Alan Coleman

The humiliating treatment handed out to Iraqi prisoners of war by a handful of British soldiers last year was, and still is, a shameful disgrace.

There are no two ways to look at the final result, it’s embarrassing and potentially dangerous for both Great Britain and the British Army. That’s even before we even get to the subject of the poor victims involved, who are little more than common thieves in their own country.

Breakfast TV wheeled out an ex Colonel this morning to hear what he had to say on the subject, the results where the usual political rhetoric of a few bad apples ect. He did however suggest that any task involving humans will ultimately contain an element of failure. The margin for error increases exponentially as the amount of individuals involved with a project increases. He is right of course. A certain amount of mistakes must be expected when we dabble in abnormal operations, on a tight budget, in foreign parts.

And ultimately, what did we really expect? We have a history of treating the Army in a dreadful manner; they have always been underpaid, badly equipped and overstretched in policing dubious politics of the powerful and greedy. They have been performing peacekeeping duties at home and abroad 365 days a year since the WW2, often 12 on 12 off for months on end with no overtime or thanks.

It comes down to this: The Guardian, The Independent and all the rest of those shitty newspapers, with their over educated witty columnists, are more than happy to ignore the underclass while they carry out our filthiest work for next to nothing. It’s only when it goes wrong, which it inevitably will, that they start to sneer and criticize from the safety of a warm office.

It’s not the Army’s fault, we’re all to blame.

I’ve always had a lot of respect for Julie Burchill. Her uncompromising opinions, stinging criticisms and fantastic use of the English language make for exiting and funny reading.

I stopped reading the Guardian when she stopped writing for it, her hilarious critique of the middle classes seemed like the only thing keeping the paper in check. Since leaving they seemed to have breathed a sigh of relief, given up with free thinking and embraced the tedium that is that particular brand of bedwetting liberality.

I liked her articles sticking up for young people, those that are ignored and the working classes. She was the first to lay into New Labour and dismiss them as little more than an extension of self serving conservatism, and most importantly she did it with humour too. In short, her way of writing has helped me shape the resident lunacy into a more coherent and useful anger.

She’s always had an understandable dislike of the chattering classes, so it came as no surprise when she emerged as the champion of Chav culture. I don’t doubt her honest background or genuine affection for the disaffected, but the thing is, as much as she’d like to be Julie is definitely not a Chav. Chavs simply don’t do the huge house in Hove, six figure salary, interviews in the Independent and column in The Times.

That’s just not the way it works.

Dave Fulton from the US was a high point in the line up at the Comedy Store in Leicester Square last night. His genuinely funny views on London living, the British and the Bush administration had everyone in complete stitches.

A very politically correct Scottish woman the audience took exception to his mocking Condi Rice by calling him a, “Fucking Racist”, a charge that obviously annoyed him and which he comfortably shot down in flames. The drunken, right on, heckling continued throughout the evening until she was removed from the venue by security. To make matters worse on the way out the last comedian ridiculed her whilst the audience rolled around laughing.

She’s probably writing a letter of outrage to the Guardian as we speak.

The last comedian mentioned above was a proper Essex Geezer named Terry Alderton, who did an unbelievable act that included comparing the mannerisms of Essex blokes to 80s body poppers. It was funny, you just had to be there.

He reminded me of something that I’ve been thinking about over the past few years, that Essex is a proper county. Up there with other proper counties like Kent, Yorkshire and Devon.

These places are renowned for the nature of the people that live there, and the part that the combination of place and people has played in the popular culture of modern Britain.

Crap counties include Berkshire and worcestershire . What? Where?

Berkshire has got Bracknell and homes for the Royal family, Essex has Canvey Island, fake tan and boyracers.

And that’s just the way it is.

Okay, so it’s Valentines Day.

The tabloids brim with pictures of blonde models in red underwear, holding roses in their mouths. The shops are full of people pushing and shoving their way to the till (Push pigs), clutching some crap for their partners to litter their homes with.

The BBC are scheduling a program about the greatest all time love songs, starring Phil Collins and hosted by non other than the grandmas favourite Ronan Keating (I rather spend the evening punching myself in the face, or maybe even spend some quality time in the toilet after FC on a Saturday morning).

I pushed my way to the till and brought Mandy a CD. She brought me some Oysters, which I’ve never had before but am pleased to report are delicious.

I was utterly amazed on waking to the news this morning that people had spent hours queuing outside the new Ikea in Edmonton for the opening at midnight, not only that, but six of them where actually taken to hospital with heat exhaustion and crush injuries!

Are people really willing to subject themselves to this in an attempt to get hold of a cheap chair for the study? It would appear so. I’ve never been to Ikea so I don’t really know what all the fuss is about, but the stories I hear are enough to put me off forever. The push pigs in the 4×4 park, the arrows on the floor directing hoards of gormless consumers from coffee tables to magazine racks. Surely the furniture can’t be that good?

This debacle serves as a damming indictment of our selfish consumerist society in the 21st century. So desperate are we to fill our homes with what is essentially shit, that we’re prepared to abandon our cars on the North Circular and literally fight it out in the early hours of the morning. If it wasn’t so sad it’d be hilarious!

Take a look in the mirror and ask yourself what we’re turning into.