The New Meaninglessness

Several things inspired me to pick up my laptop today and write this. Prime among those was the fact that I love you. Yes. You heard me right. I fucking love you. I love you with a passion that defies time, space and - well just about everything in the Universe. And beyond. I know, I know, we've not even been introduced, but there it is.,..... I've said it. I love you. Your move. Whoever you are.

We'll come back to the details of our passion later, but just to warm you up for some serious love-making that'll *seal the deal* let's talk about Ed Miliband. You know you want to.

You see, Ed wants to talk to you. And me. And approximately 3,999,998 others in the run up to the General Election. Bet that makes you feel special. Certainly made me come over all gooey. Obviously, Ed won't be able to have ALL those conversations himself so his elves - sorry - party members - will be doing it for him. 

Thing is, the so called conversation won't be a conversation, because Ed's idea of a conversation seems to involve "telling people" what is at stake. And anyway that isn't the point, because unless you are a brain dead tulip, you will know that the whole conversation thing has no point at all. Like the verb 'wibble' or a North Korean election it is, I am afraid, utterly meaningless.

It joins Max Factor's appointment of new brand Ambassador Marilyn Monroe (dead since 1962), Nigel Farage's declaration of momentary teetotalarism (dead behind the eyes since 1964) and David Cameron's Road To Nowhere poster (I preferred the song) in a week that seems to be celebrating The New Meaningless as if it were the new black. Or brown. Or whatever meaningless fashion cycle we are currently in.

So before I rip off my thong and sing you an Aria here's a note to Ed: 

We don't need a conversation. It's a waste of time. Labour needs leadership. Britain needs leadership. It needs someone who will stand up and have a fight and take some blows and throw some better punches in return. It needs a leader who will conjure up surprises and a road to somewhere and even some slightly left field eye catching but tangible ideas that will speak to progressive voters and people who might stop and think again and look beyond you and your ridiculous bacon sandwich.

Wibble?

It won't happen of course, because politics now sits where Derek Zoolander and friends have been reclining these past 50 years. In a nest of meaninglessness - atop a Froop tree.

A conversation with 4 million people my big fat arse. You might just as well go about the place telling complete strangers you love them.

Which I do by the way. I really, really do.

The first time as Priestley, the second as Farage - Common Wealth - UKIP's warning from history

UKIP are not the first 'new' party to achieve a breakthrough on the ragged shirt tails of an unpopular coalition. It happened last time.

In 1942, with the war raging and a "LibLabCon"government running the country a leftist group, under the sponsorship of the Picture Post's owner Edward G. Hulton, challenged the then existing agreement that by-elections would not be fought in war time and managed to win six seats in a row. The Common Wealth party, although of the left, had many characteristics similar to those of UKIP. It was broadly populist and appealed to the egalitarian sentiments of wartime British voters, while seeking to derive political capital out of a coalition government which by its very nature was making compromises to weather the crisis on the continent. Sound familiar?

Initially chaired and effectively led by the writer J.B. Priestley,  rivalry between him and the party's first sitting MP Richard Acland led to tensions and then a split.  The party's success was in a very large part down to the electoral pact but it could not keep up momentum in the post war years as the Coalition was replaced by Atlee's majority government. The Common Wealth party split into factions and eventually many of its members were subsumed into the Labour and Liberal parties.

Perhaps, what we are seeing with UKIP is a rerun of inevitable disenchantment inherent in coalition governments in a country that operates on first past the post. History, after all, does have an unnerving habit of repeating itself. The first time as Priestley, the second time as Farage? 

Royal Baby Breaking News - your cut out and keep guide

Newsreader  

We now go live to our Royal Correspondent who is outside the Palace. Nicholas/Sue/Dave what can you tell us?

Nicholas/Sue/ Dave  

Yes the Palace have confirmed that the Duchess of Cambridge is pregnant and that the Royal couple are delighted. This means that at some point in the next six or seven months, assuming all goes well, she will have a baby. The baby will almost certainly be a boy or a girl. If it is a boy there is an extremely high chance that he will be given the traditional title "Prince" whereas if it is a girl she will be known as "Princess". We don't know what the name of the baby will be at this point, but if it is a girl then we can reasonably assume that the baby will have a girl's name, while if the child is a boy he will be called something male. He or she will be the fourth in line to the throne and remain so until something changes at which point he or she will become the third in line or even second or conversely the fifth or sixth. Or perhaps even the seventh. Or eighth - it really depends on how many other children members of the Royal Family have.

Newsreader

And do we have any suggestion as to how the news was greeted by the Royal couple?

Nicholas/Sue/David

Yes at this point the Palace have confirmed that the Duchess of Cambridge is pregnant and that the Royal couple are delighted. In the past Prince William has said that he would love to have a little girl, but that he would be equally happy if he had another little boy. The Duchess herself has never commented openly on the topic, but one might reasonably assume that she will be happy with a boy or a girl. The couple have already had one child, Prince George, so we can say at this point that the new baby will almost certainly not be called George or even Georgina, although the latter still remains a possibility. If unlikely. The news was greeted around the world by other media outlets. Everybody is described as being "really delighted" by the news. Stephen Fry tweeted: "A baby that's nice" while Nigel Farage added - on twitter that it was "really good news". David Cameron, unusually perhaps has backed Farage on this, while Ed Miliband added  that he was "very happy for the Royal Family" and that maybe an airport could be named after the baby when it is born. Back to you in the studio Alistair.

Newsreader 

In other news thousands continue to die in ....

Roll Music and Credits.....

Helmer: "astonished by synthetic tide of indignation at his amusing sex change tweet"

Just before the Newark by-election we wrote to Roger Helmer the UKIP candidate about his infamous sex change tweet.

Dear Roger

On the 16th January 2011 you wrote the following on twitter: 

"Why is it OK for a surgeon to perform a sex-change operation, but not OK for a psychiatrist to try to "turn" a consenting homosexual?"

Do you still stand by that? Do you think it is in any way offensive? If so do you think it important that people still stress their point of view? Do you think that a psychiatrist could 'turn' a consenting heterosexual.

Best regards

This was his reply

Dear Zoe,

I can hardly “stand by it”, as I never made a statement.  I merely asked a question.  It was intended to be light-hearted and amusing, and I was astonished by the tide of synthetic indignation it engendered from strident pressure groups.

I simply don’t know if it is possible to change a person’s sexuality through any kind of medical or psychiatric intervention (and I’m not sure I much care).

What I do care about is the right of individuals to make choices regarding their own behaviour and health and welfare.  Take a less contentious example.  I don’t know whether homeopathy works or not (though I suspect not).  But as a libertarian, I defend the right of anyone who believes it works, or believes it might work, to try it.  Similarly, if a homosexual person wants to change their sexuality, and believes that some intervention might achieve this, I would defend their right to try.  The impression I have is that the gay lobby regards any such intervention as intolerable and unacceptable, and vilifies anyone who seeks it.  I find that attitude deeply illiberal.

Best regards.

ROGER HELMER MEP

Vote UKIP For A Better Britain and 75% More Lies

A few weeks ago I got into one of those UKIP troll fights you get into on twitter, where it escalates out of all proportion and suddenly people are calling you four letter words, demanding you retract this that and the other and blocking you in a frenzy of rage, while you're left meekly questioning their spelling and punctuation.

But this wasn't like your usual spat. It went on for days and then weeks and before I knew it I wasn't eating, the goldfish had died and I was checking and cross referencing things on my phone in bus stops and generally acting like Leonardo di Caprio in that film where he keeps all his toenails in jars.

You see the problem was that in all the UKIP posturing, I had developed what can only be described as an unhealthy interest in facts and details. So when someone said that Kippers had the biggest or second biggest BEM vote for example I thought "hmmm that sounds a bit 'wrong' I'd better check it." And it was. Very wrong. Of course.

Well I won't bore you with the ins and outs and Venn diagrams and facts and figures and links to obscure data, but as time has gone by I've become a bit of an expert on UKIP. I could possibly even write a paragraph on Wikipedia about it - well I could - but I can't since they blocked me over some "unpleasantness". 

So let me limit my fact check frenzy to just one figure. 

You see there's been one statistic that has really got my Romanian goat. Since the campaign started UKIP have - on their posters and in public - repeatedly stated that "75% of our laws are made in Brussels". They aren't. The real truth is "nobody actually knows" precisely but it's anywhere between 10% and 50%. Yes 50% is a lot but it's not 75% is it? 

Full Fact has done a pretty good job trying to nail it and this 2009 article also seems to knock the already old figure on the nose. But one thing anyone who has properly investigated this agrees on is that UKIP's 75% figure is wrong. Plain Jane WRONG. Off the mark. Bad sums.

So what? 

Yeah so what? I mean it doesn't really matter does it. It's a lie. It's a big fat bold lie. But who cares? I mean it's only the central platform of this party's campaign? They are lying to you. They are lying to me. Gaily merrily lying. BUT as so many have said to me on twitter - so flipping what? 

Well you could say "so a lot". I mean UKIP's USP is that they are 'different' isn't it. They tell the truth. Nigel likes a pint and a smoke. He says it as it is. So you COULD say that making up a big fib like that and continually repeating it is a fairly big deal.

But I'm not going to say that because frankly anything wet liberal types like me say seems merely to bolster UKIP's poll rating. So let's try another tactic.

VOTE UKIP. Vote for a party that brazenly lies. Vote for a party that condemns taxpayer troughing MEPs in Brussels while taking every Euro it can get from er Brussels. Vote for Nigel Farage. A man who deplores foreign speakers on trains unless they're his wife and children in which case it's OK. A man who takes a salary and expenses from the EU that is greater than David Cameron's earnings.

Yeah go for it. Vote for the party that bangs on about unelected bureaucrats while demanding more UKIP Peers in the House of Lords. Vote for a party that blames all your problems on immigrants and the 'people across the sea' in Brussels. Vote for the good old chaps that tap into the basest nastiest instincts they can get away with while protesting that they aren't racist, or homophobic or bigoted in any way. 

And when you have and they've won (which they will do) and when perhaps even they get some seats at Westminster get back to me........ or rather leave me a message. I'll be abroad. 

Bez vs Brand

You know Bez. Everyone knows Bez. The Happy Monday's mood man. The inspiration for the band's second single 'Freaky Dancin', a kind of living medical experiment who has turned over more drugs than a provincial high street Boots. One of the few people in Britain it is impossible to hate. The Madchester jester that NME once (unfairly) put in a list, alongside Linda McCartney and Andrew Ridgley, of band-mates whose contribution to famous acts was negligible. Bez was no Linda. He shook his spindly arse across the second summer of love like a demented genie let loose from its methadone bottle. And if nothing else Bez was unarguably the greatest Manchester based maraca player of the late 20th Century. 

Earlier this week the northern icon declared his intent to run as an MP at the next general election. His aim is to fight the revolution from within and if you read his manifesto which took the form of a  Guardian Q and A it is a short sharp shot of fresh air - and not in a UKIP/Farage breath of stale nicotine fresh air way - I mean a genuine breath of fresh air. The kind that doesn't make you retch. Pundits often talk about what 'the Commons needs' well here he is -  Bez is what the Commons needs. He has seen more, lived more, met more normal people than most of the stuffed shirts in parliament have or will in a lifetime. You wouldn't necessarily want Bez to be Chancellor of the Exchequer but then that's not going to happen is it. He'd make a mean fucking Minister for Love though.

Bez has nailed a lot of narcotics but better than that he's nailed being a famous human being. He is passionate, down to earth and genuine - rare commodities in anyone - rarer still in celebrities - almost non existent in politicians. This isn't because politicians are necessarily lacking in those characteristics to begin with - but rather because it gets squeezed out of them until by the time they take their seats they have turned an inevitable shade of beige.

Compare and contrast:

Yesterday in Vienna, Russell Brand addressed the UN's 57th Session Commission on Narcotic Drugs - if you watch it - and frankly there's no real need to do that if you've watched any of Brand's word conjuring "serious" performances of the last years - you can sense the frisson of excitement in his audience. They aren't actually listening to what he says, but they are giggling a lot. This is what happens to normals in the presence of A listers. It's the same reason people used to go to the theatre to watch Madonna claim she was acting. Nobody gave a fuck about the play. It was all about being under the same roof as an immortal that mattered.

Brand is undeniably fascinating and not wholly unlikable. You don't get to where he has got by being stupid, although I suspect that if he looked less like Che Guevara and more like Lofty from It Ain't Half Hot Mum we might never have heard of him. But it is true that that he is very good looking and a live-wire and a fairly unique character. A prodigious force - with 7 million twitter followers and an adoring fanbase. And yes - a lot  of quite sensible people like Brand - just like a lot of quite sensible people believe in God. 

There is a good argument that having come through addiction himself (Brand not God) he has every right to stalk the international circuit professing his widely held, though not very original view that drugs prohibition doesn't work. Rusty believes that the only reason drugs are still illlegal  is because Western politicians are afraid of what the opinion polls and the Daily Mail might think. 

To which the only sensible and academic response is DUH - REALLY?

I mean that's hardly revolutionary is it. Lord Rees-Mogg believed something similar and you never saw him doing arena comedy. It's pretty much the mainstream view and something the Lib Dems have been banging on about for years.

A few years ago a now defunct TV channel called RE:Brand paid Rockets a quarter of a million  quid to make a short series on whatever took his fancy. In one show he invited a homeless smack addict called James to 'come and live with him, in my own flat like, for real, for good - this will be his new life.' It is one of the most cynical pieces of rehab porn you are ever likely to watch. In one particularly telling scene Russell climbs into a bath with James and literally cleans his wounds. Yes! Just like Jesus! Geddit!!??! When after two days James decides to leave, Brand becomes so eager to reassure viewers that it has been his choice to go that he repeats it rhetorically five or six times before making James say it directly to camera. The faux-cheery chappy act grates at the best of times, but here the mask falls and exposes him for what he is. An inauthentic eidolon who cares about one brand and one Brand only - Russell.

And in that there is very little difference between him and other global do-gooders like Angelina Jolie and that woman who was in Sliding Doors - photogenic prophets, profiteering from their photogenic proselytising.

The great issue that has dogged both popular culture and politics since the 1960s is authenticity. We the people say we want it and they the providers are eager to give it. The problem is that, like love, authenticity is an exhaustible commodity. Brand still hasn't made up his mind as to whether he's Peter Cook or John Lennon. He is neither. He is plastic soul. White reggae. Donovan doing his best Bob Zimmerman impression. 

Vote for Bez Salford. He's vinyl in its original sleeve with a big Moroccan lump of happiness. You could do a fuck of a lot worse. 

Sympathy for the Devil: why I feel sorry for Fred Phelps

The Westboro Baptist Church has just 40 members and yet its reach over the last ten years has been far greater than that tiny figure deserves. This miniscule sect famous for picketing the funerals of gay people, soldiers, Jews, Muslims and anyone else that fits its warped vision of the world has attracted opprobrium and documentary makers in equal measure. And often it feels that the Church has revelled in the hatred and the scorn and attention poured over it. 

In some respects the Phelps family have become a sort of extremist version of the Kardashians - a family you hate to watch but can't help watching - a bunch of nobodies who have found global fame for a one note performance. We love to hate them and they in turn love our hatred. Indeed documentary makers have queued up at their door. Louis Theroux has descended on them twice. Lily Allen's dad has poked them with his semi-retired snarl. They have even appeared on the Jeremy Kyle show. Yes really. Jeremy Kyle. So it hasn't all been a bundle of laughs on the road to salvation.

This is the sort of media coverage that the Quakers, with about half a million adherents, or even the Church of Iceland would kill a Messiah for. You probably didn't even know there was a Church of Iceland did you? I didn't until about 4 minutes ago. It has a quarter of a million followers. The Westboro Baptist Church has just 40. Did I mention that?

Forty. 

Slightly bigger than a class of kids in an English primary school.

Half the number of people you can fit on a Routemaster bus.

Ten fewer than the number of Liberal Democrat MPs in Parliament.

Yes - as small as that.

And now Fred Phelps, the leader of this inglorious bunch of inglorious Baptists, is reaching his very own end time. 

Predictably the reaction has been less than sympathetic. There is even talk of activists picketing his funeral and giving the Phelps family a taste of their own very toxic medicine.

And why not? This after all is the leader of a church that revelled in the deaths of innocent people in the 9/11 attacks and who issued a press release after the Boston marathon bomb that read:

"Here's a hint — GOD SENT THE BOMBS! How many more terrifying ways will you have the LORD injure and kill your fellow countrymen because you insist on nation-dooming filthy fag marriage?!"

This is the church that has been allowed - largely via the magic of TV - to get its very odd and cancerous view of the world out to millions more than it would ever have reached otherwise. If it were an alcoholic Louis Theroux would be guilty of enabling it. But it isn't. It's a teeny weeny church with just 40 members.  

I feel rather sorry for Phelps. I feel rather sorry for his family. Those 40 people who have been abused for most if not all of their adult lives. And it is abuse. And it is THEY who have been abused. Sometimes by themselves. Mostly by each other. 

Nobody else has been hurt as much by this freak show. None of their victims has been loved any less because of the picketing or the silly message boards. THEY - the Phelps family have been condemned to a life of isolation, of misery and of suffering because somebody somewhere convinced Fred that an extreme reading of the Bible was the answer.

Of course it isn't. The Bible doesn't teach you much at all really. Although there are some very good knitting tips in Ecclesiastes if you look hard enough.

Fred Phelps' brief time on this planet has been an exercise in futility. He leaves no legacy. He dies a figure of hate; unloved; mourned by none bar his very closest supporters - from nothing he came - to nothing he goes. Unmissed. Unfulfilled. Confused. And wrong. After a lifetime of preaching and professing he leaves a congregation of 40 - just 40 people - behind. And that - in its own purposeless way -   is quite sad.