I’ve noticed quite a few British media and websites referring lately to the Big Five of politics there: David Cameron, Ed Miliband, Nigel Farage, Nick Clegg and Nicola Sturgeon. The last of these in particular is, I suspect, far more like to be in a position to bargain – and Kingmake – after May 7th than any of the other likklies, simply because she promises to translate votes into seats. I’m also bound to observe that her picadoresque skill (in clinically sticking it to the Tories and Whitehall over their SNP smear) endears her to me. Not much, but a little more than the other four – who are let’s face it about as endearing as a plague-carrying alligator.
But talking of big game, those of us who have enjoyed the unbelievable sensory charge of Game Safari (watching, not killing) also think of the African Big Five as lion, elephant, Water buffalo, leopard, and rhinoceros. And so my idle, half-knackered post-gardening mind turns tonight towards how this other far more interesting and worthy Big Five might be used as a political allegory “with hilarious results”, as plot summaries the world over have so often promised.
The problem with the allegorical approach (not to be confused with the alligator approach, which would be to eat the bloody lot of them) is that – with the possible exception of Ms Sturgeon, she being a fish – none of them would survive a night in the wild. Miliband would spend it explaining to the others that the wolves meant no harm really, they’d just had a badly parented childhood mingled with doubts about their sexuality. Cameron would be on the phone to his mates trying to get a 2-seater helicopter airlift out for him alone, and wondering why he couldn’t get a signal let alone a seat. Nick Clegg would doze off and be eaten by termites. And Nigel Farage would invite the warthogs in for a pint.
So as to what each of them might be in the animal kingdom, the issue raises more questions than answers. Are any of them in The Big Five? We’ve already established that the Scottish lassie is a slippery water-dwelling creature, and it is blatantly obvious that none of them is a lion. On the other hand, the missing person in the ‘Top 5’ description is, for me, the giraffe. No other animal on Earth has wound up with quite so many reasons to be an awkwardly gawky, easy prey….yet close up such an elegant thing with whom nobody – not even King Leo – messes. My adoration of giraffes has led to me adopting some of them. I think they are the business: giraffes are an indefatigable self-pity free zone, an ultimate example of show not tell. A kick from one of these beggars would be enough to deter even the most sadistic neoliberal banker. I would pay very high seat prices to see Gerry Giraffe vs Grant Shapps.
Anyway, make of this what you will. I think that, without question, Nigel Farage would be the rhino. If you’ve ever been in a camp when rhinos decide they don’t like you camping there, you’ll know what I mean: they career around and excrete shit in every direction, the only message being that they want you out of there. Which sums up Farrago’s one-trick policy – and subtelty – admirably.
Further, very few people ever get elected by chucking ordures in every direction. And while maybe not many folks have spotted this, Hairgel is in grave danger of losing the Thanet election.
Equally, there seems little doubt in my mind that Nick Clegg is a leopard: vastly reduced in numbers, unwilling to be seen on the daylight, happy at night to gorge on meat cynically provided by the system, but doomed to extinction before too long.
Nick too has, according to the latest polls, been overtaken by Labour in Sheffield Hallam.
Which leaves just Cameron and Miliband. Ed has to be the water buffalo: a man so scared of saying anything off-tribal message, he would rapidly be spotted by Big Cats as the weak link among the herd crossing the surging river delta.
And David Cameron is, of course, the elephant. There are many reasons for this conclusion Callmedave is hugely in sympathy with the GOP in the US (whose symbol is an elephant) and he is the undisputed World Champion at being seen as not an elephant in the room. This is the cunning of the Camerlot Inquisition: nobody expects the leader to be anything other than the bum-faced twit he appears to be. Whereas in fact he is an elephant whose nose has been lengthened by a career based on serial lying – about his family, about Coulson, about Hunt, about Brooks and about Murdoch – and whose enormous arse will sit on any and all information in the public interest likely to threaten neoliberal Conservative interests.
As with all elephants, Cameron will spot the nice new tender leaves at the top of the tree, and then uproot the entire tree just to get that to which he feels entitled. This attitude explains his endless pursuit of aitchesstwous raildesperandum.
But meanwhile, here in deepest rural National Front LePeniste France, it’s been a spectacular day of blue skies and chilly east winds. You thus can’t sit inside without feeling you should be outside: and you can’t be outside and bollock-freezing without wanting to get on with stuff.
My neighbour Pierre Biaison pitched up mid morning to ask if I’d seen his bitch – a terrier who predictably runs after anything that moves without a thought for the consequences. I hadn’t – but I did take the opportunity to ask if he was still up for the job of painting my shutters before the summer. Indeed he was, so this coming week we’ll study various colour palettes and then hopefully agree on a price for doing the job. The great thing about Pierre is you can shake hands on something, and know he’ll use the finest materials and a lifetime of experience to deliver a stunning job.
If only this was true of the rest of globalist EU product/service output. At the moment, I am the less than proud owner of an Italian cooker which is 7 months old and already has two automatic pilot lights where the pilot has baled out; a French washing machine where the spin option has broken down after 13 months (entirely appropriate); a German dishwasher whose short programmes no longer function (equally appropriate); and a Dutch fridge which has the frost-free feature, but not perhaps in the way you’d expect:
Customer: What does frost free mean?
Sales Assistant: Well, in core terms going forward it means that this fridge features the provision of entirely free frost. Within weeks, your fridge will be replete with whopping great icebergs which – with the deft use of an ice pick – will enable you to have a lifetime of free ice for the spirits you will need to consume in order to remain sane in a world where nothing promised is in any meaningful sense delivered.
Google translate is rapidly turning into one of my favourite leisure activities. The Googlies translated a piece in Greek yesterday about the visit of Yanis Varoufakis to meet Christine Lagarde in Washington to as follows:
‘Mr Varoufakis will be keen to reassure Lagarde that he will give her a dose in due course”.
Oh how wonderfully just that would be. However, in Greek a dose is a payment. But you never know: stay tuned.