Rupert, Ted and the Phantom Stink of Catpiss continued By Silver Fox

continued from

He (I'm fairly sure it was a bloke - most female commentators were too busy burning their bras and generally getting the Sisters to Do It For Themselves to come up with glib phrases) was, apparently, absolutely cock-on. After all; what is most characteristic of village life than gossip and malice? Thanks to the explosion in digital information, the typical snarling and backbiting that would have formerly taken years to spread from one side of the global village to the other can now be obtained at the click of a mouse or through banging Sky News on. And now, the parallels between the international scene and the poisonous insularity of life in a small town are depressingly apparent.

When one sees (for example) the Prime Minister, his face set in a congenial rictus, shaking hands with an equally unenthusiastic Japanese Foreign Minister, is one really seeing anything too different to two old boys at a Garden Fete who suspect each other of tampering with their prize-winning marrows? CNN and the like are merely satellite enhanced, Next Generation versions of the sour-pussed beldam behind the Post office counter.

The only difference is that one will tell you about a government's sickening disregard for human rights, while the other will inform you (with every bit as much salacious relish) that the quiet couple at No.45 are - and you'll never believe me, but it's true - brother and sister.

Back in the day, of course, it didn't matter. We were like the village squire - supreme and powerful in the Big Hall on the hill. No doubt the rest of the village resented us - talked about us screwing the tweenies and what-have-you - but never openly, to our face for fear of being chucked off their land (EmmerdaIe viewers will remember the attitude of the rustic retards towards the Tate family).

It seems impossible, but nevertheless a fact, that there are still some Brits who are contaminated with the same complacence and arrogance of previous generations, and this reduction in the UK's stock will doubtless have come as a nasty shock to them. Hopefully though, it will make them aware that not only has Britannia ceased to rule the waves, but that she is now as dependent on the good graces of the screen-bathed masses as any of this year's Big Brother contestants. And she isn't doing all that well: in the global village scenario, she's comparable to the cranky harridan whose house stinks of cats' doings.

It could be worse though; at least she isn't the lollipop man who fondles kiddiwinkies and buys their silence with the tree toys from cereal packets. Actually, just between me and you, that actually happened where I grew up. He was friendly with a neighbour of ours - a Christian fundamentalist woman who looked like a monkey ... and here's a thing about her: her daughter named her first child Teela, after the 2-D temptress from He-Man and the Masters of the Universe .. And there, my www.catsandkittens, is the Information Age for you. Be careful.

Whatever Happened To ..

Those adverts for lawn-trimmers where the lawn was in the shape of a head and spoke in Dave from Minder's voice?

Music and Lies: Where News and Wishful Thinking Lambada

Shindigg have been rocking quite hard - a gig every night for a week - make a point of catching them if you can: they're pretty good, if you're into talented bands that play good songs well .. hats off to The Favours who recently defied their critics by eating their own combined weight in fish fingers and tree-bark in order to raise money for Hull's first halfway house for the ghosts of rehabilitated criminals ... Matt Thompson, popular local singer/songwriter - phwoaar, you would .. more soon ..

Foxy's Final Thought

I'm not by any means a religious man, and I have to say I don't miss it. For me, it's always been a problem believeing in things - chaps walking on water, people being turned into pillars of salt - the whole thing seems fishy to me. I'm not singling out Christianity in particular, you understand; pretty much all of them are a bit too rich in implausible flapdoodle for my empiricist's blood. However, I'm focusing on the C of E today after seeing the Archbishop of Canterbury saying that it is only natural that the Prince of Wales and Camilla Parker-Bowles should tie the knot. I'm sure that the Bish's simple touching faith is a thing of beauty in its way, and must provide him with a lot of solace in what is, let's be honest, a fairly ghastly world.

To actually believe that there can be anything even remotely natural about those two spavined escapees from a medieval bestiary doing anything more intimate than trying on gloves together, though? That points to a degree of credulity that cannot be good for anyone.

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