The Killing$ Of Tony Blair: A Review

There were two reviews of this film - Wendy Ibe at The Observer and Martyn Conterio at Cine-Vue - which resolutely and violently played the man and not the ball in a manner which called to mind an unreconstructed Joey Barton. Even Dr. Kermode put the boot in. The reviewers' ire was aimed squarely at George Galloway rather than its subject: Tony Blair and the iridescent conflagration he has unleashed. 

Ms. Ibe stated that watching this film had the effect of, "making you want to side with Blair and the long list of despots who – apparently – now list him on their payroll." Mr. Conterio described Galloway as, "A bitter Labour Party reject," who intones solemnly, "as if he's recounting a horror story around a campfire." Neither of these surprisingly vitriolic reviews gave any clue as to the content of the movie itself - indeed Ms. Ibe's review ran to a single paragraph. These and many other reviews amounted to nothing more than mere character assassination. I had contributed to the crowdfunding of the film via Kickstarter so I wanted to know if it was any good. Plus I'm a bit of a Galloway fan and have been since I heard him give the US Senate Committee a kicking in May of 2005.

On a bright Sunday evening last month I hopped onto the M62 and made my way to the Picturehouse at FACT in Liverpool. It's a lovely building with a cool interior and it costs £6.50 for a bag of nuts and a can of Red Bull. As I'm contacting my bank for an overdraft extension I spot Mr. Galloway and his family chilling in a booth near the bar area. George is rocking a high level of Dappertivity - black jacket, black waistcoat and trademarked black Trilby - scrolling through his 'phone while his wife, Gayatri, is occupied with a young son who is also wearing a fetching black jacket, black waistcoat and black trilby ensemble. 

I walked expectantly into the packed auditorium and took my seat, smack bang in the middle of row 3. George gave a brief introduction and we were off. Despite the obvious low budget (we're treated to stilted musical facsimiles of ABBA's Money, Money, Money; Madness' Our House; and Dead Or Alive's You Spin Me Round (Like A Record) rather than the originals, and I noticed some stock footage that I myself used in Damaged Gods' Junky For The Bloodshed music video) it is a forensic evisceration of Tony Blair and his ridiculously shady career. 

George Galloway's enmity towards his subject is barely veiled. It is clear that he has come to bury Tony Blair, not to praise him and the astute contributors (Will Self, Stephen Fry, Peter Oborne, Seumas Milne, David Davis, Clare Short, Ken Livingstone and Noam Chomsky) are more than happy to grab the shovel and eagerly heap on the dirt. Spoiler alert: you won't find any balance in this documentary. There isn't a single person who speaks up on his behalf, although Lauren Booth acknowledge Our Tone's charm and tells George even he would be seduced. George ponders this for the very briefest of moments, "Perhaps..." before concluding, "But then I'd have to arrest him." 

The film analyses Tony’s political career, his spell as Prime Minister, the decision to hook up with George Dubya in invading Iraq, his subsequent role as the Middle-East peace envoy and the creation of Tony Blair Inc. to handle his public appearances and consultancy fees for advising despots and dictators on the softening of their public image. The reputational damage to the role of politician is irrevocable. We don't trust them any longer precisely because of the lies of Tony Blair and his attack dog, Alistair Campbell.

In the twin shadows of the Chilcot Report (Hey! Whatever happened to that?) and the Labour Leadership race the film is chillingly apposite. It's a powerful work which leaves you both sad and angry: sad at the needless waste of life and angry that the sham of "Western Democracy" means that 2 million people marching through the streets of London in opposition to an illegal war makes absolutely no difference to those who make our decisions for us.

Blair has created a worrying blueprint for future prime ministers: hand out favours to vested interests when in office to quangos, foreign governments, dictators, arms dealers, etc., and then when you retire, they pay you lucrative sums for speeches and consultancy work.

After the film I waited to see my name in a tiny font with 4,999 other Kickstarters as part of the credits. The screen faded to black and George asked us all to imagine for a moment a million names for those Iraqis who died at our behest. I felt my stomach lurch. Big George took a stack of questions from the audience until we were asked to vacate the theatre for the evening showing of Star Trek Beyond. I posed for a selfie with The Cat In The Hat and then made my way home. Still numb from what I'd seen.    

If Mr. Conterio doesn't understand that over a million dead (there was a deliberate strategy NOT to count the dead as a means to sustain popular support for continued action in Iraq), the Middle-East region in flames and the world's security destabilised is a horror story then I would suggest he is a tad too removed from reality and I feel genuinely sorry for him. 

It's easily the best film I've seen this year and it's nauseating to watch the Blair fans reviewing this documentary as they exercise their gag reflex on the rigidity of Tony's three election wins whilst completely ignoring the toxicity of his legacy. Outside of the middle-class luvvie bubble Tony is so despised that he had to cancel a tour to promote his memoirs after he was pelted with eggs and shoes at his first public signing in Dublin.

People abhor Blair for more than just Iraq. They detest him for maintaining the commodification of public services via PFI. They are angry at the betrayal of Labour values in the pursuit of power. Jeremy Corbyn's success is a direct reaction to this.

This documentary has topped both the iTunes and Amazon charts. I'm aware that George Galloway's politics aren't for everyone, but, as Withnail says, even a stopped clock is right twice a day. It may well be frustrating to some, or indeed most, but on Tony Blair Gorgeous George is dead on. Pun intended.

The Killing$ Of Tony Blair: A Review

There were two reviews of this film - Wendy Ibe at The Observer and Martyn Conterio at Cine-Vue - which resolutely and violently played the man and not the ball in a manner which called to mind an unreconstructed Joey Barton. Even Dr. Kermode put the boot in. The reviewers' ire was aimed squarely at George Galloway rather than its subject: Tony Blair and the iridescent conflagration he has unleashed. 

Ms. Ibe stated that watching this film had the effect of, "making you want to side with Blair and the long list of despots who – apparently – now list him on their payroll." Mr. Conterio described Galloway as, "A bitter Labour Party reject," who intones solemnly, "as if he's recounting a horror story around a campfire." Neither of these surprisingly vitriolic reviews gave any clue as to the content of the movie itself - indeed Ms. Ibe's review ran to a single paragraph. These and many other reviews amounted to nothing more than mere character assassination. I had contributed to the crowdfunding of the film via Kickstarter so I wanted to know if it was any good. Plus I'm a bit of a Galloway fan and have been since I heard him give the US Senate Committee a kicking in May of 2005.

On a bright Sunday evening last month I hopped onto the M62 and made my way to the Picturehouse at FACT in Liverpool. It's a lovely building with a cool interior and it costs £6.50 for a bag of nuts and a can of Red Bull. As I'm contacting my bank for an overdraft extension I spot Mr. Galloway and his family chilling in a booth near the bar area. George is rocking a high level of Dappertivity - black jacket, black waistcoat and trademarked black Trilby - scrolling through his 'phone while his wife, Gayatri, is occupied with a young son who is also wearing a fetching black jacket, black waistcoat and black trilby ensemble. 

I walked expectantly into the packed auditorium and took my seat, smack bang in the middle of row 3. George gave a brief introduction and we were off. Despite the obvious low budget (we're treated to stilted musical facsimiles of ABBA's Money, Money, Money; Madness' Our House; and Dead Or Alive's You Spin Me Round (Like A Record) rather than the originals, and I noticed some stock footage that I myself used in Damaged Gods' Junky For The Bloodshed music video) it is a forensic evisceration of Tony Blair and his ridiculously shady career. 

George Galloway's enmity towards his subject is barely veiled. It is clear that he has come to bury Tony Blair, not to praise him and the astute contributors (Will Self, Stephen Fry, Peter Oborne, Seumas Milne, David Davis, Clare Short, Ken Livingstone and Noam Chomsky) are more than happy to grab the shovel and eagerly heap on the dirt. Spoiler alert: you won't find any balance in this documentary. There isn't a single person who speaks up on his behalf, although Lauren Booth acknowledge Our Tone's charm and tells George even he would be seduced. George ponders this for the very briefest of moments, "Perhaps..." before concluding, "But then I'd have to arrest him." 

The film analyses Tony’s political career, his spell as Prime Minister, the decision to hook up with George Dubya in invading Iraq, his subsequent role as the Middle-East peace envoy and the creation of Tony Blair Inc. to handle his public appearances and consultancy fees for advising despots and dictators on the softening of their public image. The reputational damage to the role of politician is irrevocable. We don't trust them any longer precisely because of the lies of Tony Blair and his attack dog, Alistair Campbell.

In the twin shadows of the Chilcot Report (Hey! Whatever happened to that?) and the Labour Leadership race the film is chillingly apposite. It's a powerful work which leaves you both sad and angry: sad at the needless waste of life and angry that the sham of "Western Democracy" means that 2 million people marching through the streets of London in opposition to an illegal war makes absolutely no difference to those who make our decisions for us.

Blair has created a worrying blueprint for future prime ministers: hand out favours to vested interests when in office to quangos, foreign governments, dictators, arms dealers, etc., and then when you retire, they pay you lucrative sums for speeches and consultancy work.

After the film I waited to see my name in a tiny font with 4,999 other Kickstarters as part of the credits. The screen faded to black and George asked us all to imagine for a moment a million names for those Iraqis who died at our behest. I felt my stomach lurch. Big George took a stack of questions from the audience until we were asked to vacate the theatre for the evening showing of Star Trek Beyond. I posed for a selfie with The Cat In The Hat and then made my way home. Still numb from what I'd seen.    

If Mr. Conterio doesn't understand that over a million dead (there was a deliberate strategy NOT to count the dead as a means to sustain popular support for continued action in Iraq), the Middle-East region in flames and the world's security destabilised is a horror story then I would suggest he is a tad too removed from reality and I feel genuinely sorry for him. 

It's easily the best film I've seen this year and it's nauseating to watch the Blair fans reviewing this documentary as they exercise their gag reflex on the rigidity of Tony's three election wins whilst completely ignoring the toxicity of his legacy. Outside of the middle-class luvvie bubble Tony is so despised that he had to cancel a tour to promote his memoirs after he was pelted with eggs and shoes at his first public signing in Dublin.

People abhor Blair for more than just Iraq. They detest him for maintaining the commodification of public services via PFI. They are angry at the betrayal of Labour values in the pursuit of power. Jeremy Corbyn's success is a direct reaction to this.

This documentary has topped both the iTunes and Amazon charts. I'm aware that George Galloway's politics aren't for everyone, but, as Withnail says, even a stopped clock is right twice a day. It may well be frustrating to some, or indeed most, but on Tony Blair Gorgeous George is dead on. Pun intended.

The Killing$ Of Tony Blair: A Review

There were two reviews of this film - Wendy Ibe at The Observer and Martyn Conterio at Cine-Vue - which resolutely and violently played the man and not the ball in a manner which called to mind an unreconstructed Joey Barton. Even Dr. Kermode put the boot in. The reviewers' ire was aimed squarely at George Galloway rather than its subject: Tony Blair and the iridescent conflagration he has unleashed. 

Ms. Ibe stated that watching this film had the effect of, "making you want to side with Blair and the long list of despots who – apparently – now list him on their payroll." Mr. Conterio described Galloway as, "A bitter Labour Party reject," who intones solemnly, "as if he's recounting a horror story around a campfire." Neither of these surprisingly vitriolic reviews gave any clue as to the content of the movie itself - indeed Ms. Ibe's review ran to a single paragraph. These and many other reviews amounted to nothing more than mere character assassination. I had contributed to the crowdfunding of the film via Kickstarter so I wanted to know if it was any good. Plus I'm a bit of a Galloway fan and have been since I heard him give the US Senate Committee a kicking in May of 2005.

On a bright Sunday evening last month I hopped onto the M62 and made my way to the Picturehouse at FACT in Liverpool. It's a lovely building with a cool interior and it costs £6.50 for a bag of nuts and a can of Red Bull. As I'm contacting my bank for an overdraft extension I spot Mr. Galloway and his family chilling in a booth near the bar area. George is rocking a high level of Dappertivity - black jacket, black waistcoat and trademarked black Trilby - scrolling through his 'phone while his wife, Gayatri, is occupied with a young son who is also wearing a fetching black jacket, black waistcoat and black trilby ensemble. 

I walked expectantly into the packed auditorium and took my seat, smack bang in the middle of row 3. George gave a brief introduction and we were off. Despite the obvious low budget (we're treated to stilted musical facsimiles of ABBA's Money, Money, Money; Madness' Our House; and Dead Or Alive's You Spin Me Round (Like A Record) rather than the originals, and I noticed some stock footage that I myself used in Damaged Gods' Junky For The Bloodshed music video) it is a forensic evisceration of Tony Blair and his ridiculously shady career. 

George Galloway's enmity towards his subject is barely veiled. It is clear that he has come to bury Tony Blair, not to praise him and the astute contributors (Will Self, Stephen Fry, Peter Oborne, Seumas Milne, David Davis, Clare Short, Ken Livingstone and Noam Chomsky) are more than happy to grab the shovel and eagerly heap on the dirt. Spoiler alert: you won't find any balance in this documentary. There isn't a single person who speaks up on his behalf, although Lauren Booth acknowledge Our Tone's charm and tells George even he would be seduced. George ponders this for the very briefest of moments, "Perhaps..." before concluding, "But then I'd have to arrest him." 

The film analyses Tony’s political career, his spell as Prime Minister, the decision to hook up with George Dubya in invading Iraq, his subsequent role as the Middle-East peace envoy and the creation of Tony Blair Inc. to handle his public appearances and consultancy fees for advising despots and dictators on the softening of their public image. The reputational damage to the role of politician is irrevocable. We don't trust them any longer precisely because of the lies of Tony Blair and his attack dog, Alistair Campbell.

In the twin shadows of the Chilcot Report (Hey! Whatever happened to that?) and the Labour Leadership race the film is chillingly apposite. It's a powerful work which leaves you both sad and angry: sad at the needless waste of life and angry that the sham of "Western Democracy" means that 2 million people marching through the streets of London in opposition to an illegal war makes absolutely no difference to those who make our decisions for us.

Blair has created a worrying blueprint for future prime ministers: hand out favours to vested interests when in office to quangos, foreign governments, dictators, arms dealers, etc., and then when you retire, they pay you lucrative sums for speeches and consultancy work.

After the film I waited to see my name in a tiny font with 4,999 other Kickstarters as part of the credits. The screen faded to black and George asked us all to imagine for a moment a million names for those Iraqis who died at our behest. I felt my stomach lurch. Big George took a stack of questions from the audience until we were asked to vacate the theatre for the evening showing of Star Trek Beyond. I posed for a selfie with The Cat In The Hat and then made my way home. Still numb from what I'd seen.    

If Mr. Conterio doesn't understand that over a million dead (there was a deliberate strategy NOT to count the dead as a means to sustain popular support for continued action in Iraq), the Middle-East region in flames and the world's security destabilised is a horror story then I would suggest he is a tad too removed from reality and I feel genuinely sorry for him. 

It's easily the best film I've seen this year and it's nauseating to watch the Blair fans reviewing this documentary as they exercise their gag reflex on the rigidity of Tony's three election wins whilst completely ignoring the toxicity of his legacy. Outside of the middle-class luvvie bubble Tony is so despised that he had to cancel a tour to promote his memoirs after he was pelted with eggs and shoes at his first public signing in Dublin.

People abhor Blair for more than just Iraq. They detest him for maintaining the commodification of public services via PFI. They are angry at the betrayal of Labour values in the pursuit of power. 

This documentary has topped both the iTunes and Amazon charts and has just received its Irish Premier. I'm aware that George Galloway's politics aren't for everyone, but, as Withnail says, even a stopped clock is right twice a day. It may well be frustrating to some, or indeed most, but on Tony Blair Gorgeous George is dead on. Pun intended.

The Killing$ Of Tony Blair: A Review

There were two reviews of this film - Wendy Ibe at The Observer and Martyn Conterio at Cine-Vue - which resolutely and violently played the man and not the ball in a manner which called to mind an unreconstructed Joey Barton. Even Dr. Kermode put the boot in. The reviewers' ire was aimed squarely at George Galloway rather than its subject: Tony Blair and the iridescent conflagration he has unleashed. 

Ms. Ibe stated that watching this film had the effect of, "making you want to side with Blair and the long list of despots who – apparently – now list him on their payroll." Mr. Conterio described Galloway as, "A bitter Labour Party reject," who intones solemnly, "as if he's recounting a horror story around a campfire." Neither of these surprisingly vitriolic reviews gave any clue as to the content of the movie itself - indeed Ms. Ibe's review ran to a single paragraph. These and many other reviews amounted to nothing more than mere character assassination. I had contributed to the crowdfunding of the film via Kickstarter so I wanted to know if it was any good. Plus I'm a bit of a Galloway fan and have been since I heard him give the US Senate Committee a kicking in May of 2005.

On a bright Sunday evening last month I hopped onto the M62 and made my way to the Picturehouse at FACT in Liverpool. It's a lovely building with a cool interior and it costs £6.50 for a bag of nuts and a can of Red Bull. As I'm contacting my bank for an overdraft extension I spot Mr. Galloway and his family chilling in a booth near the bar area. George is rocking a high level of Dappertivity - black jacket, black waistcoat and trademarked black Trilby - scrolling through his 'phone while his wife, Gayatri, is occupied with a young son who is also wearing a fetching black jacket, black waistcoat and black trilby ensemble. 

I walked expectantly into the packed auditorium and took my seat, smack bang in the middle of row 3. George gave a brief introduction and we were off. Despite the obvious low budget (we're treated to stilted musical facsimiles of ABBA's Money, Money, Money; Madness' Our House; and Dead Or Alive's You Spin Me Round (Like A Record) rather than the originals, and I noticed some stock footage that I myself used in Damaged Gods' Junky For The Bloodshed music video) it is a forensic evisceration of Tony Blair and his ridiculously shady career. 

George Galloway's enmity towards his subject is barely veiled. It is clear that he has come to bury Tony Blair, not to praise him and the astute contributors (Will Self, Stephen Fry, Peter Oborne, Seumas Milne, David Davis, Clare Short, Ken Livingstone and Noam Chomsky) are more than happy to grab the shovel and eagerly heap on the dirt. Spoiler alert: you won't find any balance in this documentary. There isn't a single person who speaks up on his behalf, although Lauren Booth acknowledge Our Tone's charm and tells George even he would be seduced. George ponders this for the very briefest of moments, "Perhaps..." before concluding, "But then I'd have to arrest him." 

The film analyses Tony’s political career, his spell as Prime Minister, the decision to hook up with George Dubya in invading Iraq, his subsequent role as the Middle-East peace envoy and the creation of Tony Blair Inc. to handle his public appearances and consultancy fees for advising despots and dictators on the softening of their public image. The reputational damage to the role of politician is irrevocable. We don't trust them any longer precisely because of the lies of Tony Blair and his attack dog, Alistair Campbell.

In the twin shadows of the Chilcot Report (Hey! Whatever happened to that?) and the Labour Leadership race the film is chillingly apposite. It's a powerful work which leaves you both sad and angry: sad at the needless waste of life and angry that the sham of "Western Democracy" means that 2 million people marching through the streets of London in opposition to an illegal war makes absolutely no difference to those who make our decisions for us.

Blair has created a worrying blueprint for future prime ministers: hand out favours to vested interests when in office to quangos, foreign governments, dictators, arms dealers, etc., and then when you retire, they pay you lucrative sums for speeches and consultancy work.

After the film I waited to see my name in a tiny font with 4,999 other Kickstarters as part of the credits. The screen faded to black and George asked us all to imagine for a moment a million names for those Iraqis who died at our behest. I felt my stomach lurch. Big George took a stack of questions from the audience until we were asked to vacate the theatre for the evening showing of Star Trek Beyond. I posed for a selfie with The Cat In The Hat and then made my way home. Still numb from what I'd seen.    

If Mr. Conterio doesn't understand that over a million dead (there was a deliberate strategy NOT to count the dead as a means to sustain popular support for continued action in Iraq), the Middle-East region in flames and the world's security destabilised is a horror story then I would suggest he is a tad too removed from reality and I feel genuinely sorry for him. 

It's easily the best film I've seen this year and it's nauseating to watch the Blair fans reviewing this documentary as they exercise their gag reflex on the rigidity of Tony's three election wins whilst completely ignoring the toxicity of his legacy. Outside of the middle-class luvvie bubble Tony is so despised that he had to cancel a tour to promote his memoirs after he was pelted with eggs and shoes at his first public signing in Dublin.

People abhor Blair for more than just Iraq. They detest him for maintaining the commodification of public services via PFI. They are angry at the betrayal of Labour values in the pursuit of power. 

This documentary has topped both the iTunes and Amazon charts and has just received its Irish Premier. I'm aware that George Galloway's politics aren't for everyone, but, as Withnail says, even a stopped clock is right twice a day. It may well be frustrating to some, or indeed most, but on Tony Blair Gorgeous George is dead on. Pun intended.

10 Years After...

I'm not too well at the moment - my left foot is now the size of a mid-budget B&Q kitchen with fake mahogany wine rack - and so I have trouble sleeping. Last night I watched the recently restored cut of Heaven's Gate, and the unexpurgated version of John Woo's Red Cliff. My pretentious 7 hour movie marathon was inspired, in part, by my physical affliction, but the main motivation was to catch the early editions of our nation's newspapers and assess how they marked the 10th anniversary of Tony Blair's impassioned House Of Commons speech which greenlit the invasion Iraq. 

You won't be surprised that he isn't mentioned much at all. There's just an awful lot of guff about poor planning and benign intentions, both of which are lies. In order to siphon off resources the country needed to be broken. 

The Independent had a piece on the politics of pubic hair (I tease mine into a defiantly militant afro), whilst The Sun was all about Rio and his fitness programme. The Guardian, has an article on dozens having been killed injured as Sunni extremists targeted Shia civilians in a series of blasts across Baghdad, a violent consequence of the West's plan to divide and rule in this part of the world. 

The Mirror, however, had a retrospective of their war coverage, whilst Richard Sanders in The Maily Telegraph dismantled the myth of shock and awe.

A couple of weeks ago Nick Cohen wrote an article in The Guardian with the headline "Ten years on, the case for invading Iraq is still valid". It wasn't even the mindlessly callous headline which raised my hackles. It was the smug, self-satisfied expression of Nick Cohen in his postage stamp sized photograph accompanying the piece: his body oddly twisted toward the camera as if he has been caught mid-defecation. He suggests that ridding the world of the very evil Saddam Hussein was worth the bloodshed and infers that those who oppose the invasion are apologists for totalitarianism and terrorism. 

However, his selective cherry picking of historic events and their frames of reference means he doesn't address the fact that Saddam, like most of the despots across the middle east, was installed and supported by the CIA and MI6: his murderous offensives against the Kurds were supported by British and American governments, who also supplied the chemical and biological weapons.

Nick Cohen makes no mention of the 1.2 million dead. What do they matter, right? Presumably any display of empathy comes as the exclusive result of being a closeted Islamofascist.

"…spilling blood and spending treasure in other people's conflicts," was begun as a concerted effort to stabilise global energy resources by taking them out of the hands of an individual who used to be "our bastard" in the middle east.

So we've established that Mr Cohen is a dead-hearted vampire, but what did the papers have to say 10 years ago?

In January of 2003 Iraq's envoy to the UN protested that his country had no weapons of mass destruction.

"We remain ready to actively cooperate, as we have done in the past, to respond to any doubts," Mr Douri added. "We open all doors to Mr Blix and his team. If there is something, he will find it. We have no hidden reports. Iraq is clear of weapons of mass destruction."

In Baghdad, Iraq's foreign minister, Naji Sabri called the Bush administration "warmongers".

"This evil administration and its ally, Mr Blair in Britain, have continued in their threats and aggression against Iraq," he said. "Their aim is not the weapons of mass destruction. These two governments know very well there are no weapons of mass destruction or related activities in Iraq. By controlling this region, they are dreaming of dominating the whole world."

But Our Tone had already made up his mind, cheered on by the mainstream media and Rupert Murdoch who Rupert Murdoch gave the proposed war his full backing to war, saying George Bush was acting "morally" and "correctly" and describing Tony Blair as "full of guts" for going out on a limb in his support for an attack on Iraq;

Daily Mirror Editorial, March 19, 2003
"Even though the Mirror disagrees strongly with Tony Blair over his determination to wage war on Iraq, we do not question his belief in the rightness of what he is doing. It is one thing to have principles others disagree with, another altogether to have no principles.

The Times, March 19, 2003
"This was a dogged attempt to change the minds of dissenting backbenchers, an attempt made against the headwind of the popular mood. It was a speech to admire for its willpower and its moral conviction rather than the elegance of its prose…"

Daily Telegraph Editorial, March 19, 2003
"In the Commons, as in every debating chamber, the side that wins the argument all too often loses the vote ... But any fair-minded person who listened to [Tuesday's] debate, having been genuinely unable to make up his mind about military action against Saddam Hussein, must surely have concluded that Mr Blair was right, and his opponents were wrong.

Independent Editorial, March 19, 2003
"[Tuesday's speech] was the most persuasive case yet made by the man who has emerged as the most formidable persuader for war on either side of the Atlantic.

"The case against President Saddam's 12-year history of obstructing the UN attempts at disarmament has never been better made ... Mr Blair made a coherent case ... that while disarmament and not regime change is the legal basis for the war, the prospect of the latter makes it possible to pursue the former with a 'clear conscience and a strong heart' 

The Sun Editorial, March 19, 2003
"With passion in his voice and fire in his belly, Tony Blair won his place in history alongside Winston Churchill and Margaret Thatcher. In the most momentous speech of his political life he set out the pressing reasons why there must now be war on President Saddam.

"The ringing tones were from Churchill, the cold logic that of Lady Thatcher ... It was a stirring call to arms that was backed with precise, detailed and persuasive arguments ... [that] kept a possible Labour revolt in check [and] will have convinced the nation that war is just ...

It may well be that I'm a little tetchy at the moment, but it truly angers me that no-one has been taken to task for the destruction of a country and the theft of its resources. No-one. Indeed Tony Blair has been rewarded for his actions by being made Middle East Peace Envoy (!) and Dick Cheney’s Halliburton stock value doubled over the eight years he was Vice President, from approximately $5 million to over $10 million. Which means is about $5 per Iraqi death. Who says they didn't value the lives of the Iraqi citizens? The whole episode beautifully reveals both the West's foreign policy and the workings of our mainstream media: if you have resources they belong to us and our journalists will amplify the prevailing orthodoxy.

10 years on and what has been learned? 

1. The Irish are a righteous people, more engaged social commentators, and hold public officials to a higher standard than our own "free" press. They hurled shoes and eggs at Tony Blair at the first public signing for his memoirs in Dublin back in 2010. They also shouted: "Hey, hey Tony, hey! How many kids have you killed today?" Our Tone had to cancel the rest of his book-signing tour.

2. International courts work at the behest of Western Powers, thus the best way to get away with horrific crimes against humanity is to be a western politician.

3. The wealthy still send the sons and daughters of the poor to steal the wealth of people in foreign lands and then we make a limp half-hour BBC3 comedy about it. Written by the team who wrote Miranda. FACT.*

*See next blog

Michael Bay vs Rupert Murdoch: Clash Of The Twats

I can't believe almost every blog includes my visiting the cinema, but, in the words of West Coast Ghetto Heisman, Dub C, "Uh oh! Here we go again!"

I went to see Transformers: Dark Of The Moon. I've now seen all three movies in the franchise, returning like an inquisitive index finger to a ripening scab. That's over seven hours (!) of no discernible plot, explosions, slow motion sequences, more explosions, gratuitous ass shots, ever more explosions and cringe inducing dialogue permanently set to "CONSTANT SHOUTING!". All of which should make for the perfect popcorn experience, shouldn't it? Shouldn't it?!? However, in the hands of Mr Bay you feel like the poor stunt driver who was injured during its production: permanently brain damaged with one eye stitched shut.

Mr Bay describes his style of filmmaking as "Fucking the frame". I spent the whole movie thinking "Damn! Can I at least get a blow job, or an enthusiastic tongue between my oiled buttocks to get me excited first?" But no. No foreplay. It's all about the penetration with Michael. A sinister penetration which recalls Robert De Niro as Max Cady in Cape Fear. Bay is laughing at us as he rips at our flesh with his teeth. How else to explain the execrable Rosie Huntington-Whiteley in her film debut? Her bee-stung lips are more animated than she is and, undoubtedly, pre-assembled flat pack furniture in Swedish pine would have proved far less wooden. She manages to make Megan Fox appear as accomplished as Dame Judi Dench. Bay doesn't care though. He's essentially saying "My movies are just about blowing stuff up. I don't even need actors. Look!" That's how little he thinks of us as the audience.

Fans of the movies (I know! Incredible. How they stay upright is beyond me) claim that Transformers: Dark Of The Moon is better than Transformers: Revenge Of The Fallen, which is like me saying that my tonsillectomy was a better experience than having my wisdom teeth out.

The most annoying thing though isn't the interminable asinine juvenility, it's the caption: "Middle East: Illegal Nuclear Site", which appears just before Bumblebee and the rest of his Autobot homeboys start kicking a little raghead ass.

What the - What?!? Is Michael Bay doing politics?!?

I felt so dirty I left the cinema vowing to wipe myself down with the last ever edition of the News Of The World. I'm kidding. I've never bought that filthy little rag, its sister paper The Sun or subscribed to Sky, so my conscience is entirely clear. Well, at least when it comes to the funding of Murdoch's empire. I remember being in the studio recording a track with guitar legend Jim Davies (he of The Prodigy fame) who arrived one morning a tad upset that he'd received a volley of abuse from a newsagent for purchasing the latter publication. David Goldring, who was laying down beats, explained the revulsion in Liverpool for the paper. It dates back to the 1989 Hillsborough disaster and the headline:

“The Truth.

Some fans picked pockets of victims

Some fans urinated on the brave cops

Some fans beat up PC giving kiss of life.”

A policeman was quoted in the article claiming that Liverpool fans "were openly urinating on us and the bodies of the dead.” David summarised succinctly, "So we were picking the pockets of our own dead friends and families and pissing on their corpses, yeah?" The Sun have yet to apologise. Kelvin McKenzie even stated recently that he was happy to stand behind the veracity of the story.

The Milly Dowler revelations came as no surprise to those who have nothing but utter contempt for Mr Murdoch, his twisted world view and his hijacking of a party which was supposed to represent all of us who have to go to work tomorrow. The leader of the Labour Party can't even support workers voting to strike for fear of how it would play in the press. The only thing separating us from my bound and shackled forebears is our right to withdraw our labour.

When Our Tone became Labour leader in 1994 he flew across the globe to pay homage to Big Rupe, assuring him he'd play by his rules. It's been revealed that he spoke to Rupe on three occasions in the days leading up to the Iraq invasion on March 11th, 13th and the 19th, which was the day before the invasion itself. Rupert said at the time, "I think Tony is being extraordinarily courageous and strong... It's not easy to do that living in a party which is largely composed of people who have a knee-jerk anti-Americanism and are sort of pacifist. But he's shown great guts…"

Yep. "Great guts" to go to war on a stack of lies and rape a country of its resources. And he's so brazen he had no fear in referring to that three letter word our governments are far too scared to whisper. "The greatest thing to come out of this for the world economy...would be $20 a barrel for oil. That's bigger than any tax cut in any country." So it's not like it's a bad thing.

The same fella recently ran a story saying that DJ Gadaffi issued his troops with Viagra, the easier to commit mass rape. The motivation for this lie being the same three letter word. The same fella who claims to support our brave boys overseas runs an organisation which hacks the 'phones of dead soldiers' families.

I'm looking forward to him scapegoating his sacked journalists as workshy benefit scroungers. The question now is whether or not people are disgusted enough by these recent revelations to make Rupert's gleaming edifice of shit crumble to dust. I doubt it though. Boys like Page 3 don't they, eh? They like their boobs, don't they, eh? And it's just a bit of fun, innit? Phwoar, eh?

PPPPPPHHHHHHHWOOOOOOOOAAAAAAAAARRRRRRRRRRRR!!!

Which, I believe, was pretty much the first draft of the script for Transformers: Dark Of The Moon.

Jackin' for beats with... DJ Gaddafi

As we approach the release of DJ Gaddafi's upcoming album "The G Files" we are pleased to give you an in depth interview with the Middle Eastern Despot/Rapper as he discusses his favorite producers, rappers, David Cameron & Dr Dre's "Detox" album. We're given an "Access All Areas" pass to his impressive Presidential Crib. Situated in the southern suburbs of Tripoli the central domed portico gives access to a lofty entrance-hall, lined by a row of double columns of grooved white marble with gilded bases. The white marble floored ballroom - the size of two football pitches - hung with tapestries woven in a different age depicting the Saracen violently resisting the infidel Christian Crusaders. The high, ornate ceilings are adorned by one elaborate chandelier after another.

We enter as DJ Gaddafi is in the middle of a telephone conversation with his American agent;

DJ Gaddaffi: I don’t wanna hear what the fuck these motherfuckers got to say. They say I can't run shit and this and that? Will. I. Am.? Yeah, the motherfucker’s tight as fuck, but if it ain’t broke, you can’t fix it, motherfuckers. I’m ‘bout to go hard. I’m not gonna make this guy a superstar again. The boy had his chance. GA! DA! FEE!. Let me reiterate this. Hold on... One love, Basil, I get down with y’all, that’s Libya baby, for real. Freshly! Chopped! Basil! Yeah... Y’all puttin’ it down for the brothers and sisters, for real. I’m just talkin’ about all the suckas that be hatin’. Be a fan and stop hatin’. Listen to the real shit, you got to do it. Sheeee-it. Let me pull this motherfucker back for y’all one more time. This just that soulful shit, this is what I do. Don’t get mad at me, I wanna say your name, but I ain’t gonna do that. One love y’all to people that got love for Libya. Freshly Chopped Basil: What’s up y’all this is Brozilla with "Freshly Chopped Basil". I’m here with DJ Gaddafi, you all know him, and here he is. What’s up, man? DJ Gaddafi: Just chillin’, doing my thing. You know how we do? Workin’ on "The G Files", tourin’, having a good time. Just want everybody to come see this tour and feel the music I’m bringin’. Freshly Chopped Basil: So you've got the album coming out soon. It’s coming out at the end of April, right? DJ Gaddafi: Yep. The album is coming out April 27th. It’s a great record it’s got a lot of features. I got a lot of talented cats gettin’ down; Snoop Dogg, Beyonce, G-Influence and Brother B, The RZA, P Diddy, Eminem, Nick Clegg, 50 Cent, Tech N9ne, Ed Balls, Chuck D, RBX and Caroline Spelman singing some chorus hooks... Dr Dre did his thing on a couple of tracks... Just a bunch of talented artists and I love what they do. Freshly Chopped Basil: Usually with your albums you produce the entire thing. How come you put Dre in the mix? DJ Gaddafi: I love Dre, who doesn't? I think he’s a great producer. In fact all the producers that’s puttin’ it down I respect them and I love their work. There’s a lot of good music out there, I respect everybody and I love what they do. Freshly Chopped Basil: On the flip side of that, you as a producer, which artists would you like to produce for? DJ Gaddafi: My tastes are way out and people might think I'm trippin’, but I wouldn’t mind doing something for T-Boy. And- Freshly Chopped Basil: That's Tony Blair, right? For real. T-Boy can spit. He brings heat and keeps it 100. He's my main Caucasian. He kinda reminds me of myself when I was doing my thing, and I’m still doing my thing, don’t get it twisted. We go waaaay back. He brings the fire. I like Raekwon, he’s cool. I like Jay-Z, he’s super cool. I like Nu Labour, even though they don’t have records out now. Snoop, that’s a must, I’ll work with him anytime. Damaged Gods are crazy talented. They're getting a lot of play out here with "Outf!%king rageous." You heard that yet? Whooooh! HOT. There are tons of guys out there that I like who are putting out good music, but there’s a lot of other people trying to rap and trying to produce just because it’s so easy to get into right now, but in a minute that’s gon’ change once that real music comes back and people understand what’s really going on. I know I went somewhere else on that answer, but hey. Freshly Chopped Basil: You’re putting out this record on your own Coup D'etat label. This is your second independent release. What's that like when you compare it to your major label experience? DJ Gaddafi: I mean independent is a little harder than being on a major label. You gotta be hands on: make sure everyone's doing what they s'posed to do. I wasn’t hip to that, I thought I was still gonna have people to do things for me. But you get a chance to really see what’s going on and really know who got your back and who don’t got your back in the business. I’mma put it to you like this: when I was with a major, it was on and crackin’. Everything crackin’. I made a lot of people, a lot of 'behind the scenes' people, rich. But now that I’m independent and I have to get at the same people that made it pop for me back in the day, then it’s a problem. I mean that as far as, “Hey, DC, can you gimme a hand here? I- Freshly Chopped Basil: "DC?" DJ Gaddafi: David Cameron. "I made you a load of money and I'm still making you money.” And I gets no love. It can still go down like that. It’s just a different way as far as showing that support. I mean I support everybody in the Middle East, I support everybody in the West, the East, Down South. But it’s just gotta be a mutual thing, especially here where I’m from. Everybody out here, all the DJs, all the clubs, everybody gotta ride and look out for each other. I’ve been to clubs where I’ve seen cats that’s from here at the door, and they like, “Nuh uh” and they let artists from somewhere else right in. We gotta have more unity and that’s what we missin’ from the game. The talent is there, the music is there, the unity is the key. Freshly Chopped Basil: Tell us about the viral video you had for "Capitalism Crash". How did you guys decide to do that and are you guys gonna shoot any other more traditional music videos? DJ Gaddafi: For "Capitalism Crash" I just got my secret police to film David Cameron swanning around the Middle east trying to sell arms to literally anyone. In this climate of violence? If that doesn't show you that Capitalism is utterly bereft of morality... Anyway, the response was off the chizzain! I think we're up to something like 5 million views on YouFace. Yeah, we’re gonna shoot more videos. We shooting for "It's All About The Oil Receipts" which is me and T-Boy. Doing that, puttin’ it down and letting people get a glimpse of that. Middle East meets West. I got family in all places so I can’t have tunnel vision. That’s how you survive in the game, you can’t have tunnel vision. Freshly Chopped Basil: I heard that "Education Revolution" was originally gonna be a Michael Gove collaboration song, tell us about that. DJ Gaddafi: I did the song with him, that’s what that was. But records change. A lot of records I could tell you about right now that had other people on them from a lot of artists that you know have changed. Just like on that Elton John single “Don't Let The Sun Go Down On Me”? I was on that song originally and I got dropped for George Michael. So records change, that record changed. I put G-Influence and Brother B on it, it was a good feel for them so that’s what it was. Freshly Chopped Basil: On another note, have you worked with Dre on "Detox"? DJ Gaddafi: In the beginning, sort of the beginning, I was over there with Dre and the rest of the fellas going through the records and marking off ideas for him to hear. That’s all I did really. Then a year or so ago I spat a verse or two, but I don't know if they made it onto the record. Freshly Chopped Basil: So you made some TV appearances since your last album. How did that come about and how did they approach you and what was your first thought? DJ Gaddafi: Well I did the "Celebrity Fit Club". I didn’t want to do it at first because I thought it was some corny shit. So I was like, “Damn, I’m not old, I ain’t played out. I’m still a youngster.” I told ‘em no, but then the producer Rich called me and said, “Lemme take you out to lunch”. So I had lunch with him and he explained to me what the show was about and what was going on as far as showing me how to eat better and showing me how to exercise their way. I said, “So y’all gonna pay me to exercise and eat right?” So I was like, “Shit, let’s go.” And I did that and I’mma do more of those type of shows. On the big screen, as far as movies, sitcoms, all of that, I’mma do it all. It’s just showing versatility and by the way I’ve been easing over into scoring. I scored the popular Libyan drama "Tripoli Heights". I don’t even know if a lot of people know that but I scored that show, it was a great show. So I’m doing a lot of things. I’m easing my way into being behind the scenes ‘cause that’s what I really love. I’m still a motherfuckin’ rap artist period. I do that. But you grow and you have to change and I’m just changing and I’m looking for the next motherfucker who can shock the world. A lot of motherfuckers can rap and they do that all day but I’m looking for a person that has a story about themselves, something that can captivate the world, not just your hood. And that’s what I like about T-Boy. He got a story and he tellin’ these motherfuckers, “This is what it’s like with me and where I’m from. This is what it’s like and this is how we gon’ give it to you." He got a story about it and you rarely find artists that really give you that story and that realness. But I’m pretty sure it’s coming, and I’mma be looking, ‘cause I am a producer, Gaddafi Funk Entertainment, baby. Freshly Chopped Basil: We’re about to wrap up but before that tell us what kind of vibe people are gonna expect on the album. DJ Gaddafi: You can expect a lot of records that’s got a soulful feel, a lot of records that’s like more on the groove tip. I ain’t really goin’ hard on the record, like Will. I. Am. Did you catch Black Eyed Peas at the Superbowl? Oh, man! That was some repugnant shit. A lot of people don't know that Fergie played William Shatner's girlfriend in an episode of TJ Hooker back in 1986. She's looking rough these days, right? That's the crack. A lot of these celebs are on crack these days. They tell me crack is in. Anyway, what I'mma be doing is talking to everybody from a fake tanned, ugly WAG motherfucker on "Daybreak" to Paxo on "Newsnight". Freshly Chopped Basil: Can you explain the bloodthirsty repression of your people for four decades at the behest of your Western puppet masters? DJ Gaddafi: Huh? Freshly Chopped Basil: Never mind. Before we leave, do you have any closing comments about anything? DJ Gaddafi: All I have to say is whatever you want to do in life keep your mind to it. If it don’t jump off at first don’t get frustrated, even though we do get frustrated. Just keep pushin’ and don’t let nothin’ hold you down. And keep faith in God and know that it’s gonna be alright. And for the motherfuckers that be hatin’ on Brozilla Triple X L, kiss my motherfuckin’ ass, ‘cause you can’t hold a brother down. Freshly Chopped Basil: Wise words. Thanks for your time today. Peace. DJ Gaddafi: Huh?

2010 in a pretty pink bow

Multicoloured balls of fire scatter in all directions, wave after wave of incandescent fury dancing across the night sky, exploding and cascading back to earth. Then, with one last whimper, it's over. Darkness and silence return. Fumes from spent firecrackers and rockets hanging in the air as 2010 turns into 2011.

There were a number of ways in which I planned to wrap this final blog in a pretty pink bow. I thought about doing a spoof Matt Cardle Christmas Diary:

Tuesday Dec 21

Busy day today. Start it off by appearing on the "Chris Moyles Breakfast Show". Top bloke. Dead switched on. And totally funny. Good times. Unfortunately, he had to go to an emergency traffic report and cut short the interview just when I started talking about the stuff I plan to do on my second album, which'll be a return to the more personal and introspective stuff I was doing before I won "X-Factor".

Lunchtime finds me doing a signing of my new no.1 single "When We Collide" at the HMV in Bayswater. The place is PACKED. It's like wall to wall p-u-s-s-y. I rock the house with "Tears In The Rain" which I wrote with the band I was in before I went on "X-Factor". The crowd were so into it. Totally silent and open-mouthed. Dead appreciative. It was a shame that during the second verse there was a power failure. Luckily it didn't last too long and my manager decided I should probably do "When..." to give 'em a different vibe instead of starting up "Tears..." again. Fair enough.

Simon Cowell's been brilliant. He's dead genuine and wants me to express myself. I remember him saying: "Matt, I want you to be you. I don't want you to be a "style". So many acts today are merely style and no substance. You're different. You've got genuine soul and that's what I want. I want your soul, Matt," and he was so intense when he said it. It was almost like his eyes sparked red. I've been giving him my soul ever since.

I thought perhaps I could look at the recent OFCOM report into our attitudes to swearing:

Apparently, pre-watershed, most participants found the words ‘cunt’, ‘fuck’, ‘motherfucker’, ‘pussy’, ‘cock’ and ‘twat’ unacceptable and also wanted care to be taken over the use of the words ‘bitch’, ‘bastard’, ‘bugger’, ‘dick’, ‘wanker’, ‘shag’, ‘slag’ and ‘shit’. Post-watershed, ‘cunt’ and ‘motherfucker’ were considered the least acceptable. There were contrasting views on the use of the word ‘fuck’ which was considered more acceptable by some participants (e.g. younger people and male participants) but less acceptable by others (e.g. participants aged 55-75). Respondents also wanted care to be taken over the use of the word ‘pussy’ post-watershed. The other words listed were considered acceptable post-watershed by most participants.

“I hate that word (‘motherfucker’), I hate it, I don’t know why I just hate it.”

Group discussion, male, no children, aged 30-55, ABC1, white and BME,

Birmingham

Many participants weren't familiar with, and didn't know the meaning of the word ‘bloodclaat’. Some assumed that it couldn't be particularly offensive because they hadn't heard the word before. They also didn't think that many people were familiar with it and would therefore be likely to ‘miss it’ if it was used on television.

“Sorry, can someone explain how it’s offensive to me because I actually don’t understand it.”

Group discussion, male, younger children, aged 20-45, C2DE, white and BME, London

‘Bloodclaat’ – “Jamaican/Patois originated, meaning blood cloth and referring to menstruation” (derogatory)

At which juncture I would have advertised my favourite new non-swearing, swear word: 'TWUNT'. A fruity combination of two naughty words to create a moist, glistening new one which means absolutely nothing but is pregnant with intent and is unequivocal in its communication.

I alighted briefly upon the notion of highlighting my favourite Facebook status updates of the past 12 months:

A good meal can be a near-sexual experience - a sumptuous, homemade Thai Green Curry for example. This evening's Bacon, Mushroom and Goat's Cheese filo baskets on a bed of rocket leaves was so good, I dislodged a light fitting.

Basil Creese Jr dreamt about you again last night, my lips still tingling from your perfect kiss as my eyelids flutter open. The scent of rain and the wet pavement seeps through the open hotel window...

As I departed, the villagers bestowed upon me the name "Mutembaiie", meaning 'Fire God'. In return I ask only that they sacrifice their livestock and Chris Fucking Moyles. Seriously, what is he for?

I danced with the idea of looking at this year's Adult Video News nominees for the "Cleverest Porn Movie Title Of The Year". They were as follows:

Barrack's Big Stimulus Package

A Brutha Came in Yo Mutha

It's Okay! She's My Step Daughter

Sexual Blacktivity

War on a Rack

Who's Nailin' Paylin?

Your Mom Tossed My Salad

Some hot wax dripped on the buttocks of the individual who correctly hits me back with the actual winner of this category. Eventually I figured it best to go with a recent observation. The Top 5 rated television programmes of 2010 are;

• The X Factor final - 17.7m
• England vs Germany 2010 World Cup - 17.4m
• EastEnders - 16.4m
• Coronation Street - 14.7m
• England vs Algeria World Cup 2010 - 14.6m

Now these are exceptional numbers, so I checked out some more run of the mill programmes. A repeat of "East Enders" on BBC3 commands an audience of 1.16m. "Neighbours" on Channel 5 1.29m. John Pilger's "The War You Don't See" on ITV1, a condemnation of the UK and US media which is complicit in their respective governments' rapacious war agenda, and emerged in the shadow of the Wikileaks mushroom cloud (during which hubbub, high profile Neo-Con draft dodger - aren't they all? - John Bolton, advocated a "military response" to the cable leaks. I mean, it's hard to tell with those Neo-Cons and their quest for "Full Spectrum Dominance", but was he suggesting they nuke the internet? Yeah... Probably) pulled in a paltry 940,000.

“If the public knew the truth, the war would end tomorrow. But they don't know and they can't know.”

Former British Prime Minister David Lloyd George, to Manchester Guardian editor C.P. Scott

Rageh Omaar, Dan Rather and David Rose all told how they spouted, parrot fashion, lies fed to them by a relentless disinformation campaign to justify an illegal war and expressed shame. Testimony from soldiers recounting tales of missions of bloody carnage targeting civilians where they were advised that to rescue injured children was "off mission" brought tears to my eyes. The true revelation of this film is that in the First World War, 10 per cent of casualties were civilians. By the Second World War, it was 50 per cent, rising to 70 per cent in Vietnam. In Iraq, it was 90 per cent.

Grainy camera footage from helicopter gunships unveiling a street strewn with dead innocents is accompanied by a soldier smirking "Oh, yeah. Look at those dead bastards. Nice."

Meanwhile, Andrew Marr was standing outside 10 Downing Street and smugly intoning:

“I don't think anybody after this is going to be able to say of Tony Blair that he’s somebody who is driven by the drift of public opinion, or focus groups, or opinion polls. He took all of those on. He said that they would be able to take Baghdad without a bloodbath, and that in the end the Iraqis would be celebrating. And on both of those points he has been proved conclusively right. And it would be entirely ungracious, even for his critics, not to acknowledge that tonight he stands as a larger man and a stronger prime minister as a result.”

Andrew Marr, BBC 1, News At Ten, April 9, 2003

This is the same man who recently said that those who blog are "socially inadequate, slightly seedy, cauliflower-nosed young men sitting in their mother's basements and ranting." All of which is certainly true of me, as you well know, but what blogging has revealed to me over the past year is the gaping chasm between the concerns and feelings of us, the 'unpeople', on one side and the politicians and their agents in the media on the other, who claim to represent us.

Marr and his clique aren't journalists, they're stenographers unquestioningly disseminating propaganda which is why you'll never read anything in the mainstream press about the worse-than-Hiroshima nuclear fallout levels in Fallujah or the Israeli government calculating the dietary needs for the population of Gaza ensuring the population is kept alive at a near-starvation level.

The political class despise us (probably with good reason. If you've ever been to a football match and had the twunt behind you spit meat pie all over your back in his haste to yell racist abuse then I'm sure you'll have had doubts about the logic of universal suffrage and the notion of democracy) and that's why they would rather carry out the day-to-day running of our lives in secret whilst we lap eagerly at the slick of excrement seeping from the cathode ray tube. And we're happy to comply, aren't we? Otherwise we'd do something about it.

Mr Marr (his incomparably indolent interview with Tony Blair earlier this year was as close as we'll come to seeing a 'rusty trombone'* executed on UK terrestrial television) has helped me connect with my inner Hulk and for that gift I thank him.

Have a brilliant Christmas and I hope 2011 brings you everything you've ever wished for.

Be easy

b-b-b-Bx

* 'Rusty trombone' - "a euphemism for a sexual act involving a man in a standing position with knees and back slightly bent, with feet at least shoulder width apart in order to expose the anus. The other partner typically is on his or her knees behind the man and performs anilingus while reaching up beneath the testicles or around the body to masturbate the man, mimicking the motions of a trombone player."