Planet Bonkers

by AD Moreton

3. Note – I’m a scientist and we like to use lots of abbreviations for lots of different types of stuff. Don’t worry - there is a big list at the back of the book translating what all the different abbreviation stuff means. Including all the CO2 stuff.

  8 - New Computers and Software

  I have been fortunate enough to grow up through my later years in secondary school and subsequently in my career, during the period when the technology boom, originating from the first commercial silicon chips, has taken place. So, here I take a good long hard (cynical) look, from the very early Sinclair, Commodore and BBC computers, to the modern Personal Computers, laptops, tablets and mobile devices we have today. And consider the progress. And demonstrate unequivocally that in some ways we have gone nowhere at all.

  “Isn’t technology wonderful?”

  I think the correct answer to such a question is sort a qualified:

  “Yes, up to a point.”

  Thinking back, I can remember towards the end of my first year of doing A-levels, an opportunity arose to add in some supplementary learning in the new area of Computer Science in the second year. At the time, I thought about this for approximately 5 ½ seconds, realised that it was not going to contribute to my core objectives of gaining good (oh alright, acceptable grades) in the subjects Maths, Physics and Chemistry, and could even cause a distraction, and so said a polite: “thanks, but no thanks”.

  Do I regret it? You bet. Try undertaking any element of any project involving any of those three subjects (or any others for that matter) now without a computer and see how far you get.

  So, there’s no doubt that electronic developments and computer science progression have moved things forward. But, and here’s the but; it can be overdone and in many areas it is being. And when that happens, rather than the technology being a useful tool to help YOU, you become the slave of the technology; and indirectly, the companies that have a vested interest in making sure you become sucked well and truly in and brainwashed to their way of thinking.

  Going beyond A-Levels and on to university, Computer Science was a core first year module for the main science subjects. And so, I began to become more involved in the area. I did what I had to do, but never really got hooked. Again, my take was that it was a necessity, but definitely a side show, not part of my primary objective of securing a good degree in Chemistry.

  Degree over and starting to work my way through a PhD, and slowly, computers were appearing more frequently and in more diverse places. My future father in law, one Christmas around this time, had persuaded his wife to buy him one of the new-fangled computer things as a present; a Sinclair ZX-81. My future wife and I happened to be visiting her parents that Christmas and so I inevitably got drawn into the exploration of the new device. After all, I was a proper scientist, at least according to my father in law to be. During the few days over that Christmas break, I must confess I started, for the first time, to just about get the new technology and its potential attractions.

  Back at University and guess what? I actually went out and bought one (and I still have it to this day). A ZX-81 with, wait for it, all of ONE kilobyte of memory. And here is the amazing thing. I could programme on it. I could draw graphs of experimental data from my PhD work. Indeed, the university itself even purchased a ZX-81 that a post doctorate student used to log live data from fast chemical reaction experiments.

  Now, try opening any modern program, Word, any email account, Excel, PowerPoint, accountancy software, image editing software, and see how far you can get with 1 kilobyte. Precisely; exactly nowhere at all.

  Just to drive home the point, open up a new blank Word document. Type in a single full stop and then save the document. Then check just how big the file is. How about 13 kilobytes? That is 13 times the memory that my ZX-81 computer had in total. The one that I could programme on and log and present real data from real experiments on. And that same memory now will in the new modern improved technology let you be the proud new owner of one thirteenth of a single solitary full stop. Now, I don’t know about you, but I’m not sure I call that progress.

  A year or so later, I upgraded from the ZX-81 to a Commodore 64 system, complete with 64 kilobytes of memory, tape storage recorder, monitor, dot matrix and daisy wheel printer and a 5 ¼ inch floppy disk drive. A whole new world opened up. By this time, I was starting to be properly hooked, could write decent programs in the BASIC and ALGOL programming languages and even started writing computer games in machine code. And I had the small matter of a 299 page PhD thesis to write (no, I don’t know why I didn’t go mad and stretch it to 300 pages either). And the Commodore 64 system did the job just fine. Okay the diagrams had to be produced by hand, stuck in place and then the page photocopied, but for the 1984 – 1986 period, it was on the money.

  And so, fast forward another 6 years or so into my workplace. IBM and derivative PC’s were now sprouting up everywhere and Microsoft were laying the foundations to take over the globe regarding software. From my perspective, I could still write documents, do some calculations and shift data around. Image presentation was improving, yes. But there was not a great deal of difference from my viewpoint.

  Add another couple of years and the availability of the internet began to spread, at the dizzy speed of 56 kilobytes per second. I could now email, and move files around. And working freelance, with people in Plymouth, the Manchester area, Kent, Cumbria and the far North of Scotland, clearly I hold my hands up, it was a major breakthrough and made all our jobs and work possible.

  So, from about 1984 to 1995, just over 10 years, we went from a single kilobyte machine to an eight megabyte RAM machine complete with a national and international instant communications capability. Pretty impressive.

  So, what about 1996 to 2014, call it the best part of 20 years. What’s happened over that period? Bigger faster computers; yes in theory. Word has turned blue and they have moved all the icons around so you can’t do anything anymore. Excel has turned green and they have moved all the icons around so you can’t do anything anymore. And that’s it. That’s it from my perspective. Yes, we have got broadband rather than dial-up and it’s a lot faster, theoretically. But in reality it isn’t. Not here; in the middle of nowhere; a full fifty odd miles from London.

  And the reason is simple. In 1995 there were basically me and 6 mates using the internet. So although the system was slow, there wasn’t much traffic. And the files were based on just inefficient crap memory intensive Microsoft and other programmes that were written at the time. As opposed to the completely out of this stratosphere crap and memory intensive Microsoft and other programmes we have all been conned into using in 2014.

  And now, in addition to me and my 6 mates doing some proper work to try and keep the lights on occasionally, there are approximately 3.5 billion spotty teenagers all Tweeting and Fat Facing and watching wacky videos on You Tube. And so all this data, that in my world is completely irrelevant to what I need to do (which is the same as it was in 1995 and even before), simply means that although I have had to upgrade my hardware and software system 5 times over the intervening period, I can do diddly squat more now, than I could do then.

  In fact I can do even less now. Because Microsoft, in full collusion with the international MAISTUC system has moved all the icons around. And multiplied them by a factor of ten million. And how many of the new ones do I ever, even remotely, under any circumstances want to use? Zilch. Not one. Not even part of one.

  So, in contrast to most of the population, I don’t upgrade my computer system to the new state of the art device every 45 seconds. You see - I’m not environmentally unfriendly like you lot. No, I conserve natural resources and minimise all forms of waste (except petrol and red wine - the fluid of the god’s). I eke out every last second of computing power from my existing machine before I get dragged screaming and kicking, either online, or into a computer shop, to take the plunge.

  I have to be dragged screaming and kicking because, although I moan and go b
erserk as my 5 year old relic starts to get slower and slower, I know that at least it works and more importantly I know HOW IT WORKS. And it can do all the simple word processing, calculations, publishing and graphic stuff that I need it to do. And it can email and check stuff on the inter-web.

  So I always go through a phase where everybody chastises me and emphasises that the reason my machine is slow (and I therefore increasingly moan) is because it is out of date and if I upgraded to a new modern super-duper device it would be quicker, more efficient and my entire world would be transformed.

  And what irritates the tit’s off me is that, even though I have been through this process 5 times and know that what they are telling me is complete and utter bollocks (sponsored by Microsoft, IBM, Dell, Google and all the rest), I keep falling for it.

  I somehow always think:

  “This time, they might be right. Maybe the new systems are now more efficient. Maybe they have debugged the software this time so it will be only partially crap (rather than the usual complete and utter off the radar crap). Maybe this time it will be just a simple plug and play”.

  And so eventually I do give in and trade up to a new super duper modern system. And every time, without fail, within 42 seconds of opening the box and switching the thing on, I realise that yet again, I have been well and truly duped under false pretences. The new system is always crapper.

  It looks flash. There will be about ten billion new icons all to do ten billion things that I will never ever, even want to start to think about working out what they might do, let alone press one of the little bleeders to find out. Virtually always they open another window with a request for you to just re-programme the entire universe and click yes so they can fill 95.6% of your hard drive and all the read only and random access memory so your new super duper system will be entirely shagged and you’ll need to go out and buy another one a week on Monday.

  And I know that the 4 actual icons I want to use will now be buried within the depths of hell of the new machine so it will take me a minimum of 7.3 days to stand any chance of switching on Word, Excel, PowerPoint or my email system.

  And now in the newest systems we have the real icing and cherry on the cake. You see, the real new devices like to make life easier for us. Oh shit! Make sure our system is right bang up to date. Running on the very latest complete pile of crap that some spotty 4 year old 8 cell organism has just finished coding. Probably on a Friday morning before he pissed off to the boozer to kick off an all weekend Stag do in Dublin.

  And to make it easy for you, the machine just applies the upgrades (nice word upgrades, implies we are going UP, sort of improving), in the background. Does it ask you? Negative. It knows best. It’s in bloody charge now so you just shut the f**k up and do as you’re told.

  The result of this helpfulness is that if by some miracle you had happened to work out how the hell to use your new super duper machine, you soon bloody won’t do. The code that the spotty 4 year old 8 cell organism has just delivered seamlessly and wirelessly into your machine will make absolutely damn sure of that.

  So, go on, tell me now technology really is moving me forward.

  Oh I can hear the cries. What about technology on the move. Mobile phones, tablets and the like. Well that’s all for another article, which should be seriously off the rant meter scale. But, suffice it to say, tablets, in my world, are small circular white things that you pop into your gob in the morning to cure any wild headaches after you misjudged the point at which you should stop in the beer and vin rouge extravaganza the previous evening.

  14 - Population Import for Todays’ Pensioners

  So, the intergalactic superhuman species of deep intellectual thinkers who inhabit Westminster have started to put some serious thought into the ticking time bomb of our time. No, no, not THAT ticking time bomb. Not the ‘0.035% CO2 bogey man is going to turn your garden into a desert and raise sea levels by 115 metres so you all drown’, time bomb. The other one. The ‘pension shortfall that will result in everybody over 70 becoming exceedingly poor, seriously pissed off and going on a train to London to shoot a load of incompetent arseholes’ time bomb. Well worry no longer. What you weren’t worried? No, me neither. But even if you had been, you can now stop being.

  So, the collective brainpower of our great and mighty have been in deep assessment. No, no, nothing to do with that MP and his Secretary bird checking out the structural integrity of his desk and topping up her fluid levels. Not that deep assessment.

  A deep assessment of the pension problem, the various possible solutions and finally, the presentation of the preferred solution. Well, fortunately for you, I’ve had a look at their assessment. And, unsurprisingly, it is all complete bollocks. But not to worry, I have done my own re-assessment of their assessment and come up with a number of slightly simpler possible solutions that would actually work.

  Well, apparently oldies, are you all listening, because it’s all your fault. You see, you have all had a great time, buying new cars and stuff, eating out in all the new fancy restaurants, going on foreign holidays every five minutes. But you naughty lot, you haven’t been saving enough for your retirement.

  And it now turns out that all the home office great minds from the 40’s to the 60’s and beyond had you all pencilled in to peg it 6 months before your 68th birthday. But now it appears that most of you grumpy, selfish inconsiderate gits and gittesses are managing to keep on breathing until nearly 90 or beyond. Which, you see, is causing the poor current sod at number eleven Downing Street a bit of a headache. A bit of a hole so to speak.

  A hole that needs filling - quickly. Calm down you lot in you know where; and for god’s sake put your pants back on. A bit of decorum, please.

  Now, our man at number eleven firstly has a little confession to make. It’s in relation to the dosh he and a load of the previous lot used to nick out of your wage packets and salaries under the pretence that they were buying gold or some other useful commodity and sticking it away in a big vault stamped with “Mr and Mrs Smith’s pension dosh”.

  So that when you retired you could come and sell bits of your gold bar or other stored valuables and go and buy Cornflakes, Horlicks and other useful stuff. You know, so you could sort of live. Carry on breathing a bit.

  Well it turns out that our man at number eleven, when he moved in, found out that one or two of his predecessors (okay, ALL of his predecessors) might have been telling slight porkies. You see, 50 years is a long time, and all them gold bars and other stuff, sat there sort of just doing nothing, seemed like a bit of a waste.

  And, the thing is, when somebody retires, there is always somebody else younger just starting out working. You know, starting to save for their retirement.

  So you see, all that wasted stuff, sort of just sat there doing nothing was a bit surplus to requirements. So our dearly beloveds might not have kept it all. Or they sort of might not have kept any of it. Apparently, they might have spent it. Probably on fine Claret or some decent well ballasted birds in a posh hotel.

  But don’t worry, it’s not a problem Mr and Mrs Smith. Honestly, no problem at all. They’ll sort of just take young Jonny’s dosh who has just started working (you know, the dosh he’s saving for his retirement) and give it to you. He doesn’t need it for 50 years or so, you need it now; that’s fair. When Jonny comes to retire, they’ll nick some other poor sod’s dosh who’s just started out working and give it to him. All sorted. Everyone’s a winner.

  Just one little point to remind you of though Mr and Mrs Smith. Only a technicality, you understand. They just need you sign here at the bottom. Oh the technicality? Well, you just have to sort of make sure you stop expelling that nasty carbon containing pollutant before you are 69 ¾. You know, just make yourself, a little bit sort of dead. Yes, both of you. Only a minor technicality you understand.

  And there we have the crux of the problem identified. Dosh that should have been saved wasn’t. Mr and Mrs Smith, aided and abette
d by the Genii from Westminster who chuck more and more money into the NHS to keep people alive longer and longer (joined up Government thinking anybody), won’t peg it quick enough. And then the icing on the cake, not enough young little Jonnies being born, growing up and starting work to hand over dosh to the nasty inconsiderate not pegged Mr and Mrs Smiths.

  Now, with that being the identified problem, I must confess there are a few options for the resolution of the said problem that spring immediately to my mind:

  1. Yank Mr and Mrs Smith back out of retirement and piss them seriously off. Tell them they need to keep working for another few years (ten’s a nice round number). Note: this sort of involves the politicians potentially going back on a sincere political promise to Mr and Mrs Smith, something that they tend to be a bit reluctant to do. Partially because, the lying, useless incompetent bastards might get approximately nought points at the next election.

  2. Save a lot of NHS dosh - don’t pile more and more money in keeping the oldies breathing longer than their natural life end. Let them peg it.

  3. If the oldies don’t peg it quick enough, give them a nice, gentle, considerate helping hand; with real feeling.

  4. Nick even more dosh off Jonny.

  5. Get more people working earlier. It used to work fine. Right tool for the job. Tall narrow chimney full of soot - clearly no job for a big fat bloke from Brum. No, but perfect for a smaller younger kid, say about 10; he’s a good climber and nice and light so he won’t break much if he falls. This results in earlier receipts of dosh to give to Mr and Mrs Smith and reduced expenditure on college tuition fees; again it’s a complete win-win.

  Just get back to the basics. Concentrate on the fundamentals. Yep, clearly any of the above or a combination of the above would do. You have to quite simply either:

  Stop the ongoing expenditure tail from Mr and Mrs Smiths’ getting too long; or

  Increase the up-front early income from Jonny and his young mates (and for the numpties in you know where here is the key bit) FROM YOUR EXISTING MANAGED POPULATION.

  Now, I do have to confess, the one option that didn’t spring to my mind, not under any circumstances, was:

  Let’s continually import more and more young Jonny foreigners and get them working, so we can nick some of their dosh to give to Mr and Mrs Smith.

  Pyramid selling anybody?

  Now, I wonder which strategy those in the know might be adopting? And indeed with a straight, sincere we know what’s best for you face. Jesus!

  15 - Improving the Political Process

  So people, it seems most of you aren’t over keen on politicians. Well, here I explain why you are indeed all correct and why most politicians are exactly what you consider them to be. But, I don’t just leave it at the stone throwing stage. No, yet again, totally free of charge, I give the 650 fine specimens in SW1 two perfectly workable solutions to the problem of how they could improve the ‘connection’ between themselves and the general public. Only two. Nice and simple, even for them. So, which one will they not choose?

  Now, there are occasional odd hints here and there throughout this book that politicians and other government officials in general, may not be exactly my cup of tea; not top of my dinner party guest list so to speak. And here, in contrast to 99.95 % of this book, where I believe I might typically be in a minority of about one, I am flushed to be able to say, confidently, that I will be in the MAJORITY. Comfortably. Probably by about 68 million to 650, at a rough, order of magnitude guess. How can this be? How, on this occasion, can you lot also be right?

  Now, I like to watch, if it fits in with my work commitments, bits and pieces of political and news type programmes. It helps to keep my blood pressure topped up to around the 150 psi level. This makes life more on the edge and interesting.

  So, a bit of breakfast TV in the morning, a slug of Daily Politics at lunchtime if I’m not busy, news in the evening, Question Time and Newsnight if I’ve been good and kept my red wine intake for the day down to less than two bottles and am still conscious. Which is very unlikely. Still, when I nod off and then subsequently wake up at 03:45 in the morning with the screen all white and fuzzy, at least I’ll know I’ll have been doing my bit to help the poor beleaguered UK power industry keep returning a profit. And helping to maintain my expansive carbon-footprint.

  You see it really is difficult to know where to start on this one. Really, to do it justice, you need to be able to start simultaneously on 107,555 parallel rants of an intensity and ferocity that would have even the most ardent mass murderer blushing and cowering in the corner.

  But it’s a lot easier to stick at a nice high fundamental level that even my mates in you know where might be able to follow. Because, if you get the very top level decisions correct, everything else becomes EASY and just all falls into place. Trust me, you’ll see.

  So, the fundamental problem, as is always stated on every news, politics bulletin and the like, normally by a few serious I came in it to make a difference types, is this:

  “Why are most people not interested in being involved in politics and why is there this ever increasing detachment between politicians and the population at large?”

  Err. Now I’ll not take the well-trodden:

  “Because you’re all thieving bastards who spend most of your time fiddling expenses and getting seriously pissed in the cheap subsidised bars in Westminster” route that some of you others might.

  Or the:

  “Because you spend all your time flying around the world at our expense to exotic locations for slap up meals and quick 2 ½ minute International meetings to discuss how to reduce world-wide consumption, CO2 emissions (top-tip, from a scientist, don’t bother, it’s not the problem you’ve been conned into thinking it is) and third world poverty” route.

  Err, on this latter point, how about don’t get on the plane. Instead, park your arse in your constituency for that particular week (why does it always take at least a week for a 2 ½ minute International meeting?) and have a butty from the corner shop or a pasty for lunch. Oh and walk there to pick it up. Walk, as in cart your fat arse along by putting one foot in front of the other to propel your cellular structure in a lateral horizontal direction. It will be good for you. Good for you so that you might have just one single clean heart attack rather than a prolonged series of tremors that would cost the NHS dearly.

  No, I won’t take such a petty well-trodden path that others might take. I’ll be mature. And positive. Provide sensible considered solutions.

  So here it is, to the whole of Parliament. The reason for all the political and government inefficiency that always results in failures and leads to the consequential public detachment:

  “There are too many of you and nobody can ever be truly in charge. The system you have collectively developed and seem to enjoy working within, guarantees that management by committee is the norm and failure always inevitable”.

  The plus side of this is that when the shit hits the fan (it always has, always does and always will), nobody is responsible. You can all just carry on. Business as usual. On you all go, merrily, to the next, monumental, multi-billion pound cock up.

  Now, I wonder. Could this, just possibly, be ONE of the reasons why 67.9995 million UK citizens are starting to get, just ever so slightly, as in teeny-weeny slightly, pissed off and think that you might just possibly be, the biggest set of incompetent wasters that have ever been plonked on the planet?

  This, together with the fact that you will collectively clearly do essentially anything to remain in power. I’m reasonably confident that if somebody could credibly make any of you the offer:

  “I will ensure you remain in office for the next two terms provided you are prepared to just pop over and shit publically on your mother’s grave” ,

  650 sets of Y-fronts and G-strings would be around ankles in Westminster quicker than I could manage to utter the words:

  “So where exactly is this Clapham Common?”


  So that’s the problem. And now to the solution. And just to make it interesting, I’m going to give you TWO possible, totally credible solutions. Try not to take the next 17 Parliaments to make your choice. It might get people a bit more pissed off with you and somebody might finally snap; and it might get, err, messy.

  So, Option 1 for the revision to the UK democratic process. Cut the numbers down a bit from 650 to, err, six. Yep, you read that correctly. Not six hundred. Not six thousand. Not any six, other than the singular digit six that sits between one and ten.

  We’ll have one individual to cover Wales, one for Scotland (if they haven’t decided to finally piss off and manage their own bit of wasteland north of the border and fend for themselves) one for the North of England, one for the South West and one for the South East. And finally, one, unambiguously clearly appointed IN CHARGE director of UK plc. A good one; like me. Then, we’ll tell all the other 645 complete wasters to piss-off and find a proper job. In the private sector. Go on, make a real bloody difference.

  And so to the details. Right, the job of the 5 area directors is to listen to the local government representatives (the half that are left, after we have electrified the useless and negative half that currently exist and all the non-job areas that we don’t and never have needed) and reach their opinions on policy for their area, priorities, budgets etc.

  All of this work will need to fit in with a new UK plc Development and Future Planning Strategy that myself and my 5 area directors will develop and finalise in a time period of no greater than 5 ½ hours from gaining office. And that will include 2 ¾ hours for a monumental piss up and lunch in the House of Commons bar. And the strategy will also fit onto 5 sides of A4. No more.

  Once the area directors reach their opinions and priorities, these will be presented and discussed at the UK plc PAGM (Private Annual General Meeting). The AGM will be in private so we can seriously discuss and properly fight over the details of the implementation; without any pesky reporters hanging around and then insinuating that there could be some sort of split. There won’t be – read on.

  And then. And here’s the key bit that will be different. I will take the bits that the area directors have done effectively and adopt them in full; and correct all their crappy shitty stuff. And then I will DECIDE unequivocally on exactly where the 1.7 trillion quid that constitutes the UK GDP is going to be allocated and prioritised. Got that? Comprendez? A decision; or actually, a number of decisions.

  So HS2, scrapped, saving £50 billion (but with the normal BSF5 (bullshit factor five) that applies to all government projects, really £250 billion). Instead, 6 new proper tarmac arteries running from north to south, 7 lanes in both directions. Contract awarded to the chap with the rosy cheeks, red nose and green shirt with a leaf on it. Total cost, £125; all in; cash on the nail, no income tax, no VAT. Simples.

  Power industry related expenditure? Green taxes based on deluded science and incompetent politics – scrapped.

  Windmills? All new plans based on subsidies - scrapped.

  Ditto for solar farms. (Note: farms are where you grow plants to eat and rear animals that shit discs three foot in diameter. 350 million square miles of aluminium and glass does not, under any definition, constitute a bleeding farm8. It’s a bloody power station. An inefficient crappy eyesore of one, but a power station nonetheless). If these are viable in a dark miserable country where it pisses it down with rain 348 days a year, let the commercial sector build them. If not, Foxtrot Oscar.

  EU? No longer an issue. We pulled out the first Tuesday after the Monday we got elected.

  Closing coal fired power stations? With our power supply capacity? Jesus, are you kidding? Scrapped.

  New nuclear power station – check. Do one, bring it in on time, to budget and we might do another.

  Fracking - check.

  Legal and prison system? See specific separate chapters for coherent economical solutions.

  Get the picture?

  I thought so. Too much Err, Option 1? Too effective? Might be a bit too economical and push us a bit too far up the global competiveness table?

  Not to worry, try Option 2. This is a bit less radical. Okay, a lot less radical. In fact, keep on reading, I think some of you might even fancy it.

  So, the current system ensures that nobody can do or change anything, virtually ever. But, if by some collective miracle the 650 of you manage to turn up, point all your arses in the same direction and a majority raise their hands at the same time and vote something through, the sure thing is the decision/change selected will always be WRONG. And it will always cost Joe Public about £165 billion.

  So, let’s be radical. Think outside the box so to speak. Let’s just not bother. Don’t touch or change anything. Don’t even try. Oh, we can have the elections, just like we currently do. Keep up the pretence of democracy bit. After the elections you can even all go and have your photos taken at Westminster smiling in the sun and then have a huge great piss up at an expensive establishment in the City.

  And then, completely FOC to each and every one of you, with your other half just to make sure you are getting your right to a family life under the Human Rights Act9, we will ship you all off for a 5 year, all inclusive, drink as much as you can, holiday somewhere sunny. We might not be able to afford the Caribbean, but it will be somewhere nice; maybe the Canaries (warm and sunny all year, no hurricane season, perfect).

  Your responsibility will be precisely NIL10. Zilch. Nothing. Don’t even think about changing anything, locally, nationally or internationally. So:

  - No new computer systems. Get Janice and Joan back with their fancy coloured cards and filing cabinets.

  - No new laws.

  - No new judges; and, as they die off don’t bother replacing them.

  - No inquiries.

  - No new focus groups.

  - No new “let’s get the management consultants in to fleece our arses off (again)”.

  No nothing.

  Just some good old continuity and consistency, safe in the knowledge that you would no longer be taking any actions that would screw this country further and further down the sewer.

  And I’ll take a bet. The world would keep on turning. The local government stuff would trundle on with all the local government stuff; schools, roads, clamping my car and the like. The civil service would dish out the dosh. HMRC would collect the taxes. The airports would carry on flying and trying not to crash planes. They could even carry on pissing-off every poor sod in the 9 mile queue for security - just for old time’s sake.

  The police, health service, legal system, nothing, would as much as flinch. And because everybody would know, there was going to be no meddling, no attempt to change anything, everybody would just get on with it.

  Business would have no uncertainty:

  “Are they going to change this tax regime or that? Is this new allowance going to be brought in?” Nope. Negative.

  “That’s what it is and that’s how it’s staying. For ever”.

  No more £160 billion cock ups. No more new road systems. Use the ones you’ve got; Paddy will come and fill the holes in and we’ll organise a resurface every 20 years or so.

  Now just for once in your lives, try and make a decision. So if you could all just drag your arses out of the Dog and Duck and pop over the road into the big posh hall with puke green seats; arses towards the walls, noses to the middle. Any still capable, please try and extract your arse from the seat and adopt a vaguely vertical orientation. Ms Plenty of Ballast in the middle – please try to refrain from belching and farting.

  Now, focus and concentrate and raise your hands at the appropriate time. So, is it Option 1? Or Option 2?

  Simples!