GUEST WRITER/NOT BORN YESTERDAY
Jereboam Klaxon -
Lateral thinker
If one thing is certain in this world beyond the reliability of temperature stasis in a 2.9 S-Class Mercedes air-conditioning system, it is this: the number of social workers required to slow everything down, get in the way and generally cock something up is never more than one. Take this ridiculous Nanny nonsense about helping hard-working families. I'll tell you what to do about hard-working families: leave them alone to carry on being hard-working. It's the idle Health & Safety-coddled drones we need to do something about. I hear numbers like four million of them being unemployed bandied about by the doomsayers. But what I don't hear anyone saying is that this is an opportunity, not a problem. We just need rather more creativity applied to the issue. For instance, what is our biggest problem as a nation today? I'll tell you in a word: exports. We built a world reputation for exporting financial expertise, but as that's now been shown to be on a par with our cat's grasp of sub-atomic physics, well - we'll just have to sell Johnny Foreigner something else. I've been giving the East-West imbalance some serious thought inbetween test-driving the new Masdafarti Bi-Polar twin-barbie 240 hoarse-chestnut and inventing a new no-hands absailing mobile phone, and I calculate that by 2022, approximately forty million Chinese will be rich enough to have servants. What greater status symbol could there be than to have old round-eyes in a position below stairs and speaking Chinese in a silly manner which confuses t's and f's or something? And which fang-woi idiots would be most likely to be a figure of fun? Exactly: the same forty million likely to be unemployed by the time Darling and his band of do-gooder twerps have finished reducing the Pound to a par value with the Andalucian groat. Unlike others of the hopelessly correct persuasion, I have no qualms at all about selling the idle Underclass into slavery. In fact my only fear at the minute is the possibility I may have underestimate the numbers involved. However, let even one social worker get involved, and within hours the whole scheme will have turned into a peat-bog of meetings, critical path analyses and intervention teams. Thus, after flogging this idea to the next Government, I'll be working on how best to market social workers to the Indians. If we export 25,000 a year to the sub-continent, within a decade it'll be the sob-continent - with its economy in tatters. Don't say I'm not patriotic, that's all. I simply do not understand all this tree-hugger drivel about the need to understand climate control. It's easy. Look on the dashboard, press the button marked cc or ac, and on it comes. Some people have to be told how to do everything.
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I don't know if you noticed, but last week another damn-fool researcher with nothing better to do than look around Ford showrooms for a bargain (there's no such thing, chum) asked a load of women for their favourite age: and being women, they said 'thirty two'. Not thirty one, not thirty three, but thirty two. Now you see, that's the thing with your girlies isn't it? There you are on that ladder, risking life and limb to apply the last bit to the Cistine ceiling, and you just know that a woman will say 'You've missed a bit'. At any rate - and the rate things are going it'll soon be time to hunker down behind a barricade and shoot anyone suspicious passing by one's domicile - my view is simple: as women have this irritating habit of spotting the tiniest error, it's time we put this narrow genius to greater effect than that of causing men to break their necks falling off ladders. No wonder Michelangelo was gay: it was the only way he could get the damn thing finished. My suggestionis one of elegant genius. As it is abundantly clear that not one single Sir Humphrey can draft any law without the whole world and its mother careering through it with a coach and four inside three weeks, heretofore and from now on women will be excused husband-watching duties and reassigned to the task of drafting laws where nobody anywhere ever again will be able to say 'you missed a bit'. Think of it as like Mao ordering surgeons to go and work in the paddy fields, only without the quid pro quo. There has to be something very - almost mysteriously - clever about having a newspaper website on which there isn't any news, as such. As I go about my daily business of explaining why not only could you not swing a cat in a Daihatsuey 1.3 hatchback, no self-respecting cat would wish to be swung therein, it's a given assumption with me that newspapers should be expected to carry news. But the Mirror's website doesn't. It would not come as any surprise to me if this eccentric policy was first enacted by that cissy idiot Piers Morgan. For athough he has since moved on to presenting Celebrity Frying Pan on South Miami Cable TV or something, the coward Morgan somehow managed to gain the helm of the Mirror some years back. I'm sure about this, because at the time we seemed to make a point of exchaning blows at every Fleet Street junket. Nevertheless, here again is a missed golden opportunity for a future Tory Government to come through unscathed no matter what its real level of crass incompetence. For all it will need to do is simply give its bad news to the Mirror: and they'll print it on Page 39, halfway down column five in ten point light italic.....after the other stuff about Satanic sluttery, people named after hotels and skinny Essex tarts unaccountably called Posh.
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