Another flurry of snow in the night gives the morning a Christmassy look, not that I have ever seen snow on the ground at Christmas in half a century on the planet. The day's lessons are uneventful. Jn makes progress as does S, whilst T is happily less manic than before and is able to drive to his work in Amersham.
In the wider world Mugabe has come up with a pretty clever idea in order to stave off defeat at the polls. The election took place almost a fortnight ago and yet the results are yet to be announced! Presumably if this endure for long enough people will simply forget it ever took place.
A while ago a young girl went missing in Dewsbury. She was gone three weeks and turned up hidden in a drawer in the house of some kind of step relative. She was one of her mother's 7 children by 5 different inadequates who still seem to drift in and out of her life. Various members of a bizzare extended family have been implicated, her mother's current live in now lives out at HM's pleasure having been found with a stash of kiddie porn on his Lidl PC. Today's development is that Mum (Karen) has been arrested on suspicion of conspiracy to pervert the course of justice. Even amongst the sink estate underclass this lot have a special place in the pantheon.
Yesterday the Olympic torch was paraded through London by a rag tag of sportsmen and celebs. Unfortunately for the Olympians, a lot of people are pissed off by the Chinese government's boot being applied to the head of the people of Tibet. The procession turned into a total farce with all and sundry trying to grab or extinguish the flame. Half the old bill of the capital seemed to be on hand to protect the sacred flame, which was also surrounded by a track suited mob of Chineses heavies, whose exact terms of reference were never quite made clear.
Today it was the turn of the Parisiens to repeat the mess. They quickly realised the futility of the exercise, and the flame boarded a number 17 autobus, presumably to the chagrin of les celebs francais waiting to do their bit. Classic mayhem.
Coming to the end of it's run today was another fiasco, to wit the inquest into the death of Diana. It's taken God alone knows how many months, how many nutcase theories, how many feuding and contradictory witnesses, not to mention £8 million of our money, to tell us what was perfectly obvious to all but the likes of Shannon's Mum Karen, ie that if you get into a high powered Merc driven by a heavily pissed frenchman on a Saturday night, and then instruct him to deck his pied, your chances of enjoying the following Sunday morning are considerably diminished. Al Fayed, bonkers to the end insists that she and her rumpy pumpy partner of the time were murdered by a conspiracy involving almost everyone in the world bar him. A hard man to feel sorry for, but he's almost there with me.
Yes the rest...... desolate pub and a takeaway from the Curry Centre. Plus ca change.
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