My favourite advert of the last ten years was probably the “Are you beach body ready?” Protein World poster campaign.
Partly I liked it because it featured a hot-looking girl in a bikini, so naturally it appealed to my inner caveman.
Partly I liked it because it annoyed so many of the right people — everyone from London’s closet Islamist Mayor of London Sadiq Khan, to all the feminists who were outraged that in the 21st century men still want to stare at semi-naked hot chicks with slim bodies more than they want to stare at minging porkers with blue hair and PhDs in gender studies and multiple cat maintenance.
Mainly I liked it because it was a glorious throwback to a happier, better age when advertising did what it is supposed to do: appeal to our most basic instincts in order to seduce us into buying stuff.
Best friends: Michael and Sarah Gove. Many harsh words have been said about Michael and Sarah — many of them, at least in Michael’s case, by me. But the point about good friends — even when they betray every-thing you hold dear and sell your country down the river like some back-stabbing traitor — is that you love them, warts and all, and stick by them. Sarah is the most brilliant and generous host in Christendom. The Gove, despite having a quite important day job, is always there for me at a moment’s notice when, say, I’ve got a speech to give at the Durham Union and I need it dictated to me on the train up, pronto. Gove is a mensch.
In a letter to the Times of London today, PhD students from Nuffield College, Oxford, defend Dr Noah Carl — the Cambridge University researcher accused by the left-wing academic bully mob of promulgating “racist pseudoscience.”
Can you imagine how horrible it must have been for those poor souls at the Strasbourg Christmas market killed or grievously wounded by yet another of those “lone wolf” terrorists yelling Allahu Akbar?
Actually, most of us can because most of us have been to a Christmas market. We know what they’re like: tacky, cheesy, boozy, expensive but kind of fun – exactly what you need to put you in the festive mood.
You drink Glühwein, or Apfelwein, or similar – and get a warm fuzzy glow, which takes the edge off your anxiety (of which more in a moment…).
You buy overpriced Lebkuchen – gingerbread men in the shape of Father Christmas or a snowman or even rainbow-coloured unicorns.
Against all reason, Theresa May – the worst Prime Minister in British history – has yet again survived an attempt to boot her out of office.
This has nothing to do with her merits: she has none.
It is entirely due to the short-termism, cowardice and depressing lack of soundness among all those Conservative MPs who voted to keep her in office – despite being perfectly aware (as who can not be?) that she is a lame duck Prime Minister causing little but harm and embarrassment to her party, her electorate and her country.
All day in the run up to the vote, May’s MPs have been dressing up their pusillanimity and self-serving weaselry as a mix of pragmatism, patriotism and high principle.
From Poland to France, from Canada to the U.S, the climate alarmists are in retreat as the public begins to tire of their taxes, their constrictive regulations, their dodgy, ugly, inefficient renewable projects and their hysterical junk science scare stories. Economics is beginning to reassert itself over green propaganda.
At the UN climate summit in Katowice, Poland, a pro-energy faction of oil-producing nations – led by the U.S. – has caused huge upset to the greenies by refusing to endorse the latest scaremongering report from the Intergovernmental Panel on Climate Change (IPCC).
A diplomatic standoff over a single word could set the stage for a bigger showdown during the second half of this year’s U.N. climate summit. Negotiators took time out Sunday to rest after the first week of talks ended on a sour note the previous night, when the United States sided with Russia, Saudi Arabia and Kuwait in blocking endorsement of a landmark study on global warming.
Brexit is a dog’s breakfast of a cock-up of a disaster of a fiasco.
I’ve been looking for guidance from some wise columnist who can explain what is happening and then reassure me that it’s all going to be OK in the end. But such a person does not exist for the simple reason that no one knows anything: everything is up in the air, everybody is lying, cheating or on manoeuvres, everyone is partisan and betraying their own biases and wishful thinking. That’s why I feel free to offer my own hot takes on the issue, confident that no one can gainsay me because my guesses are as good as anyone else’s.
Here is where I think we are:
Her decision to postpone her inevitable defenestration by delaying yesterday’s “meaningful vote” in Parliament because she knew she was bound to lose was entirely in character. May’s sole interest now is staying in power by whatever means. It’s not as though she didn’t warn us.
“I am a bloody difficult woman”, she once famously claimed. What she should have added is: “I am also a bloody annoying woman.”
France’s Gilets Jaunes protestors have jumped on the Trump train with a manifesto that could almost have been written by the Donald himself.
The good news is that it contains an awful lot of sense – including demands for lower taxes, reduced migration and Frexit (French exit) from the European Union.
The bad news is that it hasn’t a prayer of coming to fruition because its demands are unrealistic, contradictory and will certainly be stymied by the sclerotic, anti-democratic, rampantly statist French political system – and also by the French people themselves.
Though the original, ostensible purpose of the Gilets Jaunes demonstrations was to protest against President Macron’s carbon tax policies, what’s clear from this manifesto is that their demands are now much broader.
“Marrakech C’est Non!” says one of the banners wielded by the Gilets Jaunes at the protests in Paris this weekend: “No to Marrakesh!”
This refers, of course, to the United Nations conference in Marrakesh, Morocco later this week; the one where the world’s nations are being asked to sign away their sovereignty, their freedoms and their identity in one of the most pernicious agreements ever devised by the UN: the justly infamous UN Global Compact for Migration.
Lots of countries have already announced that they are not going to sign, among them the U.S., Hungary, Poland, Austria, Italy, Israel, Bulgaria, and Australia.
There’s a clue as to how toxic this compact is: when even a country as emasculated and politically correct as Australia finds it too much to swallow.
But perhaps a bigger clue as to its toe-curling, achingly right-on, surrender-monkey awfulness is offered by the countries which are planning on signing up to it. These include Leo Varadkar’s Ireland and Justin “President Bieber” Trudeau’s Canada: arguably the two Western nations you’d least want to be living in right now because they are currently in the hands of politically correct bedwetters bent on destroying every last vestige of their national identity and replacing it with some kind of squishy, globalist melting pot where people of all colours and creeds hold hands under a rainbow.
Don’t watch The Sinner (originally on Netflix; now on BBC4) because, despite your better judgment, you’ll only get addicted after its irresistibly grabby opening. A pretty if slightly distraite mother called Cora Tannetti — Jessica Biel — is on a lakeside beach with her bearded beta cuck husband and their little boy, surrounded by other relaxed groups of weekend picnickers. Suddenly, she takes huge exception to a hunky male sitting nearby and derangedly stabs him to death with a fruit knife. Why?
That’s why it’s being sold as a new genre — the ‘whydunit’ — because obviously we know whodunit already. With seven more episodes to go, it’s probably safe to assume that the answer is much more complicated — but not nearly as plausible — as the one I gave to the Fawn at the end of episode one. ‘I know exactly why she did it,’ I said. ‘Why?’ said the Fawn. ‘Because she’s a woman…’ I said.