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Showing posts from May, 2017

Flavours of Brexit

Perceived wisdom over the last year is that our Brexit future comes in two potential flavours – hard and soft. At this moment in time, it seems rather likely we’ll be sucking on the hard version. But hard and soft is too simplistic, referring only to what parts of various European treaties we might remain beholden to or detach ourselves from. Economically, consensus is growing around three different flavours of Brexit – catastrophic, painful and Boris. The first two draw adherents in accordance with their belief on the likelihood of a trade deal with the EU. The latter is a rather fringe flavour, coated with euphoric optimism, based on nonsense and would barely be worth mentioning if it were not for the fact that Boris gets more airtime than your average Joe.
Theresa May attempted to paint Brexit red, white and blue at one stage. But socially speaking, Brexit is not a diverse, multicoloured creature. Welcome to White Brexit, a model based on Empire 2.0, nostalgic Brit …

The Trial of the Century

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Last year, we had a somewhat controversial trial in the UK. You may have heard of it – the news services covered it fairly comprehensively. It was controversial for a number of reasons, not least that it even occurred. Instigated by a fairly small number of individuals, most of whom had a fairly questionable set of morals, on the basis of hearsay and dodgy data.
Nevertheless, their persistance paid off, the trial was arranged and the defendent was put in the dock. The controversy just escalated from there. Jury selection would normally weed out the prejudiced, the incompetent and those with a conflict of interests. But it was decided that the jury should in fact include a sizeable number of open racists and certifiable morons, despite the defendent being a foreigner and the case being complex. Whereas jurors would normally need to be open-minded, on this occasion it was deemed acceptable to include those who had already committed to a verdict before even hearing the evi…

The Republican, Translated

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Yesterday, I went for a little Sunday drive with Mrs P. First port of call was to a little patisserie in Sandbanks which had recently been featured on television. The tables were packed and the shelves low on products. Perhaps because it had recently been featured on television. So we went into a coffee shop a few doors down instead. Second port of call, appropriately, was a little marina. Mrs P and I would love a little boat. But the cheapest we saw was half the price of our house. So this probably won’t happen.


Third port of call was Waitrose to do a little bit of shopping to top up the fridge for the week ahead. For a Sunday afternoon, a rainy Sunday at that, the roads were surprisingly busy. Something must have happened ahead, although we never did find out what. I know that there was a ‘something’ because the traffic came to a complete standstill. And then an ambulance came through, sirens and lights announcing its approach.
How does an ambulance make its way thro…