Big Zuu. If I say that, increasingly, I feel like a visitor to this planet, that opening should be self-explanatory. Big Zuu. So much in so little! A microcosm of a country which has, quite literally, spiralled to the depths. The thing is, the rapid decline is ever more painful for those of us who were here for the before; the before when there were standards and morals; when respect was a given and pride meant so much more than a hi-jacked rainbow or a multi-coloured police car! When education was valued and aspirations were upward not plummeting to the gutter … Still with me? Can’t just be me, surely?
More on Big Zuu. I’m ashamed to admit I do know the name and, googling him, I see that he is a British rapper, songwriter among a list of talents. To be honest, he was on Lorraine, of all things, last week – I have breakfast television on, of a morning, as I endeavour to face another day – so my hackles were already up! Lorraine Kelly, for me, has long been synonymous with intense irritation; from her early days as TV-am’s Scottish roving reporter … I used to imitate her, never dreaming that she would have the last laugh. At first, she attempted to soften her broad Scottish dialect but, fast forward to the working class ‘revolution’ and she, now, deliberately exaggerates it, savvy that the play on her humble origins marks the key to her appeal. She’s right. Keep it simple!
Big Zuu: ‘Working in television, I’ve learned a lot and, because of that, I’ve been able to hire different people from different backgrounds and give opportunities to people from different places, so I’m very proud of that.’
Lorraine: ‘That’s really good. That really is … and especially from working class backgrounds ’cause that’s something I bang on about the whole time but it’s important. These voices are really, really important and need to be heard and encouraged.’
Apologies to those among you for whom the transcript can be heard in one’s head, remembering all the while that Lorraine is paid a fortune – for this! I repeat, politely, keep it simple.
Moving on to the BAFTAs. Same theme, though, as David Tennant – for the second year running – puts Scottish pride in the bin. The BAFTAs. Once upon a time, a black-tie event. It seems Hugh Grant is one of, if not the last bastion of tradition, elegance, style, nay chivalry in this increasingly grotty country. Dinner suit, pristine white dress shirt and a real bow tie. Not only can he dress himself, polish his shoes and tie his own tie but he speaks the Queen’s English and is funny, to boot – no ridiculous outfit required. Too much to ask? Clearly, today. Hugh Grant is almost extinct, for goodness sake. Was Tom Cruise in attendance? Actually, I think I did see a photograph of him, the only other gentleman adhering to a dying dress code. Such a pity David Tennant was shown up by them both …
What the hell was he wearing? In short, for the second year running, a black skirt! Everybody knows he’s Scottish – a superb actor and a good guy, by all accounts – but how amazing would he have looked in the formal Highland dress? Nobody will ever persuade me that a plain black or grey pleated skirt is a kilt. A kilt is tartan! Moreover, it should be worn with the appropriate jacket – the Prince Charlie to a black-tie event – and accompaniments. Instead, defiantly modern and in the name of ‘fashion’, David Tennant opted to shirk tradition – now, there’s a surprise. Not a hint of white in his shirt and was that supposed to be a sporran on that far too long chain slung round his hips? Enough said. Who needs a voice when one’s clothes say it all? Remember, I started by saying I felt like a visitor to this planet … If I had any inclination to get down with the people – and Big Zuu – perhaps I would come to accept that ‘fashion’ is today, actually, a byword for a dire lack of taste. Any way back? Any cause for optimism?
Don’t be ridiculous! Where to start? How about with Baroness Smith of Malvern? Once upon a time, she was Jacqui Smith, Labour MP for Redditch from 2007-2010 and the first female Home Secretary, serving under Gordon Brown, from 2007-2009. She was forced to resign, though, following the expenses scandal of 2009 when it was found she had mis-appropriated as much as £116,000 by falsely claiming that her family home in Redditch was, in fact, her second home. Oh, and her husband claimed, on expenses, the rental of two porn movies … Slightly embarrassing. Career dead in the water sort of stuff? Prison cell, even?! Not a chance. This is politics, for goodness sake. Fast forward fifteen years to 2024. Now divorced – and blonde – the disgraced Ms Smith is enobled and inducted into the House of Lords. Exactly! Let’s get this right … Forced to resign in 2009 following the mis-appropriation of thousands of pounds in expenses, she is, now, rewarded, not with a prison sentence but with the title of Baroness? Rachel Reeves must be laughing!
Rachel Reeves, our hatchet of a Chancellor who, rather than speaking in riddles, speaks in lies. Falsifying her CV, her forte, it seems her powers of recollection are almost as poor as those of the heinous Sturgeon when questioned during the Alec Salmond Inquiry, notably with regard to her employment history. She is, however – allegedly – more than adept at maximising expenses, the subject of an investigation, when she worked at HBOS, into a lifestyle she and two other managers funded courtesy of the bank. Now, this is the same woman who denied the winter fuel allowance for pensioners. How does she sleep at night? Why do we let her?
Any cause for optimism? Absolutely none, bar emigration – preferably to somewhere so off-grid that only Ben Fogle will find you! The following is an exposé of a government with another agenda, hellbent on destroying the country it was elected to lead: Camelot Castle Hotel, Tintagel, Cornwall. A 4-star hotel owned by John Mappin; he, who was approached by the Home Office and offered a considerable sum of money to house illegal immigrants – in the realms of 300 – on a rolling contract for a year. Illegal immigrants sleeping in four-poster beds at our expense! Worse, Mappin was instructed that he would have to lay off all the hotel staff, bar two, allowing for meals on wheels and cleaning on a weekly basis. No problem. After all, it would only mean stripping British citizens of their livelihoods for the sake of … what/who? Unknowns. Criminals? Unknown! In black and white, then, our government prepared to sell their own people – British Citizens – down the Swanny in favour of anybody who has successfully negotiated the English Channel in a dinghy? What of the inevitable economic damage to Tintagel, not to mention the cultural degradation inflicted on the area? Irrelevant. Nationwide, after all. Mappin turned down the offer choosing, instead, to contact the media, his account both damning and terrifying. This is no time for looking down …
Meanwhile, as the migrants pour into this country, uncurtailed, Keir ‘Jong Un’ and his band of pathological liars are flocking to join Macron in a bid to protect Europe’s borders from Russia. The irony. The hypocrisy. The embarrassment … I, for one, abhor the assumption that I am bereft of intelligence; too blind to see. A Voice Outwith the Crowd. All the better to be heard.
‘Criticism is something that you can avoid easily by saying nothing, doing nothing and being nothing.’
Fearless soul.
Cowardice manifest in apathy. Not an option.
This is Trish, signing off.
