Home Alone

Amid the scandalous revelations of MPs' second-home expense claim abuse, one clarion voice, free of guilt or shame, rings out clear, rising clean and pure above the frightened parroting of 'within the rules'. A crusading force for good gives the British people hope that integrity and truth will see off the rabble of hypocrites falling over themselves to apologise for having been found out. It's the Harriet Harmon Show!

As the bad news broke, the fearful shysters began to dribble and roll their eyes, but by contrast Ms Harmon was a model of composure. She was the only senior Labour figure brave enough publicly to discuss the wrongdoings of honourable members.

Appearing on TV, Harriet wept openly at the deceit and shamelessness of the cheats, while informing the nation with absolute conviction that she has never ever claimed any money or allowances for her second home. This only served to emphasise the wickedness of those party colleagues (particularly her many enemies) who had made extravagent claims, an effect she presumably had overlooked.

A little research throws some light on this behaviour. Harmon is not eligible to claim any money at all for a second home. 'I come under a different system because I am an Inner London MP', she grudgingly admitted when pressed by baying media interrogators.

Who's a lucky girl?

Cows and Pigs: Fever Pitch

In 1990 the BSE crisis raged. During that period of 'Mad Cow' disease, tens of thousands of infected animals were slaughtered and burned. But the Agriculture Minister of the day, Tory John Gummer, publicly fed his four-year old daughter Cordelia a beefburger, in a ghastly publicity stunt designed to reassure us beef was safe.

Gummer's action was widely pilloried and led to a lasting mistrust of government pronouncements on health scares. Inexplicably his career remained unscathed, though I'm pleased to report the Norwegian Minister of Environmental Affairs, Thorbjorn Berntsen, described him as 'the biggest shithead I've ever met.'

Today we have swine fever. Which Cabinet Minister's child features in the above image taken this very morning? Is it the child of a Minister at all? Or a Catholic Minister, perhaps? Or is it some other child?

Will the image appear on Government information leaflets to be pushed through letterboxes across Britain?

A prize will be awarded for the most interesting and original suggestion as to the child's identity.

Brown Bottles

Recently, Gordon Brown apologised for controversial emails sent by his aide, Damian McBride, as part of a plot to smear senior Conservative politicians. He had not known of McBride's initiative, despite sitting in the cubicle next to him at work.

Mr Brown's apology took the following form:

'I take full responsibility for what's happened. That's why the person responsible for what happened went immediately.'

A masterclass in doublespeak. Segue to Brown's recent YouTube appearance, where he reveals measures intended to alter rules on MPs' claims for second homes and expenses, and smiles at us. A gro-bag smile forced, devoid of spontaneity or sincerity, but which stimulates in return a grin of delight.

Interestingly, a YouGov survey taken a short time ago reveals Brown is now less trusted than notorious womaniser and cad Boris Johnson. The poll found more people have faith in the Mayor of London to keep his word than the Prime Minister. Cripes!

I Was Only Following Holy Orders

Pope Benedict XVI has recently upheld traditional Catholic teaching on artificial contraception. The Vatican has always opposed the use of condoms and other forms of birth control, and encourages sexual abstinence to fight the spread of STDs. The Pope made his remarks during a visit to Africa, a continent that desperately needs every effective method to combat the AIDS pandemic.

The Pope has also attacked gay unions, gay adoptions, abortion, IVF treatment and lesbians wanting to bear children, claiming the traditional family unit is 'under attack' by 'radical currents' worldwide. Yet despite the Vatican's best efforts, in several European countries gay unions are legal, including traditionally Catholic Spain, while Italy's centre left coalition has promised some form of recognition for unmarried couples. France allows all couples the right to civil unions, joint social security and inheritance rights. Britain too has introduced a law allowing gay people to formalise their relationships.

Critics of religeon accuse the church of losing touch with modern life. The Vatican is doing itself great harm by flying in the face of common sense, and irreversible social developments. Its policies have created ecumenical polarisation. More importantly, the Vatican is meddling in medical matters which are quite beyond its expertise, and is turning its back on large groups of society.

Filums

Recently I watched a film about King Arthur. It was a jumble of half-baked philosophy and pseudo-religeon, with lots of fighting. The leading lady turned out to be a seventh Dan in martial arts combined with edged-weapon combat. An American masquerading as a Pict, or 'Woad', was the flatpack antagonist who killed everyone he met, rather gratuitously I felt. The hero was tortured by paper-thin moral doubts and fears. Armies hacked at each other but sadly, reminded me of the massed ranks of gribbly orcs in LOTR. It was a terrible film, assuming it wasn't meant to be a spoof - a 'Blazing Arthur' type of thing.

If you want a good film, you must go back to the fifties and sixties. There, you'll find jaw-dropping American sci-fi and monster movies that really know how to entertain. Who can forget the chilling effects in 'Robot Monster', made for $16,000 in four days. Or the intricate but masterly plot lines of 'The Brain From Planet Arous'. The courage of the all-American kid in 'Invaders from Mars' takes some beating while the daddy, 'Plan Nine From Outer Space', has the lot: wobbly sets, crazy aliens, toe-curling dialogue. These films are so bad, they're great. Watch them with a few chums, a bottle of wine and some snacks - you'll love the cinematic experience.

Here are a few suggestions to get you started. The list is as it occurred; it's difficult to put these films in order of merit.

Robot Monster (1953)
The Brain from Planet Arous (1957)
Invaders From Mars (1953)
Plan Nine From Outer Space (1959)
They Saved Hitler's Brain (1963)
Phantom From Space (1953)
The Creature From The Black Lagoon (1954)
Mars Needs Women (1966)
Attack Of The Fifty Foot Woman (1958)
I Married A Monster From Outer Space (1958)
The Thing From Another World (1951)

Happy viewing!

Rag Week

I like reading newspapers. I enjoy The Times, and love it or hate it, The Sun is very good at what it does. But the Daily Mail, the Wail, is beyond me. Everything's going to turn out badly; threats to society abound, freaks will kill us, food is poisonous. For The Mail, nothing's better than scare stories, and ludicrous exaggerations about how awful it all is. Tragedy over triumph sells.

But just recently the Mail has surpassed itself, any remaining editorial honesty finally flatlined. In Britain, it's recently been campaigning against the HPV jab, the vaccine against infection associated with the development of cervical cancer, using its usual mix of sensationalism and horrific stories as 'facts' are 'revealed' over the alleged dangerous side-effects of the treatment. The Mail's strident voice insists no vaccination programme must ever, ever go ahead.

But at the same time, the Irish edition of The Mail has been crusading for the immediate introduction of the HPV jab countrywide, claiming that despite the Health Minister's recent shelving of a plan to do this, '... the Irish Daily Mail will not relent and will continue to urge the roll out of the vaccine.'

So we have the simultaneous printing of lurid scare stories in one country, and a pro bono publico campaign urging the nationwide launch of the treatment in another. The editorial stance is solely whatever will sell the most newspapers, the seriousness of the health issue simply set aside.

Add to this the foolishness of expressing such contrapuntal views in neighbouring countries, where thousands of people, all speaking - and reading - the same language, travel between the two every day. Did the Mail group believe no-one would pick this up?

Yum Yum

If you live in Cornwall you'll probably have tried a Cornish pasty. Many are inedible muck and too small, but some are divine. You have to really seek out the occasional good baker in order to get a top example.

Stick with traditional steak as your filling. Over the past few years, Lever Brothers principles have been applied to pasty marketing, and the choice of fillings has become wide but disgusting - chicken tikka, llama, spam. These are for the tourists and are best shunned.

In Falmouth town square, deep in the Cornish heartland, there's an excellent pasty emporium with good value, succulent pasties made on the premises. It's just the name ...

Work Placements

For the last couple of weeks I've been working full-time in the real world. I spent the first week in Penzance at the offices of Cornish World magazine, and the second with the History Press, a book publisher based in Stroud.

These visits were made to satisfy the requirement of my MA for work experience in what we'll call the writing industry. It was fantastic. I met two groups of lovely people who found the time and enthusiasm to make my stays interesting and demanding. I was encouraged to have a go at all sorts of activities: various types of writing, editing, image manipulation, electronic layout. I was made welcome at internal process and review meetings. I was given handouts on various parts of the publishing process, and on the accompanying marketing and sales techniques. I came away tired but very happy; both groups went out of their way to help me see as much as possible during my stays. It was tremendously worthwhile.

As I know from my previous working life, sometimes when students visit offices for work experience it's difficult to give them anything meaningful or interesting to do, mostly because of time constraints. But I wasn't dumped in a corner, left to my own devices, or given mundane stuff to do. I offered to make the tea, but more often than not it was made for me.

The most remarkable aspect of the last two weeks was the parallel between the processes and activities I experienced within the industry, and what I've been taught in the classroom. It was exciting and reassuring to find that correlation, which reflects very favourably on the the MA course content and the tutors at Falmouth.

Prince Philip - Spokesman for the Nation

I've never been Prince Philip's greatest fan. Over the years he's made the art of the severe verbal gaffe his very own. Thoughtless and prejudiced, Philip has sailed through life while commentators pussy-foot about his 'unfortunate blunders' and 'attempts to reach the ordinary people'. I've nothing in particular against mad old men, but neither would I allow them castles to live in.

But they say, if you give enough apes plenty of pencils and paper, and wait long enough, eventually one will produce a literary novel. And so, in a sense, it's proved with Philip.

Following a Royal Variety Show in December 2007, the great and good of the entertainment world were lined up to be introduced to Mr and Mrs Queen. Among them was Simon Cowell, the 'pop empressario'. As Simon stepped forward, head bowed to meet His Royal Highness, it's alleged Philip called him a sponger, breezily indicating he preys on the talent of others to make his millions.

Cowell has recently released this story to the media, claiming he feels insulted. Perhaps his grotesque ego believes it's not receiving enough attention at the moment. But what he's done is threefold. He's made himself look ridiculous. That said, he's got us talking about him. But his great achievement is to improve the public image of Prince Philip beyond the Palace's wildest dreams.

The Prince's spokesperson has of course denied the episode took place, but with exquisite disdain. 'The Duke of Edinburgh categorically did not call Mr Cowell a sponger. He has said he does not know enough about Mr Cowell to make any sort of comment about him.'

Block 2: Reflections

Last Wednesday marked my final lecture for the second semester - or Block 2 - of my MA. For the past few weeks the course has been extremely active, with lots of fringe activities to choose from as well as the must-do stuff. Well done to all of us for getting through it (I ingratiatingly include the tutors here). And then, out like a lamb; after a final presentation, a quick pint at the SU bar and off home. Next week I start my industry placements, one week with a magazine, and one with a book publisher.

Perhaps because I'd been so busy, it didn't really hit me until a couple of days ago that the end of Block 2 is where the students start to say goodbye to each other, and begin their solo careers. It's all going terribly quickly. Over the summer, I'll be working on my book. My colleagues too will be carrying out their own projects, and group contact time will be very limited. This makes me sad, for I've enjoyed the company of some good friends during the last few months, and I'll miss them.

Block 2 wasn't as rigidly structured as the first semester. You were left a bit more to do your own thing, and make your own choices. I liked that; the University is awash with facilities and I hope I made the most of them. I'd like to have done even more, but sometimes I just ran out of time.

I was delighted with the options I'd chosen for Block 2: non-fiction, and features. Both were demanding, though in different ways, and both were satisfying. I feel we covered a lot of ground. My only doubt is whether I managed to absorb all I'd been taught. Actually that's not really a doubt, but at least I wrote most of it down. Referring back will be invaluable.

I spent the day after the end of term lying on my bed with a jumbo packet of crisps, reading a terrible thriller and feeling completely knackered. This isn't my usual lifestyle choice, so something must have caught up with me. But I did manage to totter to the pub that evening, where I met up with some of my friends from Uni for a pint or two. I had a lovely time. I hope we do it again before too long.