If I'd have known, I'd have tried harder

In at number 2. How very apt.

Maybe so, but Obo fails, despite his obvious intelligence, to rise above the monotony of schoolyard potty-mouth. A constant reminder that life was so much better before the internet.

Oh, the twitter bad men

I read this and it made me think.

Basically it's a polemic against cowardly comedians who use their fans to troll and bash people they don't like on twitter. Well, I'm shocked.

My older readers will recall I had a similar run-in with similarly lunatic fanboys, so I have personal experience of this.

And look, it's not nice. I came within a hair's breadth of shutting down my blog, but I didn't.

I think the fact that these three "big name" arseholes have, so blatantly, used their tribes of followers to troll is pretty damning to them, but more damning to the people who, like zombie sheep, troll off to do the bidding of their heroes.

But for all that, I have a major, major, bone to pick with the author:

Twitter was a vital support network for her.

Er, no.

Twitter is not a vital support network for anyone. Twitter is an open platform for people to say things on and it's quite clearly a place where unpleasant and unkind things are often said. Choosing to use twitter as a support network means that you are also going to open yourself up to things that are not supportive and the consequences thereof.

Yes, it's ludicrous of Twitter to suspend the victim, but that's not the point. If you want to use a platform where this kind of thing can happen, you have to accept that it could all go wrong.

It's free. It's flaky. It's fucked up. If you can't deal with it, don't use it.

Humourless cunts

Really, if you have to take the fucking Germans to task over their jokes...

The Scottish National Party has decided to take the Germans to task for commonly insinuating that our Caledonian cousins are a bit tight, The Telegraph reports.

Fucking humourless sweaty cunts. Anyway, I can't see what the fuss is about, my sysadmin is a Scottish Jew and we get by fine on this 386 Xenix box...

Handbags at dawn

Not me this time:

I am sorry that I have been forced to reintroduce comment moderation. Those of you who read any of the threads last night will know why. During the course of yesterday evening, I received more than 40 - yes, 40 - phonecalls on my mobile phone, as well as emails and a bombarding of this blog from a single person. Various threats were made in those phonecalls. I just received another one threatening to launch a war in the comments of this blog - and worse. I have therefore no choice but to reintroduce comment moderation. I will try to approve comments as soon as possible, but it will inevitably disrupt the live nature of debate today.

Liberal bloggers, eh? Always trying to raise the tone of discourse ...

Time to go?

Hmmm ...

Derek, Damian - it's time to go chaps.

But of course, we all know what "go" means to New Labour, don't we? A couple of months somewhere quiet until the fuss has died down and then a big welcome back into the troughing fold.

Cunts.

PS from the comments:

So the line being taken is "Brown didn't know what was going on." Last I checked McBride was one of his chief press officers... how the HELL do you not know what they're doing?

You're asking that question about the monocular mentalist, so suggestions include: incompetence, delusion, stupidity ... do I need to go on?

Petty Dolly

This post attracted the following reply from the unshaven twat:

You've gone too far, you fucking clown! I'm gonna have you!

Interestingly (or perhaps not!) my comments on LabourLost now longer seem to get published, no matter how cogent, swear-free and thoughtful they might be.

But of course, they don't do censorship, do they?

PMSL

I did indeed delete it. Because you announced some time ago you were giving up blogging.

If you resubmit the details I'll get you put back on.

I guess I belatedly owe Mrs Dale a fiver. *snicker* Happy days ...

Sounds like a whore ...

She is spreading herself around at the moment and doing some dumb things.

From the Telegraph, via Mrs Dale.

OK, I give up

I've explained my motivations, I've provided evidence to support my explanations and yet to some, I am still some sort of homicidal lunatic. There's no telling someone who has their fingers in their ears, no convincing someone who has made up their mind.

The fact that Old Holborn used to have a link on his own blog to the exact same place that he now uses to assert that I'm trying to kill him and murder his family has entirely passed the world by.

The fact that every point I've raised about who put up stuff about his identity and who posted up photos of his kids has been met with mindless hostility but no reason or coherence has worn me out. So I'm going to give up trying.

Feel free to continue slagging me off in the comments.

If you need any incentive to do so, let me hasten to point out that Old Holborn has already publicly reneged on his statement that he would be deleting his blog, before the five days was even up. If you were genuinely worried that your blog might be getting you into shit, wouldn't the obvious thing be to delete it, quickly and quietly? Maybe go round the internet trying to remove as many provocative or dangerous comments as possible? Despite the ostensible reason for the deletion of his blog (to protect his family) he is OK to leave it completely intact, with all the stuff that Mossad was going to use as justification for rubbing him out, and his family are now somehow not at risk because he's handed the blog over to someone else. None of it is stopping him from posting all over the blogosphere, despite describing himself and his family as targets.

I choose to ascribe this to his incredible ego, which would not allow him to let the "16th most influential blog in the blogosphere" (as he keeps on fucking telling us everywhere) to die.

Instead, he gets to keep a blog, with his name on it, with a better writer, without any effort. If it goes well, he has the ego-stroke of seeing his name at the top of the blogosphere with a minimum of effort, if it goes badly, he has the ego-stroke of saying "I handed this guy a fortune on a plate and he blew it without my masterful hand to guide him." It's hardly a lose-lose situation for any overwrought drama queen.

I have a fiver here that says that Old Holborn will be back on his blog, doing "guest posts" before the end of the year, especially if the blog does well.

I also have a fiver that says that there will be another dramatic blowout, either in the blogosphere or at one of the many fora Old Holborn frequents, or wherever he is abandoning the blogosphere for, before the end of the year.

The one thing you might choose to reflect on, before you get out your wallet, is that I've been in this movie for four years now.

I just wonder if the abuse I've received and will doubtlessly continue to receive will be matched by equally fulsome apologies when I'm proven correct. I shan't hold my breath.

I'm fairly certain, based on extensive personal experience, that I won't be getting one from Old Holborn.

In defence of Boy George

Much as it galls me to do this, I have to ask his many critics: what did he actually do? Especially when Labour ministers are falling over themselves to claim all sorts of ludicrous things:

George Osborne could have breached the law covering donations to political parties simply by discussing a possible donation from a Russian billionaire, a senior Labour MP has suggested.

Really? Well, I suggest that Denis MacShane could have commited child molestation, by simply exposing children to the utter bullshit he speaks on a daily basis. I'm not sure my suggestion would stand up in a court of law, though.

And the sheer, unmitigated brass neck of these cunts who actively fiddled dozens of bent donations and who have had cabinet ministers resign for being caught fiddling their own rules (albeit only for a week or two) comparing that to someone having a chat over dinner is a bit fucking rich.

Make no mistake, George was a weapons-grade cock end for even having the discussion (especially with Mandelsnake within a thousand miles of the table) and that "dripping poison" fatuity is coming back to haunt him with a vengeance, but unless he actually took any money, there is absolutely nothing more than a trumped up play to try and get Gordon out of the shit pit this week.

Cunt of the nanosecond

I fully support Jenna Delich's right to express her opinions, however odious they may be. However, she has no right to use legalistic bullying to shut down Harry's Place, even though they're a bunch of wankers that I never read.

So, Jenna, accept that the intermong is full of people who might disagree with you, and take that criticism with good grace.

Cunt.

Gearing up for the cat fight...

My money's on Trixy.

Talentless nonentity seeks to displace morose monocular

The papers are depressingly full of it: the oleaginous David Millipede is "pointedly refusing to rule out a leadershit challenge." Whoop-de-fucking-do. Evidently he has a brother called Ed, who is also in the government. Ed is the lucky one, his face doesn't look like he's some kind of spaz. David, on the other hand is famous only for having a face that looks like a Mr Bean mask, halfway through putting it on.

Anyway, David is apparently our foreign secretary or something. Wow. Just look at how important Britain is to the rest of the world, and you'll immediately discern what a super job this fuckwad is doing for us. And he wants to run the country?

Well, of course he does! The talentless little know-nothing has never had a real job in his entire life (he's been a policy wonk and then straight into government) but of course, he thinks he's got what it takes to run the country. Or does he even care?

Is he just going for the gold-plated pension while he sees the overt Labour political project completely buried, and replaced by a covert Labour project of Quangoes, Commissions, Charities, Think-tanks, Progressive Organisations and other septic tanks of high-quality thinking. We're going to be surrounded by a burgeoning swell of unelected busybodies telling us all how to live every fucking aspect of our lives, even more than we already do right now.

And "Call Me Dave" is going to be as much use as tits on a bull for sorting this out. If you put Dave and the Millipede into a dark room and tried to tell them apart by their morals, inclinations and experience, I bet you fucking couldn't.

Dave, Dave or Gorgon. We're fucked, good and proper. But it's OK, we've only got to pay for it.

Update: Trixy is fucked in the head. But sadly for her, that's all.

Handbags at dawn

Ooh!

The chef Marcus Wareing [Editor: who he?] has launched a bitter attack on his former mentor Gordon Ramsay, saying he could not care less if the two never speak again.

The pair, once so close that Ramsay was best man at Michelin-starred Wareing’s wedding, are now fierce rivals.

Wareing, 38, has thrown down the gauntlet by dismissing Ramsay as a celebrity chef and declaring that he is out to seize his crown as Britain’s most celebrated culinary talent.

“If I never speak to that guy again in my life it wouldn’t bother me one bit. Wouldn’t give a ----.

"I admire Gordon. I learned a lot from him. But would I lose any sleep knowing he wouldn’t be there? No chance,” Wareing said.

Ramsay is the only London chef to hold three Michelin stars but Wareing is determined to match him.

“Gordon loves being the only three-star here. He’s milked it for years,” Wareing said.

“Whatever happens between me and Gordon, if he wants me never to get to the status I want then my advice to him is: put a gun to my head, shoot me, put me in a box and bury me because if you don’t, I’ll come back and come back.

Oh, the drama!

"I’ll never give up until I get to where I want to go.”

Wareing is currently head chef at Petrus, the restaurant at the Berkeley Hotel in Knightsbridge which won its second Michelin star last year.

It is currently run by Gordon Ramsay Holdings but the hotel recently announced that it will not renew Ramsay’s contract in September and will hand the lease to Wareing instead.

In a frank interview with Waitrose Food Illustrated, Wareing explained why he is breaking away from Ramsay.

“Very simple. When you wake up in the morning and look in the mirror and all you see is a man who is constrained, confined and trapped, then you’ve got to change.” He added:

“There was a time when my mentor was the person to keep happy. Now I’ve realised there’s more to life than a mentor. I want to be my own man.”

He dismissed Ramsay, star of Channel 4 show The F Word, as a “celebrity” chef who is “not really part of the industry now” but spoke fondly of the days when they were the best of friends.

“Gordon’s an important part of my life, although half of me thinks he’s a sad b------ and the other half still adores him.”

So which is it, you jumped-up, overweening drama queen of a Z-list nonentity?

And really, what the cunting fuck is the Telegraph doing printing this utter fucking bilge?