(Note: this blog is mildly fuelled by whisky and heavily fuelled by rage this evening and will contain obscure references and possible wild digressions. Proceed at your own risk)
Last night I went to a pub with a fellow smoky-drinker – for the first time since last summer. We were only in there for half an hour, then we went back for some civilised drinking. Pubs are full of youngsters now, there is no pub for old men.
When I was young, most pubs seemed to be for old men. Flat caps and dominos and cribbage boards – these were of limited interest back then. Now I have reached the age where I’m ready for the more restrained kind of evening in a pub, all I get are huge TVs showing ridiculous gyrating women who have had extra joints surgically added and who all look and sound exactly the same. All at full volume and in the company of drunken, staggering idiots, at a time far to early for that sort of thing. Where are the flat cap pubs now?
Oh, right. They had ashtrays on every table. They have been declared Heretical and closed down.
I’m not getting into the utterly twp Welsh and their ban on steam in pubs, nor the disgracefully inept Wastemonsters who will soon declare that it’s the packet, not the contents, people buy. Those have already been covered by others.
No, this rant is mostly about the medics. Those damn jumped-up flesh-mechanics who, if they were garage workers, would think it their job to tell you what colour you car should be and refuse to fix it if they didn’t like the tint in the windows. Those who have recently declared ‘we must legislate for a sugar tax’. Newsflash, sawbones, your job is to fix broken people. It is not your job to make laws nor is it your job to tell people how to live. Your job is to fix them when they go wrong. If you do not want to do your job, fine, we will stop paying for your non-service. Do we have a deal? We can keep you in a soft-walled room where you can rant into the wall all day and direct the daily lives of the cockroaches and the rats. You’ll be happy there, in the happy house.
See, it’s all Thatcher’s fault. ‘Care in the community’ let the loonies run amok and now they are all in high-wanking positions in the BMA and Government. It must have been Thatcher who let Tony Blair off his meds and the Brown Gorgon out of the abyss. Or maybe it was Monochrome Man, the one who shagged the egg-woman, what was his name? Walrus? No, Major. Ground Control really lost track of that one, didn’t they?
I don’t think we’ve had a good leader in this country since Æthelred, you know, and he wasn’t ready either. In fact, we were better off when we had no leader at all and just mucked about in the woods all day. Sometimes I think the wisdom of the Hitchhiker’s Guide, which says that coming down from the trees was a bad idea, has a lot going for it.
Now we have as leader some drooping dandy with a façade forehead and a sidekick who he doesn’t kick often enough. This pair of gibbering babboons take their orders from people they pay to give them orders and they think we should too.
No. I pay nobody to tell me what to do. If you want to tell me what to do then you pay me. That is how real life works. I decide whether what you offer to pay is enough for me to do what you want done and if it seems worth it, I do it. This decision is modulated (naturally) by how much I need the money.
The medics make the laws now and the Puritan politicians appear on reality TV where they get slapped down by the smoking, drinking, Farage every time they meet him. It’s like Batman vs. the Joker but Batman is played for laughs by John Inman and the Joker played seriously by Chuck Norris.
And no, Clegg-boy, you are not the Joker in this scenario.
Recently the medics decided that five-a-day of fruit and veg was not enough and it should be seven. They have openly admitted that the original five-a-day thing was just plucked out of the air with not one scientific study, no papers, not one schoolkid’s homework essay for his A-level in Orwellian Manipulation, not even a letter to the pebble-glasses page of ‘Reader’s Wives’ to back it up. Nothing at all. Now they want to extend their banana-pleasuring activities. And the cretins from the voting forms just go along with it because to them, ‘original thought’ is exactly the same as ‘original sin’ and those who do it are damned.
Will they stop at seven? Will the antismokers stop at a ban on smoking in cars or plain packs? Will the antidrinkers stop at pictures of livers on uniformly grey bottles? Will the antisugar bunch stop at the breeding of sugarless fruit? Of course not. They never stop.
They are already moving on to ten a day. Soon you will be required to eat a whole field of wheat every single day or they will come round to your house and beat you with an endangered species and a copy of Codex Alimentarius until you get the point.
Can you imagine every man, woman and child in the UK eating that much vegetable matter? Dear God, the flatulence! It would certainly put London’s current air quality problem into perspective. Actually, it might just blow it all away. Aim your arse at France and let go, folks. Nukes? Who needs ’em? Oh, and if you aim north it would power Oily Al’s windmills too. Stinkpower. It even colours the sky green.
It would also put a halt to immigration. They’d be no more than halfway over the Channel before they hijacked the ship – with pegged noses – and made it turn back, or at least upwind.
Ten portions of rabbit food every day would leave me no room for the rabbit. Why not feed all that veg to a cow and then eat the cow? Cows and sheep are concentrated vegetable matter because it’s all they eat. You can get your five a day from a burger.
You are to eat green crap to the point where you can’t even squeeze in a bacon sandwich. Why?
They tell you why. Oh, they are so confident in drone stupidity now that they will openly declare their maniac intentions. They intend to save wildlife by eradicating all wildlife to grow enough crops to feed the planet. Well, no. They intend to eradicate the humans by making us all kill ourselves because life just isn’t worth the effort any more.
And if you don’t go Green voluntarily… meat tax.
Meat tax does not apply to politicians or medics. You can eat those for free. The thing is, you’ll need plenty of sugar to get past the bitterness, and that’ll be taxed too.
Yeah, I could eat vegetarian.
They taste like pork. I don’t think I could manage five a day though.