The nonsense of a “Government of all the Talents”

I can’t be doing with this “Government of all the Talents” nonsense.

If someone who is not a Labour supporter joins Brown’s new Government, they will have to promote the Labour Government’s policies and defend the Labour Government.   How can they do that?

It’s rather like when a local Council goes from Conservative to No Overall Control, and the Conservative Councillors agree to form a coalition administration with Labour or Liberal.   Why?   Well, the thought has to be that the Conservatives cannot bear to lose the perks of office, and want to stay as portfolio holders, with all the trappings that gives.

I always used to advise that they shouldn’t do that.   They should go into opposition.   After all, how can Conservatives oppose what the Labour authority is doing if they are part of it?

And the same applies to the Government.   Any sensible thinking person who is not a Labour supporter should stay well away from propping it up, whether that is by way of becoming a Minister, heading a quango, or sitting on some advisory panel.

The farce of the funeral

Went to a funeral yesterday, and looking back on it realize what a strange event it is. 

The worst are where the clergyman does not know the person and has not been properly briefed.   No friend or family member has been asked to speak, so the poor old cleric gives a bit of a tribute, gets the names wrong, and does not really say much at all.   And then, if like yesterday, the hymn chosen appears to have been known only to the dead person and the clergyman;  there is no choir;  and the organist is playing at a completely different speed from the singing;  we end up with a pathetic nothing. 

Still at least the undertakers were superb  -  so dignified.

People gather who have often not seen the deceased for years, or indeed each other.   They sit or stand in little cliques at the reception/wake/party afterwards.   As the minutes tick by they get braver, and loud chat and peels of laughter can be heard.

Meanwhile, the frail elderly spouse of the deceased sits by the door, ignored by everyone.

An experience which has convinced me even more that I shall have a woodland funeral, no religion whatsoever, a taped recording of me pontificating about me, and another of Pomp & Circumstance No 4 to be played as they all troop back to their cars.   That is, of course, if anyone other than me bothers to come!

Feet on Seats

I’ve been into London today on the train.   I was going to quite a posh lunch, so was dressed up for the occasion, and, as it was summer, in light colours.

 First of all, of course, the trains get hot and sweaty.   Even if they have air-conditioning it is off when they are stationary.   So that takes the edge off the posh outfit a bit.

 But the real killer is feet on seats.  Why do men   -  and sorry boys but it nearly always is men  -  feel the need to put their dirty boots and shoes up on the seat opposite.   Then, later, when women sit down they are likely to end up with their light coloured skirts covered in a great dirty boot print!