Of Films, Flat Track Bullies, Imbeciles And Other Annoyances

I think this has been the longest I have gone between posts on this blog. Do you know what, I just haven't been in the mood. A torpor has settled over the Big Fat Pig and he projects a general dissatisfaction with the way the world is comporting itself. Can you blame him? Brexit, bloody Brexit, Trump, bloody Trump, The weather, the bloody weather.

For heaven's sake man, pull yourself together; catch yourself on (as they say in the brilliant Derry Girls, and as they also say in the Irish family into which I married); more prosaically get a bloody grip: etcetera, etcetara [please insert exhortation of your choice].

Because when you actually remove the the self-indulgent dark glasses through which you view the world, there is still plenty of stuff to lift the heart. Mind you, none of it comes from the political scene where we have the gruesome spectacle of a Tory leadership contest in which most seem reluctantly to concede that Boris Johnson is the least bad option. All of this in a galaxy where no one has yet landed a death blow on the relic that is Jeremy Corbyn. You couldn't make this stuff up.

The Pig has endured watching Trump being entertained (royally and well) by the apparatus of the British state. Trump spent his time on the journey over thumping out tweets aimed at that political pygmy Sadiq Khan. What a ridiculous man (Trump not Khan, but then when you mention it ...). The Pig has come to the troubling realisation that Trump has done some politically good things (principally being the first man willing to get into a staring match with an immoral China) but that anything good is dwarfed by his lowering of the tone of public life to a previously unimaginable level. Were I an American (and I can think of plenty worse things to be) I would hold my nose and vote for a mediocrity like Joe Biden - this a man who was found out plagiarising no less an icon than the Welsh windbag himself, Neil Kinnock. I mean, Neil bloody Kinnock - seriously?

But what about those films I hear you ask. Two good films have cheered the Pig recently - you might call them comfort viewing. The Full Monty is not quite a great film but it has a very good run at it. It exudes humanity and dignity, which is pretty good going for a film about unemployed blokes getting their kit off for money. 8.5/10.

The second revisited favourite is, like The Full Monty, a movie that proves that short can be sweet - neither is over ninety minutes. Stand by Me is based on a short story by the copiously talented Stephen King. That source material makes for a beautiful film, locus for the directorial extraction of compelling performances from its juvenile leads. This is a work of art. 9/10.

All of which above writing has cheered the Pig up. Now, I promised you flat track bullies. I am just a little concerned by the hyping to clear favouritism of England's cricketers in the World Cup. They may go on to win but can we just remember that we have yet to meet any of the other likely three semi-finalists and, in amongst the glory have lost to a quixotic (this is a polite way of putting it) Pakistan. The old grouch in me feels a tumble from on high coming our way. I'm only saying.

2nd at Sedbergh - where's Pete gone?

As I swing into cheerfulness (it's good this bipolar lark) I will record a public thanks to BH, the organising force behind last week's QMT (it's a long story) golf tour to Appleby. Bad golf was played, good beer (and a little bad actually) was drunk and there was high drama with debutant tourist PJC conspiring to fall into the river at only the second hole of the tour from such a height that he broke his hip. Decidedly not funny, but definitely the stuff of legend. The local emergency services did him proud - rather reassuring in these austere times. The Pig's golf was modest and the weather was challenging. A great trip. Best beer, Timothy Taylor Landlord on the last night.

So now I feel a lot more cheerful - the power of the written word, even my own.

A Funny Old Thing

Life, that is. I find it hard to abide either Donald Trump or Jeremy Corbyn but, wonder of wonders, I find myself incapable of a knee-jerk reaction against either of them on certain recent and select issues. Am I growing old, is my political knee no longer working?

Big Fat Pig's new mates

Trump is an odious creep. His attitude to women is antediluvian; his reaction to the latest school shootings was immoral and sententiously boastful. However his cut in corporation tax makes some libertarian sense and (at a stretch) his goading of North Korea may just have forced that rogue state to the negotiating table. Now the libertarian streak in me should not approve of the threatened trade war with China, but I have a particular animus against China (bet that's got them quaking in their boots) and if the free world is going to pick an economic fight then it should be with China. Trump is an inexcusably horrid man but, as any idiot savant, he has his moments. I still hope that he is hounded out of office in disgrace and that he will be shunned by his wider public. Fat chance.

Corbyn is a middleweight at best (even as I type this I feel an apology to all middleweights coming on) but his muted reaction to the Russian poison attack strikes me as the right one. The rush to condemn Russia has a strong whiff of the 'dodgy dossier' about it. Theresa May should be very alarmed that her stance has attracted support from the invariably wrong David Miliband - mind you Miliband did use the word 'revanchist' in his interview and I have to admit that it's a top-hole word I plan on using at the first opportunity. Russia is a kleptocracy and Putin is plainly a wrong'un but pick your fights guys, or at the very least establish your casus belli and lay it open to public scrutiny.

So that's me then, managing to be an 'apologist' (current political commentary's most overused word) for Trump, Putin and Corbyn all at the same time. Mind you after weeks of slobbing around I did run/trudge three miles this morning so I'm not a complete lost cause. Maybe my brain has gone as flabby as my body. 

All Is Not Well In The World

Last week you were no doubt surprised to find me confessing common cause with John McDonnell. As an aside I do note that McDonnell is a fellow alumnus of God's own University of London, though not, of course, of King's - we didn't really do lefties. Anyway my inner political correctness is nagging away at me once again. Surely I can't be the only died in the wool capitalist who is queasy about this undignified toadying up to the Chinese that our esteemed government deems fitting - Where is the morality?

The tiger who came to tea

I am considering inviting the Dalai Lama round for tea so that he can be assured that we're not all like George Osborne.

I wouldn't mind our creeping to the Chinese if I felt we were on the upside of a cunning plan to exploit the one party statists and their loathsome fellow travellers and thereby precipitate their downfall. But I am left with the unpalatable conviction that our new found mates will simply shit on us again and again, much as they have already shat on our steel industry. Nobody sane is an absolutist about foreign policy but you do have to draw the line somewhere. Don't you?

At times like this I read my tattered volume of Bernard Levin's journalism (a thrift shop find) and wonder what the great man would make of it all. He was close to a lone public voice predicting that the Soviet 'evil empire' would collapse under its own odious weight. I hope the same is true of China's project but it will occur all the more slowly if we underpin the superstructure.

As another aside, Levin was another London graduate - LSE in his case, a place that really did produce lefties of heft. It was with a little sigh of regret that I read last week that the LSE is these days one of the country's most conservative colleges. Bloody hell, where will I be without my cultural stereotypes?