Boris Bunter Loves Cake!

Friday. 2.00 p.m. I'm sure Boris Johnson loves cake, so if someone appears on his birthday and waves a bit of cake under his nose, he's bound to go all googly-eyed, and drooling like a dog when downwind of a plate of meaty scraps. So it's no wonder he didn't disown the chance to have a party in Downing Street. Were these parties like children's parties, with jelly and ice cream, musical chairs, blind man's buff, pass the parcel and so on? A goody bag for everyone when they leave? Was there a conjurer there? Or some other children's entertainer? The more I think about 'Partygate' the more ludicrous and pointless all this is. Now is the time for all good men to go to the aid of the party. Perhaps.

And now . . . The Police don't want anything to do with the investigation, which was carried out by the civil servant, Sue Gray. The plot thickens. I think it will turn out that there were far more parties going on that shouldn't have been, probably by other mandarins in Whitehall, rather making the whole thing a bit rich. I wonder what Sir Humphrey Appleby, the Private Secretary of Jim Hacker, the Prime Minister in the BBC sitcom 'Yes, Prime Minister'? No doubt he would have come out with one of his long-winded and complex explanations. This entire affair is turning into a Whitehall farce, quite literally.

This morning I had an email from my MP in response to Partygate. I wrote because I wanted him to know how angry I was that I had been following the pandemic regulations more or less to the letter whilst it seemed those in Downing Street have been having a wild time, or so it would appear. It's not just the hypocrisy that angered me, but the fact that I had to sacrifice going to see my grandchildren over Christmas 20 and now knowing what was going on inside 10 Downing Street.

Saturday. 8.15 a.m. Okay, okay. We're still waiting for the infamous 'Partygate' enquiry results. It seems to be taking over every news programme on television and headlines and front pages of all the newspapers. But, come on chaps, let's get over it and move on, can we, please? I reckon there's more to it than the fact that people broke lockdown regulations. Let's be perfectly honest, how many people actually adhered 100% to the really complicated, and some say, completely unnecessary, regulations. I have a sneaking suspicion that all this nonsense has a rather sinister agenda behind it, and that's to get rid of Boris Johnson. Love him or loathe him, our media is generally controlled by a left-wing element. Particularly the BBC. The Government is eager to clip the wings of our major Public Service broadcaster and in particular to find a new funding model to replace the archaic Television Licence. So, they are more than desperate to find a way to discredit the Conservative government at any cost. Apart from anything else, there are far more important stories to be covered by the papers and television programmes. For example, the fact that Russia is threatening to invade  Ukraine and has sent thousands of troops to the border, or the mounting fuel costs crisis, or how to return the country to some semblance of normality as the pandemic comes to an end. As it is, the media is spinning that story out somewhat and seem reluctant to give any positive news on that particular subject. 

What Next?

(Thursday)I'm determined to keep this blog going. It's not always possible to write something and post it every day, but I do try. Just waffle on and hope for the best. If you follow my meanderings then you will know that a lot of what I talk about on here is mundane, but most of life is mundane. Someone said of drama that's it's life with the dull bits taken out. But on here, it's the boring bits, sort of, warts and all. It was Alfred Hitchcock who said that, and he should know as he was such a brilliant film director and made some really awesome films.

It's another warm and sunny morning. Alfie was insistent that I take him out, staring at me as he sat on the sofa next to me.

Someone thinks it's necessary to make a lovely screeching noise, a drill, grinder or whatever, right outside my window. It's really horrible. People that do D.I.Y. can be so focussed on what they're doing that they never seem to realise that it can be an irritation to others. Usually this sort of noise, or hammering endlessly, sawing, such as the individual was was constructing a garden shed.

(Friday) I had another letter from Television Licensing informing me that if I didn't set up my Direct Debit I was likely to get prosecuted for not having a television licence. This is really crazy, because I was paying the thing by Direct Debit and all was going smoothly. I made sure that this was in place well before I moved into Dexter House. I certainly didn't want to be illegal. Well, who would be? Then they wrote to me to tell me I didn't need to have a full television licence, as this is a sheltered housing project. I was never told this when I moved in. I was told by Barbara, the S.H.O (Sheltered Housing Officer.) that I only needed to pay £7.50 a year for the licence (I presume because it is sheltered housing and there is one television ariel or something. I'm not sure exactly, but I assumed on moving in that my flat was a single household and thus requiring a separate television licence.) So, they cancelled my Direct Debit and refunded the money I had already paid from the point I moved in. I was told a few weeks ago by Barbara that I could pay the thing by postal order. Now, who on earth uses postal orders to pay for anything in this day and age? I haven't had one since I was probably 15 years old, well before I had my own bank account. I could also pay it with a cheque, which is another form of payment I haven't used for probably a year at least and then there was the chance of actually finding my cheque book. So, having read the latest missive from Television Licensing, I attempted to ring their callcentre and possibly pay the £7.50 via their website or even pay by giving my card details over the phone. Due to the coronavirus situation they were only operating a skeleton operation (sounds like something from a horror film, giving a sort of vaguely humorous impression to someone of my creative abilities, but let's go no further down that avenue at the moment.) I couldn't even get to speak to someone, so I mentioned this to Barbara, and she contacted someone in Milton Keynes Council and I have now written out a cheque because I managed by some sort of fluke to find my chequebook and have payed the £7.50, so mission accomplished, thank goodness.

The pigeon which sits outside the flat and makes that monotonous sound is making it's relentlessly boring sound as I write this. Pigeons in my opinion have to be the most boring birds known to man. Not just their idiotic, repetitive noise, not so much a song, but sounding, unlike anything remotely intelligent. Also, when they move around, sitting, or at least, standing on the ground and moving their head in a sort of nodding fashion, senseless and as exciting as a dull weekend in Bognor Regis. Why Bognor Regis I can't think. Just the way my mind operates. I don't think a pigeon has anything in it's head because it keeps on nodding it. I don't actually think it's ONE pigeon which comes and makes it's stupid noise outside my window, but several. It must be. One pigeon is very much the same as the next one. They don't have what you might call individual features. They all blend in one to another. I just wish at times that they would just go away and not come back.

Later. I've done my washing this morning.  Yes, I know, the excitement is far too much. I had it all ready and put in the machine to go at around 7.45, but I had forgotten to actually turn on the confounded machine, so when I went to check at around 8.30 the thing was not running so I had to turn the machine on and wait another 45 minutes or so to wait for everything to be washed.

(Saturday) Another day. It's 5.45a.m. I'm sitting here in the lounge, waiting to take Alfie out for his walk. That confounded pigeon is making it's pointless noise outside. The window is open as it has been infernally stuffy in the flat. It has been windy, and the window in the bathroom had to be closed because the draft which comes through makes the doors rattle. You really can't win. I have a shopping list made and it's ready to take with me when I go to Sainsbury's, hopefully before 6 o'clock.

Later. I've been to Sainsbury's this morning. I got there around 7.45.  Oh goodness gracious, some awful faces on other shoppers as we waited in the queue. Just lighten up a bit PLEASE! So gloomy and glum. The British people are a stoic nation. Just think how we got though two World Wars. I'm thinking of the comedy which came out of adversity. 'The Goons,' written  by the brilliant Spike Milligan, was a sort of reaction to his time in the army, blown up, probably accounts for his state of mind, some of the characters created as his way of getting back at authority, stupid, pompous officer class, this seen in another piece of comedy magic, 'Dad's Army,' with the self-important George Mainwaring, played by Arthur Lowe. This show based on Jimmy Perry's experiences in the Home Guard. It just makes me wonder what will be produced as a result of this pandemic. Shakespeare is supposed to have written some of his plays in the midst of the plague which was raging through Tudor London at the time, the Globe no doubt in lockdown, very much similar to today's situation.