A SANDAL STAMPING ON A HUMAN FACE-FOREVER

 

Terrorism and politics are a bit like two tribute Elvis acts, one covers his Rock n Roll Black Leather look and one does the Vegas years, both badly. once the costume and the makeup is taken off the real person stands alone.

They both seem to be about imposing an ideology, religious or political that not everyone will agree with but once in power you're stuck with it and if you raise a voice in protest you face the consequences.

Of course I'm not equating a democratically elected party with a philosophy that involves blowing people up, but there are other more subtle means with which to impose group will. and when power is taken by force dissent is not an option

Which brings me to events in Afghanistan, which, while complex and undoubtably very serious, have bought out some of the very best humorous responses I have seen in a long while.

As Mel Brooks famously said: ""Rhetoric does not get you anywhere, because Hitler and Mussolini are just as good at rhetoric. But if you can bring these people down with comedy, they stand no chance."

The Alan Partridge and The Office Quote sites have made entertaining reading as the bubble of Taliban pomposity has been pricked to hilarious effect. This may mean threats of fatwas but if freedom of speech is something that any group are against, ripping the piss out of them is a valid, nay compulsory response.

I am not making light of events that have a real detrimental effect on a population but rather drawing breath as the issues are complex and far reaching in terms of global responsibilities.

Chris Morris' 2010 film Four Lions managed the balancing act of satire, laughs and a view of Islamic fundamentalism that entertained and provoked though and some of the pictures of the victorious Taliban enjoying their victory could be out takes from that film 

Thank God, Allah or whoever, for humour

I DON'T WANT TO GO TO CHELSEA

For reasons I wont go into, I had cause to visit a bar/restaurant in Chelsea on Sunday. Iv'e never been much of a fan of this area, even back in the seventies and eighties it had lost much of its swinging sixties sheen and had started to become a tourist trap. The influx of new money and cliche had further eroded the area. 

What I saw on Sunday pretty much cemented the reasons I have not been down that way for a very long time. It felt like another planet; a planet of the preening narcissist.

They were all there, the tight trousered sock-less loafers brigade, resplendent in snug t-shirts emblazoned with huge Dolce & Gabbana logos, their bodies doused to the point of consumption in Eau Sauvage by Dior (a fragrance that when applied subtly is rather nice).

The ripped (tight of course) jeans and baseball caps on backwards entourage were there too, faces moisturised to infant like smoothness. Silver foxes? yes they were strutting their stuff; shirts open to the naval, deck shoes and linen shorts draped over tanned skin.

As for the women, fake nails, fake eye lashes, fake breasts, precision eyebrows, pouts, designer clutches, and tantastic tannage; yes the stereotype was in full effect.

Naturally one shouldn't judge on appearance only but its very easy to judge when you add the content of conversation, being as how they were all talking so loudly.

Clearly, being seen in what are considered to be the right places is nothing new but this felt like a competitive arena, a gladiatorial setting where money talks and conspicuous consumption walks. "I've got loads of money" that's the mantra.

Chelsea was once known as a place of young rebellion, a place where the individual would strut their stuff, it's now a platform for conformity, a conformity of very thin cultural merit,  

What I gleaned from my Sunday excursion is that Chelsea feels a bit like a time warp, a vortex that takes you back to the era of Spend, Spend , Spend but with different clobber.