tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-64326679304077545092024-02-20T19:14:13.388+00:00Displacement ActivityRandom thoughts to distract you from workWilliam Duguidhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09845512518700617842noreply@blogger.comBlogger2125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6432667930407754509.post-54687821719504302192015-05-05T18:17:00.002+01:002015-05-05T18:17:37.404+01:00Deal Or No Deal?<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 14.0pt;">
<span style="font-size: 13.0pt; line-height: 107%;">As voters throughout the land beg for mercy, this
interminable election campaign chugs relentlessly on.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The leaders’ debates may be over, apart from
a residual buzzing in our ears, but we’re now in a period called “36-hour
non-stop talking”, as our lords and masters criss-cross the country in cars,
buses, trains and helicopters – you’d have thought hot-air balloons would be
more appropriate – in a last-gasp attempt to not-win the election more
impressively than the other parties.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 13.0pt; line-height: 107%;">Nick Clegg was revelling in his crack-of-dawn photo-call at
Land’s End this morning, as he unveiled his plan to travel the length of
Britain thanking each remaining Lib Dem voter personally for his or her
support, and his advisers anxiously tried to point him in the right direction
so he didn’t accidentally walk off into the sea.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 13.0pt; line-height: 107%;">The Lib Dems still have hopes of shamelessly hitching their
wagon to whatever bunch of charlatans grabs power, and this time they’ve even
thought up some Red Lines (buzz-phrase alert) to make their opinions look
relevant.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Cynical observers, or as they’re
nowadays known “the electorate”, can’t help but compare these policy positions
to sheets of lasagne:<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>they may look firm
at the moment, but as soon as the heat’s on they’ll soften up and be submerged
in a load of mince.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 13.0pt; line-height: 107%;">Meanwhile, David Cameron has rolled up his sleeves, knocked
back a jeroboam of espresso and declared himself “pumped up”, a sure sign he’s
absolutely terrified. The Tories have put a massive amount into this campaign:
slander, obfuscation, hyperbole, bribery –in fact, everything expect the
slightest indication of where they’ll slash £12 billion from welfare <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>– and yet poll ratings remain unco-operatively
static, like a mule embedded in cement. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 13.0pt; line-height: 107%;">“We’re aiming for an absolute majority,” insists Dave, though
everyone knows that’s as likely as Jeremy Clarkson opening a charm school. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Propeller-headed party strategists are already
working on alternative scenarios, including a rose-garden smooch with Nigel
Farage, a tearful reconciliation with never-say-no Nick and, in extremis, Dave digging
his fingernails into the carpet and having to be dragged out of number 10 by a
hydraulic pulley system.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 13.0pt; line-height: 107%;">Ordinarily this would all be academic to Scottish voters, but
these days the tectonic plates aren’t so much shifting as doing an eightsome
reel.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Only tactical voters, nursing
their wrath to keep it warm, stand between the SNP and a near clean sweep, and depending
on whether you read the National or the Daily Mail, Nicola Sturgeon is either a
stadium-filling superstar, scourge of the Establishment and paragon of
progressive politics or the most dangerous woman in the universe, defacer of
Barbie dolls and harbinger of the Apocalypse. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 13.0pt; line-height: 107%;">One thing’s for certain: the SNP have caught the eye of
Middle England, and not necessarily in a good way. Press coverage has generally
represented them as a horde of barbarians at the gates, smelling of yak-piss
and bent on mayhem.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 13.0pt; line-height: 107%;">This presumably lies at the heart of Ed Miliband’s recent
statement that if he’s asked to do a deal with them, the answer will be “hell,
no”. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I say “presumably” because it’s
never quite clear what Ed’s on about, even if you’re an experienced translator
with advanced training in balderdash.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Fortunately
he’s getting his thoughts chiselled on a monolith, so that gives us a fighting
chance.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 14.0pt;">
<span style="font-size: 13.0pt; line-height: 107%;">Anyway, it’ll be interesting to see the how the “no deals”
policy affects Labour MPs’ behaviour. Perhaps they’ll have to wear
la-la-I-can’t-hear-you ear muffs in the Commons restaurant, in case an SNP MP
offers to pass the salt. Or they’ll be obliged to slam a door in their own
faces rather than allow Stewart Hosie to hold it open for them, and hurl
themselves under any taxi that Pete Wishart offers to share. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 13.0pt; line-height: 107%;">So many permutations, denials and caveats, so much
uncertainty. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But if we end up with a
prolonged post-election stalemate, is there one possibility we haven’t identified?</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 14.0pt;">
<span style="font-size: 13.0pt; line-height: 107%;">Is it conceivable there could be a grand Labour-Tory
coalition, or at least an agreement for Labour not to intervene while the
Tories insert the last few sticks of dynamite into our public services?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Those who’ve suggested this have usually been
considered wild conspiracy theorists who also believe that Martians are trying
to contact them via their kitchen utensils.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 14.0pt;">
<span style="font-size: 13.0pt; line-height: 107%;">But isn’t it a teensy-weensy possibility, for the good of the
nation, of course, with the future of a new royal baby to consider?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>What a fiendish twist on the usual SNP complaint:
this time Scotland might vote neither Labour nor Tory and get both.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The Queen wouldn’t just be purring, she’d be
doing cartwheels through the cat-flap.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
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William Duguidhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09845512518700617842noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6432667930407754509.post-57312279819318034032012-01-14T21:56:00.002+00:002012-01-14T23:22:33.130+00:00Fasten Your Seat Belt...Here we go with another run of <i>Displacement Activity</i>, the blog imbued with the spirit of the age. That is, that the patent lack of something to say or the ability to say it need not be a barrier to you shouting loudly and randomly at the top of your voice.<br />
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In the past I've sought to skewer the rich and famous with blinding shafts of satire, to expose our political elite for the self-serving greaseballs they invariably are, and in my own humble way to shine a light on the things that really ought to matter in today's troubled times. These efforts will, of course, continue, even though they haven't earned me a damn penny from those bastard commissioning editors at Radio 4.<br />
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There will also be room, now and again, for more personal insights, as I explore the rich seam of humour that is life in the commuter belt of the Home Counties. Yes, I know I should be using Twitter for that sort of stuff, but, frankly, the prospect of me condensing a message into 140 characters is as likely as the Queen launching the Olympics with a chorus of <i>Knees Up Mother Brown</i>.<br />
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So why not join me over the next few days, weeks, months or however long it takes before this blog runs into the sand like the last two attempts? There's no need to be self-conscious. Thanks to advances in mobile technology, your friends and colleagues need never know. They'll think you're just consulting your e-mail. Except if you give it away by laughing, but, hey, what are the chances of that?<br />
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Look, I tell you what. I'll come back in a day or so with the first update and you can see what you think. I'll even put in some jokes if you like. If I can just remember where I stashed that <i>Beano</i> annual from 1965....William Duguidhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09845512518700617842noreply@blogger.com0