Ive given the matter a great deal of thought all week, and Im afraid
Ive decided that its no good putting Peter Mandelson in a prison. Im
afraid he will have to be tied to the front of a van and driven round
the country until he isnt alive any more. He announced last week that
middle-class children will simply not be allowed into the countrys top
universities even if they have 4,000 A-levels, because all the places
will be taken by Albanians and guillemots and whatever other stupid
bandwagon the conniving idiot has leapt
I hate Peter Mandelson. I hate his fondness for extremely pale blue
jeans and I hate that preposterous moustache he used to sport in the
days when he didnt bother trying to cover up his left-wing fanaticism.
I hate the way he quite literally lords it over us even though hes
resigned in disgrace twice, and now holds an important decision-making
job for which he was not elected. Mostly, though, I hate him because his
one-man war on the bright and the witty and the successful means that
half my friends now seem to be taking leave of their senses.
Theres talk of emigration in the air. Its everywhere I go. Parties.
Work. In the supermarket. My daughter is working herself half to death
to get good grades at GSCE and cant see the point because she wont be
going to university, because she doesnt have a beak or flippers or a
qualification in washing windscreens at the lights. She wonders, often,
why we dont live in America.
Then you have the chaps and chapesses who cant stand the constant raids
on their wallets and their privacy. They cant understand why they are
taxed at 50% on their income and then taxed again for driving into the
nations capital. They cant understand what happened to the hunt for
the weapons of mass destruction. They cant understand anything. They
see the Highway Wombles in those brand new 4x4s that they paid for, and
they see the M4 bus lane and they see the speed cameras and the
community support officers and they see the Albanians stealing their
wheelbarrows and nothing can be done because its racist.
And they see Alistair Darling handing over £4,350 of their money to not
sort out the banking crisis that he doesnt understand because hes a
small-town solicitor, and they see the stupid war on drugs and the war
on drink and the war on smoking and the war on hunting and the war on
fun and the war on scientists and the obsession with the climate and the
price of train fares soaring past £1,000 and the Guardian power-brokers
getting uppity about one shot baboon and not uppity at all about all the
dead soldiers in Afghanistan, and how they got rid of Blair only to find
the lying twerp is now going to come back even more powerful than ever,
and they think, Ive had enough of this. Im off.
Its a lovely idea, to get out of this stupid, Fairtrade, Brown-stained,
Mandelson-skewed, equal-opportunities, multicultural, carbon-neutral,
trendily left, regionally assembled, big-government, trilingual,
mosque-drenched, all-the-pigs-are-equal, property-is-theft hellhole and
set up shop somewhere else. But where?
You cant go to France because you need to complete 17 forms in
triplicate every time you want to build a greenhouse, and you cant go
to Switzerland because you will be reported to your neighbours by the
police and subsequently shot in the head if you dont sweep your lawn
properly, and you cant go to Italy because youll soon tire of waking
up in the morning to find a horses head in your bed because you forgot
to give a man called Don a bundle of used notes for organising a
plumber.
You cant go to Australia because its full of things that will eat you,
you cant go to New Zealand because they dont accept anyone who is more
than 40 and you cant go to Monte Carlo because they dont accept anyone
who has less than 40 mill. And you cant go to Spain because youre not
called Del and you werent involved in the Walthamstow blag. And you
cant go to Germany .. because you just cant.
The Caribbean sounds tempting, but there is no work, which means that
one day, whether you like it or not, youll end up like all the other
expats, with a nose like a burst beetroot, wondering if its okay to
have a small sharpener at 10 in the morning. And, as I keep explaining
to my daughter, we cant go to America because if you catch a cold over
there, the health system is designed in such a way that you end up
without a house. Or dead.
Canadas full of people pretending to be French, South Africas too
risky, Russias worse and everywhere else is too full of snow, too full
of flies or too full of people who want to cut your head off on the
internet. So you can dream all you like about upping sticks and moving
to a country that doesnt help itself to half of everything you earn and
then spend the money it gets on bus lanes and advertisements about the
dangers of salt. But wherever you go youll wind up an alcoholic or dead
or bored or in a cellar, in an orange jumpsuit, gently wetting yourself
on the web. All of these things are worse than being persecuted for
eating a sandwich at the wheel.
I see no reason to be miserable. Yes, Britain now is worse than its
been for decades, but the lunatics whove made it so ghastly are on
their way out. Soon, they will be back in Hackney with their South
African nuclear-free peace polenta. And instead the show will be run by
a bloke whose dad has a wallpaper shop and possibly, terrifyingly, a
twerp in Belgium whose fruitless game of hunt-the-WMD has netted him
£15m on the lecture circuit.
So actually I do see a reason to be miserable. Which is why I think its
a good idea to tie Peter Mandelson to a van. Such an act would be cruel
and barbaric and inhuman. But it would at least cheer everyone up a bit
in the meantime.
Ive decided that its no good putting Peter Mandelson in a prison. Im
afraid he will have to be tied to the front of a van and driven round
the country until he isnt alive any more. He announced last week that
middle-class children will simply not be allowed into the countrys top
universities even if they have 4,000 A-levels, because all the places
will be taken by Albanians and guillemots and whatever other stupid
bandwagon the conniving idiot has leapt
I hate Peter Mandelson. I hate his fondness for extremely pale blue
jeans and I hate that preposterous moustache he used to sport in the
days when he didnt bother trying to cover up his left-wing fanaticism.
I hate the way he quite literally lords it over us even though hes
resigned in disgrace twice, and now holds an important decision-making
job for which he was not elected. Mostly, though, I hate him because his
one-man war on the bright and the witty and the successful means that
half my friends now seem to be taking leave of their senses.
Theres talk of emigration in the air. Its everywhere I go. Parties.
Work. In the supermarket. My daughter is working herself half to death
to get good grades at GSCE and cant see the point because she wont be
going to university, because she doesnt have a beak or flippers or a
qualification in washing windscreens at the lights. She wonders, often,
why we dont live in America.
Then you have the chaps and chapesses who cant stand the constant raids
on their wallets and their privacy. They cant understand why they are
taxed at 50% on their income and then taxed again for driving into the
nations capital. They cant understand what happened to the hunt for
the weapons of mass destruction. They cant understand anything. They
see the Highway Wombles in those brand new 4x4s that they paid for, and
they see the M4 bus lane and they see the speed cameras and the
community support officers and they see the Albanians stealing their
wheelbarrows and nothing can be done because its racist.
And they see Alistair Darling handing over £4,350 of their money to not
sort out the banking crisis that he doesnt understand because hes a
small-town solicitor, and they see the stupid war on drugs and the war
on drink and the war on smoking and the war on hunting and the war on
fun and the war on scientists and the obsession with the climate and the
price of train fares soaring past £1,000 and the Guardian power-brokers
getting uppity about one shot baboon and not uppity at all about all the
dead soldiers in Afghanistan, and how they got rid of Blair only to find
the lying twerp is now going to come back even more powerful than ever,
and they think, Ive had enough of this. Im off.
Its a lovely idea, to get out of this stupid, Fairtrade, Brown-stained,
Mandelson-skewed, equal-opportunities, multicultural, carbon-neutral,
trendily left, regionally assembled, big-government, trilingual,
mosque-drenched, all-the-pigs-are-equal, property-is-theft hellhole and
set up shop somewhere else. But where?
You cant go to France because you need to complete 17 forms in
triplicate every time you want to build a greenhouse, and you cant go
to Switzerland because you will be reported to your neighbours by the
police and subsequently shot in the head if you dont sweep your lawn
properly, and you cant go to Italy because youll soon tire of waking
up in the morning to find a horses head in your bed because you forgot
to give a man called Don a bundle of used notes for organising a
plumber.
You cant go to Australia because its full of things that will eat you,
you cant go to New Zealand because they dont accept anyone who is more
than 40 and you cant go to Monte Carlo because they dont accept anyone
who has less than 40 mill. And you cant go to Spain because youre not
called Del and you werent involved in the Walthamstow blag. And you
cant go to Germany .. because you just cant.
The Caribbean sounds tempting, but there is no work, which means that
one day, whether you like it or not, youll end up like all the other
expats, with a nose like a burst beetroot, wondering if its okay to
have a small sharpener at 10 in the morning. And, as I keep explaining
to my daughter, we cant go to America because if you catch a cold over
there, the health system is designed in such a way that you end up
without a house. Or dead.
Canadas full of people pretending to be French, South Africas too
risky, Russias worse and everywhere else is too full of snow, too full
of flies or too full of people who want to cut your head off on the
internet. So you can dream all you like about upping sticks and moving
to a country that doesnt help itself to half of everything you earn and
then spend the money it gets on bus lanes and advertisements about the
dangers of salt. But wherever you go youll wind up an alcoholic or dead
or bored or in a cellar, in an orange jumpsuit, gently wetting yourself
on the web. All of these things are worse than being persecuted for
eating a sandwich at the wheel.
I see no reason to be miserable. Yes, Britain now is worse than its
been for decades, but the lunatics whove made it so ghastly are on
their way out. Soon, they will be back in Hackney with their South
African nuclear-free peace polenta. And instead the show will be run by
a bloke whose dad has a wallpaper shop and possibly, terrifyingly, a
twerp in Belgium whose fruitless game of hunt-the-WMD has netted him
£15m on the lecture circuit.
So actually I do see a reason to be miserable. Which is why I think its
a good idea to tie Peter Mandelson to a van. Such an act would be cruel
and barbaric and inhuman. But it would at least cheer everyone up a bit
in the meantime.
touched a few nerves there 
