So its wall to wall hot air in that seat of dishonesty the House of Commons still predominantly male dominated. Last week one of them went after the Prime Minister’s mother who was referred to as a white haired retired Magistrate. Somebody in one of the quality papers quoted Dr Johnson who was alleged to have said “the matriarch is the last refuge of the scoundrel” actually he didn’t . I know that for a fact, but Cicero did say “in medio tutissimus ibis” which is what they all do in there until recently when they decided to slug each other in the balls. Its blood on the floor . In family life it is much the same “all our problems are your fault” being the familiar excuse for bad decisions which result in catastrophe. I don’t remember blaming my parents who were both mad in their different ways and ignored their off spring without demure two of whom met an early death, as a result but I learned to fight the hard way and source some dsitant posh relations, consequently I am a white haired retired magistrate, often described by very stupid people as “tough” aka not dead.
Actually I would quite like to have had myself as a mother and by and large I did.
The Sainted one has taken to the blame game and at the same time calls every one “daing”, which is itself a sign of non-discerning syndrome ; it’s because he was a once in amateur dramatics in the west country which is a place where Winston Churchill said people were mentally deficient. I am waiting for some news about something( not medical) which has profound implications. Nobody her asks about it, just as well ?????? they are scared I expect. I have decided to resume normal life while I wait, namely going to Peter Jones. It is rumoured that someone threw themselves down the open stairwell in the never ending quest for price match.
There is no doubt that the enemy is at the gates, or indeed in the very bed in which Moi attempts to sleep. Its Moths, yes they have invaded our home and chiefly because some of the male residents refused to check their clothes as they were asked to do, not the Nipote who is of course perfect in all respects. Some of the house has been sealed off by men in masks and is a toxic area which must not be dusted or hoovered for three weeks. Don’t get me started on the rest of it, the Sainted one has at last had to address a vile scanky cupboard full of smelly sports gear, martian ski boots, and out of date morning suits whose crutches have been reduced to lace apparently moths love urine its very nourishing. The dry cleaners down the road make special deliveries and collection here on a daily basis to collect and repair moth holed cashmeres it is costing a fortune. And now I have seen one in my bedroom. They lay ten thousand eggs a day!
I sat next to a woman this week who had a dramatic desire to “share” her problems with me. I did not “reach out” but listened quietly while she unburdened a terrible anguish. It was basically about her child’s failure to gain entrance to a particular London Day School which has such terrible facilities that half of the pupils have to be marched around Sloane Square all day. There are not enough class rooms you see. The poor woman began to weep as she described the pressure within the “Yummy Mummies” who will go to any lengths to turn their kids into boring little nervous breakdown swots who go off the rails when they see how the other ninety-nine percent of the country lives. I tried to suggest that she lived next door to a fabulous sate school, she looked at me as if I were mad.
No it is the system which is mad and the single most divisive element in Britain, it is breaking the middle classes who risk everything including their sanity to buy into private education which is now lagging behind the state system by yards as more and more middle class aspirational parents make the sensible choice. One of my grandsons lived with us for two years when he was pulled out of a public school and went to a state Academy, he never missed a day and did brilliantly, he was with boys and girls who knew this was their lucky break and their future depended on it they didn’t have a safety net, they made their own a good rounded education and entrance to a university of their own choice..
David Cameron is the product of a private education, he talks the talk all right, but it is terribly patronizing, and he wants to be seen as terribly PC which is why he is shooting Oxford in the foot and is banging on about selection based on ethnicity instead of merit how disgraceful to patronize people in such a way, NOBODY wants to get into Oxford because of the colour of their skin be it black or white. The man is lost in his own bullshit which is precisely what he brought back to the luncheon table from Europe. Of course he went to Oxford didn’t he , ever heard of shitting on your own doorstep?
Having just seen the Film “Youth” starring Michael Caine I suddenly twig just why I have always been so depressed by Switzerland. It’s not surprising that it is the place people go to top themselves. My sister died there and so did my best friend they didn’t want to die, but watching the Michael Caine dirge was terminal, he doesn’t speak in cadences and doesn’t breath like other humans. It is set in some sort of luxury “end of life” Sanatorium, where all the attendants wear pale blue pyjamas ( I think it is an out of season ski hotel) I found myself losing the will to live. A more unlikely casting as a world famous conductor is hard to imagine, and besides he has horrid pig eyes with pale eyelashes which he should have started tinting years ago. He calmly watches while his best friend walks out of a window without a flicker of emotion. Well there you have it… the following night I sat next to the biggest bore of all time at dinner who spat into my food as he drivelled on about his famous father and then announced he “adored opera but did not like all the bits in between the good tunes”. Someone else kicked off then, neither knew the difference between a crochet or a quaver. Opera bores are the worst. I have come to dislike it because speaking as a failed singer as in most things actually I know too much about it you see. Give me ballet anytime because nobody can talk bollocks about it , you get what you see.
There is a ghastly mystery unfolding in our house at the moment it the case of the “Missing Golf Club” it is said to be very valuable and may even have been handled by a person on first name terms with a member of the Royal Family. Someone is not telling the truth which is a thing I abhor being frighteningly honest myself and incapable of dissembling which is why I would be a hopeless politician because they all invent it as they go along. I think I do know the truth, but revealing it opens up a Pandora’s box and reputations will be at risk. I am thinking carefully, which is unusual I find instant reactions are usually right. The Golf club is I am told a number five whatever that is, the time will come when someone will have to fess up …… watch this space.