I'm getting rather exercised about pensions. You may care to recall that under the stewardship of the (allegedly) best Chancellor of the 20th century (yes, someone in The Independent really wrote that. Presumably with a straight face) not only did Gordon Brown sell off our gold reserves (at about a quarter of what they would be worth today) for no good reason that I can see - maybe he needed the space for more shelving - he also stole money from personal pensions to the tune of about £100 billion. You might wonder what happened to the money. Me too.
That's not the thrust of my exercise, though. Labour and Conservative (and, for all I know, the Lib Dems though they seem to be missing a leader) are jostling each other like tramps over a nit comb over raising the age at which men and women will be entitled to a state pension. At present the Tories are preening themselves at their daring in proposing that the age for men will rise from 65 to 66 by 2016, whereas for women it will rise from 60 to 65 by 2020.
I. Just. Don't. Get. It. For starters, why do women (who statistically live longer than men) get their pension earlier? Is it some dotty chivalry? If so it sucks. What I really want to know is, why not raise the age for both men and women to 66 now? Today? Let anyone currently entitled to and claiming the pension carry on, but for all others make them wait an extra one (or six) years. Why not? Seriously, I really want to know.
*****
The X Factor live show segment is back. Opinion is divided in Rot Towers about whether the audition process is the preferable part (I say it is) or whether the live shows rule (Mrs Rot. She's wrong, obviously). This year the standard is a lot higher, I think, and there are half a dozen who could win. Miss Frank, who have one stand-out singer and a couple of passables, are the great hope for the groups (the twins from The Midwich Cuckoos cannot last, I think). Stacey is delightfully bonkers in a Victoria Wood meets Catherine Tate sort of way, with her fruity Dagenham accent, but has a decent singing voice too. Olly Murs is a favourite of some denizens chez Rot, as is Danyl (who was subject to a truly egregious comment from Dannnniiiii, later imperfectly retracted and blogged about here by the incomporable Sordel) and Jamie "The 'Fro" Archer. My money at the moment is on Lucie Jones. She can sing, looks lovely and has a nice manner. But here's why I'm right about the audition process being better than the live shows.
Makeovers.
Never mind that the majority of these singers will have honed their pipes in karaoke bars up and down the land, they do come to the party with some vestige of themselves. Until the mentors get their soul-less, tin-eyed claws into them. Look what Louis did to Kandy Rain - reeling under the tabloid's expose of their sordid past - that's right - he made them look more like prostitutes than they already did. Simon upped the sleaze quotient by maintaining that he still thought they were great (Simon, try listening with your ears instead of the other thing) at which Cheryl pulled the most fabulous moue. And the same goes for the others - restyled to within an inch of their lives. Ok, I'll grant you that they improved Rachel's god-awful birdshit highlights, and the twins look extra crazeeee with their superglued quiffs. But Stacey in jeans and a Marilyn Monroe t-shirt? Give me strength.
*****
Apparently Tracey Emin is threatening to leave Britain for France in protest at the top rate of tax (David Mitchell is extremely funny and scathing about it here). Can anyone think of a better reason to pay more tax? Toodles Tray - don't let the sound of hollow laughter as we contemplate again your masterworks "Tiny Bronze Bird On A Fucking Enormous Pole" and "A Poorly Embroidered List of A Thousand Drunk Desperate Men" put you off.
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
Posts
7 comments:
If Gordon Brown was the best Chancellor of the 20th century, I’d like to get my nomination in now for Footballer of the Year 2009-10.
It’s Barack Obama.
So, no more unmade beds if Tracy E sticks to her guns and trots of to France. Aw, please don't go Tracy. Please stay. You are so talented - nobody, but nobody can leave a room as crumpled and untidy as you. Hold on, both my daughters did that without even trying. So what else are you so good at Tracy? Can't think of anything right now.
Bon voyage then. Have a nice trip.
yes, ta-ra love. It was the dentist story that did it for me. If you didn't hear it, consider yourself a fortunate soul. If it does, this nudge at memory will have you twitching with nausea. Yes. It was as bad as viler imaginations might be stretched to.
X Factor, ah, happy sigh. OK, so it's tosh, the makeovers are embarrassing, the judges being considered worth listening to at all let alone with obedient gratitude is a bizarre anomaly, but there's something so utterly comforting about it. As long as watched predominantly on fast forward that is. Roll on Cheryl's live singing next week. worth setting the vids for.
Perfect summary of Saturday's X-Factor. This household loves Stacey and Joe. I loved Simon's face when the Jedward got through to next week... Rock on Jamie, but I think we might get a Welsh winner this year.
As for pensions, I don't want to be patronised by being given mine earlier just because I'm female. If I want to work past the age of 60 (or whatever it is in 20 or so years time) then I will. (I'll probably need to anyway...)
The X factor passes me by. Tracey Emin though, yes, yes. Shut up and pay tax on your so hard earned wealth, or go.
Oh, I added one of those feed links to your blog but it didn't get its act together. Anyhow, yes, Ms Emin, do please leave the country and take your 'artworks' with you.
I keep laughing to myself at the 'Tiny bronze bird' crack - that just about sums it up.
Please tell me it's a coincidence that you and Ms Emin are heading for France at the same time.
Post a Comment