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Laurence Inman’s Blog



Do you think Laurence Inman’s spirits have been raised by having a thread dedicated to him on The Stirrer Forum? As if…

At the weekend Bill (my dog) breathed in my face and gave me bovine TB, which he probably had transferred to him by that scummy cat next door, and this, (which is all perfectly possible; it said on the wireless) combined with secondary pleurisy and thirdary bronchitis, has had me laid out ever since.

Propped up in bed with my Lemsip and lightly buttered toast, I should be contemplating serious matters, such as why the ‘temporary’ bollards at the bottom of Park Hill have now been replaced with new, expensive bollards.

They are still temporary, apparently. I tried to find out how much it cost to tear up the old tatty ones and plant the deluxe replacements, but you’re not allowed to know such things. And believe me, I tried to find out. Perhaps one of Moseley’s councilors could tell us.

Still, it’s nice to know that the concerns of the good, rich, well-connected residents of leafy Park Hill are still being given top priority, even in these straitened times.

O tempora!

Two vague, wraith-like feelings seem to be drifting into the general consciousness just now, like delicate seeds which I fear will lodge in the political brickwork, and grow, and expand, and threaten the stability of the whole edifice.

First, it seems that Marx was right all along. Capitalism does contain the seeds of its inevitable self-destruction.

All this guff we’ve been fed for the last thirty years, that the market will always sort things out, find its own level, automatically adjust, trickle down, pull up…all that has turned out to be smoke and mirrors.

We were on the edge of disaster all the time.

They tried to put one spinning plate too many on the poles and the whole lot came down. Those who organized the present crisis (privatisers, de-regulators, free-marketeers, running dogs of laissez-faire) must be quaking in their country mansions.Yeah, right.

Second, is it just me or did the press reaction to the death of Jorg Haider seem a little, well, less than jubilant? I didn’t expect to see headlines such as Fascist Tosser Kills Himself In Drunken Smash but I was taken aback by the tone of even the liberal broadsheets’ reports.

They did their usual trick of dealing with Sun material as if it were a subject of sociological interest. ‘Haider is our Lady Di’ was the Observer headline. ‘In their hundreds they stand in line, waiting to pay tribute to their hero.’

Was a certain amount of sympathy on our part being taken as read? I don’t suppose even the reporter could answer that. Because the mysterious, or pernicious, nature of social and political change means that we’re hardly aware of it, especially while it’s happening.

Unless it’s a revolution.

Or a war.

I’m starting to feel uneasy about the world that’s waiting for us in the next decade. I don’t think that what happens in America next month is going to make much difference. If I owned an oil-producing country I’d feel pretty good about my options just now, in terms of how much I could charge and who I’d want as my friends.

If it were my task to stir up social division, enlist support for extremist parties and excuse acts of terrorism, I’d be looking forward to plenty of spare time to while away my garden.



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