LETTERS FROM LONDON
REASONS TO BE CHEERFUL
28 April 2018
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'The Tash With Cash'

Selling off every possible asset possibly? Oh course we are. That’s what we do.
‘The Tash With Cash’, aka American football car parts billionaire Shahid Khan is
nearly there; Americanising the iconic Wembley. ‘Mr Tash-Cash’ wants to
create a permanent home for the NFL, specifically his Jacksonville Jaguars, a
‘football’ game that is so rubbish you have to wonder if the hysterical devotees
are brain dead - like most of the players - and yes they are. Clue: science.

And seriously, you do have to wonder about massive men in armour smashing
into each other to gain four inches of ground. It is ludicrous. Think about it. It’s
pants. Oh, and pants? Those rather, erm, large-breasted cheerleaders in tiny
pants. I do despair. So, grow up. Entertaining? Not stupid, useless? It’s not a
game. “Oh, but  it’s American. It must be better than anything Britain could
offer.” Thus it is of superior value to anything we have – ya know - such as TV,
films, celebrities, the Kardashians, our president Trump.

Secret talks for the last six months to hand over “the home of English football”
with, let’s name and shame here, FA’s chief executive, Martin Glenn, have been
successful. They met at the Super Bowl in Houston, Texas 2017; not making this
up.

The 92,000-capacity venue can ensure higher ticket prices surely. Not high
enough. Oh just wait. ‘Mr Tash’ already owns Fulham FC. Eight out of ten
foreign-owned clubs by the obscenely rich. Oh ya know now like ‘football’ will be
like called like soccer ya know won’t it?  Iconic? Quickly. Sell it to the
Americans. That’s what we do. And then there’s the new American royal
family…get out the flags and bunting. Oh wait. Americans don’t do bunting - do
they? But they certainly do flags! Ubiquitous.

Picture Perfect

Last time, Ex-Waity had 23! Medics plus ‘highly-trained midwives’. Excessive?
Surely not. Perspective? Very few women even get a midwife with all the
government cuts. “It’s your birth. Do it yourself.”

This time, she went by car. Shock horror. What? Rather than a horse and
carriage? The newspapers covered baby’s birth with eight to sixteen pages.
Really? Really. Thrilling, just thrilling. Yawn, yawn, yawn.

Ex-W naturally left St Mary’s for-posh-only Lindo Wing looking so perfect, she
could have just popped in, picked up a baby, and left the hospital. “It was all just
so easy. No effort really. You commoners would say ‘easy peasy’. After five
hours of stylists, staff, whatever working to create her utter perfection. Surely
not - a ‘hand-gesture’ - your call, to new mothers or possibly all women. It
always seems as if she is in competition with all women – well, she is maniacal
obsession with her appearance isn’t she.

High heels? Now that is just stupid. High heels to walk to the car – possibly five
feet or was it less? We know she always gets her hair dresser in for the several
hours of styling. Oh yawn again. This attempt at competitive perfection simply
confirms assumed vacuity. “The baby. Oh right. The baby. I forgot. Does my
hair look coiffed enough? Are my heels high enough? Do I look like Diana in her
white-collared red dress when she left with William? Of course I do. Only better.”

Shock! Horror! Look away now! Her Jenny Packham dress has been compared
to – wait – it’s worth it: to the 1968 horror
the film, Rosemary's Baby. Oh dear,
oh dear. The red dress with lacy white Peter Pan collar worn by Mia Farrow in
the film looks like the very one Ex-W wore. Remember, in film Mia gives birth to
the devil’s child? Yikes! Scary…and it was. Not enough, people have noticed
that at Princess Charlotte's 2015 christening Ex-W had chosen an old retro
pram - similar to the one in the movie's poster. OK. Fun over. Unless…

And didn’t we nearly lose consciousness holding our collective breaths
wondering, conjecturing on the baby’s name? Whew! Quelle relief. Surely it was
pre-named or at least there was a list. Hmm. And the PR point then? Oh right.
Brand Royals. Just saying. Four days those loyal royalists have been counting
the days, hours, minutes. Louis Arthur Charles. Louis? Hmm. Le royale bébé
c'est Louis. Hmmm. Wasn’t there - a French Revolution? OK. Named after Lord
Mountbatten then? But he was Charles’ beloved great-uncle and mentor. Louis.
Brexiteers won’t be happy: “We’re going to call him Arthur. End of.”

The endless media coverage would make a republican out of all of us. Who
cares really? Oh right. Those sad royalists who slept out for 15 days waiting,
waiting, waiting.

15 days! Outside the hospital. In the times of Tory-driven abject austerity, oh
how perfect. “It will bring joy to the nation,” announced Maria Scott, 46, who has
been living in a tent with her friend in anticipation for two weeks. “Diana would
be so proud, I know she is here in spirit. She is watching down and smiling at
the news her third grandchild is being born. And it is St George’s Day – how
perfect.”   Maria clearly has a direct line to Diana. Another royal watcher, well,
you might call them that, said: “I was here for George and I missed Charlotte as
everyone was pushing and shoving and I collapsed and ended up in the
hospital…it always does bring a real feel-good factor.” Some fans even arrived
with masks of Wills and Ex-Waity. Not joking here. Wish I were. Evidently, they
were delirious with excitement. As you would be if you lived in that sycophantic
parallel universe. Scary on some level.

Mon Nouveau Meilleur Ami

Clearly fawning is in the air. Mon dieu! C’est l’amour! The “close” hand-holding,
hugging, air kissing, dreamy-eyes relationship possibly got a bit too close when
The Donald brushed what he described as a piece of dandruff – ew - off
Macron's shoulder “to make him perfect.” Ah, magical moment. Presumably
Macron was taken aback, in that French sort of way. “Tu es si beau!”

D’accord, The Donald didn’t actually say that, clearly – even English not being
his first language, but surly he wanted to. Poor Donald. If only France still had a
royal family. Wait. It has been announced The Donald will be coming to meet the
Queen. Oh look. Theresa is rolling out the red carpet already and all by herself.
Not a ‘boy’s’ job then, Theresa? Oh oops. Get Philip to roll it back up, Theresa. It’
s a ‘working visit’ rather than a state visit. Donald with toxic chickens under each
arm then? “Do let me help you with those, Donny. And all that hormone-infused
beef? We have been salivating at the very thought.”

Back to the love-in. But Macron may have put a stop to this budding bromance
(hate that term, but what else can you say? L’amour?). He was not happy with
The Donald’s plans for the US to renege on treaties it recently joined: “It can
work in the short term but it’s very insane in the medium-to-long term.” “Very
insane” Donald. Hmm. Interesting referencing…eh Emmanuel?

Vote of Thanks

In the local elections on 3 May, five local authorities will force voters to show ID
in order to vote. Other than the obvious problem, fraud in English elections has
not been a significant problem to date. So, not a problem then. And the facts?
The  Electoral Commission found just 28 allegations of ‘voter impersonation’,
interesting term, at a polling station in 2017 – down from 45 in 2016. Don’t you
want to know how many people, impersonating or not, voted? Almost 45 million.
14.5 million people could be excluded if these plans are fully rolled out. Oh it’s
that ‘f’ word again. Not that one, although let’s say it anyway, it’s fascism.

And the good news – surprising that there is any - the government was defeated,
again, in the Lords as peers voted by 316 votes to 245 to keep most of the EU
charter of fundamental rights in domestic law after Brexit. Ha. And, there was yet
another Lords defeat for the government on its EU Withdrawal with the
amendment curbing of the Henry VIII powers passed with a 128 majority. Ha ha.
More to come next week. Practice: ha ha ha.
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