KID SHIRT

Wednesday, August 25, 2010

TOO POSH TO PUSH

UK Prime Minister David Cameron's wife Olive Oyl - er, I meant Samantha - has just given birth in an NHS Hospital. Is that what India Knight, writing in The Times last week, meant by her being more "socially elastic" than her husband?

Not that I'm suggesting that this was just some huge PR opportunity to show that the Camerons are just like us 'normal' folk and are happy to be *eww* touched by UnPrivate Healthcare workers - thus sending a subliminal message out to the Great Unwashed that the NHS is safe in Tory hands (it's not). Buuuut: if people had any idea how much it cost in terms of security and so forth to stage-manage that - espesh in a time of much belt-tightening and austerity for the rest of us (Cameron's very fond of telling us we need to "muck in" - volunteer, all pull together, as if near-financial collapse was just some Eton stage production of Olive Oyl - er, sorry, I meant Oliver Twist - "You gotta pick a pocket or two" - yeah, ours !) - then there would be riots in...somewhere or other.

When Princess Anne visited Yeovil Hospital some years ago - they bloody well redecorated the whole hospital - even disinfected one of the lifts - before she and her armed guards, courtiers, etc turned up for a flying 2 hour visit. Operations were cancelled, sick people discharged (they were making the place look untidy!), the whole hospital's routine disrupted - just for a Photo Op.

I went on a short holiday to a tiny bay in Cornwall a few years back with some mates and Thatcher stayed in a house nearby. I'm not kidding: there were guards with machine-guns everywhere and guys who looked like MIBs outside the house. PMs don't do unobtrusive.

I wouldn't want to be a local woman who went into labour at the same time as Mrs. Cameron.

(Yes, I know, that sentence is sooo wrong on so many levels)

Deputy PM (and scabby Liberal sell-out) Nick Clegg said later, "I'm sure the whole country will join me in wishing David well..."

Well, no, actually.

Cameron was looking for names for his daughter and asked for something with a hint of Cornish.

Howabout: FuckorfbaktoLondonyufukkincunt, in a gruff Kernow snarl.