I've rarely felt so ashamed to be British as I did yesterday.
So Uncle Jack Straw makes a bid to be seen as tough on something or other in order to be viewed as the hardest man in Westminster, fair enough. He has a problem with the wearing of veils amongst women, that, again, is fair enough. For what it's worth he probably has a valid point to make. His statement was not, in and of itself, racist (misguided, ill thought-out and breathtakingly cynical yes, racist, no).
However, the shitstorm of out and out, mouth-foaming, ACTUAL racism provoked by it is one of the least edifying spectacles I've seen for a long time. Admittedly using the section of the public that contact radio phone-ins isn't the most reliable of guides, but the overwhelming public support for his remarks, and the lack of any backlash was genuinely surprising, not least because somewhere en route the comments turned from "it's an issue of being able to see people's faces" to "muslims eh? bunch of weirdoes. Probably hiding a bomb under there or something. Fuck off back to Pakistan you curry-munching bastards, and stop pinching all our jobs whilst you're at it." Seriously, the whole thing whipped up into this non-debate which exposed our fear-ridden Little English mentality as being no farther advanced than when The Empire Windrush first docked. Frame one: a woman with a broad Burnley accent; the sort of accent which is second, third generation, so thick you'd need a spoon to stir it with defending her wearing of a veil. Frame two: some gimp texts Radio one to say "that if THEY want to live in OUR COUNTRY..." You can fill in the rest yourself. t made me want to commit murder.
In summation, if you have a problem with veils, fine. But that's YOUR PROBLEM, okay? Deal with it. I, for the record, find it difficult to relate to women wearing tops. Get your tits out for greater communication.
BORRELL OWN ARSE-WATCH. Continuing an infrequent series in which I point out, repeatedly that the bloke out of Razorlight is a self-obsessed little tit (and that his band SUCK). Interesting-ish feature in t'paper yesterday, a bunch of musos and journos had to pick an album that they felt was theirs (everyone's got one, and album no-one else seems to have heard of and that you love with a fierce and protective passion. Character Assassination by Ed Kuepper would have to be mine). Some interesting choices, most of which I'd never heard of (rather the point of the article) and which were written about negagingly in a way which made me want to hear the record.
Except, of course, for the twat out of Razorlight, who not only picked a Leonard Cohen album (no Johnny, you're not the only person to have heard of him, you're just the only person out of your group of thick mates to have heard of him) but then completely failed to discuss the record at all, instead using it as the nail off which to hang an anecdote about, you guessed it, himself. Gaining bonus Twat Points for referring to himself as a Rock Star. It's almost enough to make you want to buy that David Hasselhoff record.
So Uncle Jack Straw makes a bid to be seen as tough on something or other in order to be viewed as the hardest man in Westminster, fair enough. He has a problem with the wearing of veils amongst women, that, again, is fair enough. For what it's worth he probably has a valid point to make. His statement was not, in and of itself, racist (misguided, ill thought-out and breathtakingly cynical yes, racist, no).
However, the shitstorm of out and out, mouth-foaming, ACTUAL racism provoked by it is one of the least edifying spectacles I've seen for a long time. Admittedly using the section of the public that contact radio phone-ins isn't the most reliable of guides, but the overwhelming public support for his remarks, and the lack of any backlash was genuinely surprising, not least because somewhere en route the comments turned from "it's an issue of being able to see people's faces" to "muslims eh? bunch of weirdoes. Probably hiding a bomb under there or something. Fuck off back to Pakistan you curry-munching bastards, and stop pinching all our jobs whilst you're at it." Seriously, the whole thing whipped up into this non-debate which exposed our fear-ridden Little English mentality as being no farther advanced than when The Empire Windrush first docked. Frame one: a woman with a broad Burnley accent; the sort of accent which is second, third generation, so thick you'd need a spoon to stir it with defending her wearing of a veil. Frame two: some gimp texts Radio one to say "that if THEY want to live in OUR COUNTRY..." You can fill in the rest yourself. t made me want to commit murder.
In summation, if you have a problem with veils, fine. But that's YOUR PROBLEM, okay? Deal with it. I, for the record, find it difficult to relate to women wearing tops. Get your tits out for greater communication.
BORRELL OWN ARSE-WATCH. Continuing an infrequent series in which I point out, repeatedly that the bloke out of Razorlight is a self-obsessed little tit (and that his band SUCK). Interesting-ish feature in t'paper yesterday, a bunch of musos and journos had to pick an album that they felt was theirs (everyone's got one, and album no-one else seems to have heard of and that you love with a fierce and protective passion. Character Assassination by Ed Kuepper would have to be mine). Some interesting choices, most of which I'd never heard of (rather the point of the article) and which were written about negagingly in a way which made me want to hear the record.
Except, of course, for the twat out of Razorlight, who not only picked a Leonard Cohen album (no Johnny, you're not the only person to have heard of him, you're just the only person out of your group of thick mates to have heard of him) but then completely failed to discuss the record at all, instead using it as the nail off which to hang an anecdote about, you guessed it, himself. Gaining bonus Twat Points for referring to himself as a Rock Star. It's almost enough to make you want to buy that David Hasselhoff record.
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