Dieu et mon goodness isn't it over yet?

I'm getting a little tired of the ceaseless coverage of an event which hasn't happened yet, isn't breaking news and is planned down to the last vol-au-vent.

However, the fault does not lie with William and Kate, but with the media. It's like the build up to the cup final, except the difference (barring a huge shock from one or other of them) is that unlike the cup final, we know what the result is going to be.

Your favourite Canis Lupus is working tomorrow, some non-emergency public servants are, and no, I don't get double time or a day in lieu. No biggie, I'm not that bothered about the wedding. I really hope that the pair have a long and blissfully happy life together, God knows the family could do with a break after the awful matches made by the generation before William. But it isn't my wedding, I don't know the couple involved, so it really doesn't matter to me.

That doesn't mean I'm going to start railing against the Windsors or the notion of a Monarchy though. I wouldn't describe myself as a Royalist, but nor am I a Republican.

One thing tomorrow will show is that despite all our problems, be they self inflicted or otherwise, this country can put on one hell of a show. We do it with magnificence, class and style. The Americans do it with magnificence, but they do it with such military overbearing. That isn't to say that there isn't going to be soldiers all over the show tomorrow, but we do it in a style which is not so overtly overt. It's a difficult feeling to express, but it doesn't have that 'America, hell yeah!' feel to it.

The French do it with class and style, but you can't help the feeling that at the big occasion they still feel that it is a shame that they cut all those heads off. A president just doesn't have the gravitas that a monarch, or a monarch in waiting has. It's just a little, empty. It's like comparing the photo of the meal on the menu in a chain pub with the grub put in front of you, it looks promising at the outset, but ultimately fails to deliver satisfaction.

I think the Royal Family is important, I'm not going to wheel out the old tourism line, I'm not sure I buy it. What I do think the advantage a constitutional monarchy brings is that the person in the very top job doesn't ask for it, doesn't want it and very, very, very, very rarely uses the power they have. It is, I think, a perfect balance.

I like QEII, but I think she's taken her eye off the ball, especially when signing away her and our sovereignty to Europe, but despite what Cast Iron Dave would have you believe, nothing is irreversible. I'm not so keen on Charles, and I don't think he'll make an especially good King, but then if QEII takes after her mother, he probably won't have much, if any, time in the big job.

With William it is too soon to tell, but I think the early signs are encouraging. Say what you like about Charles, but the fact he has been able, despite the circumstances, to raise such a well adjusted and personable son does him enormous credit.

I don't want a President, another job for a washed up politician if we follow the French/Irish model, or a power hungry grasping politician if we follow the American model.

It is far from perfect, it is elitist, it is archaic, it is a relic of history, but I can think of no better, or at least no more preferable fashion to choose the head of state than the method we have. It is apolitical, it is random, it is sometimes perfect, it is often disastrous, but it is way better than leaving it in the hands of career minded, ruthless, venal, deceitful politicians.

The constitutional monarchy allows us to be seen at our best. Even though it can and does go wrong, at least we have a fighting chance of promoting a positive image, an elected President would always show us at our worst. The constitutional monarchy is alright by me.

Perhaps we can concentrate on him now.

So one of the great conspiracy theories of recent years has been laid to rest with the release of Obama's full 'long form' birth certificate.

It was always a very lazy attack on a president which (at the risk of sounding like a Grauniadista) smacked a little of racism. There's plenty of things to take Obama to task about, but this was never one of them. Perhaps the public can now turn their attentions to the man's policies rather than his place of birth.

No doubt it will be decried as a forgery, counterfeit or some other sort of fraud now.

Meanwhile, what the hell is all this guff about Labour demanding an apology from Cameron over his 'calm down, dear' line to Angela Eagle?

Really? Really? Is that the biggest thing you have to worry about?

Stop being so bloody precious.

Or I'll start demanding she apologise for this comment, when the House was warned about the financial bubble in 2008:

"Fortunately for all of us...that colourful and lurid fiction has no real bearing on the macro-economic reality."

Policitians and conspiracy-theorists, I'm not sure which I have less time for, to be honest.

Happy International Pixel-Stained Technopeasant Day

We've been spared the usual arguments this year. This is probably due to the fact that St. George's day falls on a Saturday this year, coupled with the lateness of Easter which means it is book-ended by two bank holidays. But I think it is a point that needs consideration; what of England's national day?

Of course the Irish, and pretty much everyone else, celebrate their national day, which also falls in line with a patron saint with great gusto. The Welsh make a show of it on David's day. The Scots seem to be more fussed with Burns Night rather than St. Andrew. I like that, for reasons I shall go into later on.

The French and Americans celebrate the removal of an arrogant and thoughtless monarch, in South America the national days are centred around their independence from Spanish or Portuguese imperial control, in Europe it is independence from Moscow which takes centre stage in the east of the continent.

The Italians celebrate the unification of their country, although I doubt the Liga Nord are quite so enthusiastic. The Greeks celebrate both the day they declared independence from the Ottoman Empire and the day they told the Axis powers to bugger off in 1940 (The Day of the No - now there's an idea).

But what of England?

I'm not fussed about St. George's Day. That isn't to say that I don't think England should have a national day; quite the reverse, I'm just not sure St. George should be it. Firstly, St. George is almost like a default patron saint, with Aragon, Catalonia, Georgia, Greece, Portugal, Serbia and Russia also claiming him as a patron saint in Europe alone. Secondly, because he was Palestinian, not English. Thirdly because the stories about him are fantastical at best - are we really supposed to believe he killed a dragon? It is a simplistic story about the conversion of a tribe to Christianity, I'm not fussed.

Of course, a simple solution would be to adopt the same day as a national holiday in celebration of a English figure. St. George's Day happens to be the supposed birthday of Shakespeare, it is also his supposed date of death as well (I just hope he got his presents and favourite birthday dinner before he popped his clogs), there is no doubt that Shakespeare as he is commonly thought of is probably the most important English cultural figure of all time. It sits nicely with the Scottish observance of Burns. Here's the controversial bit, I don't actually think Burns is that good a poet, but I like the way a tradition and ceremonies have grown up around the celebration of his work, the whole thing is great fun. He's a very important cultural figure for Scotland, but importantly, Burns Night isn't a holiday. Although I get the impression that many Scots would welcome it as a formal national day in place of St. Andrew's Day, because as with St. George, St. Andrew is not Scottish in the slightest.

I dismiss Shakespeare as the cause for a national day, though. There are too many unanswered questions about the provenance of his work, about him as a person. Too much of it too close to the border of myth for my liking, I think we need something to hang our hats on. With Burns the Scots have that, the English cannot be anywhere as sure with Shakespeare.

We have no indpendence to celebrate, until the EU and despite a brief episode under the house of Anjou, we've been free of imperial domination since the Roman Empire, and then England was some way from coming into being. I'd like to celebrate something that England has done.

November the 5th is a day some people would choose, but the weather in November ain't great, and do we really want to celebrate the torture and death of a Catholic who was prevented from doing away with a corrupt and rotten establishment? I don't.

Many people propose the birthday of Wilberforce or the day we became the first country to outlaw slavery. A fine proposition. Whilst we should be ashamed of our country's role in being one of the leading perpetrators of the slave trade, we should also be fiercely proud that we were the first to outlaw it. It sits very easily with the left, and as a Liberatarian, not celebrating the end of slavery is a bizarre position to take, but it cannot be that, because this was a British policy, not an English one.

Similarly, we cannot as the English alone, celebrate VE day, Trafalgar or Waterloo for these were not purely English triumphs.

Some advocate Agincourt. No doubt an English victory, but it is also a little imperialistic. This was a battle to take the French crown, unlike VE day, it did not mark our survival in the face of a ruthless and evil aggressor or like Waterloo celebrate our part in ensuring the liberty of a whole continent. No, I don't think Agincourt is right.

So, I propose 8th August. We can move the existing August Bank Holiday in England. So on an administrative level, it is easy. It also falls in the month with the best weather, so it should be a day most people can be enjoying the weather. I also remember a celebration of the 400th anniversary of the date when I was younger, with some really cool events.

What happened on the date in question?

The 8th August 1588 was the day the English navy defeated the Spanish Armada. We were not the aggressors. We were standing up the greatest power in the world, determined to impose their belief system upon us, to rule us with a puppet monarch, to force us to accept their way of life. A huge fleet was defeated by a much smaller force, led with flair and skill by Howard and Drake - Drake was an amazing character, not perfect, but he's a cracking story behind him. I remember the 400th anniversary, the re-creation of the beacons, I grew up in a location a couple of miles away from one of the original beacons. Just imagine the parks on a warm August evening, with the beacons blazing away, picnics and fireworks, it would be fantastic.

On 8th August we defended ourselves with honour and came out victorious. We have (until recently) been a naval power since then, and despite credible threats from Bonaparte and Hitler, have never looked like being conquered again. Surely that is better than some Palestinian bloke on a donkey stabbing a crocodile?

Don't mention the debt!

Let us suppose that after paying your national insurance, income tax, council tax, fuel tax, tax on that tax, insurance premium tax, road tax, value added tax and any other tax you can think of, that you've got a few quid left over that hasn't been swallowed up.

Let us suppose for a minute that you decide to invest that money somewhere.

Let us suppose for a moment longer that you've spent the last two years living under a log, delivering diversity training to a family of woodlice, and haven't really been paying attention to what's been going on.

So you scrape your few quid together and you seek the advice of someone who, you hope, has a decent idea of what he's talking about, what's hot and what's not. You rock up at his office and state that you'd been thinking of investing the cash into government bonds. Greek government bonds.

Assuming your chap isn't a complete mouth breathing simpleton, you'd expect him to say something along the lines of 'that's probably not a great idea, interest rates are through the roof on Bubble Bonds at the moment, it represents a great return if those bonds are honoured, but I'm concerned that the Greek government will default. It's a high risk investment, and I'd advise against it.'

You'd hope, wouldn't you?

However, it would seem that if your man does this, he's going to find himself in a spot of hot water. . .

The Greek authorities have asked Interpol to question a London trader over an email he sent which talked of the high chance of a Greek default.

The email, published in a Greek newspaper, refers to "increased noise" over a Greek debt restructuring as early as Easter.

Greece is highly sensitive to allegations it may not stick to strict repayment terms on its recent bail-out.

Sensitive? It is one bottle of ouzo away from not being able to cover the bonds. We're talking serious bankruptcy here. We're talking taking a hammer to the piggy bank and finding a button, an old washer and an escudo which is worth only slightly more than a drachma. When it goes down, they're going be broker than the brokest thing you can think of, and we're going to have to pay for it. They're sensitive? Well excuse me, I wouldn't want to hurt your feelings. Hang on, my chequebook's here, how much do you want?

The finance ministry says the incident amounts to "possible criminal conduct".

Really? Under what law? The we must never upset the broke bubbles act? Jesus H Christ on a little purple tricycle with a bell and hi-viz jacket.

Greece's Finance Minister George Papaconstantinou insisted on Wednesday that Greece could deal with its debt mountain. 

Oh well, that's fine then. What was I concerned about?

Tell the truth and say that you're concerned about someone not paying a debt, in an email, and Interpol get called in? They really are madder than Mad Stavros Theopopodopoloopyous, winner of Greece's maddest man competition.

Gosh! Really? Wow, thanks for telling me that.

Playtime at St. Arseclown's Junior School for the Terminally Hard of Thinking earlier today.

 
The Snowolf Den is undergoing a spot of spring cleaning today, the curtains are out on the line, the wardrobe has been cleared out and the stock evaluated and swapped for some of the stuff that was moved out in autumn, the light fittings have been taken down and cleaned and the furniture has been moved about and cleaned under.

Mrs. Snowolf is struck down with terrible hay-fever. She's been streaming and sneezing and snotting all over the place, therefore it's been down to me. I don't mind, I'm quite happy pottering about doing my thing. As an aside, and speaking as a non-sufferer of hay-fever, I'm convinced it doesn't exist, is purely psychological and a good excuse for the big pharma companies to hawk their lotions, potions and pills like some sort of latter day snakeoil salesmen.

Between the sneezing, blowings of the nose, rubbing of the eyes, popping of pills, administration of nasal treatments and increasingly violent exhortions of frustration and general yukness, we've had the shining beacon of public service broadcast; the finest purveyor of the televisual arts on the globe, the BBC on this morning. I've been exposed to one of the interminable programmes, that one with the slightly fey chap and the socially incompetent antiques 'expert' (and why do they always have such terrible dress sense and unfortunate hair?) who stomp around some old dear's house and evaluate the worthless tat she's managed to accumulate and then take her along to an antiques house, where she is coerced into jumping up and down in excitement at the thought that the sum total of the nik-naks in her house could cover the cost of a weekend in a caravan in bloody Frinton. I get the impression it is the commercial arm of the situation outlined by Leg-Iron the other day.

Anyhow, they uncovered a couple of well rusting 19th century cavalry swords. But, watch out, peasants! There's an important lesson to learn here, although to be honest the lesson I learned was don't watch daytime BBC whilst stood atop a ladder cleaning light fittings, as the effort expended in trying to come up with an inventive, eloquent, yet fatally offensive rant significantly raises the risk of falling off. The lesson?

Wait for it. . .

"You don't need a firearms licence for a sword. . ."

This brought forth one little explosion of enquiring as to why we have to hand over good money to the BBC for the privilege of watching this bilge. This was as nothing when compared to what followed:

". . . but swords should be kept well out of the reach of children."

Oh? Do you think? That puts me in a bit of a bind, because I've just uncovered a cache of weaponry whilst cleaning out the loft, all of it bladed, there's dirks and a cutlass, a broadsword, a battle-axe, a collection of lances, pikes and spears, I think I saw a mace as well. I was going to go and take it all down to the local primary school to see if they fancied having it, but now I've learned that bladed weapons may not be entirely appropriate playthings for kids. Who knew?

Oh, that's not all. Oh, no. Because the swords were rusted, it was also vital to be mindful of the risk of tetanus.

Listen mate, if I come bearing down on you with a five kilo cavalry blade, hell bent on cleaving your skull in twain, the last thing you're going to have to worry about is bloody tetanus.

I laughed until flapjack came out of my nose.

But that was because I happened to be eating a flapjack at the time. It's not like I've got hamster pouches where I store bits of flapjack just in case someone gives me a good old laugh and I want to show my appreciation.

Anyhow, this is doing the rounds on Facebook, you may have already seen it. I'f you haven't go and have a look before the listing expires, what starts off as a mundane advert for an old Ford Focus degenerates into one of the most surreal and funny things I've read in a long, long time.

As I seem to be stuck in a Sci-Fi bubble at the moment, I'll show you this picture which amused me greatly:

The cracks widen . . .

I've always indulged my Trek geek side and drawn comparisons between the EU and Ceti Alpha V. Ceti Alpha V is a planet, which through an ingenious plot device, becomes exposed to the 'Genesis Device', a missile which is used in terraforming a planet, making it inhabitable in a very short period.

The problem being that as it whips an inhabitable ecosystem up in double quick time, shortcuts were taken and the planet disintegrates in double quick time. The moral of the story being that things like this cannot just be thrown together, there has to be a natural evolution and the imposition of man's will will lead to things falling apart.

The EU is the Genesis Device to the physical continent of Europe. We're seeing an artificially constructed economy fall apart at the seams, like tectonic plates forced together ripping themselves apart to follow the course that the physics of the planet intended.

Now we see two of the old apex predators, shoehorned into the new ecosystem turn on each other. France has effectively closed the border with Italy, furious that Italy has acted like a good European country by laying out the welcome mat for anyone who cares to turn up on the doorstep. Italy has been perfectly happy to dole out temporary residence permits, secure in the knowledge that the Francophone and Francophile Tunisians will head for France as quick as their legs will carry them. Poor France, they never asked for this, and they'd certainly never turn a blind eye at a press of humanity trying to cross their border to another member state, would they?

If you listen to the EU mandarins, the nation state is dead. France obviously doesn't think so. Nor do the people of Finland, who look like acting in the manner of a glacier and sweeping all before them. The parties who have had the country sewn up for so many years don't seem to like it one bit, but then that is the default setting of the Europolitician, the electorate's job is to vote them in, keep quiet and be thankful for anything they are lucky enough to get. Looks like the Finns have had enough of this, and if their wishes are not listened to this time round, well, the main EU poodle parties are just delaying the inevitable.

No doubt the BBC and other EU and publicly funded media outlets will decry them as fascists and nationalists, following the good old example that Uncle Joe set out, they'll try to scare us with tales of the bogeyman, without realising that the vision they promote of a 21st Century Europe is far, far scarier than anything UKIP or True Finns could ever be or do. The further east you go, the fresher the memories are.

We've no doubt seen a good portion of the public of Iceland look at their recent referendum on whether they should allow themselves to be mugged by the UK and the Netherlands with one eye on their application to join the EU, and I've heard whispers that the Croats are re-evaluating their position on joining as well.

The political continent is starting to tear itself apart. The apparatchiks can stamp their feet as much as they like, but European history tells us that there is a tipping point. Whether it is Cromwell, the storming of the Bastille or the Winter Palace, the stringing up of Mussolini or the overthrow of Ceaușescu, once that tipping point is reached, you can do nothing about it. It is true to say that what replaces that which went before may not be better, and may even be worse, but that is the danger with revolutions, it does not invalidate the lack of credibility of the regime which came before.

In his quarters aboard the Enterprise, Spock had a painting of a scene from ancient human mythology - the explusion from Eden. It was there to serve as a reminder that all things end.

Or you could have just re-done the test.

I despair at sections of the public civil service who just seem obsessed with spanking public money in needlessly bureaucratic exercises that benefit nobody at all. I try to mount a considered defence of civil servants, because I am one, I am keen to let people know that we're not all incompetent wasters, but when faced with stories like this, it makes the task pretty much untenable:

A bull sentenced to slaughter after testing positive for bovine TB has won a reprieve after its South Yorkshire owners took its case to the High Court.

Ken Jackson, of Forlorn Hope Farm, Walden Stubbs, disputes the validity of a TB test that condemned Boxy the bull.

Defra ordered the bull to be slaughtered after a positive blood sample was taken last April.

Now, given the volume of TB tests done on cattle in the UK, it must be fairly safe to assume that a cost-effective test has been developed and also that from time to time these tests go wrong. The simple solution is to re-test.

Mr Jackson had told the court he wanted prize-winning Hallmark Boxter, also known as Boxy, to be re-tested and offered to pay for it.

He argued that the officers who took the sample mixed two half-full vials in the field, contrary to written procedures.

Now, had I been in charge of the office responsible, my response would have been to have said 'OK, let's do that, I understand you are anxious and as you've offered to pay, let's get it done.' But no. That hasn't happened at all.

Julie Anderson, appearing for Defra, argued that the bull posed a dangerous threat of spreading bovine TB and must be destroyed.

She submitted that there was "no evidence whatsoever" that the positive blood sample had been contaminated.

No doubt a little checklist on the inside cover of the file had been completed, signed by the officer in the field and/or lab, passed to the line manager who had given authority and then countersigned by a higher or senior officer. It is the mindset that if the checklist has been completed then everything is correct. The checklist can never be wrong. It is complete in its wisdom, everything that needs to be on it is there, anything that isn't on it is an irrelevance. This is a culture that prohibits the employment of abstract thought. It is not common for a civil servant to be thanked for saying to himself 'hang on a minute. . .'

But at the High Court in London Mr Justice McCombe quashed the notices of intended slaughter, ruling that the test taken in relation to Boxy was flawed.

Obviously nobody thought to tell Justice McCombe about the infallibility of the checklist. Or perhaps they did, but he didn't buy it.

He refused Defra permission to appeal, though the department could still make an application directly to the Court of Appeal in a bid to take the case further.

Or they could just re-administer the test. You know it is possible that maybe a human being made a mistake. I know you've got best practice and standard operating procedures and training courses and one day refereshers and e-learning and all that guff, but sometime people just make mistakes. It doesn't make them a bad person, it makes them a human person. Re-doing the test, making sure that it is robust and properly effective will settle this once and for all. The farmer even offered to pay for it.

Daniel Stilitz QC, for the claimants, said the Jacksons "are not wealthy people" and the case had cost them £28,000.

The judge ordered the defendant to pay £15,000 costs within 14 days.

So that's fifteen grand on top of what DEFRA have had to pay to get themselves to this situation, as opposed to what, a couple of quid for a test? A test, which I cannot outline enough, the farmer has offered to pay for.

Of course there is no culpability here from DEFRA:

A Defra spokesman said: "We are naturally disappointed by this judgment and will carefully consider its implications and our next steps, including whether to appeal.

"The judgment does not, however, undermine our comprehensive TB-testing regime for cattle."

They'll appeal, believe me. The fact it will cost the taxpayer a small fortune doesn't matter. Their rules, their decision. Who do these people think they are, going against DEFRA's judgement? Don't they know these people are highly trained experts in their field with years of experience under their belt? No. This cow must die. Without a re-test. It is impossible to think that a mistake has been made. Besides, we've got this checklist. . .

The spanking of public money is done unthinkingly. There is no connection between the tax take and the departmental budget sheet. It simply does not occur to them to not spend the money.

In my department, which I have decided to name the Dept of Beverage Transportation and Consumption Vessel Cleansing for comedy blog purposes, (it is headed up by Dame Greta Arseclown-Um Bongo following the retirement of Sir Norman Tedium-Custard in the new year), a number of front-line staff, most of them my friends, have toddled off into redundancy this week. However I received a message from the 'Religion and Belief Champion', Simon Supinely-Nice, about 'Holy Week'. Could they not get it darned?

'Savage' cuts? Don't make me laugh. I'd love to see what vital tasks are undertaken by Mr. Supinely-Nice over the course of a week, how much he is paid, and how many of those just handed their P45's could have stayed on if he'd been given the push with his ridiculous post instead.

That is what it stands for. . .

. . .isn't it?

Well, that's that then.

The more eagle eyed amongst you may have noticed that all references to the Libertarian Party have been removed from the blogroll and little clicky bits. Why?

Here's why.

I've only met Anna in passing the once, but she's had to put up with a whole barrow load of shit. I trust her more than many people for one simple reason; she never asks for anything.

Draw your own conclusions.