et al I am convinced we would fast-forward through all the boring bits (which take up a fair amount of our lives) and compress our whole life-span to five years or less.

We would wish our days away and saunter idly through our lives like a schoolboy tossing sweet wrappers over his shoulder. E-mails, texts, memes, FaceBook, Instagram, Twitter Twatter, Utter Gutter: human communication has never been faster or more forgettable.

The more re race through our lives via technology, the more isolated, empty and worthless they become. We are all millionaires in a bankrupt country. In the Weimar Republic in Germany in the 1920s the deutschmark became worthless. In many countries today inflation is ravaging the economy, the polity and the society. In Venezuela today the inflation rate is 10 Million %. Yes, that’s correct, 10 Million. The Venezuelan bolivar is worthless as soon as it is produced. In Vietnam £100 gets you 1 Million Dongs. When I holidayed there five years ago I was a Dong Millionaire! I felt like a million dongs – for about five seconds. Reality always intrudes.

So what? Well, like all the money in the world the currency of our quality of life, our imaginations, our capacity to read, study, learn, think about everything besides us, our whole purpose and satisfaction as people are going bankrupt. And how that clock ticks faster and faster.

Tempus Fugit.    

                                               Ave Atque Vale.

The Byrds and the Beasts

The Byrds and the Beasts

It now seems beyond doubt that The Byrds were basically a Bob Dylan covers band. All in all they recorded 20 of his songs, an all-time record, more even than Joan Baez and she was briefly his lover from 1964-65.

  1. “All I Really Want to Do” – 2:04
  2. “Chimes of Freedom” – 3:51
  3. “It’s All Over Now, Baby Blue” [1965 Version] – 3:04
  4. “Lay Down Your Weary Tune” – 3:31
  5. “Lay Lady Lay” [Single Version] – 3:17
  6. “Mr. Tambourine Man” – 2:31
  7. “My Back Pages” – 3:08
  8. “Nothing Was Delivered” – 3:24
  9. “Positively 4th Street” [Live] – 3:10
  10. “Spanish Harlem Incident” – 1:57
  11. “The Times They Are a-Changin'” – 2:18
  12. “This Wheel’s on Fire” (Bob Dylan, Rick Danko)  – 4:44
  13. “You Ain’t Goin’ Nowhere” – 2:33
  14. It’s Alright, Ma (I’m Only Bleeding)” [Live] – 3:03
  15. Just Like a Woman” – 3:55
  16. “Lay Lady Lay” [Alternate Version] – 3:18
  17. “The Times They Are a-Changin'” [Early Version] – 1:54
  18. “Mr. Tambourine Man” [Live] – 2:30
  19. “Chimes of Freedom” [Live] – 3:24
  20. Paths of Victory” – 3:09

The list of The Byrds’ own songs is not so impressive. ‘Eight Miles High’ does not really stand up or pass the test of time. If you’re on some sorts of drugs it passes pleasantly but Roger McGuinn’s whiny vocals always get me down. So, what have we got?

So You Wanna be a Rock and Roll Star?                       Yes!

I’ll Feel a Whole Lot Better                                       Yes! Yes!

Chestnut Mare                          Yes! Yes! Yes!    Whoa, hold on there, Hoss!

This last one is from their ‘Sweetheart of the Rodeo’ country and western phase, the biggest about turn in music since Dylan moved from ‘Blonde on Blonde’ and ‘John Wesley Harding’ to ‘Nashville Skyline’.

Whoops! LA long-hairs and dope-smokers The Byrds go all-fire dang country. Next thing you know they’re everywhere on Sants Monica Boulevard, The Flying Burrito Brothers, Poco, New Riders of the Purple Haze, you name ‘em and they’re a twangin’ and a hollerin’. Jeez.

My point is that if imitation is the sincerest form of flattery then The Byrds are the biggest arse-lickers outside of the Medici Court in 16th century Florence.

‘Chestnut Mare’ contains another disturbing turn in the ever-turning Byrds. The lyrics tell their own tale of Roger McGuinn’s take on Country:

Always alone, never with a herd
Prettiest mare I’ve ever seen

You’ll have to take my word

I’m goin’ to catch that horse if I can
And when I do I’ll give her my brand

Well, I was up on Stony Ridge after this chestnut mare
Been chasin’ her for weeks
Oh, I’d catch a glimpse of her every once in a while
Takin’ her meal, or bathin
Fine lady

This one day, I happened to be real close to her
I saw her standin’ over there
So I snuck up on her nice and easy
Got my rope out
And I flung it in the air

I’m goin’ to catch that horse if I can
And when I do, I’ll give her my brand
And we’ll be friends for life
She’ll be just like a wife
I’m goin’ to catch that horse if I can

The song in fact goes on for another forty lines or so, all in McGuinn’s breathless, ecstatic reverie with the key chorus repeated four times.

Now come on, not even Roy Rogers treated Trigger like his wife. Did the Lone Ranger put Silver to bed in his stall at night and curl up next to him? Did any frontier preacher bless this human-equine union? I think not. What John Wayne made of it I cannot imagine.

So, The Byrds and the beasts. That’s All Folks!

(For the record, The Byrds also recorded over 50 covers NOT written by Bob Dylan. I wish I was surprised.)

Sappho on the Ball

Sappho on the Ball

Never have so many lesbians gathered in one place in history. Wembley: Sapphic Paradise.

 I’m joking! Los Angeles Women’s Beach Volleyball Olympics was probably bigger. More to the point, well done ladies! One in the eye for Gareth!

One fly in the ointment, though – if these football girls are so good, why are none of them playing for professional football teams (ie the clubs invariably fielding eleven men)?

And why are none of the successful England women’s team likely to be called up by Gareth Southgate for next Euros or World Cup? Neither tournament, of course, needs the prefix ‘Women’s’

The fatal flaw affecting women’s football, rugby, cricket and tennis is that none of these competitors would cut it in male professional or national sides. Women’s tennis, at least at all the Grand Slams, is utterly patronising. Three set matches. Women have to put in only 60% of the effort and talent men do. And if the women are so good, why have Women’s tennis at all? Let the women compete against the men in every match and let’s see who makes it through to and wins the final, singles, doubles, what you will. The allowances made for women in professional sport and athletics is much like the Paralympics: most heartening but what’s the point? Unless tokenism is your thing, the events are an exercise in condescension.

Watching the recent Euros where the Women’s England team emerged victorious was most instructive. We now know that women’s commentary on games is every bit as banal, repetitive, tedious, gushing, uncritical, inept and embarrassing as their male equivalents, Lineker, Shearer et al. Women have proved convincingly that in the field of sports commentary they can be every bit as vacuous and fatuous as men.

What’s to be done? Nothing. But let’s stop pretending there’s equality where there patently isn’t. The fact that Wimbledon caved in feebly and needlessly to the women’s clamour for equal prize money is a lingering injustice. The women who win at Wimbledon win the same prize money as the male champions without ever facing a man in open play on the court.

What nonsense.