Friday, February 20, 2015
GETTYNever mind locking himself in a house 10 years ago, what mess will he lock Britain in to?
Mr Winter’s memoirs are part of a treacherous trend whereby people you trust later sell their recollections to your discredit.
Wives tell, mistresses tell, so do siblings, children, parents, employees and colleagues.
It is nothing more than a racket in betrayal.
So Ed locked himself in the house by accident?
Of course no sensible citizen has ever done that!
He then climbed out of a window and hurt himself trying to get over a fence.
If he had succeeded he would have been cheered for persistence but because he did not we can all jeer at him.
It is silly and a diversion from the real problem with Ed: he will bankrupt Britain if he gets half a chance, will not let the population vote on the EU, will tax success and will persist in all of the above for five long, ruinous years.
Never mind locking himself in a house 10 years ago, what about the mess he will lock Britain into?
Of course all this should be exposed during the TV debates but the proposals are getting sillier than ever with a suggestion that there should be a seven-way debate including leaders of the Scots Nats and Plaid Cymru but not, for some reason, any leaders of the Irish parties.
Apart from the fact that if seven people have to be given time then nobody will have time enough, by what crazy reasoning are invitations to be extended in a UK-wide election to parties which seek to represent only fractions of the numbers of constituencies?
Even added together Welsh and Scottish seats amount to a mere 15 per cent of the total of 650.
TV bosses are losing their grip on reality.
Only UK-wide parties with substantial numbers of MPs should be included if farce is not to take over – or at the very least only UK-wide parties with substantial numbers of votes, which would let in Ukip and the Greens but not all the rest.
Scottish and Welsh nationalism can still be debated but on regional television where they are relevant.
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Last week I tuned into Newsnight to listen to the Chancellor being interviewed by Evan Davis and found myself yelling at the screen “Let him finish” as a sneering Davis interrupted again and again.
At the end of the confrontation, which is the only name for what could and should have been a rational discussion, I was none the wiser because the Chancellor was too often drowned out by Evans.
Oh, well, never mind, it was only the economy they were talking about not something really important like Gwyneth Paltrow’s latest dress.
Please can one of the big channels bring back the long and serious type of interview that Jonathan Dimbleby used to carry out at lunchtime on Sundays?
He knew how to grill a politician without burning the interview itself.
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ALAMYJackie Kennedy was composed after JFK's death
When I was 16 President Kennedy was assassinated and when I was 17 Churchill died.
Among the images which have stayed with me from the televised funerals of those very different leaders are the pictures of their wives, Jackie and Clementine.
Jackie was a mother of young children and a fashion icon while Clemmie was a grandmother but both were beautiful, composed and dignified as public cameras focused on private grief.
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It is now nearly six months since Cliff Richard’s home was searched in a blaze of publicity and to date there has been no arrest let alone charge.
So just what is taking the police so long? And at what point do they have to account to anyone for the delay?
If they haven’t got any evidence then let them say so and let Sir Cliff get on with his life.
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Do not know whether Lord Brittan abused youngsters or covered up files but innocent until proved guilty should apply as much to the dead as to the living and so far there has been not a shred of proof.
That is why we need that Inquiry to get under way properly and that in turn is not going to happen until a chairman of major standing is appointed and that itself won’t happen for as long as victims’ groups see establishment cronyism lurking under every bush.
It is time to get real, as they say in modern parlance, and be very firm about the next appointment.
Theresa May says it is imminent.
Good.
Presumably it is a hermit who has lived on Mars and never met anyone of consequence in the whole of his or her life.
No?
Then stick to it, this time, Home Secretary, no matter how many objections there are.
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What sort of country is it when an Ofsted inspector asks a 10-year-old if she knows what a lesbian does?
I am not sure I know for certain myself although I can work it out if I really want to.
But why should a child not yet out of primary school possess such knowledge?
Isn’t it more important to know about sums and sentences than sex?
This ludicrous questioning is all in aid of promoting British values.
That is what millions of people died for in two world wars but somehow I don’t think their definition was quite the same as Ofsted’s.
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ALAMY Relief as the local postie is back after being off sick for weeks
A sigh of relief has gone up over some lonely Dartmoor villages.
Our postman is back after being off sick for some weeks.
Rural postmen know everything.
As it takes an 18-mile round trip to pick up anything taken back to the sorting office, Nick knows where we like our parcels hidden and which neighbours will sign for items if we are out.
He is unfazed by barking dogs because he knows which ones will bite and which are bluffing.
He and we occasionally ask each other if an elderly person has been seen recently as country folk look out for each other.
When I received mail confidently addressed to my house but not to me, Nick was able to tell me that there was nobody by that name in the immediate surroundings so I should send it back rather than trying to trace the addressee.
The stand-in postmen do well enough in an unfamiliar area but for weeks parcels have been left in odd places, we have made long trips to retrieve items from the sorting office, roaring but inoffensive dogs have deterred deliveries and Nick’s Christmas boxes have sat forlornly on hall tables, waiting for the man himself.
I do not think I saw my London postie more than three or four times a year because the letters were nearly always on the mat when I came downstairs in the morning.
Certainly I never knew his name or asked him about the welfare of an elderly neighbour.
The past sometimes can indeed seem like another country.
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Kara Scott
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