Buggeridge on Friday

[Doggy Styles]

Wasn't that Glenda Jackson? (Another lefty)

No, definitely Oliver Reed.

[zoco]

I believe Ollie Reed said she had a splendid pair of ninnies!

Wasn't that Glenda Jackson? (Another lefty)

[Malcolm Buggeridge]

Actually, Vanessa Redgrave. After my usual rigorous 45s of research, she has gone up in my estimation as a lefty NOT a hypocrite.

I believe Ollie Reed said she had a splendid pair of ninnies!

[xoggoth]

Actually, Vanessa Redgrave. After my usual rigorous 45s of research, she has gone up in my estimation as a lefty NOT a hypocrite.

[xoggoth]

Mr Bragg is a typical feather bedded socialist who likes to wag his finger and moralise before promptly moving to a mansion on the Dorset coast where he is safe from the damage wreaked by the lefty claptrap he espouses.

Quite Mr B. Can anyone list any prominent leftists who are not total hypocrites?

PS Perhaps hypocrites is not always the right word. Bob Crow lives in a council house because he believes in the provision of social housing for all. Most moral of the chap. Pity he does not seem so committed to another of his ideals, more even distribution of wealth. Sure his union would give some of his high salary to lower paid employees if he ever asked.

[Malcolm Buggeridge]

Hi Malc!

I do look forward to seeing your piece.

I have to say I dislike Billy Bragg a lot, but I find it difficult to expound exactly why. Am I being unreasonable?

Hi DS

Unreasonable you most certainly are not.

Mr Bragg is a typical feather bedded socialist who likes to wag his finger and moralise before promptly moving to a mansion on the Dorset coast where he is safe from the damage wreaked by the lefty claptrap he espouses.

[Doggy Styles]

Hi Malc!

I do look forward to seeing your piece.

I have to say I dislike Billy Bragg a lot, but I find it difficult to expound exactly why. Am I being unreasonable?

[Freaki Li Cuatre]

Perhaps you should have emphasised any minority status any of them may have had.

Just saying working class kids will mean chavs in his eyes.

[Bunk]

Insightful post OP

That's your card marked.

[BjornMorg]

Insightful post OP

[AtW]

[Malcolm Buggeridge]

No sun - no moon!
No morn - no noon -
No dawn - no dusk - no proper time of day.
No warmth, no cheerfulness, no healthful ease,
No comfortable feel in any member –
No shade, no shine, no butterflies, no bees,
No fruits, no flowers, no leaves, no birds! -
November!

(Thomas Hood)

Indeed, feeling somewhat glum about the prospect of many of my passions and pursuits being curtailed by the inclement weather and dark evenings associated with this time of year I was reminiscing earlier about some of the antics I got up to during the summer of 2013.

I’ve always been a keen walker and the glorious summer sunshine gave me plenty of opportunity to tick off a few sections of the South West Coast Path managing a good 20 miles or so a day.

Not bad for an old duffer like me.

I have to confess that my limbs were somewhat weary at the end of each day but none of them hurt as much as my jaws ached from all the constant exchanging of pleasantries with the colourful array of characters I met on my way round.

There’s nobody as sanguine as an Englishman when it comes to issuing a morning greeting to whomsoever he should meet on his morning constitutional. Stick him on a clifftop path and that greeting is delivered with all the more gusto. In fact, on one occasion I was caught out by a group of ramblers and they nearly frightened the life out of me;

“Good Morning!” they all chorused as I emerged from behind a gorse bush buttoning my fly.

Bunch of commies my old man reckoned. According to him, the only reason they do all this rambling is so they can cock a snook at the local squire as they go hightailing it across his fields in their multi-coloured cagoulery.

Talking of commies, I had it on good authority from a fellow walker that the rather splendid clifftop pile in the picture below belongs to one Mr. Billy Bragg. So I was mindful of this as I descended into the village of Burton Bradstock and availed myself of the tables and chairs that were laid out on the prom for us weary coast-pathers to rest our achey limbs.



You see, being the middle of the summer holidays there was not a square inch of empty beach for me to perch on my shooting stick let alone roll out a towel to strip off and soak up a few rays. In the sea it was the same story - there were so many flailing limbs the water was all a-froth. Poor little blighters, I thought to myself.

Well, surely our celebrity socialist lording it over us from up above wouldn’t be happy at the thought of all these poor inner city children on their hols without even being afforded enough room to have a decent swim? This was the thought that crossed my mind and had me trudging up the windy path to Mr Bragg’s front door to give him the opportunity to redress this social iniquity and let these poor working class kids do a few lengths of his Olympic sized pool.

Well, I can say that he wasn’t very forthcoming at all. Following his initial greeting of slamming the door in my face, the entire conversation was conducted through his letter box before I suddenly found myself sandwiched between the burly shoulders of his minders both of whom, I should point out, represented the T of the LGBT community of which Billy is so fond. Couldn’t tell if they were pre or post op but both were built like Giant Haystacks. I was swiftly upended and found myself being rushed headlong toward the gate in the manner of that door breaking implement used by the police during a dawn raid and unceremoniously ejected from the premises.

The self professed “Milkman of Human Kindness” certainly didn’t leave me an extra pint that day. Still, I don’t suppose the people of Burton Bradstock had an annual Gay Fun Run before Billy moved in.

At least they can thank him for that.