There was a geezer on Question Time last night whose little sign proclaimed him as “Ian Lavery; Labour Party Chair”. Just like that. Much too pc to be called a chairman, or chairperson, I thought, so he’s just ‘the chair’. I’d never seen him before. Then I heard him speak. In fact you’d have to be fucking deaf not to have heard him speak even if your tv was off as he has no volume control. Its set and stuck permanently on ’11’. He’s that new breed of politician; doesn’t matter what shit you speak AS LONG AS YOU SPEAK IT LOUOUOUDDDDD!!!!” He didn’t answer one question directly. Lots of politicians don’t. They twist a question about Angela Merkel’s open door immigration issue into the evils of Tory party taxation. Every other question he ended up talking (shouting) about the NHS. And being a Geordie, the louder he gets, the less you can understand. Yet when actually speaking about the NHS, as with many other things, whilst pausing to work out which direction to obfuscate, he ummed and ahhhed and showed a distinct lack of facts, figures and details. Obviously he’s the man responsible for shouting loud sound-bytes, they leave the facts and figures to Diane Abbott. And thus they call him ‘the chair’ because he in fact appears to share an IQ with my (previously) favourite piece of furniture.

Hugh Hefner died. The man who invented pornography. The man who brought us women clad only in bunny ears and tails, and nothing else, has gone to a ‘better place’. Though if there is a (straight) man alive who can think of a better place to be than the Playboy Mansion wearing pyjamas, he must be a religious devotee. Though God never looked as good as any Playboy Centrefold I’ve seen. God doesn’t even shave his beard, let alone…

Playboy has been around my whole life. And it was, for the first 40 years or so, the only ‘general interest’ magazine for men around. Whilst women had hundreds of weeklies and monthlies which talked of fashion and recipes and holidays and lifestyles and kids and movies, men were stuck with ‘Practical Electronics’, or ‘Motoring Weekly’, ‘Caravanning for Simpletons’ or ‘Line and Reel’. There was no magazine, until the arrival of the ‘lad mags’ which catered to men in an ‘across the board’ way. You were either into Mediaeval Calligraphy or you weren’t. But if you wanted to read about cars and clothes and music and… and… ok, and naked women, then Playboy was the mag to get. That was the justification anyway. The Party Line. Playboy catered for ‘things men like’ and ‘fabulous tits’ rank high on that list. Hugh was a god. Albeit a rather odd one, I felt. RIP.

I’d like the Labour Party under current stewardship to RIP too, but that’s a long way off, I fear.

Happy Friday

A xxxx