Ed Miliband Stung By A&E Patients

This is what happens when you mix up the local accident and emergency department with the nearest apiary. Yeah, that didn’t really happen. I just thought that stung wasn’t quite the correct word to use for what actually transpired. I don’t know, perhaps Ed’s feelings were rather stung by the actions of the patients. You can judge for yourselves (I know you would anyway even without my permission but it’s a good precedent for me to continue to act as if I’m in charge).

You know what Ed’s like. He’s desperately craving the approval of the wider world. It’s never been enough for him that he somehow prevailed over his brother. He feels exactly the same way about the victory as we do: numb disbelief over which sibling won the day. It probably won’t be sufficient for him to beat out David Cameron for the country’s top spot. Anyway, this is all relatively beside the point (but I promise that it has some vague relevance or I’d never have bothered to bring it up).

Pretty much anything a politician does these days if for the photo opportunity. We all know that they’re dancing after the limelight in the hope that they’ll be able to clutch a vote or two away from whoever’s making the biggest smell of their opposition. Little did Ed know when he turned up at the hospital that he was going to get far more than he’d ever reckoned on bargaining for.

They jeered. They threw things. They asked difficult questions that got the Labour leader all of a muddle and he tripped over his words. Shamefaced, he ran so very far away. However, through the delights of social media and a very active press presence, we still get to know all about it. And Ed learned an important lesson; there’s no pleasing sick people unless you come bearing drugs.

Middle East Tensions Escalate to Stop PM ‘Squatting’ in Number 10

For those of you out there who believe the oncoming onslaught of election season doesn’t truly matter, you’re dead wrong. Whatever goes down come May will have the utmost impact on modern life as we know it. If you were planning to let the whole spectacle to pass you by, to not bother with it in the slightest merely because you live in a horribly secure constituency and you swing the other way, don’t.

It turns out that the whole debacle of a shemozzle and hullabaloo transpiring out there in the Middle East is actually due to us and the state of our leadership. They had a thought that the simplest solution to the thorny thicket of issues was to kick off a bit and distract everyone from the relentless campaigning. It hasn’t really gone entirely to plan of course but if there’s one thing those guys are good at it’s sticking to their increasingly large guns.

It’s sweet of them to take an interest if you don’t think about it too hard. They’re worried that the sense of entitlement might have gone to David’s head. He wasn’t properly voted in last time after all and he might have convinced himself that the popular vote is no longer necessary in order to clutch the reins of power ever so tightly to one’s chest. He might board up the windows of the parliamentary domicile and refuse to come out until everyone agrees that he’s the boss.

So it would seem that there will be absolutely no peace in the Middle East (Tony will be ever so disappointed, he’s tried so very hard in that particular quarter) until we pull our democratic socks up. Put that in your pipe and smoke it in the full knowledge that if you cross the wrong box the blame for World War Three will sit squarely on your shoulders.

Death Threat to Win Back Disgruntled Tories

There’s nothing like fearing for your life to motivate you to make the right choice come polling day in the eyes of certain governmental bodies. There are those who spout the tireless arguments that it interferes with free will and the very definition of democracy. However, there’s no getting around the fact that it’s a lot easier to get around with the running of the country when you know that the results of that pesky upcoming election are in the bag.

I know I’ve told you before that David’s come up with this scheme or another for coming out on top come May but this time he really absolutely means it. Honest. When it comes to nefarious tricks for hoodwinking and wrangling this is quite certainly a doozy. It won’t be forever though. Once you’ve provided concrete evidence that you cast your vote for whichever boy in blue that was forecast you can get on with your admittedly now rather more huddled and shaky existence.

At this point I’m not sure whether or not I’ve managed to confuse things. Allow me to clarify, our current PM has a database that he’s going to start putting to more effective use. It lists people who have been identified, one way or another (generally through the utilisation of data mining software and that), as wavering in their allegiance to the Party. Such fickle individuals will be getting a very special note through the post that I think they’ll find will change their minds.

Whether or not they decide to take the insinuation that they’ll meet a terribly sticky end if they cast their vote wrongly is up to them. I think that what will really get to them is that the people in charge cared enough about staying in power that they made the threats at all. I mean, you can tell that your vote truly matters to them if they’re prepared to kill you to get it.

New Drug to Make NHS Open All Hours

The problem with the NHS is really very simple. I know that politicians are forever going on about how complicated an issue it is. I think you’ll find that’s merely because they want us all to be very impressed indeed when they unravel the devilishly contorted tangle. The thing is that there isn’t enough money to pay people sufficiently qualified to keep us all alive. Also because we’re generally getting a lot older and increasingly frail. And that whole problem with drug resistant antibiotics. So maybe there’s a little bit more going on than I was ready to admit in the first place.

But there’s definitely still an eminently easy solution to this particular spot of bother. People need to work longer for less pay and make fewer mistakes. You might well be thinking that this is an impossibility. The dedicated nurses and zealous doctors are exhausted and overworked as it is, getting them in to do more definitely isn’t going to help keep things ticking over properly.

What you’ve forgotten though is that this is a workforce with access to pills. Delicious nutritious tablets that are very much good for what ails you whatever that might be. We’re all well aware that there are plenty of laws in place that are very much opposed to that sort of behaviour. However, rules can be rewritten if you whisper the right things in well positioned ears (and not just the ones affixed to the back of laboratory mice).

By total and utter coincidence, a certain pharmaceutical company has just this week released a new compound that can definitely sort matters out. It lets you stay up way past bedtime and stops you from caring about anything remotely resembling a personal life. The only slight side effect is that it turns you blue. It wouldn’t be that much of a bad thing if we had Smurfs in charge of the health system would it?

Lufthansa Knew About Air Safety Overhaul

You know what it’s like, your boss hands you what at first glance promises to be a large and exciting paperweight and you discover that it’s yet another company document for you to leaf through, memorise by heart and implement yesterday. There’s absolutely no way to keep up with the red taped bureaucracy and shifting regulations so at one point or another you simply stop trying. More than that, just to make it appear as if you were paying attention to the rules that come down from on high, you start cutting corners and making all manner of incredibly terrible decisions.

Another route is that you actually want to make something of a splash. You’re well aware of the old adage that ‘there’s no such thing as bad publicity’. So you start pulling stunts at various junctures in the hope that anything exciting will occur in order to spice up your entirely humdrum existence. Of course you’ve done the preparation should things head decidedly toilet-wards and secured yourself a handy scapegoat (that just so happens that it can be tastily roasted post sacrifice and provide you with a delicious free dinner).

Obviously option number three is that you’ve altogether stopped caring whatsoever about doing a good job. It’s of no interest to you in the slightest that people could get hurt (I do realise that this point could start looking really rather similar to my first point but do trust me. The differences are there and if you manage to get all of them to fit on the back of a postcard and into my line of sight there’s a sweetie in it for you). As long as you get paid at the end of the month, you wouldn’t be that fussed if the building was on fire.

These thoughts and ones like them were in no way going through any of the minds at the airline in question. A tragedy has occurred and all we can do is try and learn from the mistakes made.

Cameron’s Pledge to Freeze Lethal Bugs in Chicken

He’s an enterprising young fellow is our dear old PM. At long last, he’s having a crack at stepping up to the major leagues of big boy country leadership. Great Britain or the United Kingdom or the Undisputed Meritocracy of Westminster (or whatever it is that David’s nominally in charge of nowadays) has been sitting on the sidelines somewhat of late. Now our fearless would be despot is taking the plunge and forging onwards in the same vein as plenty of other top guns of the day.

The magnificent white wolf of Russia (you know, the topless one that is rather fond of horses and judo) and the baby faced boy atop the North Korean pyramid of hierarchy can’t possibly be the only ones to have all the fun you know. Of course there’s the highly persuasive argument that we might not have quite the firepower or troops at our disposal as the others but Dave’s got a truly excellent plan for that.

In recent years there’s been much talk and more regarding weapons of mass destruction. The ever present fear that we could well all get blown to bits thanks to the pressing of a single ominous (and, if there’s any justice in the world, daringly red) is a pressing one I’ll grant you. However, there are plenty of other strings to the bow of killing other people in increasingly aggressive and inventive ways.

The idea came to Cameron as he was tucking into a particularly nasty looking plate of chicken from a particular budget establishment (obviously he had to make the trip incognito. He’d hardly want to pull an Ed Miliband and bring about the right conditions for an embarrassing press photo). Freeze the parasitic bugs held therein, tinker with them just enough so that their lethality reaches the point of weaponisation and watch the world crumble into subservience.

Pilots Refuse to Fly After Oil Price Fall

Forget about tragic mystery crashes in the Alps that nobody can quite comprehend or explain. Seriously, forget I even made the slightest reference – it’s terribly depressing and someone might start crying. It’s just so happens to be the hindrance of this format that when there’s a story that everyone’s talking about that I really don’t want to have to bring up there isn’t a huge amount that I can do about it (whine over. For now at least).

But believe it or not, pilots are an incredibly superstitious bunch. They get into a tremendous pet over the most seemingly inconsequential of things. Allow me to run you through the general basics of what occurred and then you can judge the situation for yourself. Or wander off because you’re bored, it really doesn’t make all that much of a difference to me.

Basically, one of our high flying sky wranglers decided to have a crack at playing the stock market. Anyone who’s ever seen Wolf of Wall Street or Money Never Sleeps or any of those terribly gripping cinematic works regarding said boulevard (I haven’t but I’m sufficiently opinionated to have already decided the general content of such films) ought to know that such enterprises are unlikely to ever end well. Probably.

Oil, that’s a perfectly safe market. Everyone loves delicious nutritious oil to energise cars and drizzle over salads. How could anyone ever doubt that investing all your money in oil could ever end badly? Provided you haven’t been keeping your head snuggled in the soothing embrace of a rock covered over with sand, you probably ought to be aware that oil by the barrel has indeed been dipping just a little price wise. It’s essentially down to the fact that a vastly influential pilot has made something of a bad investment that the whole profession has dubbed the whole situation as the worst luck ever. They’ve vowed to stay ground bound until something changes considerably.

DUP Names Its Price for Electoral Deal: Tory Leadership Race

Ah the grand old Democratic Unionist Party (admit it, I could have said anything there and you’d have nodded along sagely as if you’d known all along who they were. Or perhaps I’m merely wildly misinformed regarding current events. However, my Spidey sense is whispering in my ear – that’s definitely how it works, don’t even attempt to say otherwise – that you’d have gone along with it if I’d said that it was the Dentists Under Pluto or Desdemona’s Uppity Phlegm up to their old tricks again), or as I’ve always felt inclined to them, the Kingmakers.

But of course with UK politics being the way they are the smaller organisations do in fact have a touch more power than they used to. Apart from the lads in orange (or is it yellow? Their poor little bird will no doubt be relegated to the bottom of the pile come May and no one is going to be overly surprised) who’ll have to put on a brave face and be content with whatever they get.

So it’s not exactly a huge wonder that such collections of people are of a mood to flex their effecting change muscles. In order to win their support, the parliamentary togetherness shindig lobby isn’t asking for anything overly momentous. All they want to do is to pick the next leader of the country. No, it isn’t even that sinister or manipulative. They’re merely tired of staring at Davey Camo’s shiny pink face looking out at them on so many newspaper front pages. They want a change of scene.

Obviously it’s ever so slightly too short notice to have a change up before the next general election. However, right after it we’ll be launched straight into another round of voting (one that we’re not supposed to get in on though. Have no fear, we can’t be expected to do anything much about it). Change may be inevitable but I can’t quite stop myself from fearing this one. Straw haired pseudo buffoon or evil eyed private schoolboy (mark II) anyone?

Ed to Ransom Fake Donor

You very definitely do not want to cross little Eddie Mills. He’s discovered that deep down he’s got real fire in the belly and he’s had enough of all the nonsense he’s been forced to put up with thus far. So while he may well have the face, voice, mannerisms and general disposition of a cartoon buffoon who could quite possibly be from the moon, you really shouldn’t tell him so in the future.

I’ll fill you in on the delicious details of this story as it’s a surprisingly thrilling tale for what’s proving to be a merely mediocre Monday so far. It was just an ordinary day for Ed Miliband. He had some meetings, going over campaign strategies and the like for a big popularity contest that was looming at work. Then he went out to play, didn’t eat a bacon sandwich (he prefers sausage ones anyway, bacon really is a bit too salty for him. That’s his story and he’s sticking with it) and that’s when his phone started ringing.

He answered with some trepidation, not quite trusting the technology and wondering who it was this time who’d got hold of his private number. As the conversation deepened, Ed thought that all his prayers had been answered. The mysterious stranger at the other end of the line (who happened to have a particularly low timbre to his voice) was making some very wonderful promises. No longer would Ed have to depend on the unions for money. This guy would fund the Labour campaign in its entirety and didn’t even want anything in return.

They set up a meeting. Nervously, Ed prepared for the encounter, trying to tell himself that it really was nothing like a first date as he agonised over what to wear. Anyway, I’d hate to drag things out any further so I ought to warn you that the ending isn’t overly happy. It was all a stick up, a frame job, a mean practical joke. That was what caused Ed to flip. He’s now demanding millions of pounds as he posts the fingers of the jokester back to his mother one by one.

Tories Revive Thatcher’s Evil King

That’s right people, she wasn’t operating on her own. Well, we knew that she wasn’t a completely lone effector of change, she had lackeys and flunkeys at all the various levels of hierarchy to get stuff done for her but the big news here is that she had orders coming down to her from on high. I should probably have started out with something more along those lines rather than mucking things up with qualifying statements. Sorry, my bad.

Basically, there was an even bigger, stinkier, riper cheese in play during her heyday. And he’s going to be defrosted (can you freeze cheese? I do believe we have encountered our first, or quite possibly second depending on what you’ve decided qualifies for such status, tangent of the post. Keep your eyes peeled for any more; there could well be a sticker in it for you if you do), reanimated and generally wheeled back onto the scene.

Is it any wonder? The slightly more right wing arm of the current government is shaking in its designer boots with that pesky election coming up. They don’t want to have to tangle with anything as exhausting and dicey as having to court the popular vote. A far more pleasing course of events would be for a benevolent or otherwise dictator to pull various strings behind the scenes and tell everyone that this particular group of upper class twits is going to be in charge. And that if anyone has a problem with it they can take their quibbles to the complaints department. Which has recently been restaffed with ravenous tigers.

So imagine, if you will, an even more terrifying version of the late lady Prime Ministeress with a just a dollop more of testosterone.  If you aren’t scared quite yet then do go ahead and cast your vote for him come May and see where we end up. I’m pretty sure this is how most dystopian films start.