Queen Sofia of Spain will not be attending a vast lunch for the world’s remaining monarchs at Windsor Castle tomorrow.  The lavish affair is being held to celebrate Queen Elizabeth’s Jubilee.  But the Queen of Spain will not be there because of an alleged screaming session over Gibraltar.

The fact that the Earl and Countess of Wessex (yawn) are planning to visit the minuscule piece of land on Spain’s southwest corner has sent rumblings through the Spanish royal court the likes of which haven’t been heard in years.

To recap (for those in the slightest bit interested) Gibraltar has been under British control for nearly 300 years following its capture in 1704 by British and Dutch forces during the War of the Spanish succession (stop yawning at the back!). The whole embarrassing thing is reminiscent of the days of the Raj, the British Empire and all that flim-flam that went up in smoke at the end of the war. The fact the British are still bitching like this is completely stupid. How the mighty colonialists have fallen to be scrapping over this is really strange.

Basically the Spanish Queen wants it back and the British Queen ain’t gonna budge. It’s a stalemate and both bejewelled ladies are firmly at loggerheads.  As are the Spanish and British governments who are twittering around like a bunch of old fairies.

The fact that some of us think that the getting together of a few unelected head of states in the 21st century is a tad strange and out of date is neither here nor there.

Lets be honest here, even the toughest of us would not like to get between these two fearsome ladies in a scrap, down a dark alley in Windsor on a moonlit night.

The rise of nationalism in some European states and a tough broader socialism in others form part of a new unstable dawn across the continent.  On all sides in all nations the ordinary family are being squeezed so tightly, the pain for some is truly excruciating. Everyone is crying out for stability and a little financial breather.

Medium to severe panic buttons are already being depressed in some countries whilst other nations are standing back waiting for the next fast-moving chapter to reveal itself to a nervous Europe and a curious world.

I think it is highly likely now that Greece will leave the Eurozone in favour of the drachma.  How exactly Eurozone members will cope and what the fiscal fallout of this will be could be anybody’s guess, but one thing so sure it won’t be good news in the corridors of Berlin, Paris, Madrid or even London.

The boss of the world’s largest foreign currency dealer ICAP has revealed it is ready to trade in drachma as it prepares for Greece’s exit from the Eurozone, according to the Daily Mail.

Meanwhile British Conservative Party donor Michael Spencer has warned that other countries could follow Greece out of the euro. He has launched an outspoken attack on what he calls German and French ‘bullies’.

And what of the ordinary man in the street?  How much more pressure?

How far will this crisis go?

And for the political stability of Europe?  If the storm clouds break is it so far-fetched that history will repeat itself 73 years on?

From the beginning of the 2014 academic year The Politecnico di Milano, one of Italy’s leading technical universities, all MSc and PhD courses will be taught exclusively in English.

While the university already offers several courses in English, as do other Italian institutions, the move to drop Italian entirely in favour of English is a first among Italy’s public universities. The institution will also be investing €3.2 million to attract faculty including 15 lecturers, 30 to 35 post-doctorates and 120 visiting professors.

According to Italian state-owned broadcaster RAI, the Politecnico will switch all of its academic and research curricula to the English language.

Speaking to RAI, Politecnico rector Giovanni Azzone said that:

“It is indispensable to innovate and keep up with the needs of today’s industry, and to accomplish so we will need to acquire high-quality human capital. The Italian language should be mastered at the high school level by young students, to try to master it at the university level is a little too late.”

I for one like her style. Its controversial, interesting and generally well written. I don’t always agree with her. Indeed sometimes I have found her quite harsh. But I am not Maltese and maybe what goes down well in Malta is not good fodder for us limp British. But one thing is for sure, she certainly has me coming back for more.

So here I am confused.

Daphne Caruana Galizia uses an 80 year old illustration of 1930’s British unemployment queues on an item related to something purely local to Malta  … sorry, but I cannot see the editorial connection.

If I had used a Maltese stock image to illustrate a modern day local British issue on my blog those who have spent the last 25 years referring to me as an ‘interfering foreigner’ would have a field day.

BBC iPlayer

With many of us breaking away from traditional viewing habits the whole spectrum of home entertainment has changed dramatically before our very eyes.

We are no longer huddled around the goggle box as a single family unit gasping in the delights of Sunday Night At The Palladium, laughing like collective hyenas at Morecambe and Wise, engrossed in the latest from Elsie Tanner at Coronation Street or captured by the drama of The Forsyte Saga. We have dragged ourselves into the 21st century with alarming gusto.

The BBC, traditionally a little conservative with some developments and trends, has taken on this aspect of modern life and landing Auntie firmly on her feet.

The consumer is no longer ruled by some great scheduling Moses from the mountains. The era of the viewer being authorised at the whim of the broadcaster to watch at a predetermined time is well over. Broadcasters who think otherwise should jump into a cold shower.

Technologies have moved onwards in leaps and bounds.

As with all broadcast platforms, some of us know better than others that success hinges precariously on content and its availability.

The BBC iPlayer (and similar platforms) are faltering is its ability to provide a serious commitment to archive on this platform. The ‘last 7 days of BBC programmes’ policy holds logic (news transmissions, current affairs broadcasts, bandwidth and cost). However although many series are ‘now available on DVD’ this particular ‘cash cow’ for the BBC could well loose its appeal completely in preference for the thirst to view programmes produced up to 2 whole years ago on the iPlayer.

This is not the news the cash-strapped BBC want to hear. Reality sometimes can be brutal especially if it comes from your bread and butter – your audience.

Citing ‘rights’ and ‘performers agreements’ is a limp excuse for a Corporation who battled through this quagmire to set arrangements for the BBC iPlayer from day one.

Archive lip service is not good enough. Concerted effort would bring further public dedication to this platform from a public who now rule the roost in the wars of the schedules that our esteemed broadcast networks are now irreversibly engaged in.

The Owl and the Pussycat

The Owl and the Pussycat went to sea
In a beautiful pea-green boat,
They took some honey, and plenty of money,
Wrapped up in a five pound note.
The Owl looked up to the stars above,
And sang to a small guitar,
“O lovely Pussy! O Pussy, my love,
What a beautiful Pussy you are, you are, you are,
What a beautiful Pussy you are.”
Pussy said to the Owl “You elegant fowl,
How charmingly sweet you sing.
O let us be married, too long we have tarried;
But what shall we do for a ring?”
They sailed away, for a year and a day,
To the land where the Bong-tree grows,
And there in a wood a Piggy-wig stood
With a ring at the end of his nose, his nose, his nose,
With a ring at the end of his nose.
“Dear Pig, are you willing to sell for one shilling your ring?”
Said the Piggy, “I will”
So they took it away, and were married next day
By the Turkey who lives on the hill.
They dined on mince, and slices of quince,
Which they ate with a runcible spoon.
And hand in hand, on the edge of the sand.
They danced by the light of the moon, the moon, the moon,
They danced by the light of the moon.

(image above source here).

“I stand before you tonight in my Red Star chiffon evening gown, my face softly made up and my fair hair gently waved, the Iron Lady of the Western world." (Jan 31 1976 Speech to Finchley Conservatives).

That power dresser Margaret Thatcher is a gay icon. Those severe suits. And a hair style to scream for. Those blue piercing eyes. The sheer silk blouses. And that husky voice. Margaret Thatcher is for sure the ultimate gay role model.

Okay! Listen to me … please! Get a Grip!

No I have not lost the plot or put the batteries in the wrong way round. As I am sure you know, for me, from a political viewpoint, Margaret Thatcher has the appeal of a slug.

Spot this difference. Here's the clue: One of them has more balls.

But I am trying to fathom out why so many blokes seem to go weak-kneed for this devil with the handbag.

Heterosexual, butch guys, the stuff of rugby players and steeplejacks, love her because she’s simply the ultimate domineering dream boat. Miss Whiplash on speed.

Gay guys drool at her dreamy, campy persona. Nothing can touch this Iron Lady with an almost baritone voice.

Even alleged level headed political figures lay in bed at night, under the soft moonlight.  A sweet breeze ruffling the curtains, with rioters yelling in the streets, dreaming to become the next Margaret, the new iron lady (although without the hair and pearls).

So, lets get a grip here. Please! Put down your Gin and Tonic. Stop drooling.

Lets wind back to Clause 28. Please do not ask me about this use your Google. Remember for a moment the staggering unemployment. The miners. Interest rates. The stuff of everyday life. For anyone who sees this twin-set, bouffant hair, fuchsia pink Mrs Thatcher as anything but the enemy needs a good shake.

Thatcher, it appears, has an almost godlike status for foreigners, for those who did not actually have to live through her hell on a daily basis. But there again, I guess where we Brits regard, say Nicolas Sarkozy, Bill Clinton, Indira Gandhi, President Makarios, Angela Merkel or Charles de Gaulle with a degree of nostalgic niceness. But there are those in their respective countries who’d throw their hands in the air in despair. Who like us calling back to the “bad old days” or in reverse maybe remembering the “good times”. Fact is politicians have one image at home and a totally different one overseas (unless they are full blown tyrants). As far as Margaret Thatcher is concerned, there are many British who simply hate her and some who do not.

As a person, I have never met her and have no idea what she is like. I can only judge her as a political performer. In the murky world of politics you are only as good as the policies you enforce today and memories you leave behind. Margaret Thatcher is remembered as much for her handbag as she is for her pearls – although hilarious to a point, this is also deeply disturbing, the stuff of nightmares.

The artists Gilbert & George “delivered a cultural left hook by voicing their admiration, putting the duo in the exalted company of Quentin Crisp, the guru of camp, as well as politicians Matthew Paris and Alan Duncan. Gay schmutter-cutter, Marc Jacobs, meanwhile, lauded her style, commenting in 2004 that “this season is all about finding the Margaret Thatcher look sexy.”

The thing is her relationship with the unelected Head of State. We all knew what was going on there. She wanted that crown! Had Miss Whiplash done away with the Windsors in preference to an elected Head of State where would we be now? President Thatcher? So, you’d dump the monarchy in favour of an elected President because you just love that blue and all that sheer silk.

Men love this battleaxe. They are blinded. Policies mean nothing. Her record in office as Prime Minister is obliterated in favour of sex appeal and icon status. My message is get over yourself and wake up.

Would the last person to leave Britain please switch off the lights.

On Thursday a state-owned company swallowed up a majority stake in Weetabix for £720m.

But this is only the start of an orgy of takeovers and buyouts that going to feature on business news worldwide for a great many years to come.

Lord Digby Jones, former director-general of the CBI, has warned that “if we don’t watch out, China will eat our lunch”. But its not only China. India, the quiet almost silent, new kids on the block are hard on the heels. Leaving the West fidgeting nervously in the corner.

As China creaks open its hyper-conservative doors to a once glorious West and India, cheeky and confident, yet hellbent on taking a lions share, it seems that whilst we lick our wounds in a double-dip ressession a whole new world is evolving under our feet. And theres nothing we can do about it.

Once the knackered, Victorian colonial masters, it seems now it is us who have to tug our forelocks. Armed with a begging bowl to go in search of the few crumbs or morsels.

Is it too late? Are we so wrapped up in our insular world? Have we finally missed the boat?

For some, its a kind of payback time. For others its opportunity for serious growth. A new world for those who once held the begging bowl.

Since the General Election I have on occasions been hammered by some for ‘banging on’ about The Labour Party. For ‘not giving the coalition a chance’. For ‘agreeing to disagree’ (something I would never do). Yet today I open the media to discover that The Labour Party (more specifically the poor downtrodden electorate) have now ‘punished’ Cameron’s coalition and almost wiped the floor with his chum Clegg.

The Liberal Democrats, once the doyen of local government have now practically been wiped out.

The Conservatives, midway through the current term, have been humiliated beyond belief.

My money is on Boris Johnson (Conservative) winning the London Mayoral election (at the time of writing). This will at least given a little crumb to Cameron’s shattered Conservatives.

But where it matters, in the rest of the country along with councils in the South East there is no question that the message is clear;

Clegg has to go, and go today. Cameron, if he continues to ignore the electorate, then he should consider his position and take appropriate action before the nation faces terminal collapse.

Politicians, by nature of their role in society, are here today and gone tomorrow. If you continually ignore the wishes of the voter, of the general public, then ‘tomorrow’ will come round a little quicker and one’s life at the top of the heap is terminated somewhat cruelly and abruptly.

*

Since writing this blog, Boris Johnson was confirmed as the new London Mayor in a tight election result of 3%. The Labour Party have wiped the floor with the coalition partnership gaining 823 councillors nationally, as the Tories lost 405 and the Lib Dems lost 336. We are happy with the message and now The Labour Party seem back on track for a General Election win.

It appears I need to take elocution lessons. British Telecom has lost the ability to understand what I say, despite my efforts to use English with as few syllables and complicated words as possible.

Three times in as many minutes I asked this telecom giant NOT to publish the telephone number and therefore for yours truly to remain ex-directory. The language I used I thought was English. Its a language I automatically adopted since garbling as baby in the 1950′s.

Clearly I am no longer understood.

This marks the end of an interesting broadcasting career where most of the nation and beyond have understood and apparently have even slightly enjoyed and allegedly understood my voice.

Today this incomprehensible, somewhat confused individual, was informed by email that British Telecom have accepted my order and are placing the telephone number and home address in the directory and online for the world to see. Oh what joy. This despite three reassurances that the opposite will happen and I will enjoy a status of certain privacy.

Thank you, British Telecom for not understanding the difference between “do” and “do not”.