|Wanted, dead or alive!|
We got to Folkestone and made our first mistake, we put the BBC radio on. I really thought we had gone through the Channel Tunnel into some weird kind of parallel universe. The main news item was how a nine year old girl had been banned from photographing her school meals and putting them on her blog, Never Seconds. I immediately stopped for breakfast, convinced that my craving a full monty belly buster brekkie, after two weeks of weedy croissants and baguettes, had created some kind of hallucinogenic effect. But no, it was true.
After brekkie we heard somebody I can only describe as a patronising, moronic twat (aka Executive Director of Community Services) justifying this act of pure Stalinism on behalf of the politburo of Argyll and Bute. Yes, it just had to be in the Soviet Socialist Republic of Scotland didn't it?
To cut a long story short the patronising, moronic twat was whining on about how coverage of Martha's blog in a Scottish newspaper, Pravda I think, had led to dinner ladies in Argyll and Bute threatening mass suicide they were so distraught. If that is true I would sack the lot, bunch of mardy arsed bastards should be in padded cells allowed nothing sharp. Well done Martha I say.
But the most annoying thing was the patronising, moronic twat repeatedly claiming that this was not an attack on free speech because free speech, apparently, does not include the right to upset people, those people being the mard arsed dinner ladies of Argyll and Bute. Bollocks, that's exactly what free speech does allow. Tell you what pal your patronising bullshit really got me angry yesterday, so should you be banned from practising free speech because your inane bullshit angers people?
One other really annoying thing was the twat's accent. I do find patronising bastards with Scottish accents really, really annoyingly patronising. Their speech is so clipped and precise every sentence seems to say 'just listen little person, unlike you I know what is right and correct'. If you don't believe me just listen, if you can bare it, to George Galloway, he's the prime exponent.
Anyway, by the time we got to Milton Keynes, the Supreme Leader of the Argyll and Bute politburo had overturned the ban, realising what a load of bollocks it was. I only hope he sent the patronising, moronic twat to Siberia. Well, maybe the Shetland Isles.