Hoist the Jolly Roger

Give ‘em a Jolly Rogering

Pirate Day. Good call. If I were ever forced to salute a flag (and the union jack would be right at the bottom of my list – that’s a nothing combination of national identities that is without any basis in anything) I’d choose the Jolly Roger. I’d have the old-fashioned version, with the bones under the skull, rather than the swords, given the choice.

Is there a filter?

I have an occasional twitter cull. Based on mentions, in the past, for example, of Big Brother, celebrity dancing (on ice or otherwise), pub singer contests hosted by music-for-profit philistines, that sort of thing.

Mark Thomas asked on twitter if there was a royal baby internet news filter. I’d have one of those if it were available. About the royal baby and my ignorance:

1. I don’t know who the mum is.

2. I don’t know who the dad is.

3. I don’t care who the mum or dad is. Or who the grand / great grand parents are.

4. Shove the whole boring affair up your hole, you forelock-tugging brown-nose.

5. Fancy having a baby during the Ashes. That’s just stupid.

6. Whoever Liz is to the expectant couple, can you two get your nan / nan-in-law, whatever, to pitch up at Lords on time so the start of play isn’t delayed with all that gloved handshaking garbage.

7. If she’s going to turn up and delay the start of play, can she have the decency to stay for more than just over an hour. That’s a total waste of a decent seat.

8. I’m about as interested in this royal ankle-biter as queen Liz is in rescue corgis. Maybe it’s a bloke thing.

9. Fancy having a baby when all anyone cares about is who their club may be buying or selling during the summer transfer window.

10. Fancy having another wealthy sponger added to the wealthy sponger list during a time of austerity for the normal folk (non-bankers, non-mps, non-royals).

A note to the Guardian headline writer who came up with “World Awaits News of Royal Baby”, well, I’m part of the world, and I’m part of (I’m sure) a sizeable chunk of that world that is a couple of hoots short of giving two hoots about the next Baron of All Scotland or whatever it’ll be.

The Ashes

Not only is there far more important stuff going on than royal rubbish, (on the IV sliding scale, Ashes Test = Big Bang Birth of the Universe = Discovery of Fire / the Wheel / Evolution of Opposing Thumbs (that sort of thing) and royal baby = price of beans in Aldi = watching (slow drying, nondescript shade) paint dry (on an uninteresting surface)) but we’re two-nil up in the important stuff, and the Aussies are visibly wobbling.

They have a tough visit to THOC (Hove, The Home of Cricket) to negotiate for a three-day tour match before facing England in the third test match at Old Trafford.