Date : November 2, 2015
From: Milne, Seumas
To : Core Team Victorious
Subject: Message calendar

All,

One of the most important parts of any political campaign is making sure that we’re all disseminating the right message at the right time.  Starting from today my office will begin issuing a message calendar, which shows which subjects we’re focussing on each day.  Please make sure that all members of the team and especially all press liaisons are aware of the day’s message and stick to it.  I suppose we’d better let the shadow front bench and our MPs know about it as well.

Do let me know if you have any comments or questions.

Together we can win,

Seumas

—————————————————
Date : November 3, 2015
From: Milne, Seumas
To : Core Team Victorious
Subject: Re: Message calendar

Thank you for all of your feedback yesterday. To answer the main concern raised, obviously the calendar will not be absolutely rigid – we need to respond to events as they unfold and if an opportunity arises to stick it to the Tories by changing our message then we’ll take it.

I’ve appointed Steve to handle day-to-day updates of the calendar and ensure that the latest copy is sent out as soon as it’s available. We all know what a hard-working and committed volunteer Steve is, and what a great job he’ll make of this.

Do let him know if you require any updates to the calendar.

Forward to victory,

Seumas

—————————————————
Date : November 9, 2015
From: Milne, Seumas
To : Core Team Victorious
Subject: Re: Message calendar

Great week last week, everyone, you all worked really hard. I believe that our party should recognise hard work and so, with immediate effect, I’m promoting Paul to the position of Steve’s assistant.

We all know how hard Paul has worked for this promotion and hopefully his workmanlike approach to communications will ease some of the strain on Steve and resolve the issues you’ve been experiencing getting in touch with him.

Tomorrow’s dawn will be glorious,

Seumas

—————————————————
Date : November 27, 2015
From: Milne, Seumas
To : Core Team Victorious
Subject: Re: Message calendar

I cannot stress enough how important team communications are – if we don’t send out a unified message then the party will appear disjointed and incompetent. Politics is a fast-moving business and we have to move fast to keep up with it.

I don’t know why certain people have acted the way they have, but anybody else I find with an automated delete of messages from Steve or Paul will be subject to a disciplinary process!

Together we will triumph,

Seumas

—————————————————
Date : December 3, 2015
From: Milne, Seumas
To : Core Team
Subject: Re: Message calendar

Effective immediately message calendar updates will no longer be sent to the offices of the 66 MPs listed on the Left Unity web-site link that I forwarded last night.

Any requests for the calendar from those offices should be directed to me, please don’t bother Steve or Paul…they have quite enough on their plates.

Labour today, tomorrow and forever,

Seumas

—————————————————
Date : December 14, 2015
From: Milne, Seumas
To : Core Team
Subject: Re: Message calendar

Unfortunately Steve is off sick and is not expected back in the office for a couple of weeks. Paul will be handling message calendar updates in Steve’s absence and I’ve asked Alan to assist him.

I will be putting the stapler incident down to Steve’s ill-health and there will be no further investigation of the matter. Bill and Brian’s get-well-soon card is circulating the office, if you’d like to sign it.

Labour: joining workers together,

Seumas

—————————————————
Date : December 14, 2015
From: Milne, Seumas
To : Core Team
Subject: Re: Message calendar

I am shocked that people who describe themselves as socialists would say such derogatory things, especially on a widely circulated mailing list. We’re short-staffed and have to make do, so Alan will remain as Paul’s assistant.

My word is final,

Seumas

—————————————————

Date : December 15, 2015
From: Milne, Seumas
To : Core Team
Subject: Re: Message calendar

In retrospect it was a mistake for Jeremy’s Christmas card to show a one-man vehicle that was going nowhere, but I can’t believe that you lot talked about it just because it was accidentally put on the message calendar. I do expect you to use your intelligence and judgement, people.

In other news, I’ve been asked to provide somebody to assist on the transport policy and have, reluctantly, concluded that Alan is the only person who is available. He has now left our team, sorry that there wasn’t time to organise a collection for him.

All martyrs to the cause shall be honoured,

Seumas

—————————————————
Date : January 4, 2016
From: Milne, Seumas
To : Team
Subject: Re: Message calendar

Welcome back, I hope those of you lucky enough to get a break over the Christmas period really enjoyed it. I’m pleased to announce that Steve is back with us and is resuming editorial duties for the message calendar. ALL updates and enquiries are to be e-mailed to him, please don’t disrupt his work by phoning and DO NOT turn up as his desk.

On an unrelated note, the stationary cupboard is now to be kept locked. Karen has the key if you need anything.

With respect and tolerance we shall win over the electorate,

Seumas

—————————————————
Date : January 4, 2016
From: Milne, Seumas
To : Team
Subject: Re: Message calendar

I can’t believe I have to spell this out to you idiots, but the calendar exists to SUPPORT Jeremy. If he decides on a different message for the day then that is up to him, and he doesn’t have to clear it with the likes of you!

Obviously the reshuffle is now on the calendar, you don’t all need to e-mail Steve about it.

Get on with it,

Seaumas

—————————————————
Date : February 19, 2016
From: Milne, Seumas
To : Team
Subject: Re: Message calendar

Steve’s inbox seems to be full of people complaining that there’s not enough on the calendar about the EU referendum. With him now only working 3 days a week he really doesn’t have time to wade through dozens of e-mails saying the same thing, so let me make this clear…the British public aren’t that interested in the referendum and one day per week, or every couple of weeks is quite enough talk about it.

Also, if you’re unsure whether something the calendar is genuine or a “Steve-ism” then please contact Paul for clarification.

We are united,

Seaumas

—————————————————
Date : March 1, 2016
From: Milne, Seumas
To : Team
Subject: Re: Message calendar

Just to be clear, when “EU referendum” appears on the message calendar we are for REMAINING in the EU.

—————————————————
Date : March 1, 2016
From: Milne, Seumas
To : Team
Subject: Re: Message calendar

Apologies, that last e-mail was sent to the whole list by mistake, but was only intended for Jeremy. Please disregard it.

—————————————————
Date : April 8, 2016
From: Milne, Seumas
To : Team
Subject: Re: Message calendar

Steve has resigned from the team with immediate effect and should be removed from all further correspondence regarding the message calendar.

I think that we always knew he wasn’t truly behind Jeremy and his failure to manage the message calendar effectively has undermined the party and reduced our chances of winning the next election. I have made it clear to Steve that this is personally his fault and that we see his appalling sickness record as indicative to just how willing he was to sell us out to the Tory scum.

On a brighter note, this gives me the opportunity to promote Paul, in recognition of his tireless work, and Alan will be rejoining the team, as Lillian now says she doesn’t need him. Thanks, Lil, you’re a star!

Respect, tolerance, togetherness,

Seumas

—————————————————
Date : June 9, 2016
From: Milne, Seumas
To : Team
Subject: Re: Message calendar

We are FOR REMAINING. I’m not sure I can make this any simpler.

—————————————————
Date : June 9, 2016
From: Milne, Seumas
To : Team
Subject: Re: Message calendar

Sorry, did it again.

—————————————————
Date : June 24, 2016
From: Milne, Seumas
To : Team
Subject: Re: Message calendar

Please ensure we stick RIGIDLY to the message calendar today. We ARE NOT commenting on Jeremy’s remarks until we decide what they meant and whether he said them.

With honesty, integrity and unity we shall succeed,

Seumas

—————————————————
Date : June 27, 2016
From: Milne, Seumas
To : Team
Subject: Re: Message calendar

We’re suspending the message calendar for this week, for obvious reasons.

Better together,

Seumas

—————————————————
Date : June 29, 2016
From: Milne, Seumas
To : Team
Subject: Re: Message calendar

Actually, make that two weeks.

Better off red,

Seumas

—————————————————
Date : July 8, 2016
From: Milne, Seumas
To : Team
Subject: Re: Message calendar

Henceforth the message calendar will be treated as confidential. Alan will update the calendar each day, and I’ll personally brief Jeremy. Paul has left the team, let’s hope he enjoys that benefits cap. I should have known not to trust Greenwood when she sent that fuckwit Alan back to us. No offence, Alan.

If you need to know the message of the day then please report in person to my office, with proof of your loyalty.

Obedience and purity breed strength,

Seumas

—————————————————
Date : July 11, 2016
From: Milne, Seumas
To : Alan
Subject: Re: Message calendar

I give up. Just put down whatever addled nonsense your 10-watt brain can manage to transmit to your typing finger.

Dignity for the future,

Seumas

—————————————————
Date : August 26, 2016
From: Milne, Seumas
To : Alan
Subject: Re: Message calendar

NOT THE FUCKING TRANSPORT POLICY. STOP TALKING ABOUT TRANSPORT. BUILD SOME FUCKING HOUSES OR SOMETHING!

Fuck you,

Seumas.

I’ll be the first to admit that I don’t know the first thing about football. My last exposure to football was when I was a kid and you had to support a football team, or get to enjoy the flavour of school toilet water.  Naturally, growing up in the North-East, I chose to support Nottingham Forest, for the sound reason that a girl I really fancied when I was 6 moved to Nottingham.  Inexplicably this wasn’t a popular choice.

Even with my limited knowledge of football it’s clear from looking at winners that they’re always teams.  All the big trophies – the World Cup, the FA cup, the Melrose Cup, the premier first division, the lot – have never been won by an individual person.  Even Roy had his Rovers to support him.

Sure, the individuals in the team may all have ideas about how to win the match, which it’s why the team has a captain; to talk through those ideas in the dressing room before the match and decide which ones to use.

The strikers may think that the way to win is to score more goals, while the defenders say that all they have to do is stop the other team scoring and then hope that a freak gust of wind blows the ball into the opponents’ goal.

The captain listens to all of these competing ideas, decides which ones (or which mix of them!) is most likely to win the match, draws some bendy arrows on a blackboard and then tells the team to go out there and do that.

The captain also has to bear in mind the wishes of the team manager, who probably says things like, “The fans want us to win more games” and “Our goal difference isn’t enough compared to our rival team, we need to fix that”.

Thus the manager, the captain and the players are all in harmony and can work together to play the most football they can, and hope it’s more than the other side manages.

Problems arise when a player is injured and the team has to call on their substitute, who’s been sitting on the bench muttering about everything the team’s doing wrong since 1983, but claims that from there he could hear all of the advice being shouted by the fans, whose only exposure to physical exercise is going to the pie stall and lifting their pints.

Suddenly it all goes wrong – the fans start cheering for this untested sub to be the team captain, because they’re sick of boring football, but they’re trying all kinds of crazy strategies that never got mentioned in the dressing room; “Let’s try kicking the ball at our goal, that should be lot easier to hit” and “Gordon, you’re amazingly fast on the wing, so run down to the vegan wholesale place and get me a 10kg bag of lentils” or “Why don’t we forget about the ball and have a proper adult discussion about who is the best team?”

Then half the team’s fans start shouting abuse, and the other half are chanting their support, because football is as boring as all shit without someone making a complete tit of themselves, and the opposition fans are laughing their heads off and wondering if their team is going to get some sort of record for the biggest win.

Then the team start leaving the field, and the new sub-Captain falls back on the old 0-0-3 formation with a three-pots-and-in goalkeeper while most of the fans are asking the opposing supporters where they buy their jumpers and the substitutes ex-girlfriend is yelling that it’s not all about scoring goals and why are people even bothering to have a football match if it can’t bring about world peace?

At the end of the day the side with the most goals wins, but the losers have the consolation of being able to say that their old team – the one that used to score goals and win matches – was shit and that the record attendance fans really hated them.  And that’s what matters.

It’s a funny old game.

Last month, unremembered by all, my motorbike licence turned 21 years old.  As small tribute to my 21 years (mostly) sunny-side up I present a tale from when it all started.

The tale of Ronnie and the CBT

In 1990, in an effort to reduce casualties amongst new motorcyclists, the government introduced the CBT (Compulsory Basic Training).

Like the old Part 1 Motorcycle Test that it replaced it took place off-road (think “private car-park”, not “Junior Kickstart”) and was a test of basic motorcycle competence.  Unlike the part 1 it had to be taken before riding a bike on the road with L-plates, and included a short on-road section at the end, assessed by a certified instructor.

So, on a bitterly cold morning in February ’95, I joined 8 or 9 other prospective bike pilots to take my CBT.  The company running the course offered a “guaranteed pass”, which meant that for about £100 you got loaned a bike for the day, got the instruction and test and could redo the whole thing if you failed, as often as you needed to pass.

For most people this meant doing it once, on the mighty workhorse of the bike instruction industry, the Honda CG125.

One person didn’t have a CG125…that was Ronnie.

Ronnie didn’t drive, so had decided he wanted a bike to go to work on. He’d signed up for the guaranteed pass CBT then walked across the road to a bike dealers and bought himself a brand new bike.  Specifically he’d bought himself a pink 50cc Honda.

The salesman who’d sold him the bike had, apparently, afterwards crossed over the road to the training place to ask, “Who the hell was that guy? I could have sold him anything!”. This being presumably why he’d decided to sell him something that was otherwise unsellable and may have been cluttering up his showroom since the relief of Mafeking.

The day I did my CBT was Ronnie’s 7th attempt at it.

Up until that day he’d never even been deemed competent enough to take the road-based portion of the test.  Today that was going to change!

It was obvious during the day that Ronnie was not a natural motorcyclist; at one point our instructor called us over, we all rode over and stopped…Ronnie stalled his bike. The instructor slowly walked round the bike, looked at the clocks and said, “Ronnie, you’ve done 78 miles on this bike…they’ve all been in this car-park, and you still don’t know you have to pull the fucking clutch in when you stop!”

Such japes aside, we finished the off-road portion and the instructor went along the line of us, telling us that we were fine to go onto the road for the final part of the test.  He left Ronnie until last.

“What do you think, Ronnie?” he asked.

Ronnie hung his head, sadly, and replied, almost by rote, “Maybe next time?”

But our instructor had other ideas.

“Nah, fuck it! You’re getting better, let’s take you out, eh?”

As quick aside about the road portion of the CBT, the rules are that the instructor can only take 2 pupils at a time out onto the road, and they must be in radio contact.  They do a loop of a few miles, riding pupil-instructor-pupil and, halfway round, they swap who’s at the front, so the instructor gets to observe both of them riding.

In mention this, because the next thing that happened was the instructor took me to one side and said, “You seem to know what you’re doing. Do you mind going out with Ronnie and starting at the back, so I can keep an eye on him?”

I was fine with this so we set off.  Ronnie clearly wasn’t a driver, because at every junction we waited until there was nothing in sight before he’d pull out.  This meant slow progress, but not a CBT fail.

Then we got to Blaydon, world-famous in the North-East as the titular destination of the Blaydon Races and, since July 1st this year, the constituency of both the shadow secretary of state for Scotland and the shadow secretary of state for Northern Ireland (it’s just one MP, but he’s got two jobs, for…reasons).

Specifically we arrived at this roundabout in Blaydon.

It’s a big roundabout, it’s a busy roundabout and it was getting on for 4 in the afternoon, so traffic was starting to get heavier.

I heard the instructor’s voice in my earpiece, “OK, Ronnie.  We’re going straight over, so get in the left-hand lane and watch out for traffic from the right.”

Then we waited and waited and waited. Eventually, when the nearest car was about 4 miles away, the instructor yelled, “OK, it’s clear Ronnie.  Go!  Straight over.”

With the buzz of a hair-dryer in Kamikaze mode Ronnie revved his little 50cc bike, launched forward onto the roundabout, ignored the straight on exit and carried on round the roundabout.

The instructor, while checking it was clear for him and me to follow Ronnie, was offering more instructions, “You’ve gone the wrong way, Ronnie.  Don’t worry, we’ll take a detour – come off at the next exit.”

Ronnie managed this and found himself at a mini-roundabout.

“OK,” says the instructor, “Just go straight over here when it’s clear.”

“When it’s clear” turned out to be quite some time later, but eventually we couldn’t see any other traffic and Ronnie buzzed away from the line, onto the roundabout…and turned right again, the instructor and I followed him.

At this point in the story four very important factors come together:

Factor 1: Ronnie doesn’t really understand the mechanical side of riding a motorbike at all; throttle, gear, clutch…these are all just words to him.

Factor 2: Up until now all of Ronnie’s riding experience has been in a flat car-park.

Factor 3: Ronnie is riding a motorcycle with a very small engine and very little power.

Factor 4: Thanks to his improvised directions, Ronnie is now riding up a very steep hill.

Because of factors 1 & 2 it’s Ronnie’s belief that you start off in 1st gear and then just keep changing up gears.

Because of factors 3 & 4 this belief is going to be challenged.

Up the hill the three of us headed, in single file.  We had an initial burst of speed while Ronnie was still in 1st gear, but then he started changing up gears and we got slower.

And slower.

And slower.

Eventually I was in 1st gear and starting to slip the clutch, more optimistically Ronnie went for another up-shift.

His bike came to a dead stop in the road. Ronnie, unable to understand why he had stopped or if his bike was going to suddenly start going again didn’t even put his feet down. Instead he sat there, perfectly still, for a second before physics took over and the bike keeled over to left, depositing poor Ronnie on the pavement.

The instructor dismounted, checked Ronnie wasn’t hurt, picked up the bike, parked it by the kerb, removed and pocketed the keys and instructed Ronnie to wait there, until he came back with the van to pick him up.  Then he and I went to finish off my CBT.

That was the last time I ever saw Ronnie.  The training school went bankrupt a few years later, possibly owing to their huge financial gamble of guaranteeing Ronnie that they could get him through his CBT.  I do wonder what became of him after he was left on that hill in Blaydon and I hope that he’s enjoyed at least some of the happiness I’ve derived from motorbikes over that past 21 years.

All the best, Ronnie, wherever you are.

 

 

[Voice-over]

Previously, on Dickshark…

[Montage of naked and semi-naked women, Bill (the director) fondling said women or boring them stupid with ad-libbed nonsense, a toy-shark protruding from a man’s fly, a toy-shark that’s been sculpted to look like a penis, a woman in her underwear saying “illiterately”]

Not previously, on Dickshark…

• Fully-clothed women
• Men who are less than fully-clothed (unless you count the one with his fly open to allowed the titular beast to peak out)
• Anybody who could act, or has ever seen somebody else act, or is at all familiar with the concept of acting
• A sense that there’s a script for this film, or that any editing has taken place, or that anybody involved has any interest other than getting it all in the can as fast as possible
• Basic human decency or self-respect

[End voice-over]

If that’s not enough for you then part I of this review can be found here, and each blog has a link at the end to the next in the series.

I’d also like to add a footnote to the last one to say that, in retrospect, they were the two most unusual scenes I’ve ever seen in a film.  The first, thanks to its extensive drone filming of a tower and a waterfall that were literally just background to a conversation, may be the only scene ever filmed where the establishing shot is longer than the meat of the scene.  The second, I realised afterwards, is filmed entirely in slow-motion…surely a first.

Now you’re up to speed on we go.

Back to the Premier Inn hotel room, where a new couple are talking.

The pair of them are discussing how they’re much better off swimming here than at the river, because a woman was verbally assaulted by a shark there.  Yes, they do say ‘verbally’.  Both of them.

As an aside, at the point the screen-shot above is taken the women (who – and this is an outstanding achievement – is notably much worse at acting than anybody who has been in this film so far) is addressing the curtains on the subject of how she’s “not one of the retard who gets [their] science from the mainstream media”.   Too right, miss – the mainstream media is always saying how it’s impossible for a penis to transform into a shark, so you’re right to distrust them.

After another minute of dialogue the director realises his audience might be flagging to half a tea-cake, so we dive back into slow-mo while the…no, I can’t call her an actress, she is to acting as anti-matter is matter, if you made her shake hands with Meryl Streep the resulting explosion would destroy the universe…whatever, she’s going for a swim.

I’m not a betting man, but I’ll happily wager a fiver this is a set-up for a fight with a piss-poor shark/penis prop, during which she’ll lose at least half of her bikini.

[Voice-over: “Two minutes later”]

This why I’m not a betting man. She swam, in slow-motion, with her male friend and another bikini-clad woman and none of them were attacked or lost any clothing!  In fact, as if to stick rigidly to my preconceptions of this film, the man swam fully clothed.  It’s almost as if the director is a connoisseur of what might put his viewers off their stroke while they’re relaxing in private and watching his film.

That short, seemingly pointless, scene over we’re back with Bill and Vanna, once again dining al fresco, but this time Bill has made peanut and margarine sandwiches.

Bill, having ruined Vanna’s pefectly simple request twice now, then complains that Vanna isn’t wearing fishnet stockings and a garter belt.  The da-da-DAH music that accompanies this was surely intended for the scene where Vanna though he was going to dust her down for gunpower residue, but close enough, eh?

Vanna assures him that she doesn’t want his climax to be anticlimactic, so sends him off to urinate out of his penis while she gets ready.

Now, not wanting to suggest that ‘Bill’ (who’s actually called ‘Dick’ in the film, but whose “real” name is Bill Zebub…I swear, I’m not making this up.  How could I?) is a wafer-thin disguise for the director, but we are now treated to several minutes of close-ups of Vanna in her stockings, including two toe-to-head panning shots and two 15+ second shots dwelling on her bum.

Even though she’s not naked this portion of the film feels like the most exploitative so far.  There’s something about them that reminds me, rather uncomfortably, that this film is really just an excuse for a director with a dick name to dress up women how he likes them and spend a lot of time crawling all over them with a video camera.  At least with most of the earlier scenes you could write them off as being just a continuation of the long, long horror tradition of undressed women being attacked by monsters, but these few minutes break that excuse.

Fortunately Bill returns -and until now I never thought I’d be glad to see Bill appear in a scene- and, over a glass of wine, explains that he has a hypothesis that the dickshark has split into smaller creatures and that all but one of them has been killed (film making rule 1: tell, don’t show!), but that one has escaped into the water system, if the girl by the river “is to be believed”.

As the alternative to believing her would be her independently fabricating a story about being sexually assaulted by a penis-shaped shark, just like the one that’s gone missing, I personally wouldn’t entertain much doubt that she’s telling the truth.

Vanna, no doubted excited by the talk of fish raping, decides that it’s time to get off with Bill and – OH MY GOD, IT’S GOING TO HAPPEN IN SLO-MO!!!

NOOOOOO!!!!

[Voice-over: 7 minutes and 20 years later]

As Bill (who hasn’t so much as unzipped his pants, natch) has fallen asleep half-way through administering oral sex Vanna decides to put back on her bra and knickers and, armed with a previously unseen fishing net, wade into the lake and catch the dickshark.  Something that she does with no apparent fuss.

As there’s another 1½ hours of this film to go they’re going to need a lot of really slow-motion scenes…unless it all wasn’t as easy as it seems.

By the by, the song that started when the sex commenced continues all the way through the dickshark catching scene and – as a slow, guttural, metal dirge – is entirely inappropriate for both of them.  There’s a long-standing rumour that The Wizard of Oz syncs up perfectly with Pink Floyd’s The Dark Side of the Moon, this film doesn’t even sync up with its own soundtrack.

Right, relax – between netting the shark and getting it back to shore something happens.  I’m honestly not sure what. Vanna has the shark in her net, then she’s hit in the face with about a pint of beige-coloured liqued, then she drops the shark back into the water, then she’s walking back to Bill (apparently having stopped, en route, to put her stockings and heels back on, but take her knickers and bra off).

Then, for no reason, she gives Bill a good kicking and crawls off to fetch her gun, cunningly concealed under the picnic blanket (and if you’re upset by this sudden female-on-male violence then there’s a couple of close-ups of her crotch to make you feel better about yourself).

Before she can turn the gun on Bill a huge spider falls on her…and then immediately falls off again, on the grounds that it’s clearly a stuffed toy.  Presumably this is Bill’s pet spider that escape after being subjected to the dickshark cream, as mentioned last time we saw Bill and Vanna having a picnic.

What follows is a little confused, so it may be that it wasn’t the film-maker’s intention to make it look like Vanna was just raped to death by a spider.  I appreciate that, under normal circumstances, it would be hard to mistakenly give that impression, but this isn’t a normal film, so let’s gloss over that a little.

No sooner is Vanna dead than (a) the spider vanishes and (b) her phone rings.  Bill answers it, in a falsetto voice, and it turns out its Colin, asking Vanna if the “job” is done.

Shit! Some of this does actually make sense! Vanna was supposed to drug Bill (which is why she gave him wine, and why he pretended to fall asleep during cunnilingus) and then catch the shark. She beat him up because she knew he’d only pretended to be drugged and was going to shoot him because he was on to her.

Spider shit still don’t make no sense, though.

On the phone Colin carelessly confesses that he and Vanna were behind the murder of Rachel, and Bill (still falsetto, pretending to be Vanna) persuades Colin to meet up with him.  In case you’re bored by all this talk every time Bill speaks the camera returns to Vanna’s nude corpse…to cater for the necrophiliac viewers, maybe.

With Colin agreeing to meet Vanna in 4 hours the scene, mercifully, comes to an end.

The review continues here

Yesterday, for the first time in many years, I visited Edinburgh.  It was a good day; I saw some excellent comedy, was baffled by card tricks, had a scone that I’ve lusted after for a good length time (long story) and saw my sixteen year old daughter, who’s been in the city all week with her Fringe show.

But it wasn’t a perfect day.

It wasn’t perfect for the same reason that stepping in some dog-shit, or being a little bit sick down your good shirt can ruin an otherwise perfect day.

In my particular case it wasn’t perfect because, in the morning, I read an article in Scotland’s leading newspaper for the critically uncritical, The National. As choosing to read one of their articles is exactly akin to putting on your new Italian brogues and then going looking for a really fresh dog turd to tap-dance in, or donning your best white silk shirt and then downing 14 Pernod and blackcurrants…it’s my fault really.

What’s left me with the lingering smell of puke and a tendency to slide on smooth floors is this particular paragraph…

I have come across the “Spanner” name, indeed I’ve followed Brian Spanner for almost all of the time I’ve been on Twitter.  What’s upsetting about that paragraph isn’t that it’s a complete misrepresentation of Brian’s tweeting – anybody following him for his “grotesquely sexual” content or his hatred of female politicians is going to be sorely disappointed – or that it was fabricated by a sitting MP (John Nicolson, the SNP MP for East Dunbartonshire), or even that it passes off as likely a conspiracy theory (that “Brian” is more than one person) that there’s absolutely no evidence to support, other than an obvious in-joke by some of Brian’s followers, myself included, that there’s a rota for who’s running his account…what’s upsetting to me is that pro-independence supporters continue to fake concern about misogyny on Twitter, which is a very real problem, as an excuse to use Brian Spanner as a proxy to attack pro-Union political opponents that they’re otherwise too scared to face.

This happened 7 months ago, when they used exactly the same tactic to lay siege to author J K Rowling (as I detailed in my blog at the time, Spannergate).

This is obvious when you see what they are railing against. One of things I’ve seen touted on Twitter since news of Stephen Daisley’s alleged gagging is the Google image search for “Brian Spanner misogyny” If you have a look you’ll see 4 of Brian’s tweets (from over 100K) and then the rest of page dedicated to tweets from Rowling and Daisely, there because people are trying to make political capital from any interaction they’ve had with Spanner.

There’s no great moral crusade here; personal attacks made by pro-indy tweeters on Ruth Davidson or Kezia Dugdale attract no opprobrium, “across the political spectrum” in this context means all that way from “pro-independence” to “strongly pro-independence”.  Content far worse that a few insults aimed at female MPs, with no evidence to suggest that they’re being insulted because they’re female (the mark of a misogynist), is ignored because it comes from people who don’t have Brian’s intelligence or wit and therefore lack his prestigious followers list, ripe with targets for the SNP.

In a terrible year, when female MPs are justifiably concerned about their personal safety, it’s craven to the use the cry of “misogyny” to try to silence political opponents and disingenuous to suggest, as Nicolson does at the close of that paragraph, that it’s right or normal for STV to scale down Daisley’s content because he interacts with somebody the SNP have deemed to be a troll.

If Nicolson is serious about tackling misogyny then there is more than enough amongst supporters of his own political party, and he may well find it’s a full-time job to give them all the attention that he’s given Spanner.  If, however, he were to make the effort then I suspect more people would be inclined to believe that making Twitter a better place for all women is his actual goal, and not just a partisan springboard.

Unfortunately I won’t know if he even tries because, like his fellow “wolf” criers Pete Wishart and Natalie McGarry, he’s blocked me on Twitter.  Maybe he can put in a word and get The National to block me as well, mercifully sparing me from having to spend another day with the lingering smell of shit.

 

 

Friends,

Yes, we’re still friends because we’re united by our wants. We want a left-of-centre government, we want a fairer society, we want those who are sick, or unemployed, or struggling with society’s many ills to be afforded what they need and given hope, we want worthwhile education, we want an NHS that cares for us from birth through to death without crushing the tremendous spirit of the carers who work within it nor taking their many sacrifices for granted, we want dignity in old age, we want an end to unfair working practices that make life a misery for those less well-off, we want equal justice for all, we want to go to sleep in our beds at night knowing that others aren’t settling themselves down for another night on the streets, we want to live in a developed country where people don’t routinely have to rely on food-banks to stay alive, we want a country that we’re proud to call our home.

How could we want all that together and not be friends?  How can it be that when all of the above lies within our grasp we’re fighting each other on social media?  How can it be that we’re both prepared to sacrifice all of the above, to give up all hope of it, to leave it to our political rivals to decide what, if any of it, ever happens…all over one man?

We both know that Jeremy Corbyn is going to be re-elected to lead the Labour party next month. We both know that, if anything, his support amongst the membership of the party is going to be stronger than it was last year.

My question to you, his supporters, is “Then what?”

Because I think we both also know that he will never be Prime Minister.

I could write a long missive about any number of subjects, and you could write one back refuting it point-by-point and we could repeat that until the time when it matters is long since passed.

Instead consider what happens the day after his leadership win…he returns to a party where 170 or more of his own MPs don’t support him, he still can’t fill his own front bench, he’s still facing a formidable opponent across the aisle and all of the charges that I could have written my long missive about will still be there.

Some MPs may accept the result of the leadership contest and fall in behind them, but you don’t really trust them to really support Jeremy, and I think you’re right in that.

You could de-select the rebels, of course, but you’d be de-selecting people who, though in your eyes they may have betrayed Jeremy, have served their constituencies…in some case for years. How many people’s problems have they listened to and solved? How much of minutia of daily life, that doesn’t make the front pages, have they waded through? How many doorsteps have they stood on? How many local events, local companies, local groups have they given their support to? How loved are they in their communities?

The political costs involved in de-selecting them, of plucking them from amongst the people with whom they’ve fostered relationships, in the name of remote Westminster games will be huge.

And then we’ll get a general election, and the party is in the jaws of a media you already believe is hostile and biased.  Everywhere we look there’ll be a Tory election poster showing Jeremy smiling with an 80s Gerry Adams, or posing with supporters of Hamas.  His less wise quotes will be everywhere, in letters as tall as a person.

You can write a thousand blogs and alternative media articles explaining them all, and all of them put together won’t be seen by as many swing voters as a single poster in the centre of London.

Then it’s over, and we have another 5 years of Tory government, and all of those things from the first paragraph will be further away.

That will be sad for you, and it will be sad for me; but to those people who rely on disability living allowance, or JSA, or housing benefit, or who are sleeping rough, or sleeping on a bed in a hospital corridor that we’re a bit sad will seem rather hollow.

Don’t feel despondent, though.  Look what you’ve achieved…in last year’s leadership election we had four candidates from across the political spectrum of the party, in today’s leadership election it’s two left-wingers.  In terms of policy there’s almost nothing between Corbyn and Smith.  I’d even go as far as to suggest that if Smith had been in Corbyn’s place in the last leadership election you’d have welcomed him with open arms.  You’ve done it, you’ve moved the party leftwards!

Rejoice in your victory and know that we can end the Labour civil war next month, but only by electing Smith.

I know it’s not what you want…but re-read the start of this letter again and decide what it is you really want.

Your friend,

Andrew

If you’ll excuse me I’m going to take a moment to do something I’ve never done before and defend the SNP…or at least one of them.

This morning, during a conversation about the EU referendum, Mhairi Hunter – an SNP councillor for Glasgow – tweeted this…

In light of the SNP’s claim that the 2014 Scottish referendum would be a “once in a generation” event and their talk of a possible second referendum, aimed at keeping Scotland in the EU when the UK Brexits, the responses were predictable.

And Twitter’s nothing if not predictable.

From what I’ve seen – and I’ve seen a lot, thanks to being mentioned in the tweet – most of the responses miss the point.

The independence of Scotland is absolutely central to the SNP, if you removed that the party that was left would not be the SNP.

It’s also a view that many people in Scotland hold; 1.6m people voted for independence in September 2014 and there’s no evidence of that level of support dropping.  Those 1.6m people absolutely have a right to a political party which not only recognises and supports their view, but campaigns in the light of game-changing events – such as the Brexit vote – to have the electorate’s position on that view reassessed.

That isn’t a hypocritical position, that’s staying loyal to your party’s vision.

Finally, although I disagree with at lot of things that Mhairi tweets I have always found her to be intelligent, articulate and willing to debate issues…and if you’re wasting opportunity that Twitter affords to engage with intelligent people who have differing views to simply name-call and score points then you’re making the Twitter experience worse for all of us.

Introduction from Jeremy

Hello and thank you for coming to my new Internet page.  I know a lot of my supporters, non-specific deity bless them, have been coming under fire from Blairite bullies on-line, so this page is designed to help them present the facts.

We hope you find the information that follows useful and believe it to be true as much as we want you to.

Question 1: Is Corbyn unelectable?

Absolutely not.  The polls carried by the so-called mainstream media show a healthy lead for the Tories, but before putting too much credence into these figures consider:

1. Often the biased MSM doesn’t even ask Jeremy to vote in these polls!
2. The MSM are trapped in a Westminster bubble.  It’s normal for these polls take as much as 15% of their sample from London alone!
3. More accurate polls, carried out on Twitter, in The Mirror, at Momentum rallies, etc. show Jeremy leading by as much as 99 points.
4. Polls have been wrong before, and if they’ve been wrong before then they’re wrong now, and if they’re wrong now then they’re wrong in a way that favours the Tories.
5. The people who run polling companies are all Tory stooges anyway.

Even the most anti-Corbyn commentators concede that if a general election were held now then Labour could easily win 20 or 30 seats.

Also, some polls show a clear Labour lead, such as this one…

So much for “unelectable”…it’s just Blairite lies.

Question 2: Does Corbyn really have support outside the hard-left?

Firstly, it’s a mistake to classify Corbyn as “hard-left”; he’s a solid centrist politician, who simply happens to disagree with everybody else on what constitutes “the centre”.

This is obvious when you consider that the hard-left have a reputation for poor leadership, in-fighting, very limited electoral support, poor economic policies and unrealistic goal that Jeremy can’t be one of them.

The support for Jeremy is obvious from his rallies.  At a recent Momentum event Seumas Milne carefully measure the crowd density in the front of the stage and it became apparent that if that the crowd had been just a few hundred square-miles then every single person in the world would have been there.  That’s an astounding figure, especially for a hard-left politician…just like Jeremy isn’t.

Question 3: Is Jeremy an anti-Semite?

Jeremy doesn’t even know the meaning of the word!

Question 4: Does Jeremy want Britain to leave the EU?

During the referendum campaign Jeremy demonstrably did more to promote the Remain message than any other politician with the same name.  In fact he campaigned so hard that at one point he went to Malta to persuade the people there that they should vote for the UK to remain in the EU!

Although Jeremy did flirt with anti-EU ideology for a short period of 4 or 5 decades he was passionate about not only getting Labour supporters to vote to remain, but also, in the interests of fairness, giving them comprehensive information about what a useless, expensive and corrupt organisation it was.  This was absolutely not him supporting Brexit, simply him giving a balanced view of the situation, just as he does every time he speaks.  Nearly every time.

When the result came in Jeremy’s deep love of democracy led him to call for the immediate invocation of article 50, beginning the formal process of the UK leaving the EU, it was nothing to do with his personal feelings at all.

Now that the people have decisively spoken in favour of leaving the EU Jeremy feels it is his moral obligation to support them in this.

Question 5: Why are the media biased against Jeremy?

Simply because the media is run by corrupt billionaires who fear that Jeremy will hold them to account when he becomes Prime Minister. This is true even for the elements of the media that pretend to support Labour are really just concealing their real support for the Tories or, worse, slightly more moderate Labour candidates.

This bias is disgraceful and unfair.  While Jeremy is firmly committed to all democratic decisions, except the small number that go against him, he is also well aware that the majority of people are stupid enough to believe what they read in the papers and see on the TV.  This is why his skilled media management team have developed a strategy of whining all of the time that everything is biased against them, because that’s a good look and a winning plan.

Question 7: Are the web-sites and social media accounts that support Jeremy just peddling lies, misinformation and conspiracy theories?

Of course not, and the people saying that are Blairites, traitors to the Labour movement and were involved in planning 9/11.

Question 8: Isn’t Jeremy Corbyn just another career politician?

Absolutely not, in fact in a decade as a councillor and 33 years as an MP Jeremy has learned nothing at all about politics.

Question 9: Was Jeremy an IRA supporter?

This is a vile slander on Jeremy’s good character!  It simply happens that Jeremy’s peace-plan for Northern Ireland, which involved immediately withdrawing all British troops, surrendering all British sovereignty over Ireland and letting the Irish folk sort out their differences in their own, good-natured way, just happened to be the same as the IRA’s peace plan for Ireland.

Jeremy in no way supported the IRA’s terror campaign and made that point on the many, many occasions that he met with Gerry Adams, albeit in quite a quiet voice that Gerry may not have heard at the time.

Question 10: Is Jeremy 11 feet tall?

The shortest person known and verified was Chandra Bahadur Dangi, who was amazingly only 1’9½” tall.  That is a lot less than 11 feet, but Jeremy can be scientifically proven to be a lot taller than Chandra, so the weight of evidence is that, yes, he is 11 feet tall.

That’s all the questions you need answering, any further questions will be after you vote for Jeremy.

Author’s note: Amazingly this is my 100th blog post. Many, many thanks to all of the people over the past year-and-a-bit who’ve taken the time to read my pointless witterings, it really does mean a lot to me.  Thank you.

Day 1: Driving

Day 2: Driving. Ferry

Day 3: Ferry. Driving

Day 4: Driving

Day 5: Nowt

Day 6: Nowt

Day 7: Nowt

Day 8: Nowt. Some restaurant where we waited ages and ages for the bill. Lots of French people complaing, but I can only say “Hello” and “My name is Julian”

Day 9: Some chateau

Day 10: Nowt

Day 11: Nowt

Day 12: Nowt

Day 13: Driving

Day 14: Driving. Ferry. Driving.

 

 

We’re 3,000+ words into this film review now and none of this makes any sense, even to me. This has become a grim war of attrition, I’m less reviewing this film than I am laying siege to it. Follow my decent into madness with the earlier parts before venturing further.

Part I

Part II

Part III

“Have you ever felt the sadness of a slowly dying star?” ask the grunge-metal lyrics as we get, in a fitting homage to proper film making, an exterior shot.  A crane shot, no less, laying waste to my previous theory that this film was a one-person and his digital camera project entirely devoted to him getting to touch boobs.

Maybe it still is, maybe he’s just a heavy plant operator or something.  One crane shot does not a real movie make.

It’s a drone!  He’s got a drone!  And, man, is he milking it.  This isn’t just an over-long film with no editing, it’s a now an over-long film with minutes of footage of the exterior of a castle tower and a waterfall added.

Eventually, Bill reappears and gets out his mobile phone.  He’s phoning Colin, who’s demanding that he hand over the cream, or the notes on how to create it.  Bill, who’s really called Dick…Ha ha ha he’s Dick and he created the shark, so it really is a…Jesus fucking Christ.

After a brief chat about nicknames (which includes the word ‘Dickname’) Colin accuses Dick of being a renegade scientist who is doing nothing to help mankind, just being selfish.  Speaking for my personal 1/7,000,000,000th of mankind I actually prefer that Dick keeps his penis -> clay -> shark cream to himself, thanks.

Also, Colin’s rant may have carried more weight if there weren’t families of tourists wandering behind him, with a vague interest in what he’s doing.

And, apparently, that’s quite enough plot and men talking to each other. Where are the scantily clad women? Where is the heavy metal soundtrack?

Ah, they’re both back, as we cut to woman sunbathing in a bikini, in what looks suspiciously like the forest where Dick and Vanna had their picnic.  Co-incidence? Plot? Thematic development? Nobody wanting to waste time location scouting when they could be videoing naked women?  We may never know.

We’re treated to a full 80 seconds of this new woman lying around in her day-glo bikini, changing positions, lighting a joint – all in slow motion and with Nirvanabees droning on – before she decides to go swimming in a nearby lake, where something terrifying awaits her.

By amazing coincidence the music manages to go into a fast-paced guitar solo just as we get the shark’s eye perspective of it shooting through the water (carefully done by putting a camera in the water and splashing it round a bit) and then it strikes!

And, also by amazing co-incidence, manages to tear off the girl’s bikini bottoms as it does so.  What were the odds, eh?

There’s a brief battle, which sees the young lady triumph; unsurprising, really, it’s hard to imagine many people would put up with much shit from what is, basically, a suggestively shaped Coy Carp, let alone be doing with it having away with your bathing trunks.

Our heroine wisely decides to leave the water so, showing another facet of the film-maker’s art, the director switches to super-slo-mo as we follow her up the beach, in close up.  Once again we’re given a lesson in why films need editors (says the man writing an incredibly wordy blog on a film nobody cares the slightest about) as we’re treated to, literally, 47 seconds of nothing on the screen but someone’s bum.

Now I’ve nothing against bums, some of my best friends have them. Nor am I part of any campaign group that wants all bums removed from films, but 47 seconds in a film is a long time.  It’s a very long time to just look at a bum and listen to some middle-of-the-road metal.

Eventually she plonks her bum on her towel, seemingly unconcerned that she’s now got no shreddies on and there’s no sign of any other clothes around…maybe she’s expecting them to magically appear on her.  Why not, her shoes just have.  I hope the continuity director got fired for that shoes/no shoes gaff!  Hah, listen to me…”continuity director”. As if.

Shoes aside she decides to light up another joint.  Maybe it’s just me, but if my experience of the last hour had been:

1. Sunbathe
2. Smoke joint
3. Go swimming and get attacked by a penis-shaped fish
4. Have shoes magically appear

Then I’d think about, maybe, just maybe, not smoking any more joints for a while.

But smoke a joint she does, still in slow-motion! Is the fucking button on their camcorder sticky or something?  Honestly, all I can think of is Dean Learner (Richard Ayoade) in Garth Marenghi’s Darkplace:

There is a lot of slow motion. The episodes were often running up to 8 minutes under. The only way to stretch them out was with slow motion. We tried to keep the slow motion away from dialogue as much as possible, but anything without dialogue was considered for slow motion.

Her joint, wise or otherwise, is rudely interrupted by somebody throwing a toy rubber shark at her head. She falls to the ground, the shark rolls off into the leaves next to her, then we’re treated to a close-up of her shaven lady bits as the shark inexplicably moves in to attack them.

We get a brief shot of her face, which -despite this not being a porn story- suggests that she’s incredibly aroused by somebody flailing at her mons with a monster found in the bins round the back of Seaworld, and then, very, very slowly the screen fades to black.

Another scene has ended.  Another battle is won, but still this endless war continues!

The review continues here