I experienced a first this past weekend. Having spent a lifetime oohing and arhing on sight of a motorcycle (even Hondo 90’s – I’ve got it bad) I found myself gagging on a volcano of bile over the sight of one particular bike and its rider.
What can one say about that weekend TV performance of biker chick Hazel Blears? When confronted by reporters over her ‘flipping’ of three houses for financial gain, at the expense of the public purse, the performance of the leather clad chucky lookalike was suffocating in it’s contempt of decency and morality.
Flipper Blears has taken self-denial to whole new levels. She says she has done nothing wrong, that she was merely following the rules, that ‘the system’ is wrong, the system which she and her fellow shysters put in place and obeyed so faithfully as they milked it to its limits.
Her ‘little old me caught up in something I could not control’ act had me aiming the TV out of the window. Did the system put a gun to her head and force her to flip her main residence three times in one year, the better to exploit both the second homes allowance and the capital gains tax?
The sooner this country goes all Mad Max the better and I bagsy playing The Toecutter.