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The great Peter Sellers does all the voices …

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Concorde had three toilets

This enormous supersonic white elephant cost British taxpayers billions of pounds and was championed by the Conservative government of the day, led by Edward Heath, the most piss poor Prime Minister of the 20th century. No one was sad when he went off on the world’s longest sulk after the Conservatives, following two election defeats in 1974, chose a new leader in 1975 – Margaret Thatcher. Little did we know.

Anyway, Concorde. The initial mistake was to suppose that future progress in air travel must necessarily involve more speed.

In fact, progress was represented by anything which carried a greater number of people more cheaply. Jumbo jets and charter flights were the way forward, whilst Concorde, in this respect, was a mammoth jump backwards.

It was, and is, a fatal flaw in the Tory mentality to equate progress with anything which makes life easier for high-powered business executives.

Nick Griffin popped up on Twitter to put some perspective on the chaos currently surrounding me. A police helicopter is buzzing overhead, and I hear police and ambulance sirens, as I have for the last five hours.

I am scared to leave my flat.

So, this is what Nick Griffin MEP (yes, this racist cunt is a member of the European Parliament – go figure, as the Americans would say) had to say on Twitter:

Running battles on housing estate in Longworthy, Salford. Blacks and anarchist student trash.

It’s Langworthy, Nick. You racist cunt. I saw white hooded youths wrecking shops. That is a simple fact. I am here in Central Salford, you are not.

While I’m at it, I may as well say that anybody who voted for Nick Griffin or the BNP is a racist cunt, too.

I recommend you check out Penny Red.

Penny Red is … Laurie Penny, 24, journalist, author, feminist, reprobate. Lives in a little hovel room somewhere in London, mainly eating toast and trying to set the world to rights. Drinks too much tea. Has still not managed to quit smoking.

I’m huddled in the front room with some shell-shocked friends, watching my city burn. The BBC is interchanging footage of blazing cars and running street battles in Hackney, of police horses lining up in Lewisham, of roiling infernos that were once shops and houses in Croydon and in Peckham. Last night, Enfield, Walthamstow, Brixton and Wood Green were looted; there have been hundreds of arrests and dozens of serious injuries, and it will be a miracle if nobody dies tonight. This is the third consecutive night of rioting in London, and the disorder has now spread to Leeds, Liverpool, Bristol and Birmingham. Politicians and police officers who only hours ago were making stony-faced statements about criminality are now simply begging the young people of Britain’s inner cities to go home. Britain is a tinderbox, and on Friday, somebody lit a match. How the hell did this happen? And what are we going to do now?

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Red Hot

Naked, save for a sheet to protect her ‘modesty’, the Speaker’s wife gazes provocatively into the camera for an extraordinary photo taken in the shadow of Parliament.

Tory rag the Daily Mail reproduces the pic for their shocked readers. As usual with Daily Mail articles, the comments are the best bit, ranging from plain mad, to barking, to dagenham (a couple of stops down the line from barking).

I was a binge-drinking ladette who downed two bottles of wine a day and had one-night stands

Red Hot

I bet she knows the best way to Oldham.

Blow to Lib Dems as Labour hold seat

The gorgeous Miss Yellow Snow Alaska 1982. As crazy as a rat in a coffee can. Still, you would, wouldn’t you? I would.

Black Dogs Defined

This is the best of me; for the rest, I ate, and drank, and slept, loved and hated, like another: my life was as the vapour and is not; but this I saw and knew; this, if anything of mine, is worth your memory.

(John Ruskin, Sesame and Lilies)

Whatever people say I am, that’s what I’m not.

(Alan Sillitoe, Saturday Night and Sunday Morning)

This is my letter to the world, that never wrote to me.

(Emily Dickinson, This is my letter to the world)

Safe upon the solid rock the ugly houses stand:
Come and see my shining palace built upon the sand!

(Edna St. Vincent Millay, Second Fig)

R.A.D. Stainforth

I was born before The Beatles’ first LP and brought up in the reeking slums of Jericho. I am in love with a woman called Hazel and in love with her daughter, also called Hazel, both of whom I met at Alcoholics Anonymous.

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