His real name is Alexander Boris de Pfeffel Johnson.
I call him de Piffle.
Piffle is a word my paternal grandmother used, meaning rubbish or nonsense.
I have not heard it used in decades, pretty much since she died, to be honest.
Instead of the word "friends" she used the word chummies.
Edith Mercy Knights, for that was her birth name, was born in Warninglid, West Sussex in November 1900, just after Queen Victoria had died, so wasn't an actual Victorian.
She died of bronchitis brought on by bed sores caused by poor care in a care home. She had a sharp mind to the end, as her body fell apart.
In her lifetime she saw two world wars, intoroduction of motorcars, man learning to fly and then fly to the moon.
And to see her only son, my Father, die before her.
Sunday, 23 October 2022
As Oscar would say....
The only thening worse than being talked about is not being talked about.
After doing nothing, well, for years, the possibility of regaining the post of leader of the Conservative Party, Alexander Boris de Piffle Johnson, cut shoot his holiday (taken when the Commons is sitting and in the middle of a crisis) in the Dominican Republic to fly back portrayed by his friends as the conquering hero.
Same frineds have claimed over 100 MPs have gven Johnson their support, though only just over half have gone public with said report.
How quickly the chaos of Truss, and the impending cost of living are forgotten by the media with the possibility of the return of Johnson. Which might have been the point.
He's good copy.
Even if he would be terrible as PM.
Bad for the country.
And very well might destroy the Conservative Party at the same time. Which might not be a totally bad thing, of course.
Some journalists and other MPs, some friends, have pointed out, rightly, thatJohnson's last stint at PM ended rather badly, quite recently, and just maybe the country might not be too happy with that situation.
That he's even a possibility shows how disfunctional the current Conservative Party is, that it sees nothing wrong, mostly, in returning to the guy they drummed out of office only in July this year.
After doing nothing, well, for years, the possibility of regaining the post of leader of the Conservative Party, Alexander Boris de Piffle Johnson, cut shoot his holiday (taken when the Commons is sitting and in the middle of a crisis) in the Dominican Republic to fly back portrayed by his friends as the conquering hero.
Same frineds have claimed over 100 MPs have gven Johnson their support, though only just over half have gone public with said report.
How quickly the chaos of Truss, and the impending cost of living are forgotten by the media with the possibility of the return of Johnson. Which might have been the point.
He's good copy.
Even if he would be terrible as PM.
Bad for the country.
And very well might destroy the Conservative Party at the same time. Which might not be a totally bad thing, of course.
Some journalists and other MPs, some friends, have pointed out, rightly, thatJohnson's last stint at PM ended rather badly, quite recently, and just maybe the country might not be too happy with that situation.
That he's even a possibility shows how disfunctional the current Conservative Party is, that it sees nothing wrong, mostly, in returning to the guy they drummed out of office only in July this year.
Saturday, 22 October 2022
Friday 21st October 2022
Just over a week until the clocks go back, and winter will be here. Dark by five, but light in the mornings, at least for a while.
I had put out the moth trap the night before, and once it was light and I had put out the bins, I went to check, and found another half dozen Feathered Ranunculus looking almost good enough to be the Merveille du Jours I had been hoping for.
As it is now so dark in the mornings, we slept to half six, meaning I had just 15 minutes before work started to wake my brain from its ongoing slumber.
Work is quiet, just chasing up auditors for their agendas and travel plans, and calming nerves of auditees.
Such is life.
I was contacted by a colleague earlier in the week, did I want to meet up to discuss plans for audits and wider issues in Broadstairs, over beers?
Silly question.
So, a plan was set, Jools would drive us to Broadstairs, and while Pete and I talked about work, music and football, she would go for a walk, then take us back home to Whitfield and have the last evening's cards before Jen flies to Oz on Monday.
As it happened, Jools got a puncture on the way to work, and the hole too near the rim to fix, so a new tyre was needed, meaning she would be late home. Would I wait or go by train.
I would go by train.
However, I was nervous. Country roads in east Kent are narrow and have no pavement for pedestrians, and the chalk banks make getting out of the way impossible. The dwnward slope of Station Road to Deal Road is buy, narrow and dangerous. I had promise myself I would not do this again.
But here we are. I work though the morning, defrost some leftover gumbo for lunch, and cook a handful of pasta to go with it. The fierceness of the sauce had not cooled after several months in the fridge. I eat most of it, clear up, and after checking mails for one last time, I lot off and pack work away.
And so, to the walk to the station.
There is huffing and puffing up the hill to the top of the down, I pause to take in the scene of views from Ramsgate to the north and round to Cailais in the east, just visible over the rolling downs leading to the coast.
I take a deep breath and go down the other side by the side of the road, stopping when cars come the other way. Most cars slow down, most pass by leaving much space for me to be safe. Others do not, I am thinking of you Audi Q4 lady, whoch barely passed by without hitting me with wing mirrors.
I reach the Deal road, and its quiet so run over it, and down the other half of Station Road, past the surgery, to the actual station, getting there with 15 minutes to spare. I buy a ticket and walk under the tracks via the foot tunnel to the northbound platforms and wait me two other passengers for the train to Ramsgate.
5 minutes late, the Javelin comes in, lots of seats, so I get one beside a window, and watch as we glide through the countryside to Walmer, Deal and Sandwich. From there it is past the Roman fort at Richborough, and across the marshed past the shell of the old power station, over the east bound site of the triangle at Minster, and into Ramsgate.
A five minute wait for the connecting train to Broadstairs, other passengers mill about until the train pulls in. Again, plenty of seats, so I take a seat and look for evidence of the tunnel entrance to the old Beach Station, but encroaching scrub pretty much hides it from view.
Into Broadstairs, and a short walk down to the street, under the bridge and down the street to Mind the Gap, a railway themed micropub where Pete was waiting. He buys me a pint of plumb porter, and we sit down to chat and discuss issues we see at work.
We walk to another pub, The Royston, where there is more customers, and a family playing board games, all making for a great atmosphere. I have a pint of coffee milk stout, very nice, and we talk more. Much more.
A couple come to sit with us, and we talk about music, the guy tells us he saw The Beatles play in Margate at the Winter Gardens in 1963. His eyes sparkled at the memory of it as he told us about it.
Jools arrived, she has a cider before its time for us to go.
Back to Dover in twilight, through the shopping and urban sprawl of Westwood Cross, before taking the road to Sandwich and then to Whitfield.
Supper was waiting, battered fish bites and chips, which we all make vanish.
And then to cards, where I win at Meld, while we drink more wine. Wine on top of beer for me.
And so, at nine, Jools drives us back home, ready for the weekend now.
Back home, I sleep well.
I had put out the moth trap the night before, and once it was light and I had put out the bins, I went to check, and found another half dozen Feathered Ranunculus looking almost good enough to be the Merveille du Jours I had been hoping for.
As it is now so dark in the mornings, we slept to half six, meaning I had just 15 minutes before work started to wake my brain from its ongoing slumber.
Work is quiet, just chasing up auditors for their agendas and travel plans, and calming nerves of auditees.
Such is life.
I was contacted by a colleague earlier in the week, did I want to meet up to discuss plans for audits and wider issues in Broadstairs, over beers?
Silly question.
So, a plan was set, Jools would drive us to Broadstairs, and while Pete and I talked about work, music and football, she would go for a walk, then take us back home to Whitfield and have the last evening's cards before Jen flies to Oz on Monday.
As it happened, Jools got a puncture on the way to work, and the hole too near the rim to fix, so a new tyre was needed, meaning she would be late home. Would I wait or go by train.
I would go by train.
However, I was nervous. Country roads in east Kent are narrow and have no pavement for pedestrians, and the chalk banks make getting out of the way impossible. The dwnward slope of Station Road to Deal Road is buy, narrow and dangerous. I had promise myself I would not do this again.
But here we are. I work though the morning, defrost some leftover gumbo for lunch, and cook a handful of pasta to go with it. The fierceness of the sauce had not cooled after several months in the fridge. I eat most of it, clear up, and after checking mails for one last time, I lot off and pack work away.
And so, to the walk to the station.
There is huffing and puffing up the hill to the top of the down, I pause to take in the scene of views from Ramsgate to the north and round to Cailais in the east, just visible over the rolling downs leading to the coast.
I take a deep breath and go down the other side by the side of the road, stopping when cars come the other way. Most cars slow down, most pass by leaving much space for me to be safe. Others do not, I am thinking of you Audi Q4 lady, whoch barely passed by without hitting me with wing mirrors.I reach the Deal road, and its quiet so run over it, and down the other half of Station Road, past the surgery, to the actual station, getting there with 15 minutes to spare. I buy a ticket and walk under the tracks via the foot tunnel to the northbound platforms and wait me two other passengers for the train to Ramsgate.
5 minutes late, the Javelin comes in, lots of seats, so I get one beside a window, and watch as we glide through the countryside to Walmer, Deal and Sandwich. From there it is past the Roman fort at Richborough, and across the marshed past the shell of the old power station, over the east bound site of the triangle at Minster, and into Ramsgate.
A five minute wait for the connecting train to Broadstairs, other passengers mill about until the train pulls in. Again, plenty of seats, so I take a seat and look for evidence of the tunnel entrance to the old Beach Station, but encroaching scrub pretty much hides it from view.
Into Broadstairs, and a short walk down to the street, under the bridge and down the street to Mind the Gap, a railway themed micropub where Pete was waiting. He buys me a pint of plumb porter, and we sit down to chat and discuss issues we see at work.We walk to another pub, The Royston, where there is more customers, and a family playing board games, all making for a great atmosphere. I have a pint of coffee milk stout, very nice, and we talk more. Much more.
A couple come to sit with us, and we talk about music, the guy tells us he saw The Beatles play in Margate at the Winter Gardens in 1963. His eyes sparkled at the memory of it as he told us about it.Jools arrived, she has a cider before its time for us to go.
Back to Dover in twilight, through the shopping and urban sprawl of Westwood Cross, before taking the road to Sandwich and then to Whitfield.
Supper was waiting, battered fish bites and chips, which we all make vanish.
And then to cards, where I win at Meld, while we drink more wine. Wine on top of beer for me.
And so, at nine, Jools drives us back home, ready for the weekend now.
Back home, I sleep well.
Friday, 21 October 2022
Thursday 20th October 2022
Thursday, if anything, was duller than Wednesday, in that there was no cooker to clean. Though it did dirty it up some later by frying some venison and cranberry sausages.
Sausages.
Other than that, the day was quiet, no meetings, few mails and no calls.
And no disaster either. Which was nice.
Rain first thing. Quite heavy rain meant cats came in damp, or damper, and stayed in.
The sun came out later, and after some messing about watching videos, I went out to clear the path of grass, as seeds falling out of the bird feeder are feeding the grass nearby. Even worse than that are the sparrows, who can only eat bits of peanuts, sit in the bush pulling out nuts that are too big until they find one they like. There is quite a mound of peanuts growing.
Chaos in Westminster, clearly, held most of my attention, especially once a statement was announced for half one.
I see a few shots of Merveille du Jours moths being trapped, and after Hawk Moths, this was the species I wanted to see and photograph thus making me buy the trap last year.
Chorizo has for dinner, though made with the sausages I said I fried, which had a fine sweetness and made eating it very nice indeed. I had a tripel to wash it down, which went very nice too.
Just before bedtime, Jools asked if there was storms forecast. I checked and there wasn't, but storms over norther France were lighting up the clouds, easily visible from the back door.
I set the moth trap, and went to bed, dreaming of exotic flying beasts.
Sausages.
Other than that, the day was quiet, no meetings, few mails and no calls.
And no disaster either. Which was nice.
Rain first thing. Quite heavy rain meant cats came in damp, or damper, and stayed in.
The sun came out later, and after some messing about watching videos, I went out to clear the path of grass, as seeds falling out of the bird feeder are feeding the grass nearby. Even worse than that are the sparrows, who can only eat bits of peanuts, sit in the bush pulling out nuts that are too big until they find one they like. There is quite a mound of peanuts growing.Chaos in Westminster, clearly, held most of my attention, especially once a statement was announced for half one.
I see a few shots of Merveille du Jours moths being trapped, and after Hawk Moths, this was the species I wanted to see and photograph thus making me buy the trap last year.
Chorizo has for dinner, though made with the sausages I said I fried, which had a fine sweetness and made eating it very nice indeed. I had a tripel to wash it down, which went very nice too.
Just before bedtime, Jools asked if there was storms forecast. I checked and there wasn't, but storms over norther France were lighting up the clouds, easily visible from the back door.
I set the moth trap, and went to bed, dreaming of exotic flying beasts.
Let the madness begin. Again.
"If nothing else works, a total pig-headed unwillingness to look facts in the face will see us through." Gen. Sir Anthony Cecil Hogmanay Melchett. (Blackadder Goes Forth).
In much the same way, the Conservative Party is about to restart the same process that made Truss PM. And this time expecting to get a better result.
And rather take time to decide what they want in a leader, this time they're going to do it at speed.
Breakneck speed.
With a vote on Monday and vote from members with a winner declred next Friday, 28th October. Three days before the (current) Chancellor revelas his fiscal statement/budget/budgie whatever Hunt is calling it.
Add into the mix that one of the two frontrunners is on Alexander Boris de Piffel Johnson, who is said (by his friends in the media) returning home from holiday.
Yes, you read that right.
A possible outcome is that Johnson is relected as PM.
The Conservative Party is currently polling at 14%, just 3% ahead of the LibDems, and Johnson of returning will see those numbers falling further.
But what would be good for the country?
That is the question no one in the Conservative Party ever asks. Only what would be better to get themselves relected when the election comes.
In much the same way, the Conservative Party is about to restart the same process that made Truss PM. And this time expecting to get a better result.
And rather take time to decide what they want in a leader, this time they're going to do it at speed.
Breakneck speed.
With a vote on Monday and vote from members with a winner declred next Friday, 28th October. Three days before the (current) Chancellor revelas his fiscal statement/budget/budgie whatever Hunt is calling it.
Add into the mix that one of the two frontrunners is on Alexander Boris de Piffel Johnson, who is said (by his friends in the media) returning home from holiday.
Yes, you read that right.
A possible outcome is that Johnson is relected as PM.
The Conservative Party is currently polling at 14%, just 3% ahead of the LibDems, and Johnson of returning will see those numbers falling further.
But what would be good for the country?
That is the question no one in the Conservative Party ever asks. Only what would be better to get themselves relected when the election comes.
Thursday, 20 October 2022
The end game
The Conservative and Union Party has been in power since May 2010. That's 12 and a half years.
The first five years, they were in coalition with the LibDems, who, though we didn't know it at the time, curbed the Tory's more extreme behaviour, but since 2015, the Tories have been in charge.
It's worth remembering, that the 2010 NHS satisfaction survey had the highest ratings ever. Since then, spending in it and staff has been cut and slashed. Fat trimmed and thrown away, so when a real emergency came, there was no bandwidth to deal with it, unless it was by people working sill long hours with little or no PPE.
Then came Brexit, and although we were told we could have our cake and eat it. That was a lie.
As was that we could increase trade by putting up barriers to trade.
Simple lies sounded too good to be true, and were, but people believed the lies.
That we could have a better deal out of the Eu than actual member states. And when Johnson came to power, that his WA complete with NIP would mean no regulatory border in the Irish Sea, though this is what its chapters and schedules set out in great details, as international treaties do.
Johnson denied the border in the Irish Sea, but denying something over and over doesn't make it go away.
And unlike cakeism, there are consequences to pay. And this meant for Johnson the fact that he had split the UK single market, because NI remained in the EU's for some goods.
With political Brexit in Janauary 2020, Brexit and reality shared the same universe, and reality always wins.
Then came COVID, and listening to Johnson and his Government you would believe he and his Government deserved huge credit for saving hundreds of thousands from infection and death. When the relaity was that data was twisted, advice ignored, and actions taken that condemmed tens of thousands of people to early deaths.
Johnson then lead the nation in clapping for the NHS and critical workers, the ones he and Truss now lable as militant for wanting a wage increase to match the inflation the two of them have caused.
Meanwhile, Johnson oversaw mass flouting of lockdown laws and guidance, denied it happened, then said all guidance had been followed, then he didn't know about them, then didn't know a party was a party, then turned out he arranged parties. He was chased out after ignoring allegations against a whip, this resulted in most of his Cabinet resigning before he himself resigned.
44 days after becoming leader and PM, Liz Truss today also resigned.
It is possible that Johnson might be relected by Tory MPs.
Neither he or Truss in their resignation speeches accepted any blame for the chaos caused, the lives lost and public money spent.
Johnson becoming PM again might terminally split the Conservative Party in two, or cause riots in the streets. Or both.
The contempt he and the Conservative Party have shown the country and its people is breathtaking.
The first five years, they were in coalition with the LibDems, who, though we didn't know it at the time, curbed the Tory's more extreme behaviour, but since 2015, the Tories have been in charge.
It's worth remembering, that the 2010 NHS satisfaction survey had the highest ratings ever. Since then, spending in it and staff has been cut and slashed. Fat trimmed and thrown away, so when a real emergency came, there was no bandwidth to deal with it, unless it was by people working sill long hours with little or no PPE.
Then came Brexit, and although we were told we could have our cake and eat it. That was a lie.
As was that we could increase trade by putting up barriers to trade.
Simple lies sounded too good to be true, and were, but people believed the lies.
That we could have a better deal out of the Eu than actual member states. And when Johnson came to power, that his WA complete with NIP would mean no regulatory border in the Irish Sea, though this is what its chapters and schedules set out in great details, as international treaties do.
Johnson denied the border in the Irish Sea, but denying something over and over doesn't make it go away.
And unlike cakeism, there are consequences to pay. And this meant for Johnson the fact that he had split the UK single market, because NI remained in the EU's for some goods.
With political Brexit in Janauary 2020, Brexit and reality shared the same universe, and reality always wins.
Then came COVID, and listening to Johnson and his Government you would believe he and his Government deserved huge credit for saving hundreds of thousands from infection and death. When the relaity was that data was twisted, advice ignored, and actions taken that condemmed tens of thousands of people to early deaths.
Johnson then lead the nation in clapping for the NHS and critical workers, the ones he and Truss now lable as militant for wanting a wage increase to match the inflation the two of them have caused.
Meanwhile, Johnson oversaw mass flouting of lockdown laws and guidance, denied it happened, then said all guidance had been followed, then he didn't know about them, then didn't know a party was a party, then turned out he arranged parties. He was chased out after ignoring allegations against a whip, this resulted in most of his Cabinet resigning before he himself resigned.
44 days after becoming leader and PM, Liz Truss today also resigned.
It is possible that Johnson might be relected by Tory MPs.
Neither he or Truss in their resignation speeches accepted any blame for the chaos caused, the lives lost and public money spent.
Johnson becoming PM again might terminally split the Conservative Party in two, or cause riots in the streets. Or both.
The contempt he and the Conservative Party have shown the country and its people is breathtaking.
Wednesday 19th October 2022
Hump day.
My I don't give a toss day.
Sorry, that's every day.
Jools and I slept until six, her cough a little better. Still not well enough for swimming or yoga on Friday. But a little better. And although taking "non-drowsy" syrup, she took ages to go to sleep the night before, so took some getting going this morning.
Not much really to tell of the day. Pretty much the same as every working day to be honest.
I set the office up, check mails and get on with answering urgent stuff, then sit down to deal with outstanding issues. And have the radio on.
If I'm honest, politics took my focus, with PMQs at lunchtime, then the stuff surrounding the fracking cote in the evening, and then there was football to listen to.
Inbetween, time for breakfast, lunch, stopping for brews and the usual stuff.
Scully brougt in a tiny mouse, and she and I had a fair old time chasing it round the living room. I did catch the wee thing, but no option than to drop it into bushes and hope it found its way back to the nest.
Other than that, I clean the stove, the hob anyway. Amazing how little cooking creates so much mess. But in about and hour, it looks excellent, just so I could dirty it up again.
Which I do by making chicken cordon bleu, sliced and stuffed, then breadcrumbed by my own fair hands. Much better than store bought ones, but much messier. There' boiled corn and soyed noodles to go with them, and we both declare dinner a winner.
Football in the evening, though focus was on the chaos in Westminster, and at the end with Government falling apart, I pour a slug of the 1963 vintage port, and laugh like a drain.
My I don't give a toss day.
Sorry, that's every day.
Jools and I slept until six, her cough a little better. Still not well enough for swimming or yoga on Friday. But a little better. And although taking "non-drowsy" syrup, she took ages to go to sleep the night before, so took some getting going this morning.
Not much really to tell of the day. Pretty much the same as every working day to be honest.I set the office up, check mails and get on with answering urgent stuff, then sit down to deal with outstanding issues. And have the radio on.
If I'm honest, politics took my focus, with PMQs at lunchtime, then the stuff surrounding the fracking cote in the evening, and then there was football to listen to.
Inbetween, time for breakfast, lunch, stopping for brews and the usual stuff.
Scully brougt in a tiny mouse, and she and I had a fair old time chasing it round the living room. I did catch the wee thing, but no option than to drop it into bushes and hope it found its way back to the nest.
Other than that, I clean the stove, the hob anyway. Amazing how little cooking creates so much mess. But in about and hour, it looks excellent, just so I could dirty it up again.
Which I do by making chicken cordon bleu, sliced and stuffed, then breadcrumbed by my own fair hands. Much better than store bought ones, but much messier. There' boiled corn and soyed noodles to go with them, and we both declare dinner a winner.
Football in the evening, though focus was on the chaos in Westminster, and at the end with Government falling apart, I pour a slug of the 1963 vintage port, and laugh like a drain.
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