In which the pond dabbles with the Oreo, ancient Troy and the cowardly custard Caterist ...

 

Is it possible to defame learned, honourable NSW judges? 

Probably, and then it's off to the Star Chamber. That's a pity because Media Watch last night set the pond right off ... with its story of Chelmsford and deep sleep "therapy" and defamation. 

The pond happens to know personally one of the victims of the "therapy" and it fucked her for life, and yet here we are, with a Royal Commission entirely irrelevant in the eyes of the muh luds ...

Best not to say any more ... best just turn to the reptiles and the full panoply of follies and distractions, and first up is the welcome return of the Oreo, getting hot under the collar about trouble in tykeland.

The pond knew it was on to a winner, and the reformed, recovering feminist was furious about all this woke nonsense ...

Wondrous, great stuff, truly inspirational, the reformed, recovering feminist out and about celebrating perhaps the most patriarchal institution that's been invented, except perhaps for Islam and Judaism and about all the other patriarchal religions (the pond has a special spot for Joseph Smith and those gold tablets, and burying of them in the hill Cumorah, as splendid a bit of nonsense as the yarn about Adam and Eve).

So this is what happens to reformed, recovering feminists, who become bizarrely obsessed by identity politics, a reminder of what happens to some who are trained in one extreme end of the spectrum, and later find there's very little trouble in switching to the other end of the extreme in the spectrum ...

Yea, verily, go patriarchy, why should a reformed, recovering feminist give a stuff about gender politics ... and yet, did the pond detect at the very end and unclear billy goat butt moment? 

It did, it did ...it turns out that there are lingering traces of the woke in the Oreo, which just goes to show that even a heady mix of flour, fat and sugar can have a moment of dietary shame ...

Why verily, at the end that almost started to sound fully woke - what else to say about a demand for equality for women in the church? - and the sublime fatuity of just about everything the Oreo scribbles restored the pond's faith that stupidity is shared equally in whatever part of the gender spectrum you might find yourself identifying ...

And so to a rare treat, with the ancient Troy out and about on Boris ...

It's always astonished how one part of the Murdochian empire manages to ignore the behaviour of other parts of the empire, and refuse to admit they're part of the one institution, all kissing cousins ...

Here another segment of Media Watch might have helped ancient Troy ... inter alia, it included this note ...

Right to the bitter end, the Murdochians were out and about for Boris, though the Daily Mail managed to hold out the longest, as you might expect from a rag that loved the black shirts, and as MW noted, it was The Economist that took up the clown theme ...

Is it fair, right or just that ancient Troy should seize on the clown routine, while ignoring all the clown calls that were coming from inside the Murdochian house?

As MW noted, they were urging Boris on ... defiant and bloody and unbowed, right to the bitter end, full of "exclusive" dire threats, imprecations and warnings ...

And yet here we are ... as if the Murdochians had nothing to do with Brexit, and all the rest of Boris's ruinous bullshit ...

And yet, and yet, how they loved the performance, how they relished it, how the papers sold, how Chairman Rupert fattened himself in the sweltering UK noondday sun (well they think it's hot, the poor things, what with all the weather alerts and the contending rabble jostling for power, so many that the pond lost count and Sky News couldn't help, but the pond might get around to watching the great debate, because now the heat is on) ...

Naa  naa naaah ...

As for that book about Churchill, the pond remembers supping with Crace, long ago, back in 2014, the pond seems to remember, though memory dims with age ...

What better way to begin a book about the Greatest Englishman than with me? I’ve always admired Winnie and I feel sure he would have returned the favour. But back to Churchill for a while. Who was he and what did he do? To find out, I went to lunch with his grandson, Sir Nicholas Soames, at Simpsons. Sadly, after a hearty side of ox and several bottles of Chateau Margaux, Fatty dozed off before we got very far, so I’ve had to rely on my amanuensis and the cuttings folder.

So here am I in the bowels of the House of Commons, sitting in the very chair where Winston saved Britain in its darkest hour. While pygmies such as Halifax and Chamberlain preached appeasement, Winston alone stood firm against the Narzis. That took some guts. Imagine what Britain would have looked like under Herr Hitler? A granite version of the Pantheon of Agrippa as the Hall of the People, the Elgin Marbles given back to the Greeks, and not a Boris Bike in sight. It doesn’t bear thinking about.

Winston’s father, Randolph, was a rum piece of work. Entirely untrustworthy, suffering from syphilis and always trying to muscle in on his son’s career. I’m not saying my own father has had a dose of the clap, but he has been fairly sharp-elbowed at times, so I know how irritating it can be. On the plus side, it does keep one on one’s toes, and I wouldn’t be the towering figure I am today without him. And nor would Winnie without Randolph.

As I sit at my desk typing out my £250,000 weekly column for the Daily Telegraph, it is time to dispense with the canard that Winston was a dilettante who was happy to let others do the work for him. Of course he had tinkling dwarves in his smithy of Hephaestus bashing away at typewriters on his behalf, but it was only thanks to his genius they had any employment. And what’s so wrong with a politician picking up a little loose change for his bons mots?

We now tend to think of Winnie as if he had sprung from a union of Zeus and Polyhymnia, the very Muse of Rhetoric. I’m afraid we are only partially right. Having re-read some of his speeches, I find too many lumpen examples of the classic descending tricolon with anaphora. This, though, may be merely the verdict when viewed from the heights – both metaphorically and literally – of my own orations. Winnie was quite a small man, and it often showed...

And so on and on, with more here, and sadly up agains the cutting Crace, ancient Troy doesn't cut it ...

Go tell it to The Sun, and your kissing cousins, ancient Troy ... the manner of the Murdochian coverage has shamed the work of journalists and ruined the opinion of journalism ...

When you're down there with the Daily Mail, it's impossible to go lower ...

And so to the Caterist for the bonus, but only because the pond must.

As the pond expected, the cowardly custard ducked right away from a feud with the hole in the bucket man about vaccines, and instead decided to give hapless Kiwis a typical Caterist biffing ...

What a relief, the war with China is back on and if the Caterist has his way, might still get going by Xmas, and as for the war on climate change? 

What, you expect the Caterist to back down on coal, dear, sweet, innocent, dinkum coal, the entire reason for the existence of the IPA and the Menzies Research Centre and their endless quest for cash in the paw?

Just to help with the paranoia, the reptiles slipped in a snap of the hapless, foolish innocent in the embrace of the tyrant ... though they had to go back to 2019 for the snap ...

Indeed, indeed, look at her, happily chatting with Frank, and the pond was reminded of a back catalogue infallible Pope cartoon ...

So there is a reason for the Caterist ... it's a chance to catch up on the infallible Pope's back catalogue ...

Back to the days of the onion muncher one more time? Why, the pond can match that, and head off to the days of Hopper, channeled by the infallible Pope...

What a gathering, what a host, and it made the pond feel so much better as the reptiles tried to slip in a cartoonist who had seen better days...

Only a maroon of the Caterist kind could propose that we become a tribe of kelpies and get around behind ... 

What a prize futtock, and if the current state of the United States is the answer, then long absent lord, please help with the question ... 

And so to a freshly minted infallible Pope, followed by another back catalogue item ...

What a relief for the pond to see the infallible Pope back, how foolish of the pond not to check in, and see what was going down ... the sort of Titanic sensation it always gets reading the Caterist, the Oreo and all the rest of the reptiles ...