God knows how Carty and Brown will repent

Every detail of the murder of Tom ap Rhys Pryce seemed calculated to provoke my middle-class anger. With every word, I could feel my heart turning into a bubbling, lid-flipping cauldron of fury, and when I looked at the faces of his killers -- Carty and Brown -- I felt something I have hardly ever felt in my life. I simply wanted them to pay. I thought how hard the 32-year-old Cambridge graduate had worked, how happy he was that he was going back to see his fiancée. I thought how she had been due to try on her wedding dress, and of the wedding plans strewn around his corpse. I thought what a nice chap he sounded, and how brave he had been to fight back with his bare hands in those last dark moments in Kensal Green; and then I thought of Carty and Brown, and how they had stabbed him and kept stabbing him in the head and the arms and the torso, even though he had already given them everything they wanted, which turned out to be nothing but a mobile phone and an Oyster card; and I thought how they composed moronic rap songs about killing and stabbing, and then I looked again at their blank, expressionless, remorseless faces and I am ashamed to say I was overcome with hatred. Continue reading God knows how Carty and Brown will repent

Polly Toynbee

Toynbee.jpg by Boris Johnson in The Daily Telegraph
In so far as New Labour has a fairy godmother, Polly is the girl It is easy to make fun of Polly Toynbee. It is easy to convict her of hypocrisy; but she genuinely knows and cares about the bottom 20 per cent ...(she) has made herself an authority on the evils of Gordon Brown's high taxes on low earners
Polly Toynbee the Tory guru: that's barking. Or maybe not Nah, I said to myself. You have got to be kidding me. I squinted again at the Guardian headline on the mat, and felt all funny. Someone, I whispered, is pulling my leg. You all know of course that I am a voortrekker of the Cameron movement. You realise, I hope, that I positively breathe the spirit of the solar-powered, bike-riding, glacier-friendly modernising tendency of which I am proud to be a part. But when I saw yesterday's Guardian, I almost swooned. A new ideological guru had been found for the Tory party, smirked the paper in triumph - and it was Polly Toynbee! The author of the new position paper was none other than my brilliant friend Greg Clark, MP for Tunbridge Wells, with whom I found myself recently in total agreement at the Tory conference. Continue reading Polly Toynbee

John Reid’s Agenda

Home%20Sec.jpg Reid's as hard as jelly, or he'd challenge Brown to a scrap Come on then, Reid, you big girl's blouse. Come on and show us what you've got. Get out of that BBC studio and do something really brave, for a change. I don't know about you, but I am getting a bit fed up of hearing the Home Secretary telling us how tough he is. According to his own propaganda, Dr John Reid is the kind of guy who would knock you down for looking at his girl the wrong way in the pub. He acts like a man with "love" tattooed on a bicep and a steel plate in his head, and a pitbull that runs up and sniffs you very meaningfully indeed. I imagine that when people meet him after closing time on a pavement in Glasgee, they look at his working jaw and his mad ice-blue eyes, and they think yikes. And that is what they are supposed to think. In a Labour Party increasingly dominated by superannuated lecturers and wonks and Milibands, Reid still exudes something of the smell of spilt beer. He sounds tough, acts tough, looks tough. But as to whether he really is tough, my friends, I am afraid he makes overcooked tagliatelle look positively rigid. Every day we hear of some new ferocious Reid-inspired "crackdown". He's not just going to fine noisy neighbours; he's not just going to give them Asbos. Tough-guy Reid is going to kick them out of their homes! Continue reading John Reid’s Agenda

Paedophile Plague

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To all those who worry about the paedophile plague ....they fail to understand the terrible damage that is done by this system of presuming guilt in the entire male population just because of the tendencies of a tiny minority ... the problem is the general collapse of trust. Almost every human relationship that was sensibly regulated by trust is now governed by law, with cripplingly expensive consequences
Come off it, folks: how many paedophiles can there be? Really? I said, not quite able to believe my luck. There we were, waiting for take-off, and I had just been having a quick zizz. It was a long flight ahead, all the way to India, and I had two children on my left. Already they were toughing each other up and sticking their fingers up each other's nose, and now -- salvation! Hovering above me was a silk-clad British Airways stewardess with an angelic smile, and she seemed to want me to move. "Please come with me, sir" said the oriental vision. At once, I got her drift. She desired to upgrade me. In my mind's eye, I saw the first-class cabin, the spiral staircase to the head massage, the Champagne, the hot towels. Continue reading Paedophile Plague

Iraq

We failed to anticipate that in taking out Saddam, we would also remove government and order and authority from Iraq We need to plan for withdrawal, and we need to understand why, why, why we were so mad as to attack Iraq without working out the consequences
I remember the quiet day we lost the war in Iraq It was the moment I should have twigged. It was the moment I should have realised that I had voted for the biggest British military fiasco since the Second World War. I was wandering around Baghdad, about 10 days after Iraq had been "liberated", and it seemed to me that the place was not entirely without hope. OK, so the gunfire popped round every corner like popcorn on a stove, and civil society had broken down so badly that the looters were taking the very copper from the electricity cables in the streets. But I was able to stroll without a flak jacket and eat shoarma and chips in the restaurants. With no protection except for Isaac, my interpreter, I went to the Iraqi foreign ministry, and found the place deserted. The windows were broken, and every piece of computer equipment had been looted. As I was staring at the fire-blackened walls a Humvee came through the gates. A pair of large GIs got out and asked me my business. I explained that I was representing the people of South Oxfordshire and Her Majesty's Daily Telegraph. Continue reading Iraq