Alan Coleman

Piety, you just couldn-t resist that slot on last nights 10 O’clock news could you?

A prime opportunity for some of that anal seepage style smug sincerity that has won you two elections and probably the next. The scripted rhetoric must have taken the duty spinmiester all of five minutes, probably over a mobile phone from a cottage in Oxfordshire – Open necked shirt, unshaven, the sundays.

“This country and the wider world will never forget them”.

Oh but they will won’t they Piety, by the time the election comes around you’ll be reaping the benefit of their forgotten lives whilst forging that all important place in History.

“This is the true face of the British Army: Brave, committed, professional the world over, doing an extraordinary job on behalf of their country”.

Words are cheap, because for you it’s all about getting a good deal for Piety. That’s why under your watch, as with the Tories, the British Army have continued to be grossly underpaid, overworked, badly funded, poorly equipped and generally humiliated on the world stage.

So while you pander and creep round the Met and the precious middle classes like the sycophant that you are, others are realising the sharp end of you flawed endeavours.

I hope that one day it turns around and bites you on the arse.

Today saw the commemoration of the 60th anniversary of the Liberation of Auschwitz. Lets think about what that means, the sheer scale that is six million people, the death, the terror, the hate.

For all the wrong reasons the Holocaust is without doubt the most significant event of the last century, and like most people I find it difficult to put how I feel into words. We all agree, as Europeans, that it must be remembered and that a formal ceremony is probably the most appropriate way of achieving that.

So who do we send to represent the United Kingdom? Prince Edward. A pathetic, weedy individual whose family epitomises everything that is ugly about the way we are today.

Literally.

How typically royal, using a ceremony that involves war and suffering as a justification for their existence whilst latching onto the solemnity of the occasion to demonstrate their decency.

We really couldn’t have picked a worse ambassador for our county.

How embarrassing.

We spent last week skiing in both sunshine and snow in the fantastic Alpine resort of Soll, in Austria. Although Mandy and myself travelled alone we met Stuart, Mark and Sarah on the first night at what the Airtours reps described as, “A world famous Bar for complete nutters!”.

Exactly, simply a snowy version of the worst sports bar on the Mediterranean, complete with all the maddest travel rep one liners and crazy games.

Anyway, “Spot on” Stuart was doing a great job of learning to board which looks incredibly frustrating at the best of times. Mark had been boarding before and Sarah was obviously a good skier and quickly converted Mandy to Snowblades.

Having people to ski with made all the difference, both in terms of ideas about where to go, what to do when lost in a blizzard and company for lunches and Apre ski. It also meant that Mand didn’t have to spend too much time talking to me, a bit of welcome respite for her.The evenings were spent in the local bars drinking Jagertee, taking the piss out of each other and playing cards, fantastic. This where we met Neil and Wendy, a funny and genuinely likeable couple who also skied with us.

I’m afraid to say that none of us ventured back to the ‘Crazy’ Whiskey Mule Bar, the radical nature of the extreme sports dudes that hang out in those places was just too way out on the edge of a half pipe. Besides that, the inane nature of the relentless Euro Pop made my ears bleed and was testing enough on the piste, let alone off it.

This was by far one of the best holidays we’ve had, and just like when we went to India, was made by the genuine nature of the funny and warm people we met.

Cheers guys, you know who you are!

Let’s get this straight: Mark Thatcher has admitted bankrolling mercenaries involved with a plot to overthrow the government in Equatorial Guinea – but thought the money was going to be used to buy an air ambulance.

Funnily enough, I don’t believe him.

Anyone who knows the slightest thing about the Thatcher family will tell you that they are driven by a single factor – money.

It’s what they do, greed and the extremities of capitalism is their thing. The insatiable appetite for cash and power is passed down through the generations from parent to spouse, like racism or abuse.

Marks mother Margaret pioneered the controversial economic reforms that plunged this country into a chaos from which were are still reeling. Her deregulation of the financial markets may have sounded promising, and for some it did provide the opportunity to make vast sums of cash. However she treated the mass unemployment, civil unrest and economic instability as necessary collateral to Thatcherism.

Marks father Dennis was a businessman involved in the oil industry, the malevolent nature of his exploitative business ventures was surpassed only by his ultra right wing politics and racist views. Incidentally both of Marks parents refused to stand up to or condemn apartheid, which I think says it all.

So given his parentage and business record as an arms dealer, the air ambulance excuse lays bare his blatant contempt for law, justice and basic morality. Especially when considering the mercenaries involved and the potential oil reserves at stake.

I hoped that the Widow would die knowing that her son was in prison because of the selfish ideals that she passed down to him, but as with most things in life – money talks.

The mere sight of him or any member of his family makes me want to be physically sick.

I was watching the news last night and was particularly interested in the story about the flooding in Cumbria. Within seconds of the footage starting I’m in a seething rage as I spot some smartarse in a canoe.

There’s always one isn’t there?

He’s probably not even local to the flooding, just saw it on the news and thought, “I know, I’ll strap the canoe to the functional roof rack on my Volvo, drive down there and paddle around in front of the TV cameras like the grinning twat that I am”.

If ever there was any flooding in Peckham or Nunhead I would patrol the streets like a vigilante. Knee high in water, meter long lump of 4 x 2 in hand, simply waiting for some smug Rupert to come paddling down from somewhere like East Dulwich. That would be it, like a man possessed – BOFF!! BOFF!! Whilst screaming, “YOU SEE WHAT HAPPENS!! WHERE’S THE YUCKING CANOE NOW GILES?! EH!!”