Large numbers of police forces are planning to cut thousands of officers despite the threat of a recession-driven surge in crime and disorder. Representatives from dozens of police forces contacted by The Times last night gave a grim picture of falling numbers and “significant and painful” cuts.
Who will benefit from this? Only the feckless, the workshy, the thieves, the least productive members of our society. Those with no savings will have their mortgage paid by the tax payer, those with no inclination to work will have all their expenses paid by the tax payer.
We have a Prime Minister who can find time to make ‘several’ phone calls to support the MCann’s, Chav parents who left their children alone in a hotel room whilst they went drinking; we have a Justice Secretary who finds time to concern himself with the consumption of the marriage of that arch Chav, Jade Goody; we have a Chancellor of the Exchequer whose initial response to the financial crisis was to encourage us to buy a new plasma TV; we have a Foreign Secretary who arranges a £160,000 Gulfstream jet to bring home a terror suspect; we have a Home Secretary whose idea of being ‘more selective about those who come into the country’ is to curb the number of highly skilled foreign workers coming to Britain; we are governed by a Labour Party whose idea of PR is to support a ranting Chav in the form of the disingenuous Derek Draper to ‘present’ its image; we have a media so obsessed with Chav approval that the cocaine snorting Kate Moss is deified and Gail Trimble’s intellectual prowess vilified.
Everywhere you turn, it is the basest, the shabbiest, the unwholesome, the festering unproductive sores who are supported and celebrated.
The ‘Chav’ cult has eaten our culture alive, infantilised us, consumed our ability to think critically of serious matters, rewarded the feckless and demonised the productive. Those ‘baby boomers’ amongst us have been fortunate, we grew up in an age of unprecedented peace and prosperity.
I fear for the young of today. The social disorder we will see this summer will truly be the end of society as we knew it.
Anna is the landlady of the Raccoon Arms. She lives in the Monbazillac area of South West France and still takes a keen interest in British politics.
{ 39 comments }
It is a grim picture you paint. Unfortunately we live in a democracy where the majority is represented best and it would appear as if the majority are morons. I’m afraid Chav will be a misnomer before long as they will no longer be part of a sub-culture but rather culture itself.
Personally I look forward to the day when it takes three weeks to secure a reservation at McDonalds and instead of the famous 2.4 children it will simply be 24. Having a ‘quiet’ drink out will require you to stab at least one other tracksuit wearing, Saxo driving, window smashing, OAP robbing, benefit claiming thug and a family holiday will require the rental of three Jumbo Jets and 3 square miles of Ayai Nappa.
The ‘majority’ (a misnomer given the number of people who actually vote) are morons – when they have chased every non Chav out of the country, they will have to abandon voting – officially, as opposed to the present system! – because there will no longer be anyone capable of following the simple instructions to turn up at their polling station.
Nintendo will issue Grand Vote, the reality game where you can throw tomatoes at Gordon Brown and install Jade Goody as Prime MInister.
I wonder how many Chavs know what a three line whip is. They probably think it’s that thing that happens when a bloke comes home wearing his Saturday night smile.
“… infantilised us, consumed our ability to think critically of serious matters, ..”
……………
Anybody in the UK capable of joined-up thinking must surely be suffering from ‘Outrage Fatigue’ by now in light of all the intelligence-insulting things you list and more besides.
Today, discussion surrounds Lord Mail-Mauler of PostyPandy’s determination to shatter what remains of our postal service and, do you know, today I am almost tempted not to care.
I experience a brief shiver of revulsion and a brief surge of bile burns the back of my throat but then I realise the futility of rising to ire. I am almost tempted to shrug at the news of the investment wankers bleating for a 10% pay rise, I nearly couldn’t give a fig that it is now commonplace to speak of debt in terms of trillions of pounds and I can barely be bothered to bristle at the idea of Gail Trimble becoming the latest bugbear here in blog land.
I turn away from the news, away from my glaring household chores and turn to the telly, the toasted-teacakes and to torpor. Then, and only then, does something manage to goad me beyond belief and it is the voice of Lorne Spicer, the Issix Giwl off Cash in the Attic, ‘oo ‘as cleerly ‘ad ay fyew ‘helocution lissins’ for when she does her ‘plummy’ voiceover.
I think she needs a fyew moawer lissins but at least she got me to switch off the telly….
Morning Gloria,
There is always a sturdy branch on the tree of ‘chez moi’ for you to perch on if you are in need……..!
Morning Anna! Are you sure you mean a sturdy branch to ‘perch on’ and not ‘swing from’? All this talk of piano wire has got me thinking that SOMEONE’S gotta do it….
Apropos nothing but Gloria’s intolerance of Lorne Spiceah is it not irritating beyond measure to hear young Laura in Lark Rise to Candleford talking about her Maaar and Paaar.
I had high hopes when the new young scullion joined the cast – she seemed to be able to say Ma and Pa and I thought maybe her diction would rub off on Laura. But no, vice versa unfortunately, now I want to poke four eyes out instead of two.
The sturdy branch was for my favourite HIppo, but whilst you’re up there…..just make sure their feet don’t touch the ground!
What got me most cross about last night’s University Challenge was my own ruddy children, wriggling and giggling at clever people on the telly and making it impossible for me to hear, let alone concentrate on, the quick-fire questions. I sent the young upstarts from the room. Twice.
After all, I like to be able to hear myself getting the answers wrong.
Sky Plus is always an option Gloria, and if you do perchance get the answers correct you can rewind it, pause it, then wait for someone else to come in before you get it right again.
I don’t think I’d be clever enough to get the Sky Plus do-dah timin-whatyerm’callems right somehow janes. Anna is well aware that a doctor once told me I would always suffer from a very weak intellect.
Gloria, your first comment hits the nail firmly on the flat bit usually missed by the hammer on it’s way to my thumb.
I’m tired. Tired of opening the newspaper on a Sunday morning to read the latest outrage committed by the government, a large corporation, a small company ripping off consumers, chavs running riot, etc.
I’m tired of being outraged. I no longer want to buy the Sunday papers, but we have an old and incontinent cat whose aim inside the cat tray isn’t what it used to be. I’m tired of hearing Mandelsailor, Brown, Balls (both of them) Haman, and the rest of the gang of sycophantic fuckwits masquerading as Labour cheerleaders banging on about how the recession had nothing to do with Gordon, or how Britain is best placed to weather the econimic storm, or how Gordon is best able to steer us through the economic storm (if he is, the Labour Party must be so bereft of intelligent life forms that it resembles the surface of Venus), how the polls don’t indicate that Labour will lose the next election but that Gordon is the saviour of us all.
I’m tired. Please wake me up when it’s over.
Couldn’t agree more Henry, I just do feel guilty that we have all had a relatively marvellous life; we’ve had hope, we’ve had fun, we had optimism.
I don’t understand where these ‘train wreckers’ have come from, that wish to see our children and grandchildren living in misery – or to borrow Gloria’s immortal phrase, ‘when they put their feet on the first rung it will be in lead clad boots’.
Didn’t they have fun, weren’t they enjoying the sixties, seventies and eighties?
Ok Henry – or should I call you Rip Van Winkle – I’ll set the teasmade for about 7.30am in about 20 years’ time. That might just be long enough for the worst bits to be over.
But the baby boomers now spit out ‘Chav’ with the same venom as I seem to remember being attached to ‘Hippie’ in the sixties and seventies. In contrast, the eighties were so boring there was no demeaning label.
Mulling this topic over as I locked curlers with another Pancake-Makin’ Momma over the last squeezy lemon in the land, I realised that although I am bemused by the media’s insistence that I must be kept informed about Jade’s week or that V. Beckham woman’s latest unlikely choice of sunglasses or indeed Anthea Turner’s battle with cobwebs, their plights and attention-seeking antics have little or no impact on my life or the lives of my children.
BUT … what does have an enormous impact on my life is the disgusting taste left in my mouth from years of swallowing that putrid mixture of politicians’ and bankers’ manoeuvres, excuses, justifications and denials. And I don’t like it. And that’s why I can’t stop feeling outraged.
The main problem is the “media” aim everything at the lowest common denominator, we are in danger of becoming a divided nation. If only a fraction of the rubbish continually fed to us was in any way of interest to normal people, then ratings and sales would rise. Subtract the rubbish, add decent informative reporting. Instead of dumbing down they should be educating.
‘A journalist’s job is not to make something interesting important but rather to make something important interesting.’ (Reference can be supplied)
…and never let the facts get in the way of a good story.
Just about sums it up!
The trouble is, Saul, that recent reports are full of facts and figures so appalling they deserve some honest response and recognition by those who have made things so. Instead, we are still being fed a sour milky pudding of excuses, ministers still have the time and energy to plan how to justify their astonishing expense claims and those bigwigs who earn more than enough to buy their own cars and houses are still the ones who get company cars and grace and favour homes. It isn’t the media’s coverage I have most quarrel with, it is the arrogant refusal of anyone at any level in the stinky upper echelons to hold up an honest hand and take a bit of responsibility and blame.
Anna Raccoon says: ”Who will benefit from this? Only the feckless, the workshy, the thieves, the least productive members of our society. Those with no savings will have their mortgage paid by the tax payer, those with no inclination to work will have all their expenses paid by the tax payer.”
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Thank you so much for this!!! It has really reassured me! I will never ever feel left out ever again! The horrible thing about turning 30 was the feckessness that overcame me one afternoon …………. and it is still raging away in my bosom.
I love the bit about my mortgage being paid when my savings run out. That is an absolute God-send! I am so comforted by all this but ………..will they pay more than one mortgage per person though?
I had calculated that I would get multiple puns on arithmitic. I was counting on Ms Smudd to at least equal some of them. So much for that theory.
It is times I tabled sum new ones. Hopefully this will compound some interest in this thread.
I’m sure an abundant number will mean to join in.
There was a logarithmic jam at the keyboard (Old Smuddy back on e-bay) and, although it created a division in our otherwise unbroken domestic harmony, there he remaindered, denying me axis, no matter how much I abacussed. Nought out of ten for Ms Smudd. Must try harder.
Kittens!
Purr! I must train the marmalade naughties to dig sharp little claws into Smuddy if he ‘spends’ more than 3 hours on e-bay; I’m too tired now to hurl myself into the fray with any conviction. I might have to curl into a ball on a pile of clean washing …
Excuse me whilst I bathe in FA Cup glory!
The “smoggies” dispatched the Hammers to reach the 3/4 stage.
In all probability Ms Smudd will have a whole number of zeros if she carries on.
janes – is that spelt zzzzzzzzzzzzzero?
janes! I simply must comment on your smashing avatar. It looks like the kind of vehicle we need at the moment. Do you own it? If so – would you like the Kitten Commentariat Party to insure it for you both to and from work and even when you are not carrying out duties with regard to unseating Gordie Bruney?
Could you tell me janes if there is somewhere for Chatelaine and I to plug in our hair-straighteners and nostril clippers? Of course the nostril clippers are for our pets – not ourselves. Unfortunately, we will be taking all our cats and dogs on our mission to create the New World Oder – For forensic purposes of course ………….. You may already know two of them already. They are called Eddie and Keela. We use them to find dead or rotting politicians.
Coco. You have already alluded to rubbing salt into an open wound and now you are at it again. You know how much I wanted to win those nasal-hair trimmers.
Zzzzzorry, I am zzzzo zzzzzzleepy, I muzzzzzt zzzzzzay goodnight to you all. (Zzzzzzzzighs of relief all round)
janes says: ”In contrast, the eighties were so boring there was no demeaning label.”
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But janes there were demeaning labels ………… Surely you must remember New Romantic and errrr ………… Perry Boy! Not to mention Goth!
To be called New Romantic or Perry Boy would cause my male friends to back-comb and trim their quiffs even harder! They would spend hours more time in the bathrooms than the girls ever did ………….. They didn’t want to be called a New Romantic just because they wore a frilly blouse! Or because they all wanted to look like Tony Hadley! Or because they had silly pointy shoes! They hated being called New Romantic! It was demeaning. And I rekon it was the beginning of the end of men as we knew them. Never before had men been more poncey! Even the 50′s Teddy Boys didn’t come close.
But hey! Us girls got to wear fatigues as fashion items and I haven’t been out of them since. Which brings me back to your tank!!!:grin:
Nite Glores! I have sent some special pearlised nostril strimmers through the ether ………… With your initials on. Do not use them on your cats arse! They are special clippers. Get the instructions off Chatelaine tomorrow X
Did you know that the M62 is the highest motorway in England? Sorry to digress, but on boring journeys any fact is grasped upon.
Must catch some Z’s myself!
I can reccomend Grape scissors for those awkward places.
Actually Saul! I do! It is possibly the only single bit of engineering that I know about in Britain to be honest. What a bleak and fucking horrible journey that is to ever have to undertake! I would rather be dead than go over that fucking scary moor ever again. You could almost see Heathcliffe and Kathy in the mist Uggggghhhhh!
Spot on! I have just returned to Ireland after a week in England, and can say no-one does Chav better than the U.K.. Ireland does have its equivalent, but the U.K.’s is the real thing – the original and best!
JD.
NO TO LISBON MEANS NO TO LISBON!
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