One of the better aspects of the beer blogs has been the absence of election based tosh. Until today. Kristy let the side down by not ignoring the election and the activities of thieves, spivs, liars and charlatans. Poor form, old girl. I was expecting a fair bit about people’s opinions in regard to what is good for pubs, beer (pongy or otherwise) and the various vacuous promises of the political classes. It’s been thankfully short coming. Yeh for beer blogging.
Sorry to spoil it, but I’ve been reading though some of the tedious crap of political news with a view to deciding who to vote for and I have to confess that the price of my lovely lout or even pubs & beer, are far from the list of issues I’ll be deciding upon. I’ll be deciding upon what I think is best for my overall prosperity over the next few years on the basis that I’d like to remain employed, keep a roof over my head and have a quid or two to enjoy myself.
My only political opinion is it doesn’t matter who you vote for, the government always get in and that this country is a bit of a dump really, it would be nice if it wasn’t and other countries appear more civil and generally nicer. I’m here due to the squeezes attachment to friends and family. If she managed to be as detached as I am, we’d be richer and more prosperous elsewhere.
So there you have it, beer exists as a matter of importance to me pretty low down the list. Possibly just above things I really don’t give a monkeys about (The poor, the old, and the vulnerable. Benefits scroungers all of them) but below more or less everything else. About as important as a text message I just received informing me of an impending visit from my future mother in law, who you might be surprised to discover I quite like, get on with, and don’t consider to be half the tosser her husband is. In a certain light, she’s not bad for her age either. I think she knows I think that, and I think she likes that I think that.
Over the longer term I’m aware the lady squeeze is serious about getting married. She isn’t joking. It’s not a wind up. I’m over the fear, I’ve accepted that there is a price to pay, in liberty, for keeping a top piece of totty under my duvet; I’d just prefer not to be asked what I think. I don’t think. I’m happy with whatever. I don’t need a democratic voice. I require the benign dictatorship of someone with my best interests at heart. Since she started telling me what to do with my life, my diet has improved through the introduction of vegetables, my career has gone on its uppers and I dress better. As for input into these wedding decisions, I care not for cakes, dresses, locations, or invite lists or anything. Even if some of the sums of money mentioned make me swear and blaspheme (I’m fond of Jesus Arsing Christ, as my current blasphemy. I never really got putting H in there). As far as my involvement goes, I put money in the joint account, she can have what she likes, and I’ll turn up on the day without a hangover. Much like the house we live in. She seems to think asking me about furnishings and decoration and kitchens is somehow relevant. It isn’t. “Whatever, how much? Christ, how much? Okay then”, is the sum total of all I need to be involved. An extra £3 a week through the tax system for being married is buttons, but in all honesty I rather have those buttons in my pocket. £3 is a 2 litre bottle of White Star 7.5% cider from the co-op. Putting £3 in my pocket instead of cheap cider drinking dole scroungers is possibly one of the more socially responsible things a government could do. I can spend my own money better than the government, thank you very much. I can spend my own money on what I want, not what people tell me to spend it on or government doing it for me.
I’m aware she would like to, at some point, have kids and realise that when one person wants something and the other isn’t bothered either way, the person with the desire gets what they want. I’ll put my foot down and attempt to say no if she wants to breed a new tribe, but otherwise whatever.
Mine is the philosophy of whatever.
So the idea that it is possible to get your kid into a decent school where they might learn how to read, write and add up and not get lessons in economics from drug dealers without me having to pretend I’m a religious sexually repressed nutcase will figure far more highly on my list of priorities and not pubs, beer & cheap lout. Having said all that, God knows where I’m putting my cross. Does it count if you draw a knob rather than put a cross? So long as the cock and balls is clearly indicating a preference for one candidate and is in one of the boxes and doesn’t cross over into another, it ought to? I think Dave is more appealing than Gordon. I prefer Cable to Darling, but prefer Darling to Osborne. I am entertained by UKIP and Nigel Farage’s impression of a pub bore, son of gypsy immigrants Nick Griffin gives me the creeps with his freaky eye more than offensive view of the world, but it’s not really a popularity contest is it? Not even a contest on which leaders’ missus is more nailable. But on that score, Nicks missus (after 4 Stella’s), Sam Cam (after half a box of cheap white wine), and then Mrs Brown (after a bottle of Tesco value vodka mixed with class A drugs). You had to know.
But what at the end of the day, after all this toss I’ve read, what do I think is good for cooking lager appreciation and the availability of cheap lout? Or even pubs and pongy beer? Your guess is as good as mine. I suspect it’s more to do with the prosperity and economic wellbeing of the larger population than tax or duty rates or allowing dumb people who don’t properly consider the contract they are signing to get out of the tied supply contracts they’ve freely signed up to, or even dumb schemes to bung my taxes at mug punters so they can piss their life savings away buying failed pubs they are not going to manage to turn into successful enterprises in a month of Sundays. Roll on May 5h. The day it’s all over and we can get back to proper news, like for instance what Jordan or Kerry Katona have been up to recently.