Government U turn on vat on static caravans and pasties.

The sighs of relief could be heard the length and breadth of the country; in every cafe, bar and restaurant; in very work place and home; in everywhere, in fact: the government had dropped its plan to tax static caravans. I leapt for joy and punched the air myself as if energised by the joy of the collective consciousness even though I don’t possess or intend to a static caravan. Likewise, the hungry busy luncheoner who fancies a hot pasty. As long as the wrap of potatoes, carrot and steak chunks is cooling down after cooking there will be no vat. Let the rejoicing begin.

So, who thought of these everyday purchases as being ripe for tax? Was an HMRC operative on holiday in Cornwall and, as the rain bucketed down, looked over to see a caravan park with caravans that looked as if they had not moved for a long while; that were stationary, that were not being used for travel but as an abode; caravans that had long grass and bushes growing around them: caravans that were static - and so, they concluded, a liability was due. And, as the HMRC operative sat pleased as Punch  and watching the cloud stuffed sky offload its precipitations, they then turned their attention to the piping hotted-ness of the pasty they had bought at the Tasty Pasty shop in the high street. The operative thought, ‘this heatedness of this pasty is surely a taxable enhancement.’

If the HMRC have done a U turn on taxation of these two staples of our daily lives you can bet there is an operative out there right now frowning at some other goods or services that have hitherto enjoyed exemption or zero rated-ness. They will have to find the money from somewhere.

Good news no news and Pink Floyd

The news was pretty bad this morning: mass protests, suicide bombers, massacres, imminent economic apocalypse, racism at Euro 2012... We surf and buy and enjoy ourselves on the internet but we are also exposed to simultaneous bad news from all directions. There is never any good news because good news is not news and anyone pushing good news stories is accused of burying our heads in the sand. So, what if there had been an internet throughout history: by some strange technological peculiarity an ancient Greek person had managed to manufacture and lay down the World Wide Web. The Dark Ages would no longer be dark and all kinds of shenanigans would have been revealed along with all the conflicts that followed right up to the WW1. Starting with the Bible, World history has been, in the absence of objective records, ordered into all kinds of storylines. In Britain, of course, the glory and magnificence of our empire and achievements permeates school text books and our ‘culture’ but what if there had been a web cam on the shores of West Africa in the 17^th century? What impression would we have got of the world at these times? It would have looked like a complete mess while certain countries were getting away with murder. We don’t have those records we just have what we have. BBC Four frequently repeats programmes about Pink Floyd. On Friday night there were two – and both were repeated again later on and then again on Sunday evening. There are documentaries about other bands – The Bee Gees, Toot and The Maytals and even easy listening nights - but Pink Floyd rockumentaries keep popping up. BBC4 is presenting its view of what its idea of who was/is a musical immortal. Is this because top producers at the BBC are still honed from the classes that like Pink Floyd – educated ‘progressive’ music? The BBC presents its view of popular music just as we were presented with a version of history and one that we will be visiting again, no doubt, with the Jubilee.

Le Royaumie-Uni à Eurovison.

Well heck, thank God for that: 12 points. What a relief. No danger of the UK having to go Eurovision next year. Our master plan of staying well clear of winning by losing as heavily as possible continues to reap dividends finishing, yet again, in the bottom five for the sixth time in ten years. We also went one better this year of sending a much cheaper solo act and a fairly low maintenance one at that with Englebert popping off to bed quite early and avoiding running up a huge rock and roll bill in the Baku Premier Inn. The poisoned chalice is picked up, once again, by Sweden who had the misfortune to win the competition for the fifth time. Wait though, am I being honest with my feelings here? Am I really in deep despair at the humiliation? Am I just laughing off the pain by putting the whole thing down? Well, one comment I accidentally read provided the most skilful spin on one of the UK’s greatest losses ever in the contest’s 57 year history – apart from our fantastic three ‘lasts’. For all of you who secretly wanted us to win the competition and instead became increasingly depressed and despondent as the evening wore on, there is the most perfect explanation of why we did not do not win. According to one continental European citizen from a country that actually makes an effort, the UK is regarded as the music capital of the world – it is untouchable; it has no peers apart from the US which is no longer in Europe. The UK has produced, per capita, more hot bands and performers than any all the other countries in the world put together.  Albums from Brit bands of forty years ago still roam the world's charts like some ancient mythical God. At any time in the world, night or day, someone, somewhere, is humming a tune that came from the UK. Despite this we send, each year, a song composed of complete dross to the Eurovision: a dazzling show that a lot of people have put a lot of effort into – making shiny stage curtains, putting out chairs and tables, organising the cloakrooms etc and making sandwiches. All the contestants from other countries cannot help hide their sheer pride and ecstatic joy at having performed on the biggest and greatest stage of them all (outside the UK). We are given short shrift by the hod carriers of Europe because, supposedly, we can’t be bothered to make an effort. 

Gibraltar and Eurovision.

The British seem to insist on hanging on to ridiculous tokens of their bygone global supremacy. British sovereignty over Gibraltar and those islands off the Argentinian coast is anachronistic and clumsily out of place in these modern times of a Spanish company owning a British bank whose real estate probably amounts to an area larger than Gibraltar. Britain was a canny country back in the day. By luck and a lot of funky inventions we got a priceless head start in globalisation.  To cut a long story very short, with the dominance of the seas came the spread of the ultimate communication tool:  English, and eventually we were to create the first world-wide web of interconnected networks  – the telegraph cables laid by the Great Eastern that linked our Commonwealth colonies to themselves and the motherland. And in dominating the seas the Brits got the hang of strategic assets. Inhospitable lumps of rock in inhospitable seas typically had the union flag hoisted above them but Gibraltar was the number one top drawer top spot for the Empire. Whoever sat pretty on  The Rock  had a big say on who went in and out of the Mediterranean. Luck would have it, then, that we were still sitting on the rock during the Spanish civil war in the mid thirties. Spain was then ‘neutral’ during WW2 but with a strong leaning to the Fascists. Had The Rock been in Spanish hands during that war I’d have just come back from the dry cleaners with my steel grey Nazi uniform in preparation for my afternoon compulsory goosestep around the Central London parade ground.

If the Spanish were to get The Rock back are they aware of the responsibilities and costs involved in running a rock? It isn’t cheap. If the Spanish don’t want the Eurovision ‘cos it costs, then they should let the UK continue to pour its own money down the drain on the upkeep of The Rock.

King announces Queen’s Jubilee is going to cause drop in output

Yep. The king – well Mervyn at the B of E – reckons we’re gonna cop it due to the reduction of output over the great weekend of celebrations. Well, is that so?! Don’t be so darned negative Kingsy – where is the Chelsea spirit?! No more stuffed shirt, collar and tie gloominess - let’s all treat the weekend as a challenge instead! No pressure or what! We have all these tourists coming from all parts of the world for the jubilee celebration jubilations so let’s do what we do best: let’s milk them for every darned penny they have! Let’s make them all feel really welcome by temporary increases in the price all kinds of unavoidable tourist costs. Let’s wack ‘em at the airports: anyone without a UK passport has to pay a tenner in ‘airport development costs’;  anyone with a dodgy foreign accent pays a Jubilee Special rail fare in from the aeroporto with another fiver slapped on!  Any foreign credit cards being used over the weekend gets a 2.5% VAT surcharge! Milk ’em dry! That is what the Royal Family are these days – a tourist attraction – so let’s make a bundle. Make Kingsy eat his words.

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Olympic treats

Apart from being tons richer, London has other advantages over every other town village and city in the UK. One of those is obviously hosting the Olympic Games – for the third time – while the nation’s other capitals only get the Commonwealth Games which has things like lawn bowls and stuff. And now as the Games approach we reap the ancillary benefits. Being well off and well to do, I travel in to London by train from my peaceful Berkshire idyll into Paddington each day. Paddington has a disproportionate number of high earners arrive and leave each day and so it attracts onto its concourse many companies launching new products. This normally means unemployed students or actors, dressed as Mobile Phones, tubs of natural bacteria infested yoghurt or panty pads, thrust promotional teasers into commuters’ hands as they head out into the metropolis. And now, as the Games approach, sporty themed campaigns and product launches are underway: breakfast snacks to keep you jumping over the hurdles in your way every day; stop the B.O. and go go go with a freshly mown lawn style smell deodorant; get moving with fruity flavoured laxative crunchy bar. Commuters leave the station with their days bags packed with tantalising goodies. They have promotions at Glasgow Central station too:  Costcutter, with its paper tablecloth over a wooden trestle table, hands out tubs of cheap margarine; Poundland offers a £1 off; or there’s just a charity with its buckets ready.

As I head down Leafy Lane on my foldaway towards Slough I wonder what will I get today?


New Appletise. Sparkling apple flavored drink! You carry the sparkle with you throughout the day - burping up that appley flavorsome taste! No Olympic tie-in tho.

Social Mobility key to economy

For once Cleggsey gets something right. There is too much wasted talent festering in the lower orders – the bargain basement of the workforce. Social mobility could be worth 140 million to the GDP if everyone had an equal opportunity – unlike Cleggsy himself and Dave. The corollary, of course is that whilst there are those languishing in the mire of hopelessness and cheap bread that should be at the top, there are those at the top enjoying nicer bread and the splendours of having lots of money – and power - who should be cleaning toilets. Cleggsy, when someone keenly pointed out to him that he didn’t do too badly in the birth lottery, said, "I know some people will say I should keep quiet about social mobility, that my birth, my education, and my opportunities mean I have no right to speak up. I couldn't disagree more. If people like me who have benefited from the system don't speak up, we will never get anywhere...I was lucky. But it should not be a question of luck."  He said this when premier minister Dave was well out of the country making sure the system doesn’t relinquish its money and power. If DC was a bright young thing he’d be on ten mill a year lawyering, stock brokering or being a chief exec and running a business as his ilk are supposed. He obviously didn’t make the grade and gets to bungle running the country instead. The government always alludes to the country effectively being a business so the people who run it should know how to run a business. Since leaving higher education our Dave has done precisely what he wanted – working for the conservatives. At least Cleggsy has got his hands dirty a few times. There's the mop and bucket, Dave, and there's the floor.

Role model.

The government has told us of the tough times we face – tougher than the tough times that were ahead of us when they took over and first told us about the tough times ahead two years ago. ‘We must all work harder,’ was the message a week ago as we entered the double dipper recession and await the triple trough to hit us before steeling ourselves for the quadruple quagmire that will follow. Business people were told to get on planes and get abroad and fight for orders. The leader of the country, Dave Cameron, certainly got on a plane to go and fight our corner at the G8 summit at Camp David. He was there on our behalf and up against some big players as he lobbied for our needs and so the taxpayer will willingly pay his economy class flight and all the camping costs incurred on his visit. However it was disappointing to see Dave caught on camera as he watched the football on what would have been Saturday afternoon. He confessed that he and German person Merkel watched some of the game while there were important discussions going on – in fact, he admits he was distracted by the game and was even explaining the intricacies of the penalty shoot out to Mr President. Only a few weeks ago Dave was keen on making it easier for employers to sack underperforming employees. Skiving off work to watch the football – just before the Euros kick off – when people night do that and get sacked – even if it was greatest football match ever – should have got DC ‘sent off’.

Rubbing our own noses in it.

Not content with rubbing the Greek’s noses in it with the Olympic Torch lighting ceremony, the Brits then showed off with the extravagant flight from Athens with Princess Anne, Becksy and Coey on flight BA2012 in a plane made of solid gold. They have now brought the flame over here to rub the whole nation’s nose in it. Apart from a couple of minor fringe sports such as sailing, the Games take place in London. All the tourists will stay in London; all the money will be spent and earned in London, London will be the talk of the town; the world’s eyes will be on London – so we take the Olympic torch around the country – and particularly the poor parts – and show off just like Loadsamoney. Boris, all so on the plane, reminded those sceptics like myself of the employment benefits of the games as the extravaganza unfolded: the 12,000 jobs created for the locals in Newham - cleaning, security and catering. 

Queen Sofa cancels visit.

I’m sure QE2 had been brushing up on her Espaniol and was disappointed to hear of Sofa’s late decision to respectfully turn down the invitation to attend a jubilee celebration coffee morning. Hopefully Sofia can get a refund on her air ticket as I believe the Spanish Royal Family is not as rich as ours. After all QE2 is by far the world’s biggest landowner owns 6.6 billion square miles of land around the world worth 17 trillion quid. Sofa’s husband, Carlos the King, owns 200,000 acres. No wonder they want Gibraltar back. 

Roy ‘Who?’ Higson picks Euro 2012 cup winning team.

Yes, we now know the England players who’ll be getting on the Euorlines coach to Kiev at Victoria in two weeks time. Roy Who? Has named his first and last England squad. Get used to their names now: Harty, Colesy, Terryey, Cahilly, Jonesy, Lampardsey, Gerrardsey, Barryey, Defoesy, Carollsey, Wellbecksy...and, of course, Rooneyey and young uncapped hopeful Oxlade-Chamberlainey amongst others.

Most people in the know – pundits, sports writers, the pros themselves - all agree this is our crappiest team ever with its worst ever manager. Consequently this is our best chance ever...to win! This is because of our big advantage: fitness. Many of our players actually don’t play very much as there are loads better players in their domestic clubs and so the players are planning to take enough underwear in big suitcases for at least two weeks instead of the usual weekend bag Ingerland our stars take to major tournaments.

Higson is having to take time away from his Esher based dry cleaning and shoe repair business to attend the tournament. ‘Summer is normally a pretty quiet time for both dry cleaning and shoe repairs’, Roy explained, ‘though we occasionally have to sort out a few broken sandal buckles.’

Greece is the word

There is a simple solution to Greece’s debt problem: people power. Forget bankers and politicians - everyone in Europe should throw out their summer holiday plans for Tuscan retreats or hoedowns in Alicante and go to Greece instead. I would except that I have already secured my usual summer bolt-hole on the Dordogne.

Funny train announcements.

What a funtastic idea! Lighten up everyone’s train journey by issuing witty and hilarious onboard train announcements. Tony Robinson, the hilarious dunce in Bladderack, has volunteered to be on every train in and out of Marylebone so as to make the rib tickling announcements. Passengers will no longer have to listen to the grumpy train people. Imagine trying to control yourself after hearing this:

"For any passengers who've not visited London before, do please prepare yourselves for the capital's overwhelmingly calm and relaxing pace of life."

The queue for the toilet will run the length of the train as the passengers try desperately not to pee themselves. Or, how about:

"We will shortly be passing through West Ruislip where we will be racing the Underground trains. Do please feel free to cheer for our driver."

The most hilarious one though is going to be used for that most familiar of scenarios.

‘Hands up all those passengers who have paid shitloads of money for their ticket and think they are going to arrive on time! We hope you’ve got a good book to read!’

GlaxoSithKline – Upholding great British traditions

Whenever there are immigration issues or someone mentions China, the Have-Your-Say and comment pages become swamped by Great British people upholding their faith in the great traditions of Great Britain. Phrases like – ‘too many people here’, ‘not like it used to be’, ‘when Britain really was Great and the rest of the world listened to us’, ‘none of these foreigners have our British values.’ Well for all those people out there and you Johnny or Juan foreigners sitting bemused, look no further than GlaxoSmithKline PLC for today’s lesson in British values. Firstly, pay a visit to their traditions and value soaked website http://www.gsk.com for a mission statement from the Lucozade producer:  GSK is one of the world's leading research-based pharmaceutical and healthcare companies — is committed to improving the quality of human life by enabling people to do more, feel better and live longer. We have offices across the UK and we are committed to working with the NHS to improve patient healthcare.

However the prime motivator for GSK is none of the aforementioned: http://www.bbc.co.uk/news/business-17993945

Instead GSK’s accountants have been working very hard on research into avoiding tax and improving the tax efficiency and thus enabling a much lower tax bill and thus proving how committed GSK is to its shareholders’ dividends.

The company has issued a statement to the BBC:

“Both the UK and Luxembourg tax authorities are agreed that we have paid all the taxes that are due. We take very seriously our duty to pay tax. But we also have a duty to our shareholders and patients to be financially efficient so that we can maximise returns to investors and fund the development of future medicines."

So, the moral of the story is...? The underlying values? We should watch Panorama: The Truth About Tax, BBC One, Monday, 14 May at 20:30.

Rubbing their noses in it.

Greece’s current dire financial condition has its source in the 2004 Olympic Games in Athens that cost the country almost 10 billion Evros. The IOC thought it apt to rub the Greeks noses in the fact by hosting the torch lighting ceremony in the Temple of Hera – in ruins just like their economy - and using costumes worn in the very first Star Trek TV series. Apparently 7,342,764 thousand Greeks applied for the handful of pretend priestesses and heralds that were legally required to be present while the Argos value Olympic Torch (12.99) was lit by the sun’s rays using a parabolic mirror (50% off if bought with torch).

The original Ancient Greece Empire had already collapsed a few thousand years earlier due to the cost of hosting the very first Olympic Games ever in 776 BC.

Hero Dave to rebuild the country!

Hero Premier Dave Cameron is going to rebuild Britain after he accidentally buggered it up. DC has found the solution that all the other busted up countries in the world have strived to find: flexible parental leave. Forget a carefully controlled neo Keynesian macro economic solution (AKA ‘throw money at it’) or exchange controls or a coordinated EU plan. Yes Greece. Yes Spain. Yes Europe: flexible parental leave.

‘Clegg not a priority for me.’

While Premier Minister Dave Cameron continues to fight our enemies’ coalition of poverty amongst bankers, the EU’s determination to apply VAT to the City’s prime activities and all those other kill joys trying to destroy our great financial industry, he continues to face harassment from Sidekick Nick. It was never Dave’s choice to be lumbered with Sidekick Nick - he was forced to do it out of political expediency. Ever since the Premier had to give Nick a lift, he has to put up with Nick the Hitch Hikers whingeing about trivial matters such as the savings Dave’s made in public over expenditure, and, particularly,  reforming the House of Lords. Has Nick forgotten the old adage ‘If it ain’t broke don’t fix it’? The Lords’ House performs a vital role in the British version of Democracy as it provides a home for unfairly discredited MPs such as Lord Archer who was unfairly jailed for having be unfairly ‘judged’ to have failed to be truthful in court once or twice. The Lords’ House gives our Lord Archer a deserved opportunity to continue to effect legislation in the UK without the dreadful bore of having to be elected by the halfwits who have unfortunately and undeservedly been given the vote. This is what Nick pesters Premier Dave about and Dave, having been really polite and patient about it for two years has been pushed to admit in not so many words that Clegg and his whimsical ideas are not a priority.

Hague to guarantee medal bonanza for Team GB

The government is on the verge on ensuring Britain’s dominance at the forthcoming Lea Valley Olympic games. Foreign Secretary, William Hague, who isn’t actually foreign, will virtually guarantee a clean sweep of every medal going in the games by banning any individual foreigner he pleases. Athletes will be barred entry on the grounds of possession of unfair advantages over our home grown athletes.

While Hague was keeping the names of individuals to himself because he is like that, he confirmed "The power exists to stop people coming to Britain if we think it's not conducive to the public good," he told me. "We won't hesitate to use that power."  And the sight of a Team GB coming last in a heat of the running fast event for grown ups would be extremely demoralising to a country that has had to cut all kinds of vital public services to pay for the games.

Firing underperforming Cameron

The Queen’s speech this week, which is of course has not been written by the Queen, will feature legislation to make it easier to fire underperforming employees. The legislation should therefore allow us to fire David Cameron and hopefully be a lot easier than having to wait for a general election which is a rather unwieldy method of sacking someone.  I hope the Tories have considered banking chiefs and other associated morons as well as their own cabinet ministers as targets when constructing this legislation. The heads of the water companies could get the boot too. I suspect however this legislation will be aimed at those struggling to keep themselves above the breadline by enduring a job that is humiliating enough to perform without the threat of instant dismissal if they are spotted trying to catch their breath on another ten hour shift.

The FA Cup Final

The FA Cup Final.

It has just turned 8am. When I were a nipper in big shorts and scuffed shoes, I’d be glued to the Radio Rentals TV set by now. After a week of growing excitement at school the most famous day of the year had finally arrived: FA Cup Final Day. By now I would be watching Wake Up With The Teams FA Cup Final Special. That would be followed by Breakfast With the Teams FA Cup Final Special. To allow the teams to have showers and morning evacuations in private there would be a pre-recorded It’s A Knockout FA Cup Final Special (Jeux Sans Fronitiers FA Coup Speciale for you Europeans). The clock would be ticking down slowly towards the most famous time in the world: 3pm. There are other famous times I’m sure and I am fairly certain there will be, at some point, a wiki page with all the famous things that have happened at different times of the day – although adjustments will have to be made for the different time zones as the list will be in GMT, of course. For example, JFK was shot at 18.30 and not 12.30. Anyhow. 3pm on a Saturday is the most famous time ever – OK maybe the armistice at 11am is fairly famous too.  But it is 3pm on a Saturday, generally. And the whole day built up to that. There was a brief interlude with the news and a silly kids programme sand so we would go into the garden and re-enact the goals that had not happened yet. Then we would nip back for A Question Of Sport FA Cup Final Special before watching The Team Bus FA Cup Final Special where the teams drove from their respective two star hotels in Sussex Gardens or Kings Cross up to Xanadu: Wemberley. The excitement would become intense: as the teams got nearer the awesome twin towers, courtesy of shots from the blimp, the clock ticking relentlessly towards 3pm. It didn’t matter what the weather was like at 2.59 in London or anywhere else. It could have been snowing or blowing a hurricane but at appointed time the mythical Wembley turf shimmered beneath the sun.

That was back in the day. The FA Cup sponsored by Shitbeer is no longer at 3pm. It is now kicks off at 5.15. This is not a famous time at all. People have dentist appointments at 5.15. 5.15 is an afterthought, an in-between time. It is not even a round figure, it is not even 5.30. This is to allow men to reasonably excuse themselves and get down to the pub to drink Shitbeer while watching The FA Cup sponsored by Shitbeer. 3pm did not maximise Shitbeer consumption.

The FA Cup sponsored by Shitbeer has lost its shine and excitement. No-one mentioned the game at work this week. That loss of allure comes with the sponsorship and ITV. Budweiser is a crap beer and ITV is a crap TV station. The 5.15 kick is a crap time chosen to allow ITV to make more money. This game is/was our Heritage. Bring it back! Drop the sponsors and kick off at three!

Wales’ Filmtastic Coast or The National Museum of Prams?

Last year, Scotland’s tourist attractions proliferated in number according to a report by the Report Issuing Authority and tourist numbers increased by 10%.  Obvious contributions were made by the Museum of Scotland, Edinburgh Castle and the Robbie Burns Birthplace Museum.  Now Wales, a particularly poor part of England, is selling its heritage as a film and TV set – Moby Dick, Larry of Arabia, Gavin and Stacy.  It is tough times across the UK but with the Olympics, we’ve a great opportunity to fleece the sports tourists who’ll be heading our way, wallets at the ready.  We have Hardy and Bronte Country. Whitby does a roaring trade in Gothic weekends. King Arthur got around in Cornwall and there are plenty of places down there where he apparently sat. If you’re one of those lucky visa card holders with tickets for the synchronized swimming heats and are really pushed for ideas on what to do once the singing and dancing is over how about the Pram Museum in Rugby or the Museum of Mental Health in Wakefield if it all gets too much? Another hot ticket is the Mustard Museum in Norwich. If you are from, say, Mozambique or Ontario and you have been misled by a tour company who boasted Grimsby is right in the thick of it in this year’s games you can always lick your wounds and get hooked on the National Fishing Heritage Centre.

The most ludicrous museum, however, is a mere stone’s throw from the steroids and ralgex: the Sherlock Holmes Museum in Baker Street. It is abundantly clear that the greater number of the people standing on the pavement giggling at the life sized, very human replica of a 19th century Peeler  actually think Sherlock lived. Cut to the chase: head off instead to the Museum of Lawnmowers.

Roy Who?

“Roy Who?” were the words that resounded around the corridors of international football HQs a little after 16.00 hundred o’clock hours pm yesterday. Yes: Roy Who, as he will be known in the future, is the new England Manager a little after 16.00 hundred o’clock hours pm. Yes, Roy Who, as he will be known in the future, is the new God of all things. If you don’t know him through football, which is quite likely, you may know him from his dry cleaning and shoe repair business in Esher. I have often popped in to avail myself of one of Roy’s ‘Hot Deals’ on shoelaces. He stocks many lengths and styles in both black and brown. We are safe with Roy on one front as I don’t envisage him embarking upon a steamy physical relationship with a member of staff at FA HQ. But that might, in the end, be the only safe front. Roy has succeeded with raising the game of underdogs or teams from places we have to look up in ‘My Big Atlas’. Most Europeans commentators have had a problem with West Bromwich Albion as they had no idea where it was other than, perhaps, it being further west than East Bromwich and could only bungle the awkward syllables. Roy has, on the other hand, failed with sexy A list teams such as Liverpool and Inter. Roy must avoid kicking of his training sessions in the England camp with the words, ‘This is a exercise I used with the Finland team...’ Roy hasn’t actually won anything – as yet – in the footballing regions of Europe. (Sweden is not a footballing region of Europe).

England stars are used to dealing with big name managers and the more those mangers have won big things the more shock and awe they can get away with. I hope Roy has inner reserves of steel and command to electrify Lampey, Rooneyey, Coley and Harty and get us past the group stages of Euro 2012. If he does, the world will  then know exactly who Roy Higson is.

Red rag to a bull

I do not know the first thing about how to maintain the fight against global terrorism and instability or how to establish a high security zone around a hhg profile target. If I did I wouldn't be in Admin Support. Generally speaking the bun and coffee guzzling pubic in the UK are more interested in Saturday night televised talent shows and celebrity bra sizes than our security. We have never really been subjected to details of what our army and more stealthy security services get up to to unless something unavoidably dramatic catches them in the headlights. We only knew about the SAS with the Iranian embassy siege and then the chaps wore balaclavas so that no-one would recognise them in Wimpy Burgers or the Dog and Duck. The fully televised Falklands incident showed our boys in all their gear and all our high end hardware at work and since. Since then the SAS have had been centre stage with all kinds of TV shows – just like Big Brother 12 hopefuls wannabees start off the gruelling 12 week show with one dropping out each week when another impossible endurance test defeats them. And then there have been the various incarnations of the Crusades going on in the Middle East and we can, if we are bothered still, catch a glimpse of our forces’ new model tank or truck or the new gear they get to wear. But all of these snippets are just that - they do not really show what our boy’s are doing. But, in the week when the body in the bag MI6 operative is openly referred to as a spy and his cause of death is still unknown (though at some point it will be suggested he got in the bag himself), the government has revealed to the world key elements of the security for the Jubilee and Olympics: big fast armoury laden boats on the Thames; snipers in helicopters to take out pilots of planes behaving suspiciously; missile launchers on top of blocks of flats. Why is the world being shown this? Does the government want to reassure visitors to Britain – even though they may spend the entire Olympic Games stuck in a queue at immigration – that they are safe in our hands, or, are they trying to put the fear of God(s) into any potential terrorist? I’d prefer they didn’t go around telling everyone what they are doing. It’s like given the code for the alarm to a burglar.