One former Labour minister told The Sunday Times: There was collusion between ministers and civil servants to get as many contracts signed off as possible before the election was called. One former adviser to the schools department said there was a deliberate policy of “scorched earth”. “The atmosphere was ‘pull up all the railways, burn the grain stores, leave nothing for the Tories’,” he added.
We are talking about our money here, and also, our trust. It might sound like hyperbole to equate what Labour has done to our country, with Hitler's programme of the destruction of Germany and France's industrial infrastructure during the last days of WW11. but the effect may well be the same.
The weather has been a bit better this weekend, in contrast to the last, when I nearly froze my nadgers off whilst visiting York. Not quite Scorchio, but not Scott of the Antarctic either.
I am trying to sell the MG. It is threatening to be worse than an ex-wife in terms of fiscal debilitation. It may look good in British Racing Green but it is currently as useful as a mint-flavoured suppository. Oh Lord, won't you buy me a Mercedes Benz.
An old friend of Dr Weasel is fairly high up in the McLaren Formula One Team. She is currently in touch with him via a popular social networking site (something I do not do), but refuses to broach the question of a Pit Lane Pass for the Grand Prix for me. What is social networking for then? I guess it is a means of finding out how all those beautiful and popular former schoolmates are doing and delighting in the news that they now just squeeze into a size 18 and are Betterwear Sales Consultants in Swindon. Myself, I cannot see the point. I have spent most of my life successfully avoiding acquaintances and successfully keeping close friends. I still keep in touch with people I knew when I was in single figures, and in those days we communicated by two tin cans connected by string.
More aggravation with The Ash. Dr Weasel has to fly again and I guess I shall end up doing the equivalent of the Paris to Dakar rally (Again) when Squeezy Jet strands her in Luton. I have read all the Sagas and also an interminable modern Icelandic classic called Sjálfstætt fólk and nowhere does it mention Volcanoes that fuck your day. That reminds me, I actually sat in the Mastermind Chair. It was always kept in the production office years ago, for safety, and I happened to be interviewing some of the winners. Magnus Magnusson - all his wonderful PR for Iceland undone by a lousy thieving banker and an eruption. Bjork is keeping a low profile though, isn't she? We should have a mass burning of Sigur Ros albums in Trafalgar Square in protest. I once met this Geyser...