Finding Strange Bedfellows

Misery acquaints a man with strange bedfellows. That's not me, it's my old mate the Bard.

Well I've slagged Piers Morgan off in the past (he's boorish and deliberately over-provocative), as well as praising him when he took the Americans to task over their deluded marriage to guns. It feels uncomfortable to be siding with him again but in the whole wretched business of the Harry and Meghan affair, I'm afraid I'm not unsympathetic. Here is what he said today and I think it's difficult to pick holes in it:

I don't believe almost anything that comes out of her mouth and I think the damage she's done to the British monarchy and to the Queen at a time when Prince Philip is lying in hospital is enormous and frankly contemptible.

Whatever happened to bearing your troubles with dignity. It's enough (almost) to turn you into a republican. President Boris anyone?

Reasons To Be Cheerful ... And Reasons Not

After the holiday splurge of blogging comes the inevitable new year lull while I try to cobble together something to write about. Of course there's plenty out there, but you have to make the effort to galvanise it into prose. So here goes.

Here's a paragraph I read this morning and which is so good that I should share it. It is from Rory Sutherland in the Spectator. He analyses the imperfections (nay imperfectability) of economics, the 'dismal science'. He explains how he confronts the dogma that underlies the forecasting failures of economists:

I try to solve this problem myself by being passionately and unquestioningly dogmatic about stupid things which don't matter: I believe the true word of God can only be expressed in 17th century English, am a great fan of the monarchy and am convinced, without a shred of empirical support, that the drink Dr. Pepper has real medicinal powers. The great thing about this is that by clinging to irrelevant certainties, I am free to change my mind about things which are actually important, such as the minimum wage or the need for free movement of labour. The ability to hold irrelevant things sacred is, I think, a great intellectual defence of conservatism.

Well, amen to most of that - I'm not so sure about Dr. Pepper but I think you'll find that this is true of a good Barolo.

The world is readying itself for the Trump presidency. It's already getting messy. In just the past few days we've had a run-in with Meryl Streep, allegations of a lurid blackmail tape and a bizarre press conference. Let's take them in turn.

Streepgate. La Streep used the platform of the Golden Globes (where she was getting yet another award) to condemn Trump's belittling of a disabled reporter. I have to be even handed here - I almost always find the right-on bleatings of luvvies tiresome and self-indulgent, so I should not put up with this instance just because I find Trump repellent. Of course she had a point. The man gives every indication of being a prize shit. His bellicose reaction (in which he offered the opinion that Streep is one of Hollywood's most overrated actresses) spoke volumes. For fuck's  sake Donald, rise above it.

That sex tape. Does it really exist? Who knows and until someone actually proves it one way or the other this is a non-story which has the liberal press foaming at the mouth and risking a gift to Trump of enough rope with which to hang his accusers. Mind you, it will be balls-achingly funny if it transpires to be true.

That press conference. Out of this world. The man has zero humility. Piers Morgan speaks well of him.  Enough said.

And the irony of this? To the extent he has a political agenda, there are plenty of good things on it. But if only, if only, it was someone less palpably immoral implementing it. And by the way Donald, an election where you lost the popular vote is not one that you won 'easily'. Still, in a gruesome sort of way, it's going to be funny watching him, so funny.

Strange Bedfellows

Obama and (God help us) Piers Morgan are both right. There, I've said it. Now you will all know that I love America (see my posts from July if you doubt it) but on gun control, I'm sorry folks, you're just getting it woefully wrong. Listen to your Commander In Chief. In this, if in nothing else, he gets it spot on. I say this as a friend and admirer.

Mixed Feelings

As me. Go on ask me. What do I think of Harriet Harman? Ask me another. Go on ask me. What do I think of Piers Morgan?

Well since you ask, I can't stand either of them. Which means I ought really to be dead chuffed that both are enduring some discomfiture at the moment. But the bloody annoying fact is that my relish in their predicaments is severely qualified.

Harman first. I think we can take it as read that she's a sanctimonious windbag, nothing controversial about that. But the efforts of the Daily Mail to implant into the national consciousness the notion that she is some sort of paedo are pitiful. I've said it before and I'll say it again - the unspeakable in pursuit of the uneatable.

Morgan? I think we can take it as read that he's a preening, self-aggrandising shitbag, nothing controversial there. But if it really is the case that his CNN show is being pulled because of his having antagonised the gun lobby, then I feel the tiniest tinge of sympathy. I've said it before and I'll say it again - the unspeakable in pursuit of the uneatable.

To happier matters. A rewarding weekend for the rugby enthusiast. I speak not only of the Six Nations but also of the nice reception I got from the good burghers of Woodrush RFC where I strutted my refereeing stuff on Saturday. Thanks gents.

Six Nations: the Overgraduate is rather chuffed with himself thus far having stated before the whole shebang got under way that there would be no Grand Slam this year. Three weeks in and QED. Wales have taken a beating in Dublin and then administered one of their own to a bafflingly dull France. England and Ireland gave us a proper high octane test match at Twickenham. In analysing that performance it should not be overlooked that England won despite butchering a couple of gilt-edged chances. Ireland are beautifully coached. Even the basement battle of Italy and Scotland (whose coach does a very good impression of a buffoon - or perhaps it's not an impression) wound itself up to a thrilling finale.

By this time in two weeks I will be deep in the postmortem over the first day at Cheltenham. Remember you read it here first - you don't have to have a bet on every race..... Paging Dr Faggot!