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Straight from the greater world of icky ugliness to your personal space. Sorry about that.

Approx Reading Time-11Well, what a night it was. New facts came to light from Manchester, the great Roger Moore left us, and Donald Trump won more friends. Today is a bad day. Soz.




Suspect in Manchester attack arrested, Blighty loses station momentarily.

It’s fair to say in the vacuum of the Manchester attacks, Blighty sort of lost her mind a bit, before regaining it in classic Britannic stoicism. Leaders May and Trump hyperbolically stated that “it was among the worst attacks the United Kingdom has experienced” and the perpetrators were “losers”. (You can guess who said what.) And following this, Hell soon rode in atop a white horse of abject stupidity, with the terrorist attacks being the end result of succumbing to the IRA, or a pretext to dust off Uncle Adolf’s master plan. (You know which one.)

Fortunately, a modicum of sense soon ruled over the Empire, and as a 23-year-old was taken into custody, the narrative had swung significantly, with the Manc elite standing alongside the greater citizens of the north by rigidly rocking a middle finger to the tenets of modern day terrorism.

There is a light that never goes out, indeed.

And for added learning on the ills of the news cycle covering incidents such as Manchester, peep this.


Roger Moore passes, leaving Bond fans stirred, not shaken.

Roger Moore brought the well-meaning, but somewhat dodgy uncle charm to the 007 franchise. The one most likely to try and have a pop at your new girlfriend at Christmas lunch, the one who you’d completely understand why bae lived on his Catamaran for that month or so. Regaled as many (many) mum’s favourite Bond, the movies of Moore presented a departure from the uber macho woman abusing fare of Connery, and the overly dramatic but top notch work of George Lazenby. Moore brought in a softer touch; his martini was mixed with humour and the slightest dash of racism. But as a joke.

To prove it, the longest running Bond fought a plethora of enemies that would be defeated by the censor, or perhaps good taste on page one. In no particular order, Roger Moore got an elephant to humourously almost drown a racist sheriff holidaying in South East Asia, he locked a midget in a suitcase, he threw a foreigner in a wheelchair down a chimney, he took on the world of voodoo with the power of a Paul McCartney riff, he flipped a car with a slide whistle and even he went to space and made friends with a man with steely teeth. Oh, and he fought a young Christopher Walken in a blimp. Walken’s gimmick was being Walken (do the voice), but he was also created in an East German lab. Yes, East Germany.

The loss of Moore is tragic, as he represented the Bond franchises well, even in retirement, and if you happen to cross paths with the audio commentary he supplied for his own movies, it’s well worth the investment. A classy, woke man who can spin the most turgid story into anecdotal gold. He’s also punny as all fudge.

Rest in peace, Roger. You old dog, you.


Donald calls for unilateral peace in the Holy Land, Trumpy got back.

A notable orator Donald Trump certainly isn’t, but for a man who rolled into Washington looking to trade his kingdom for a horse, he’s almost figured out how to lead the aforementioned nag to water. In a calendar week where he’s attacked extremists without attacking Islam and derided those responsible for Manchester as those with the shape of an “L” on their forehead, Trump has closed a storied chat with two mortal, and perhaps infinite enemies – Israel and Palestine – with a mushy sign off not witnessed since Julia Stiles wrote that mash note to not-departed-Heath in Ten things I hate about you:

Awesome, so are you guys like, going steady now? Oh my god, Becky, look at her mobilised armed forces. They’re just so…big. So, I suppose credit where credit’s due for Sir Nukes-a-lot (patent absolutely pending), for he’s used his overseas trip to do some good. Or enough good to make us forget about the whole Comey thing. Or enough for us to admit that he wasn’t as shit as we thought he’d be on this diplomatic sojourn. But what now?

My G.O.P. don’t, want, none, unless you got bombs, son. 


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