Writer, critic, polemicist
Of all Latin proverbs, the relativist adage De gustibus non disputandum est just may be the most subversive. The implication is that taste is wholly subjective, with no right or wrong anywhere in sight.
You like Bach, he likes Amy Winehouse, they like Eminem – who’s to say that one taste is better than another? Yet the very fact that this question can be posed throws the cultural door wide open to barbarism. And the now universal reply (‘Nobody’) welcomes barbarism with effusive cordiality.
The less I say about the sick, pathetic joke that goes by the name of Dave’s deal with the EU, the better. Our papers are bulging with the details of this travesty, and there’s little one can add.
Regular readers of this space know that I predicted something along these lines months ago. Dave would get some crumbs off the EU’s table, I wrote, some meaningless and instantly revocable concessions. Then he’ll pass that as a triumph, claim that the very nature of our relationship with the EU has changed and rush into a referendum with every hope of winning it.
These days little children are insufferable
Jerusalem c. 33 AD was different from the modern world in too many respects to mention here. I’ll single out just one: children, those to be suffered, were still children.
They must have been occasionally destructive, for children tend to break things at the best of times. But they also must have retained some innocence, some opened-eye way of looking at the world and marvelling at its beauty.
Actually, this isn’t fair, it’s not just the EU. Defending any unsound proposition can make even an intelligent person sound silly.
Take atheism, for example. Someone who doesn’t believe in God may be bright, within certain limits. But even an extremely intelligent man sounds idiotic when he tries to defend his atheism rationally.
‘Look who’s talking’ is a colloquial way of saying that even an unimpeachable idea may be compromised by the speaker’s personality.
For example, few would argue against the notion of the sanctity of human life – but even fewer would like to hear this argument put forth by a serial murderer. Or else, yes, children must be loved, but we wouldn’t like to receive this unassailable truth from a head master who sexually abuses his 11-year-old pupils.
Continue reading “Catholic Pope and KGB Patriarch get together”
It’s kind of Obama to share with us the benefit of his resounding success in solving America’s own problems. Proceeding from that solid base, this living argument against reverse discrimination has decided to offer Britain some avuncular advice.
It’s futile to project one’s own feelings on the country at large, but advice is always welcome – provided that whoever proffers it has at least a remote idea of what he’s talking about. Alas, in Obama’s case this precondition isn’t met, which makes his advice not only useless but also annoying.
Continue reading “We must thank Obama for solving our problems”
Back in my youth I had my suspicions. In those days Miss Jackson insisted on being filmed in the buff, the general assumption being that her exhibitionism served artistic ends.
Well, it certainly wasn’t for titillation, for I doubt that a commercially valid number of viewers would have been titillated by the sight of Miss Jackson’s bare breasts. My suspicion was then, as it is now, that she was trying to show off her female fixtures to prove she wasn’t actually a transsexual. Methinks the lady doth protest too much, I thought in a characteristically unoriginal way.
In 1992, in her mid-40s, Miss Jackson sought an alternative career, what with even the limited interest in her nudity dwindling away. She then became a Labour MP for Hampstead, the London haven for lefties and assorted perverts (just walk through Hampstead Heath at night to see what I mean).
What did catch my attention is that one of the banned officials is a Croat and the other a Russian living in Kazakhstan. Eastern Europeans, both.
Admittedly, a sample of two is insufficient for drawing statistically significant conclusions. So let’s broaden the sample a bit.
One such bout is called Victoria McCloud, a master of the Queen’s Bench division. We’re all so open-minded now that our brains are falling out but, when they still stayed inside our crania, we would have been taken aback.
For Dr McCloud was born, raised and called to the bar as Mr Jason Williams. At some point Jason decided to convert himself surgically into Victoria and assume the name of his/her co-habitor, the similarly modified psychiatrist Dr Annie McCloud.
Continue reading “Transexual High Court judges and lesbian Catholic bishops”
That’s how many words the French Ministry of Education has decided to change in order to simplify the language, making it easier for ‘disadvantaged’ pupils to learn.
By being able to spell oignon as ognon, such pauvres will now be empowered to tread a shining path to social advancement, at the end of which they’ll be trading, if not necessarily understanding, obtuse philosophical concepts with the graduates of France’s best Ecoles (most of whom don’t understand such concepts either, but have been expertly trained to hide these gaps behind obfuscation).
Continue reading “2,400 proofs that France too is going to les chiens”