Grow Up David by Paul Featherstone

I read with some curiosity this week as David Cameron was once again given a dressing down by the Speaker Of The House Of Commons for his comments towards a fellow MP during PMQ’s (as the kids call it).

The Labour MP Michael Meacher had asked a seemingly innocuous question regarding research that had shown the UK had even fallen behind developing countries such as Mali in terms of business investment. The response by David Cameron was to (yawn-inducingly and tenuously) link it to the Paul Flowers/Co-op scandal by asking if Meacher had been using mind-altering drugs.

Quite rightly Cameron was forced to withdraw the comment but rather than just moving on he sought to defend it by saying that it is important that parliament doesn’t lose it’s sense of humour and “light-hearted banter”.

If there was ever a sentence that summed up how completely idiotic and out of touch this Government and their leader are, then that is hard to beat. We live in a time when the British public is losing more and more faith in the electoral system. Mere weeks ago Russell Brand was given the platform on Newsnight to openly encourage the youth of this nation to turn their backs on the democratic system that they are so lucky to have in place.

To then stand there and declare that genuine political debate should be replaced with smirking jibes not only exposes the Old Etonian values of Cameron and his ilk, but it also further disengages the electorate at a time their patience is wearing thin.

Cameron, of course, has a track record of this sort of thing- telling female MP’s to “calm down dear” being another fine moment. It sometimes makes me wonder if he and his party are openly seeking to piss off the average voter so much that all that is left is Tory voters? It certainly seems to be working to an extent if he is, as his Government snuck in the side entrance last time due to voter apathy and no clear majority.

If though, the youth of this country continue to see these laughing idiots on their TV point scoring as they sit on the sofa with no real hope of ever getting a job in the near future, that will then be a devastating legacy to the democratic process in this country and motivating it’s inhabitants to get up and give a shit about something or anything.

I read this week about the case of a man who was being forced to pay Bedroom Tax for a room he was being forced to keep his kidney dialysis machine in. He had resorted to selling his only thing of value to pay the tax, his treasured grand piano. The money has now run out as his dialysis is ongoing.

In the midst of this, we have Cameron and Osborne sat in the House Of Commons like privately educated Chuckle Brothers oblivious to the human cost of their policies. One would hope such things would stoke the fire in people to remove them at the next available opportunity, but you suspect people are so beaten down by the grins that emit from their TV’s they have just given up trying to win the war.

If Cameron genuinely seeks to defend Parliament and its values he needs to grow up and fast. He has shown rare glimpses of the integrity to do so when he accepted the vote of MP’s to not intervene in Syria, but for every action like this he is undoing it all week in, week out with his playground exploits.

It is a time where the country is in genuine need of someone to find a solution to the grim future that we are facing, not a smug weekly edition of a panel show and it’s time this Government started taking the job in hand a little more seriously.

Paul FeatherstonePaul Featherstone is 31 years old and lives in Hull. Most people call him “Fev.” He has an encyclopaedic knowledge of football and music and uses the word “c*nt” far too much in everyday conversation. He spends a lot of his time blagging his way into celebrity parties. He is to be commended for once meeting Jo Whiley and refraining from beating her to death with a big stick. You can read more of his vitirolic comments on


The Revolution Will Not Be Televised, But You Can “Like” It On Facebook by Allen Miles

Man: “I heard you quit your job?”

Isaac: “Yeah, a real self-destructive impulse. You know, I want
to write a book, so I, so I … Has anybody read that
Nazis are going to march in New Jersey, you know? I
read this in the newspaper, we should go down there, get
some guys together, you know, get some bricks and
baseball bats and really explain things to them.”

Man: “There was this devastating satirical piece on that on the op-ed
page of the Times. It is devastating.”

Isaac: “Well, well, a satirical piece in the Times is one thing, but
bricks and baseball bats really gets right to the

Woman: “Oh, but really biting satire is always better than physical

Isaac: “No, physical force is always better with nazis. Cos
it’s hard to satirize a guy with shiny boots.”

That is a quote from Woody Allen’s 1979 masterpiece Manhattan. It flies into my head every time I watch the news or Question Time or Newsnight or walk round Hull city centre. The people that run this country are not Nazis, they have learnt to disguise their racism, but they haven’t learnt to disguise their elitism, their horrific apathy towards the working-class, and their disgusting self-serving attitude.

These people are clearly utterly fucking clueless on how to run the country. They do not represent the people of England, rather they are simply rewarding the people who voted them in. The party is divided within itself, with all the inside talk of “grubby dealings,” “aggressive homosexuals” and “swivel-eyed loons,” and everyone is utterly terrified of Boris Johnson. I am thirty-one years-old and I work for the NHS. I have been part of the workforce since I was 16, and have spent only eight months out of work in all that time. And because of the feckless attitude of this bunch of bastards, I have never known an atmosphere at work to be as bad as it is now. We all know this government are aiming to disband the NHS as soon as they possibly can, as they will with every public sector if they stay in power, which they will, for three reasons. One – there are lots of working class tories who drive white vans and live in suburbs who made their prosperous livings under Blair and have now decided they are old enough to read the Daily Mail and want a government who will look after their money. You’ve seen these people. They are builders or plumbers with shaved heads. Their wives are horrific orange women who drive their only child 500 yards to school in an Range Rover then spend the rest of their day picking out which cafe-bars and tanning salons really define them as a person. Two -Ed Milliband is no-one’s idea of a Political leader, and frankly looks more like someone who would compere a Star Trek convention and most importantly; Three – for all the carping, for all the expletives howled at the screen every time you see Michael Gove’s fatuous flapping omelette of a face, for every wage slip you open and wonder why you seem to have less and less money to spare each month, deep down the fundamental problem is no-one gives a flying fuck.

This man is a despicable atrocity of a human being.

This man is a despicable atrocity of a human being.

The people who run this country have, in the past few years, used taxpayer’s money to bail out banks who have speculated and lost and put the country in mountains of debt. Their mistake, we foot the bill. They have made going to university almost impossible for people who don’t have rich mummies and daddies. They have, as I’ve said already, hacked and slashed at practically every public sector industry, they have presided over the Levinson enquiry and the expenses scandal, and they also had to deal with the information coming to light that their own party spent twenty three years covering the murders of ninety-six innocent people at Hillsborough. On top of all that they gave the possibly the most hated-Briton of all time a nigh-on state funeral. And what was the issue that you, the great British Public got most upset about in the past few years? That it will now cost you twenty pence to get your fucking pasty warmed up.

Is this country that fucking apathetic these days? Really? Why the hell aren’t people charging down Downing Street with Molotov cocktails and flaming staffs to put the shits up this party of real life Alan B’Stards? I’ll tell you why, because its much easier to read about John Terry banging Wayne Bridge’s missus, or tweet about which act was best on Britain’s Got Lethargy, or play your FUCKING CANDY CRUSH!

The good old USA may be the most ludicrous country in the history of civilisation but when the American intelligentsia had enough of George W Bush’s monstrous regime they did not muck about. Prominent left-wing figures such as Seth McFarlane, Jesse Ventura and George Carlin all went berserk during public appearances about his idiotic policies; Andre 3000 and Bruce Springsteen were literally man-handling people into voting booths, and the most famous person in the world did this. Our response to any sort of political controversy is to wheel out Billy Bragg to 200 people in a civic hall, or watch George Galloway spit out one of his diatribes which no-one will take seriously because he once pretended to be a cat on Celebrity Big Brother. The Guardian, once the paper of choice for chest-beating radicals now offers a supplement in which you can find out how to perfectly cook a pheasant and where you can buy a cheese knife for less than £100. It will also furnish you with articles about authors who’s books are bought by imbeciles who idolize Phoebe out of Friends and think its acceptable to give wind-chimes as Christmas presents. They all live in the country you know, and do their writings in picturesque hollow trees while squirrels hop about. BOLLOCKS!!! In the 80s Kinnock and Scargill used to fall out of political debates actually physically brawling over disagreements in policy. Today the Labour party’s top-boys ponce out of there on their smart phones, smirk and show each other how some “wag” has posted a picture of Cameron on Facebook and written “‘Like’ if you think this man is a prick.” Excellent. That’s going to make all the fucking difference.

I've heard he's got a Return Of The Jedi duvet cover.

I’ve heard he’s got a Return Of The Jedi duvet cover.

Look around you. Look at the kids, look at the teenagers and look at the students. Where’s the next Joe Strummer or Jerry Dammers or Jimmy McGovern going to come from? No-one seems to be able to rouse themselves enough to realise that the country is on it’s arse. Socially this country is in the worst place it’s been for thirty years, and financially its worse than anytime since 1931. The NHS is going to die, teachers will soon be taking classes of forty-five kids and somehow, a very small group of men will be making a huge profit from all of it. On David Cameron’s front bench, there are fifteen men who went to the same school as him. Rebecca Brooks is a millionaire. Rupert Murdoch rules the world. Don’t worry about it though, don’t take action, just turn The Voice on and look at Jessie J scratch her yeast infection, or on the other side you can watch Michael McIntyre provide witty social discourse by running round in big circles on a stage. Also, think about voting for UKIP and play your Candy Crush. Someone’s going to start a campaign to change the “Great” in Great Britain to “Flaccid.” Don’t forget to ‘like’ it on Facebook.

profile b and wAllen Miles is 31 years old and lives in Hull. He is married and has a 23 month-old daughter who is into The Ramones. He is a staunch supporter of Sheffield Wednesday FC and drinks far too much wine. He spends most of his spare time watching old football videos on youtube and watching 1940s film noir. He is the author of 18 Days, which is widely recognized to be the best book ever written. It is available here.