Nothing but a jumped up fag.
I am given to understand that today is someone's birthday. Let's call him Little Nell, after the character in The Old Curiosity Shop, which, for his benefit, is a novel by Charles Dickens. In the words of Oscar Wilde, of whom he has also presumably never heard, "One would have to have a heart of stone to read the death of little Nell without dissolving into tears...of laughter." Our own Little Nell has what is widely considered to be an improbable paramour, whom we may call Uncle Bryn. She has a teenage son.
Under a moniker which presumably makes sense to him if to nobody else, Little Nell, or Small Cigar, used to post comments on here calling me a "fascist", a word which he was capable of spelling in every possible way apart from the correct one. I was "the Mulatto Hitler" to Robert Mugabe's "Black Hitler", according to a mind of such finesse that it thought "the conservative Colbert" was a reference to The Colbert Report and The Sound of Music a film obviously lacking in the slightest factual basis since it featured a ship's captain from landlocked Austria; no one who has met him can imagine that he was anything other than entirely in earnest on these points. He used to compare me to Mussolini under various spellings, all of them incorrect.
A career tea boy to politicians, Little Nell, or Small Cigar, used at least one local newspaper to announce himself the Labour candidate for North West Durham the day before that party's National Executive Committee imposed an all-woman shortlist. Look up his official job title. I say "career", but "You've ruined his career" was what one of his sisters once screamed at me down the street outside a pub at closing time. Her then fiancé attempted to strangle me. Hands around my throat and everything. Since Little Nell, or Small Cigar, was at that time both a Parish Councillor and a member of an MP's staff, I reported this conspiracy to murder, and attempt to carry it out, both to the Standards Board and to the Parliamentary Commissioner for Standards. They both refused to act.
Leading, by an admittedly circuitous route, to the main point of this post. It is now 10 years since, by no procedural means whatever and purely but quite improperly in order to curry favour with his then employer, Little Nell, or Small Cigar, was fielded as a candidate in this ward for the now-defunct Derwentside District Council, presumably on account of his encyclopaedic knowledge of pop music and of football, though of absolutely nothing else.
He was wafted into that candidacy within weeks of having been co-opted onto the Parish Council, his only experience of public office. He not only lost the seat, but he took down a distinguished sitting District Councillor with him. Soon afterwards, Little Nell, or Small Cigar, was made Chairman of the Parish Council, a position which I am pleased to say is now back in appropriate hands, where it will remain for many more years to come.
By the time that the Parish Council elections came round again, Little Nell, or Small Cigar, very nearly lost the seat that in any case he has since resigned. Thus ended the progress of an unclubbable creature, a localised version of George Osborne or Damian Thompson when it came to charm or likeability, who was only ever progressing in the first place because he looked like a member of a boy band. At 36 today, he no longer looks like a member of a boy band.
I am given to understand that today is someone's birthday. Let's call him Little Nell, after the character in The Old Curiosity Shop, which, for his benefit, is a novel by Charles Dickens. In the words of Oscar Wilde, of whom he has also presumably never heard, "One would have to have a heart of stone to read the death of little Nell without dissolving into tears...of laughter." Our own Little Nell has what is widely considered to be an improbable paramour, whom we may call Uncle Bryn. She has a teenage son.
Under a moniker which presumably makes sense to him if to nobody else, Little Nell, or Small Cigar, used to post comments on here calling me a "fascist", a word which he was capable of spelling in every possible way apart from the correct one. I was "the Mulatto Hitler" to Robert Mugabe's "Black Hitler", according to a mind of such finesse that it thought "the conservative Colbert" was a reference to The Colbert Report and The Sound of Music a film obviously lacking in the slightest factual basis since it featured a ship's captain from landlocked Austria; no one who has met him can imagine that he was anything other than entirely in earnest on these points. He used to compare me to Mussolini under various spellings, all of them incorrect.
A career tea boy to politicians, Little Nell, or Small Cigar, used at least one local newspaper to announce himself the Labour candidate for North West Durham the day before that party's National Executive Committee imposed an all-woman shortlist. Look up his official job title. I say "career", but "You've ruined his career" was what one of his sisters once screamed at me down the street outside a pub at closing time. Her then fiancé attempted to strangle me. Hands around my throat and everything. Since Little Nell, or Small Cigar, was at that time both a Parish Councillor and a member of an MP's staff, I reported this conspiracy to murder, and attempt to carry it out, both to the Standards Board and to the Parliamentary Commissioner for Standards. They both refused to act.
Leading, by an admittedly circuitous route, to the main point of this post. It is now 10 years since, by no procedural means whatever and purely but quite improperly in order to curry favour with his then employer, Little Nell, or Small Cigar, was fielded as a candidate in this ward for the now-defunct Derwentside District Council, presumably on account of his encyclopaedic knowledge of pop music and of football, though of absolutely nothing else.
He was wafted into that candidacy within weeks of having been co-opted onto the Parish Council, his only experience of public office. He not only lost the seat, but he took down a distinguished sitting District Councillor with him. Soon afterwards, Little Nell, or Small Cigar, was made Chairman of the Parish Council, a position which I am pleased to say is now back in appropriate hands, where it will remain for many more years to come.
By the time that the Parish Council elections came round again, Little Nell, or Small Cigar, very nearly lost the seat that in any case he has since resigned. Thus ended the progress of an unclubbable creature, a localised version of George Osborne or Damian Thompson when it came to charm or likeability, who was only ever progressing in the first place because he looked like a member of a boy band. At 36 today, he no longer looks like a member of a boy band.
Now, although I did not know it, I was already ill 10 years ago. Nevertheless, it is possible to see the Labour Party's unconstitutional gifting of that candidacy to that otherwise hilariously unsuitable person as having effectively killed off the possibility that this Parliament or the next might include a deliberately outspoken user of parliamentary procedure to insist that at least a vote, or at the very least a debate both in Parliament and more widely, be held on proposals such as those set out here, here, here, here, here, here, here, here, here, here, here, here, here, here and here, to name but a few. The practical expressions of the broader and deeper philosophy set out, at least in part, here.
The men whom I am the least in regarding as the founding fathers and the guiding lights of today's postliberal politics openly regard me as a founding father and a guiding light of today's postliberal politics. I have certainly been working on it for 20 years. Whereas the last time that Little Nell articulated an original thought was when, exactly?
Light up that Small Cigar.
The men whom I am the least in regarding as the founding fathers and the guiding lights of today's postliberal politics openly regard me as a founding father and a guiding light of today's postliberal politics. I have certainly been working on it for 20 years. Whereas the last time that Little Nell articulated an original thought was when, exactly?
Light up that Small Cigar.
Name this individual or delete the post.
ReplyDeleteThis just shows you to be a....pussy. You appear gutless until you name the name and stand by it.
It would be incomprehensible to anyone to whom he were not immediately recognisable. As I can assure you that he is. Immediately recognisable, that is.
ReplyDeleteMost people will have concentrated on the insinuations about sexuality and some will have seen your resentment as directed towards a contemporary with a knowledge of football and pop music, a girlfriend, and boy band looks in his day.
ReplyDeleteBut it is really about him being "jumped up" and "unclubbable", isn't it, David? You were no gargoyle yourself in those days and he has never dressed or talked like, oh, like an archdeacon's son. The wrong sort get everywhere these days, even the right wing Labour machine in County Durham, even the right wing Labour machine in Lanchester.
Looks like you have already ruined his life, mostly by making him an object of ridicule and pulling your favourite trick that your enemies are nastier people than your charming, scholarly, saintly, "clubbable" self. Leave him alone.
You are inexplicably loyal to these troglodytes on their gravy trains.
ReplyDeletePoor David, still bitter after all these years.
ReplyDeleteNot a bit of it. The behaviour of some people in reaction this post, on the other hand...
ReplyDelete