Just blogged (for the second time) about Dominic Cummings, the Boris-idiot “adviser” and circus ringmaster.
Easy to laugh at, but withal quite serious. Maybe very serious.
Trump and Iran
The attack at Baghdad Airport will have one of three possible results:
- Nothing
- Out and out war between Iran and the USA
- An oblique response from Iran.
No prize for guessing that I think that the third option is most likely. Outright war is impossible, a regional power without deliverable nuclear weapons against the world’s (still) only functioning superpower. So what would an “oblique response” be? Maybe something that hits the USA economically, maybe something such as the assassination of a head of state or government (keep your head down, Donald!), maybe the same but aimed not at the USA directly but at its allies.
Speculating in an admittedly not very original fashion, one might wonder whether Iran might not at some point launch an all-out missile and other attack on Israel. It might be said that Israel’s nuclear capability would render such an attack suicidal. True, but still, it could happen. A similar attack but on, eg, the United Arab Emirates. More likely. Or on Saudi.
As to Trump himself, I find myself wondering whether he has some physical problem with his brain. I was reading a few of his tweets. They seem abnormal yet not in the slightest intelligent. I suppose that the US President gets brain scans etc as part of the silly annual ritual of the President getting a clear bill of health. I suppose…
A Woman Who Knows Secrets
[above, same person, many years ago, with the young part-Jew who later became Chancellor of the Exchequer, George Osborne; on the table, a bottle of wine and —circled in red— evidence of cocaine abuse]
Below: Ignorant loudmouth MP Jess Phillips put in her place by one of the State’s former (and unofficial) “chief whips”…
Below, she makes an equally good point (the second tweet)…
but Kipling got there first:
I WENT into a public ‘ouse to get a pint o’ beer,
The publican ‘e up an’ sez, ” We serve no red-coats here.”
The girls be’ind the bar they laughed an’ giggled fit to die,
I outs into the street again an’ to myself sez I:
O it’s Tommy this, an’ Tommy that, an’ ” Tommy, go away ” ;
But it’s ” Thank you, Mister Atkins,” when the band begins to play
The band begins to play, my boys, the band begins to play,
O it’s ” Thank you, Mister Atkins,” when the band begins to play.
I went into a theatre as sober as could be,
They gave a drunk civilian room, but ‘adn’t none for me;
They sent me to the gallery or round the music-‘alls,
But when it comes to fightin’, Lord! they’ll shove me in the stalls!
For it’s Tommy this, an’ Tommy that, an’ ” Tommy, wait outside “;
But it’s ” Special train for Atkins ” when the trooper’s on the tide
The troopship’s on the tide, my boys, the troopship’s on the tide,
O it’s ” Special train for Atkins ” when the trooper’s on the tide.
Yes, makin’ mock o’ uniforms that guard you while you sleep
Is cheaper than them uniforms, an’ they’re starvation cheap.
An’ hustlin’ drunken soldiers when they’re goin’ large a bit
Is five times better business than paradin’ in full kit.
Then it’s Tommy this, an’ Tommy that, an` Tommy, ‘ow’s yer soul? ”
But it’s ” Thin red line of ‘eroes ” when the drums begin to roll
The drums begin to roll, my boys, the drums begin to roll,
O it’s ” Thin red line of ‘eroes, ” when the drums begin to roll.
We aren’t no thin red ‘eroes, nor we aren’t no blackguards too,
But single men in barricks, most remarkable like you;
An’ if sometimes our conduck isn’t all your fancy paints,
Why, single men in barricks don’t grow into plaster saints;
While it’s Tommy this, an’ Tommy that, an` Tommy, fall be’ind,”
But it’s ” Please to walk in front, sir,” when there’s trouble in the wind
There’s trouble in the wind, my boys, there’s trouble in the wind,
O it’s ” Please to walk in front, sir,” when there’s trouble in the wind.
You talk o’ better food for us, an’ schools, an’ fires, an’ all:
We’ll wait for extry rations if you treat us rational.
Don’t mess about the cook-room slops, but prove it to our face
The Widow’s Uniform is not the soldier-man’s disgrace.
For it’s Tommy this, an’ Tommy that, an` Chuck him out, the brute! ”
But it’s ” Saviour of ‘is country ” when the guns begin to shoot;
An’ it’s Tommy this, an’ Tommy that, an’ anything you please;
An ‘Tommy ain’t a bloomin’ fool – you bet that Tommy sees!
Ian Robert Millard 