borischairptnetSlog visual of the Month

Events have been fast and furious over the last six weeks, and far too often devoid of humour. In recognition of this, The Slog offers below a digest with links for all those starved of time and chuckles. The latest score from the Big Match stands at Dragons 9 Slog 0. I had a goal disallowed for offside when it was 1-0. It could’ve changed the entire face of the game. But as they used to say in New Labour, forward not back.

February began in  triumph with the Slog’s prediction of Greek default confirmed by the Wall Street Journal. There was no tickertape parade, and life in denial continued as normal.
Two days later, I offered the 907th debunking of wind power (courtesy of the German Government) but the de facto acceptance of all things Green carried on, with the evidence presented remaining in loco parentis.
The somewhat murky past of David SonoJim Prior in private health skullduggery was Slogged soon afterwards (he’d been chosen as head of an NHS enquiry, in much the same way that Jeremy Hunt was chosen to ease through, sorry, monitor, the BSkyB bid). The news was ignored in favour of Wayne’s loverat caper with 3-in-a-bed call girls, and so we must regard Prior’s blatantly political appointment as still in parentheses.
There followed a vaguely satirical look at 35 years of Elm House paedophile enquiries, and Boris Johnson’s happiness that things were still going nowhere. The post got massive hits, but Leon Brittan remains in cognito.
The same day, it looked for a time as if bankers might be killing themselves – or, even more hopefully, each other. But the death toll wasn’t maintained. However, the reports did, I think, preface a broadening theme from then on: that the self-styled elites had finally decided the game was up. Top-end property and arable land sales around the world soared, and the gold price began to creep up….all signs of the BSDs looking for ways to convert cash into assets. Former Home Sec Ken Clarke bought 20,000 acres in Canada, citing the need for somewhere large enough to bury his ego and, in time, his tummy.
There was uncontained joy when former serial Coronation Street shagger Bill Roache was cleared of all under-age (these days meaning ‘paedophile’) sex charges against him. I pointed out that his accuser appeared to have lied, my reward for which was an irate comment asserting what a serious accusation I was making. Accusing an innocent man of psychotically illegal sexual behaviour is not exactly a parking offence either, but when the Wimmin get going, the sane go away and hide. It is impossible to catch a feminist in flagrante.
Neoliberal claptrap about population growth and water resources became the next target, and the usual comments bunfight between deniers and believers ensued. Sadly, the homo sapiens birth explosion is not as yet in retentis.
 
And so came the floods, with the two aligned sports of blamestorming and sh*tavoidance on full display in all the sizes and all the colours. Noah Farage mouthed off, but hadn’t bothered to vote in the EU debate about it. Ed Miliband tried to look sympathetic, but he was of course the madman who agreed to EU policy on Somerset levels. And David Cameron’s nearest thing to looking rural was a sheepish expression when asked how Tory MEPs had voted about river-dredging. They had voted against. Highlight of the saga was Draper Osborne announcing the correlation between rain and floods, while remaining incapable of seeing the link between EU membership and totalitarian insolvency. The full truth remained, as ever, in absentia…most notably in the mainstream press.
 
I had already retailed scurrilous gossip from old Threadneedles about Mark Carney’s view of the Chancellor as “a wideboy”, but it was February 11th before the new Governor began opening the closet door. On that day, he announced a UK banks stress test to see what would happen when, sorry if, a housing bubble emerges from George’s Help to Buy bribe. Later, Mr Carney took things further emerging (between the lines) as a convert to recovery denial.
 
In the light of the second celeb acquittal (this time of Dave Lee Travis) The Slog began a long-overdue campaign of ridicule against Cop reject and all round twerp Mark Williams-Thomas, the self-appointed Paedofinder general whose legal expertise is so encyclopaedic, he struggles with the difference between libel and slander. MW-T left the Surrey police under unexplained circumstances following a brief career as something or other as yet unknown. Surrey police have vehemently denied that Mark was the force’s golf caddy, although my own view remains he may well have been the Station tea-caddy. Others allege he was trained as a sniffer dog (failed). Anyway, the onslaught continues between litigious scuffles and illiterate emails from the Lord Protector of Children. None of it had any effect on the CPS, which vindictively decided to have another crack at DLT. But not Leon Brittan. Plod’s obvious agenda thus remained in actu.
Later in the month, a Saturday essay revealed (again) how power mania is murdering common sense with a mixture of stupidity and cunning. Later still, I decided that it was also murdering Truth. Both essays got enormous hits,
but at this point all eyes were averted in the direction of Ukraine. The Slog’s opening suggestion that EU meddling in Ukrainian affairs would end in tears proved sadly prescient: there followed swiftly an analysis of some unpleasant econo-fiscal backwash, and then  the dangers of multiple contagion via Hungary.
 
Attention then swivelled back to a 40-year-old hot scoop from the Daily Mail about Harman, Dromey and PIE – the infamous paedophile pressure group they were happy to have affiliated to the Civil Liberties Council. The Mail was clearly under orders to distract and embarrass with this aged reference to youthful idiocy, chiefly because Elm House was still going nowhere and the Conservative-driven CPS felt rather vulnerable over the new DLT charges. The Tory Party itself was also keen to distract attention from its own less than spotless record on sociopathic perversion.
I saw the phrase Harman, Dromey & Pie so much during that week, it seemed to me that it might be the name of a firm of airbrushing specialists in Bournemouth. But the only censorship in that fine coastal town turned out to be at the local library, which has declared The Slog unfit for human consumption.
 
Since then, there have been three stories dominating the media, of which one – the missing Malaysian Aeroplane – I left well alone on the grounds of its irrelevance to almost everything, and truly astonishing level of complication and incompetence. The two real stories from here on (until further notice) are the coming econo-fiscal collapse, and the likely resumption of the Crimean War.
I’m all for some Victorian nostalgia now and then, but sending our gallant lads back to the Crimea 170 years after the event strikes me as a tad extreme. Not in any way being an extreme sort of fellow, David Cameron announced that Britain would take a firm but pacifist approach to Russia’s decision to stop the EU generally taking the piss. The Prime Minister has that principled commitment to pacifism of all those who have unwisely abolished the armed forces, but it has to be said that Vlad Shirtov-Putin has so far run circles around all-comers on the Ukraine issue. The lamentable lack of historical insight or consequential foresight in our Western political class remains the greatest (and most dangerous) global inequality we face. Significantly, a Saturday Essay on that subject attracted the highest comment response of the period…and a record 46 5-star reviews. We must all hope that Ukraine is not in articulo mortis…even if the geopolitical brains are.
 
QE having been tapered – and the emerging economies suitably terrified – signs of a topping stock market were there for all to see towards the end of February. Two days later I predicted that the markets bloodbath was now almost upon us, but then the denouement of this crawling death epic has been a long time coming. The difference this time is that the signs are so much clearer, and the lack of available tools so obvious. Thus, the catastrophic RBS results, the Chinese export slaughter, the plummeting price of copper, and the Dow top-out signals couldn’t be ignored any longer. Except by The Chancellor of the Exchequer.
George Flashman-Nobsore is about to deliver yet more triumphalist nonsense this coming week, and so the Telegraph dutifully trotted out some optimism drivel last Monday. In response to this, The Slog delivered a comprehensive 5-0 thrashing of the recovery myth over the ensuing days, culminating in an analysis of the appalling export figures. The response was somewhat homoaeopathic in nature, primarily as a result of the news breaking that the missing Malaysian plane had flown on in four different directions at once, none of which included any sea – where everyone was looking at the time.  Joking apart, I have a nasty feeling that this story will be a case of in caudo venenum. We shall see.
 
So there we have it. The world is full of trouble spots, and I have been travelling to virtually all of them. Over the last six weeks, in fact, I have been at one time or another in Locoparentis, Retentis, Absentia, Parentheses, Actu, and Caudovenenum. Thankfully, I have not been noticeably Articulomortis, or spotted in Flagrante. While this is a great relief, it is as nothing to that of remaining outside the UK, in that place as yet undiscovered by the plebaeians, the quiet southern Italian resort of Cognito.

The motor home has arrived, and its instruction manual baffles me. So too have the builders, who are busily engaged in discovering the unexpected. When things become unfit for human habitation, I shall repair to Vinoveritas.

Yesterday at The Slog: Lord Myners – the Establishment’s new weapon of mass distraction