So the less than memorable 2010/11 season finally limped over the finishing line last weekend, leaving resort to the tumbleweeds and that scruffy dog which hangs out on the Boardroom’s terrace. Actually, most of the resort dogs seem to hang out on the Boardroom’s terrace, which acts as a kind of canine answer to Marché U. Only without the cheap beers and grated Emmental.
Interseason worklessness and its attendant shortage of ready cash gives us the opportunity to catch up on a backlog of sleep, clean unmentionable bits of God knows what out of various corners of the house and get on with strange tasks like swapping the living room rug for the one upstairs, a project more complicated than it sounds given that it involves moving all the furniture off both rugs and finding somewhere else to put it all while still leaving enough space free to haul two bloody great carpets up and down the stairs without knocking the mirrors off the wall.
In amongst all this excitement we even have time to reacquaint ourselves with the outside world and what it calls ‘news’ – items of information (often quite lengthy) containing no reference to snow, skiing or the weather. Fascinating.
The royal wedding: I suspect I would have stumbled across far more of this than was strictly necessary even had it taken place in the middle of peak February carnage. As it was I spent most of the crucial morning putting together an IKEA bed and still managed to see more of it than I did of my own nuptials. All good fun though, what with fancy uniforms and carriages, ridiculous over-enthusiasm (Kate to wear her hair down on The Day! Shock!!) and the usual po-faced carping about The Cost To The Taxpayer. Though since everyone got a parade and a day off for their money it looks to me like much better value than ornamental duck houses, foreign wars and backhanders to Vodaphone, which appear to be the other items on the governmental shopping list. I did think the archbish might have tidied himself up a bit though – there’s the young couple all scrubbed up nicely in uniform and designer dress, while the Archdruid overseeing the whole shindig looks like a badger emerging from a thicket.
Revolting arabs: most of the arab world has become disgruntled with a handful of sheikhs helping themselves to most of the national pie, leaving everyone else to fight over the burnt bit and occasionally torturing them slightly when they try to complain. Given that this has been going on at least since the British washed their hands of the region in the mid ’50s you could wonder why they didn’t spot it earlier. In a nutshell, I gather that Egyptian youth imagines it has achieved freedom-and-democracy by replacing a tyrant with a military junta, Mr Gadaffi is in the process of wrecking the house before he leaves the party, and everyone else in the region is busily embezzling national assets and transferring them to branches of Lloyds before the mob starts ransacking the palace.
Revolting students: various Tarquins took time out from their gap yah ski seasons to run about London throwing fire extinguishers and failing to a) demonstrate a basic grasp of their own language and b) marshal the rudiments of a rational argument. I can’t imagine why the issue of tuition fees concerned them at all, since I don’t think I saw one which came anywhere near qualifying as a suitable candidate for GCSE let alone a degree.
Osama bin Laden: has been shot by marauding marines while watching EastEnders on the sofa in his underpants. Justice has been served, according to Mrs Clinton – an interesting definition of justice, which makes me wonder whether in future Americans can look forward to being pistol-whipped by armed police who burst into their living rooms when they’ve been accused of shoplifting. Pakistan meanwhile is alternately complaining that it wasn’t invited to the party and blaming the rest of the world for the fact that terrorism’s Mr Big was camping in its back garden.
AV: everyone gets to vote on what sort of system they want to use in order to install the next lot of self serving nest-featherers in the House of Commons. Apparently this is a bad idea (Tories) a compromise (Lib Dems) a good idea (Labour) or terribly complicated and something none of us poor proles will be able to understand (the media). Which tells me that our national newspaper moguls are all thick as shit, because it looks perfectly obvious from here.
Cuts: having spent all our pocket money on duckhouses, foreign wars and backhanders to Vodaphone we have none left for essentials like climate change officers, age friendly community managers and traveller community liaison staff, so we have to get rid of support services for the disabled and hike the price of school buses. Sounds logical to me.
Apple is spying on you: Steve Jobs has installed a secret webcam in every iPhone and is watching you have sex. Yes, he knows all about that thing you do with the clockwork gherkin and the bowler hat. You hussy.
But important though all of these things undoubtedly are, it has to be said that by far the best thing I’ve heard on the news this week was a cricket commentator getting beaned by a stray ball. Apparently this is the third time it’s happened to him. Maybe he should take the hint.