Oh Woe Is Me

One of those frustrating days today. I went out for a run and at pretty much the same point into the run (indeed on the same stretch of road) as when last out, the calf started to tighten up. I walked in but I could really do without this interruption to training that had hitherto gone pretty well.

One man went to mow

Anyway I wasn't going to let this setback get in the way of wheeling out the precious petrol mower and re-striping the lawn. But what did get in the way was the absence of the keys to open the door from garage to back garden. Since I am the only one who uses that door I am reluctantly coming to the conclusion that I must have lost them, but I will not completely abandon the search for somebody else to blame. Not just yet.

Uttering foul imprecations (etymological note to self: is there any other sort of imprecation) I had to move the precious bike, manoeuvre the precious mower around the precious Jag and then drag the precious mower through the gravel on the drive before negotiating the side entrance to the garden. Then it bloody well rained. Then it bloody well stopped and I was able to mow the lawn. Altogether a bit of a fag but the results are quite pleasing.

I had decided that yesterday's mot du jour was to be 'cant' but in the end I rejected it because, on more measured analysis, the specimens that were exciting my ire probably lacked the full blast of hypocrisy. I've been seeking an alternative but I'm afraid I've come up with nothing better than 'drivel'. The first instance was the plain blather of our esteemed Minister for Housing, one Brandon Lewis. It gives me no pleasure to report that this man holds a degree from King's. Still he was not the worst (or indeed most important) culprit in the news because St Barack of Obama was at it again yesterday. With his best "Trust me I'm a lawyer" face on he announced that something must be done about global warming and that it needs to be done - by somebody else. Now I think about it, Obama probably got closer to cant than poor old Brandon Lewis whose major offence was to have drawn the short straw of defending the government's symbolic and meaningless legislation to make private landlords do the job of the Home Office.

If you know where those keys are could you let me know soonest. I can't go through this rigmarole every time I want to mow the lawn.

Ooh, if you want some good news - I played golf again last Friday (I had the course to myself at Baron Hill) and played the best I can remember for years. I believe I have detected a pattern to this - I play strongly every decade.

Livin' La Vida Loca

Or to keep up the foreign theme, we're terribly Maison Jardin at number 7B. Special Overgraduate merit points to the reader who correctly identifies that lyric.

None of which really has anything to do with what I'm going to write but the muse is, you will clearly divine, with me this fine day. In fact I've been in a goodish mood for a week or so which is a long run for old misery guts here. But the trouble is that all this relative happiness leaves me in rant deficit. And what am I without going off on one?

I've been out running four times in the last eight days and have only a stiffish back to show for it - not even the hint of a calf strain - says he touching the wooden top of the table. Mens sana etc.

But pull yourself together Dave. Very well, here goes.

Isn't this prolonged election campaign horribly tedious? Can you seriously imagine Ed Miliband as Prime Minister? He makes Cameron look statesmanlike. I can feel my mood lowering as I type this.

Putin v Obama - who would your money be on in a fight? The answer is terrifying for the West. But never mind, America is already gearing up for a presidential election and we have the prospect of a battle between another bloody Clinton and yet another bloody Bush.

So on balance, perhaps things aren't as good as I had allowed myself to believe. As John Bon Jovi would have it - keep the faith.

You Read It Here First

In the midst of my treatise on the 80s (June 2) I had a little dig at the sainted Barack Obama (the man who who was awarded the Nobel Peace Prize for no better reason than that he was not called Bush) and it seems that for once I was mildly ahead of the game in my unease at his sanctimonious attitude to the BP oil disaster. Let's get this straight - BP should pay for the damage they have caused, not least the eleven deaths on the oil rig, deaths which seem to me to get overlooked when the environmental 'tragedy' is being discussed. But have BP (or 'British Petroleum' as Obama has mischievously chosen to call them - they have not been called that for years, not in fact since they merged with the decidedly American Amoco) at any stage asserted that they will not be doing this? In the world's most litigious society would they have a prayer of doing so? Of course they bloody well wouldn't. If BP are doing such a lamentable job of trying to stop this calamity, why hasn't the federal government intervened to take over the operation? Well, because like it or not it is the oil companies who have the technological skills to operate in these waters.
This is a financial catastrophe for BP - does anyone seriously imagine that they don't want to stop the bleeding of money as quickly as possible? So it is not the business of American politicians to pontificate about whether or not BP should pay a dividend to its shareholders. There are already comprehensive regulations about the lawfulness of dividends without smug politicians grandstanding on the subject. BP employs 80300 people. There seems to be an unpleasant desire to see them punished.