Archive for August, 2013

Who is the scrounger?

August 31, 2013

So, Eddie.
You were elected to lead.
Your country needs you.
It needs you to do something.
It needs you to stop poking your finger…:
So stop poking your pathetic, thin, spindly, middle-class finger across the polished wood of that polished place in parliament.
And DO something.
Remember – you are terribly privileged.
It needs you to raise a voice – your voice
Say something with your tiny, weak, overly-polite middle-class voice.
End your silence and speak.
Raise a point of order in order to raise your point.
Assert yourself.
Take an assertiveness courses – the tax-payer will pay.
The tax-payer pays your salary – yet you do nothing.
You claim benefits – are yours being cut?
Are you facing cuts to pay for the bankers ‘mistakes’ and fiddles?
Will your children go short?
Will they go hungry or eat sandwiches instead of a cooked meal?
Will they hell.
You, Ed Miliband are a Tory.
We need OLD Labour.
We need a statesman – and all we have is you…

Socialist Eddie..!

August 31, 2013

Sit on your fence, Eddie.
Stay seated in the comfortable position of inaction.
Stay silent in case you offend someone you don’t want to offend.
Remain silent lest you make a mark in history.
The only mark you make is a skid-mark in your Y-fronts.
But do not worry – for you are rich and getting richer.
Turn over the TV when the poor and needy appear.
Turn the page on reports of nasty things.
Inure yourself.
Get used to the Tory cruelty.
It isn’t in your world, for your world is ethereal and of politics….of ideas and perfection.
Your world isn’t my world my friend.
You are a friend who I detest – but on whom I rely to change my world.
A friend I need but a friend who needs to act.
To act instead of sitting on the fence.
I know it is a nice fence – a safe fence with no nasty sharp barbed-wire.
But a fence that is safe for whom?

Chav carers?

August 4, 2013

Are children just a status symbol now?

I remember back in the 60’s/70’s Tory MP’s berating Soviet mothers who returned to work and left their kids in nursery.
Now Tories want every mother to get their nose back on the middle-class grindstone ASAP.
Do they wonder who is employed at these nurseries?
They sure aren’t middle-class.
How long before the ‘working-class’ will be renamed the ‘servant-class’?
Just like the old days.
The people these greedy, luxury seeking two-working-parent family, EXPECT to take care of their spoilt children are probably from sturdy Chav stock.
Tamsine and Jocasta are being cared-for by – what the Tories are calling – the dregs of society.
But mummy and daddy have to get back to their non-jobs in the city to ensure the Caribbean Cruise and Sky TV and designer clothing and fast cars.
Someone else can save the Earth and look after their kids – they are too busy being greedy.
Working-class parents on the dole have kids to get Tax-credits.
I see them on the bus.
Father Scrounger sitting near a toddler and holding the handlebars of a luxury stroller.
Mommy Scrounger, pregnant with bulging stomach, sitting and holding the handlebars of another luxury stroller.
Three kids with another in the barrel.
£400 a week + their ordinary benefits.
Where is this guy going to find work that pays better?

New Royalty

August 4, 2013

[Half of the coalition.]
Neither of these words apply to the ‘party’ who display them on their banners.
Or do they use banners today?
Banners need somebody to carry them – somebody to do physical work….these filthy, obscene and corrupt politicians never get their hands dirty actually ‘doing’ something.
Politicians are the new Royalty – the new Emperors with designer clothes.
They delegate, or pass the blame.
They talk and procrastinate.
They get paid to discuss and decide – and tell someone else to do their dirty work.
This way they can believe they remain blameless.
If they find this difficult – they can always assign the guilt to one of their minions……………

coach stations

August 3, 2013

I had to stay in Victoria Coach Station one night.
I missed the National Express I’d booked from Luton Airport and had to travel another way round to Brum.
No coaches from Victoria until later in the early morning than I’d arrived.
All crammed inside one, tiny, metal seated room.
And it was bloody cold.
I hope it is more comfortable in Manchester Coach Station.
At least it is warmer in August – usually.