Michael Howard - 11 Reasons Not to Vote for Him - Reason 8

8) I BELIEVE THE PUNISHMENT SHOULD FIT THE CRIME.

Wrong: Such a cursory statement, lifted straight from a Gilbert and Sullivan musical, to try and cover such a diverse problem merely proves Mr Howard’s unsuitability when it comes to making valued, in-depth judgements about far bigger issues. Here is a man (I use the word "man" in its loosest possible sense) who patches together his policy on crime and criminality with a quote from an operetta! Like the majority of his speeches of late, they are just “cut and paste” efforts......you know, cross out “dog” and insert “goldfish”; it wouldn’t surprise me if he doesn’t turn up to the next Common’s debate in a sea-captain’s uniform, sword under arm telling everyone that he really should be the next Prime Minister as he’s “the very model of a modern major-general.”

Now, you may think that it’s OK to have a Prime Minister who quotes from turn of the century musical pieces in order to formulate policy; maybe you'd feel better if we had a leader who’s well versed in the plebian arts, can whistle snatches from most G&S operettas and all of Lloyd-Webber's "Cats" gig and who has an aesthetic goal based on the word "punishment" for the betterment of our society being in charge.........with ‘their finger on the button’; Coward once spelt out a truism when he wrote, “Strange how potent cheap music is”.

OK, let’s forget for a moment that the line quoted in the opening of this discussion is actually from a musical (I use the word "musical" in its loosest possible sense here too) let's try not to, destroy too many dreams by stating……IT’S NOT REAL LIFE; let’s disregard both those points for a moment.....but how would you feel if that person did something as childish as make musicals his muse for policy formulation AND then STILL mis-read the message in the song? I say, be worried; be very, very worried. You want proof…..OK, read on.

In a reprise of earlier idiocy, Howard used a line from West Side Story, "I'm depraved on account of I'm deprived" in one of his speeches to show how youth blamed everyone else but themselves for their wrongdoing and the state of the nation...........ring any bells anyone? When Howard quoted those lines I thought, “Never has someone so seemingly intelligent misinterpreted a musical’s central message so badly ". “I'm depraved on account of I'm deprived" has nothing to do with youth’s get-out clause, it’s a statement of fact; listen, Mr Howard, and I’ll try and break it down for you.

It’s a line that firstly states the inherent difficulties surrounding youth when they are rudderless, penniless, unemployed and undervalued. In a society that is framed by a winner-loser nice guys finish last mentality, that has a government who holds cheating and lying, stealing and denying as the way to get ahead in life and leaders and role models who class success as the amount of jewellery you wear and the number of times you eat out in a week. The lives of juveniles who have no hope of getting out of their circumstances are constantly held up to ridicule by the 3g society we live in………Get on, Get honour, Get honest. “I'm depraved on account of I'm deprived" is a statement that asks for help, understanding and support, a wake-up call to those who have the power to create a better society for the individual and the nation to do so…..meaningfully; to re-use your other quote from that same speech but change the emphasis, "Juvenile delinquency is purely a social disease". It’s a social disease because the germs for infection are in the bloodstream of our society after it was injected with Thatcher’s “fuck ‘em all” doctrine. It’s now a society where the individual sees only itself as important and at the expense of the majority; that it really is alright to sell arms in order for brutes to dominate the foolish masses and butcher children; s’got to be, after all, Thatcher's son makes a good living out of it and look where it's got her and him.

Society, by its role models, its ideologies and its doctrines give young people the scaffold upon which to base their behaviour and their level of care; if we furnish them with the right role models we get a good payback. As it is we furnished them with the roles and role models of Mr Howard Esq. and the last Tory government; is it any wonder we’ve got the problems we have now?

Michael Howard - 11 Reasons Not to Vote for Him - Reason 7

7) THE LIBERAL DEMOCRATS WANT TO SCRAP AUTOMATIC LIFE SENTENCES FOR; MURDER. I DON’T.

Wrong: Mr Howard shows a complete lack of understanding of crime and culpability with this statement. By using such big-stick statements, he shows the shallowness of his approach but the true depth of his policies; and his political history is all the more scary than his present-day ignorance. In his maiden speech to the House, Howard told the assembled masses how he’d have no problem with the re-introduction of the death penalty. We’ve watched as the real reasons and causes for the majority of high-profile murder cases during the Tory reign (namely the lack of funds, bad management, break up of communities, loss of employment, poor housing, poor services, dog-eat-dog Tory doctrines, poor health services, means testing, poor teaching support, an imbecile for a Home secretary and a group of self-serving politicos who were shagging and cheating their way through political life and so had little time and no right to teach by example) saw them shifting the blame away from the part their own policies played in these terrible cases onto young offenders, lone parents, social workers, prison governors and others. Never any admittance that they just might have had a hand in these events; it was as if they were divorced from the happenings........Howard’s full-time strategy throughout his time in politics actually; and his unnerving ideas about how to treat our fellow human beings goes deeper…….and younger.

The vast majority of his pronouncments about schooling are negative. He talks about expulsion, corporal punishment, discipline and physical degradation, nothing about support or more specialist teachers to help those many strugglers in the classroom. He once said, “How does it help parents instil discipline if they are told that they cannot smack their children? Why can't teachers discipline disruptive pupils any more?” The man's ignorance and imbecility knows no bounds. So far off the pace is he that he seems not to know that survey after survey has proved that violence just begets violence………but then, this is the man who really thinks that “Prison Works”.

With the doctrines he spouts forth he gives us a problem for every solution, and that’s what he wants to do……Divide and Rule, remember? Every now and then he seems to realise that he’s overstepped the mark and tries to show his compassionate side, and yet trips himself up time after time, like with his bleatings about the Iraq war....."If I'd known then what I know now......" The words "horse", "stable-door" and "bolted" come to mind; that was his "compassionate side" showing itself, then getting buried pretty rapidly when he supported the continuation of the death penalty for the armed forces; that’ll make everyone serving in Iraq sleep soundly in their beds tonight, won’t it?

Political History: The Making of the First Democracy. Chapter 8

The “Top-Man” mode of approach to alleviate any attack of the munchies had been gleaned from a recent encounter with a large group of Plan’s Lions, that had been spotted disporting themselves some safe distance away, whilst our humanoid group were out hunting……again. Luckily, or so it seemed at the time, the group of lions had been in clear view, almost as if they didn’t mind being seen, and some three-hundred yards distant from the now emboldened hunters. Even those as sportingly challenged as our ancestors could run to safety if an attack was launched from that distance, and the single tree the hunters had gathered under gave them an ideal position from which to tease their permanent enemies; here was a chance for pay-back, albeit from a distance of three-hundred yards; it was sweet at any distance. So began trunk-call babbling as the gang sent the stone-age equivalent of “Yahhhhh, Booo, Bollocks to you, you fat lion-pig!” echoing across the plains………… Eventually one of the group of lions stood up, stretching and yawning, and the hunter’s attention was locked onto him in case a fast exit was called for……………

Some heard it, some even saw it, some definitely felt it as, from the uppermost branches of the tree the men were gathered under, the six-hundred-and-fifty-pound male Plain’s Lion plummeted into the assembled, pre-occupied thicket of humanoid stupidity flailing its clawful way through four of the assembled yobs before it hit the ground. It only remained for the other decoy Plain’s Lions to get up, stretch, yawn, then amble across the three hundred yards distance that separated them from their newly laid dinner table for them to enjoy an impromptu al fresco meal, all of them grinning like Cheshire’s at the fast-lane departure of those once so brave and the pit-lane remainder of these now so dead.

There was one good thing to come out of this debacle, however, for the surprise of the attack was not lost on the escaping group, and had they have been capable of having a collective thought, they’d’ve realised their stupidity in being caught out like that; but when you’re this stupid it’s difficult to think you’re stupid. Nevertheless the level of shock had made its mark on them; claw-mark in fact, on three fleeing rumps and an escaping chest. It was the entire grunt around the rudimentary fire of that night’s gathering, the element of “surprise”. Here was a potent weapon that could help in the never-ending search for a full belly, could turn the tide of failure and make something else out of it, there being no word for success then as showbiz agents and the English language was sadly lacking; however, what the opposite to failure was occurred a few days later.

Out one day, the group had been gathering berries as they struggled to find enough to eat and berries were less of a struggle than a large antelope would be, when they surprised a very irate female wild pig and her brood as she was sheltering under a particularly thick bramble. As one, the group of berry-collecting humanoids scattered leaving all to fend for themselves. Our leader of the pack, who was standing at that moment under a tall hawthorn, clambered up it in three deft movements; he quickly fell to earth with a scream as his hand found a particularly vicious and uncompromising thorn. With twelve feet between him and solid ground it could have ended badly, but fortunately his fall was broken by the convenient placing of a fourteen-week-old piglet underneath him just as it was scampering off after the rest of the family. It didn’t take long, three weeks in fact, before the correlation between the death of the piglet (and the succulent meal it made) and the surprise attack by the Plain’s Lion that dropped from the tree hit them! They had done the same thing, ambushed the enemy (lunch) from a lofty position; “surprised” it in fact.

This opened everyone’s eyes to possibilities beyond previous thinking. Our leader took the credit, and for that also that neat little blonde he’d had his eye on for a week or more, and as he departed behind his rock with her, he grunted that he’d deliberately dropped on the piglet, meant it all along in fact, that the Plain’s Lion attack had set him thinking and he’d been waiting for the opportunity to try the tactic out. He returned to the impressed group after forty-six seconds of frenzied love-making and, when it was suggested by the group that the same “dropping-from-height” tactic be undertaken on tomorrow’s bear-hunt, our leader was sharp enough to offer the signal honour of overhead tackler to his deputy, the next in line for chiefdom should anything happen to him; (over someone else’s dead body it would). Our leader’s grunting made sense, at least to them, as he described how important it was for everyone to try the tactic so that complete role-reversal became an available option to the group; and you can imagine the intricacies of the grunt in order to explain that little lot.

Not wanting to seem un-deserving of leadership (after all it’d worked on the pig) the next in line agreed. So, the following day our present leader, at a single stroke (well, four actually, the bear’s aim was off that day) rid himself of any immediate challenge and invented the ‘Double Whammy’. Those who remained, after that day, the day that would be forever known as “the bear-hunt day that claimed six lives”, had to sort out a pecking order amongst themselves before they could get organised enough to mount any fresh challenge for leadership; now, back to our other pig.

Political History: The Making of the First Democracy. Chapter 7

The importance of timing rvealed itself a couple of weeks later when a particularly succulent but young and stupid wild boar had dodged the flashing clubs of our intrepid and ever-hungry crew. Pausing only to collect the arm of one of the hunters that ventured too close (young and stupid he may have been, but this boar still had tusks and a scything action that would make Crocodile Dundee look like a pen-knife-wielding-twig-whittler) the squealing pig had scuttled through the bush, all the while chomping on the well muscled and unexpected lunch-nee-limb, and darted into a large cave at the base of a sheer cliff that had, up until the cave was found, threatened to become it’s last stand.

Our gang of still-intrepid but now very cautious pursuers had, as a man, skidded to a halt about thirty feet from the mouth of the cave. Not only were they not now a full complement in the skull-crushing-limb department (limb-nee-lunch, remember) but here they were, at the place where their prospective luncheon and missing limb had disappeared, a dark cave…… whatever the reasoning, it was very sensible to tread softly just around here. Yes, it was true, these sorts of places could act as shelters when the extremes of weather that bounced around the world at this time threatened to gather you up and flush you over the nearest cliff. They could, however, also harbour one of the many and varied carnivore’s that stalked, prowled and ambushed the landscape and who had the capability to rapidly turn a bad-weather refuge into the Stone Age equivalent of a fast-food outlet.

Unseen to the now flummoxed hunting party, our wild pig became a positively incandescent pig (albeit very fleetingly) when he scuttled along the cave-floor in certainty of a clean escape from the butcher’s-of-the-bog outside only to run into the welcoming yet terrible final embrace of a cave-bear.

This cave bear, whose stature and wrestling ability would have put Mongoush to shame, had spent some time sorting out this particular retreat. He’d made it his own, far away from the hub-bub of what passed for modern life. Here he could spend hours just relaxing, filing and sharpening his talons on an eighty-foot redwood he’d uprooted and dragged in one rainy day, making himself ready for his next blistering attack on anything that came within sprinting distance. This was one son-of-a-bitch cave bear that even gang’s of Plain’s Lions moved over for, that mastodon’s passed their next bowel movement most rapidly for. Anything with half a brain, which certainly included the majority of the human population on earth at the time, knew for absolute certainty that the swagger of an approaching cave bear meant trouble; trouble spelt A.R.M.A.G.E.D.D.O.N.; couldn’t have been more obvious even if he’d’ve carried a flag with “Imminent Death Squad” written on it and wore a white “T” shirt with “DON’T FUCK WITH ME-NOT NOW-NOT EVER!” printed on it. This was one mean bastard of a cave bear.

Snoozing gently in his cave, this bear could hardly believe his luck as he heard then viewed the startled boar’s gallop, unfinished arm all a-flop, into oblivion; the bear just lay there obscured by a rock until the hapless beast was almost past him then sent the boar to that great-pig-sty-in–the-sky with a single, brutal slash of a paw that silenced all protest, instantly, and who’s power and accuracy would’ve put a Hymac back-actor to shame.

Meanwhile, outside the cave, the puzzled group of cheap-suited huntsmen decided to gather round the mouth of the cave and make themselves ready for an ambuscade. Just how the group was divided was sorted out after much discussion……and three well-aimed blows by our leader that split the group and three ears in two. The now chastened group took up guard at various points around the mouth of the cave to await developments. It seemed obvious the wild boar would have to come out at some time in the very near future, if not to forage then driven out by its own stench. If they lay quiet and still for long enough they could gain a meal with little effort for the element of surprise was now on their side, and a wild boar would be no match for their concerted attack, particularly one laid out with such cunning as this one was………and included the New Labour Saving Tactic; “Top-Man”.

Michael Howard - 11 Reasons Not to Vote for Him - Reason 6

6) SOME PEOPLE THINK PUNISHMENT IS A DIRTY WORD. MR BLAIR SAYS SHOPLIFTERS SHOULD GET OFF WITH A FINE - THE SAME PENALTY YOU GET FOR PARKING ON A YELLOW LINE. I DON’T.

Wrong – And seriously alarming: By trivialising the issue, scoring political points, Howard weakens the case for anyone, particularly himself from actually doing something socially responsible to help people who may just be in difficulties. What does he suggest we give a convicted shoplifter who has a mental instability; six months, a year, life? (At least that way they’ll not do it again according to point 4). Nowhere and in no statement he has made does Howard suggest finding out why? Why? Because that costs too much money and takes up too much time to get a result that will get him elected again. At the Co-operation to Reduce Recidivism Workshop in Helsinki it was reported, by the UK delegation, that reconviction rates of prisoners on release in the UK have remained consistently and unacceptably high for many years and the present situation labelled as a phenomenon known as the "revolving prison door". The likelihood concerning rates of crime was reported as follows:

Care as child 13 times more likely to commit crime
School exclusion 20 times more likely
Unemployed 12 times more likely

(Keep those figures in mind as you read down this file; they prove interesting, particularly in 1994.)

I quote; "The situation is even worse in the case of short-term (sentence of less than 12 months) prisoners." (Those people who were convicted for shoplifting for the first time that Howard seems to want to lock up.) "This group represents the largest proportion of prison admissions annually, and has the highest rates of adult reconviction. They also have amongst the highest levels of social exclusion and need. Their relatively short period in prison means they have received little input on offending behaviour or resettlement whilst in prison. In addition, if over 21 they are not subject to probation supervision on release. There is a real risk that prison might make factors associated with re-offending worse. Many return to prison during the same or following years."

Now, the case in point for Howard's "get tough" campaign that will probably figure in the press in the near future will be the welcoming back to the Tory fold of the serial criminal, Lord Archer, a man seemingly unable to tell truth from fiction. He will be treated sympathetically if he decided to ask to rejoin the party, to get his old job back, just like all those other criminals that Howard has such plans for when they get out after a stretch.

Prison Works? A report stated that, “While prison removes from circulation certain categories of violent offender, and addresses justified popular demands for the punishment of heinous crimes, in most cases it provides a publicly funded higher education in offending. The experience of the last five years, prisons crowded to bursting point, alongside a rise in violence and social dislocation offer evidence that radical alternatives to prison are urgently needed. We are alarmed in particular by the high proportion imprisoned for non-violent and often trivial offences, such as non-payment of fines, and we reject unequivocally the return of prison-ships and the shackling of women prisoners giving birth.” The figures speak for themselves:

75% of prisoners were unemployed before they went inside
46% had drink problems
35% had drug problems
33% had been in care
28% had chronic housing problems
15% had mental disorders
10% had tried to commit suicide
(1994 figures) Those ones I mentioned above

And these were the figures known by Howard when he was Home Secretary, yet he still continued to preach the vengeance theory of social reform, bless his little cotton socks.

So, where do you think Howard figures in all of this? Well, if you forget everything else in the previous 5 points below and the other 6 to come, remember ONE THING. Howard and the government he supported and served in laid out the foundation stones for this present-day outcome on the bedrock of criminality in our society when they destroyed communities and their livelihoods, when they overcrowded prisons, cut educational time, and preached the bang ’em up and punishment mantras, all the while trying to coerce the public into believing that prison works. All it did was alienate of whole section of our community as Howard, through lack of intellect, lack of interest and gross ineptitude swept the problem under the carpet; we’re reaping the benefit of those doctrines now. Then, through successive years of Tory government, Thatcher, Howard and their divisive policies cemented those foundation stones together to build the edifice we gaze upon today......the edifice that Howard seems to think we believe he had no part in building.

Michael Howard - 11 Reasons Not to Vote for Him - Reason 5

5) ITS COMMON SENSE. IT’S HOW I WILL CUT CRIME.

Wrong – Fatuous and condescending: If it’s common-sense, then how come 50% of all prisoners released re-offend within 2 years and 36% commit crimes serious enough to be returned to prison? That’s “Prison Working” for you. Amongst our youth the fugure's are even grimmer. 70% of those in the 18-20 year old bracket were convicted of another crime within two years, 47% of them actually back in prison on another sentence. Now, I’ve been doing some maths……….That means, if every year let’s say 5,000 new people are sent to prison on top of the present overcrowded circumstances (there are 8,000 more prisoners being held in jails that the present number of prisons available can hold) and 2,500 are released from prison. Out of those 2,500 released prisoners around 450 of them are returned to prison the following year along with the 5,000 that are sent to prison, for more and more facile crimes that Howard wants to see us punished for (see below) that means the prison population is growing by 5,450 every year and, like compound interest, it’ll grow exponentially until we’re all in prison! Best get building now, Mr Howard.


As with the vast majority of politicians, Howard disregards all evidence that goes against his “grand plan”. When the then Director General of Prisons, Narey, said, "I've never seen my job as being about just locking people up. It's self-evident in terms of value for money that if we can get people off drugs, on to offending behaviour programmes and into education, then we're going to reduce crime." how did Howard respond? He gave us the socially irresponsible phrase, “We shall no longer judge the success of our system of justice by a fall in our prison population." (!) Surely a person in his position, supposedly with access to the best brains in the business could see the stupidity held in such a statement. The trick is to have a low prison population and a low crime rate, but that takes work, not knee-jerk, snip-snap media bursts of rhetoric and with his eye on the next years of power, Howard hasn’t got time for working at it. He wants the snappy answer, the headliner, the frightener; no depth, no colour, no betterment. Watch him over the next few weeks as he leaps from band-wagon to band-wagon; like a child in charge of the TV remote each new phase catching his attention for a flash statement and then on to the next………my friends, get really concerned when a politician tells you that what he’s doing to you he’s doing to you for your own good……and Howard will come up with allsorts of guff in order to win your vote. You want to know how he’ll cut crime?


1) Howard will hark back to his “American Experience” as he did in the 90’s and beyond when he spouted, “In short we need zero tolerance policing”, and we can see how well things are working out there in the good ol' U.S., can’t we? He applauded Giuliani for his stance in New York and stated the need for us, in the U.K. to “……demonstrate that there is a line people cannot cross”. So where do they go, Mr Howard, those that do cross “that line” through the reasons stated in point 1 above? Under your regime, not in our backyard, that’s for certain; best keep these ravening hordes he keeps warning us about in the ghettos maybe? Howard’s certainly not prepared to furnish these people with anything so as they can better themselves….. apart from a prison cell that is.


2) He’ll repeat that nugget, “In many ways the police, our courts and the prison service are simply picking up the pieces of other people's failures”. Notice how he skilfully shifts the blame onto everybody else but himself and politicians like him .....other people, not government, just other people’s failures. (see the background to his treatment of Derek Lewis). He tells us, “Many people now believe that they are no longer wholly responsible for their actions”, and this coming from the shape-shifter of politics. Here’s a guy who uses Gilbert and Sullivan quotes to stick a crime and punishment bill together and has so badly misunderstand the meaning behind West-Side Story (stick with me, these howlers will follow later) telling us, “Like them” (THEM?) “I have had enough of the culture of political correctness - which is designed to blur the distinction between right and wrong”. No it’s not, you imbecile, it’s there to sharpen it, to protect the abused, the slandered, the under-valued, the minority from people like you who have a “one-size-fits-all” mentality.


3) He’ll tell us “My approach was simple” (he’s not wrong there) “to give the police the powers they needed to catch criminals; to give the courts the powers they needed to convict criminals; and to give our prisons the space to take persistent, serious and dangerous offenders out of circulation altogether.” And he failed in all three. Under his guidance police numbers fell, the prisons were overcrowded and he’s released at least one dangerous drug dealer (see later episodes……it’s a goody).


4) He’ll repeatedly and unashamedly fail to listen to those with real knowledge on the subject, like Lord Corbett, Chairman, All-Party Parliamentary Penal Affairs Group who said, “The prison system is failing the public, prisoners and those who work in prisons.” He'll disregard all attempts to tell him in plain English where the problems lie, like Lord Woolf did.

a) “The Woolf Report identified overcrowding as one of the most damaging features of prison life. The recommendation that a 'cap' on prison overcrowding should be introduced to prohibit any prison from holding more prisoners than its certified normal accommodation was rejected by the government on publication of the Woolf Report.”
Nb. Today, half of all prisons remain overcrowded, and of the 24 prisons built or re-opened since the Strangeways riot, 15 (62.5 per cent) are overcrowded.

b) The Woolf Report recommended that particular attention should be given to the problems experienced in remand prisons. Although the government said that new legislation would be introduced to establish a domestic legislative basis for the treatment of unconvicted prisoners, no progress has been made towards this objective. Remand prisons, such as Strangeways, continue to bear the brunt of severe overcrowding and decrepit conditions. Between April 1999 and February 2000 the average number of prisoners held two to a single cell remained consistently high in remand prisons. For example, there were 758 prisoners held two to a single cell in Birmingham, 337 in Brixton, 471 in Cardiff, 367 in Exeter, 613 in Leeds, 420 in Liverpool, 387 in Strangeways, 319 in Pentonville, 519 in Preston and 432 in Wandsworth.
The Woolf Report recommended that community prisons should be developed to ensure, amongst other things, that prisoners serve their sentences as close to their homes as possible. Today, the average distance male prisoners are kept from their homes is 50 miles and seven per cent are kept at least 150 miles from their homes.

c) The Woolf Report recommended that the amount of time prisoners spend occupied in purposeful activity should be increased. Yet, the average number of hours per week spent by prisoners on purposeful activity has increased by less than one hour since 1990.


5) Howard will continue to ignore research and common sense that states prison overcrowding - which occurs because courts send more people to prison for longer - squeezes out education and training and impedes efforts to offer a route to a more useful life and that, until there is a costed strategy to ensure those agencies concerned with housing, social care, training and education work together effectively with prisoners, the expensive failure of the "revolving door" for the majority will continue."


6) Howard’s arrogance will override knowledgeable statements from statesmen like the Rt. Hon Douglas Hurd, "The Strangeways riot and the Woolf Report woke the public up to the formidable problems of our prisons - for a year or two. Ten years on we must wake up the public again. If we neglect the conditions in which 65,000 of our fellow citizens are held, then we are preparing the way for future crime and more victims." And from the then Chief Inspector of Prisons, Sir Stephen Tumim who said: "It seems a great pity than following the favourable reception given by the government and the media to the Woolf Report, and in particular the White Paper which followed it, so little has been done by way of implementation. The systems of contracts, of accredited standards, of greater co-operation between different parts of the Criminal Justice System, of control of overcrowding, better links with the community and families, have all been praised by each Home Secretary, but never really acted upon.”

Jeeezzzeeee.....................what you see is what you'll get. Think it can't get any worse? Read on, my friend.

Political History: The Making of the First Democracy. Chapter 6

So, the previous chapter has hopefully taught us something; namely that although any publicity is considered good publicity, that which happens after you’re dead is as much use as celluloid cat in hell.

Times moved on, huts were the new caves, mud was the new rock, language was the new grunt and a sheep still looked inviting when it quivered its tail and you weren't hungry; some things were, after all, universal, as was the need to eat, certainly once a day but in honesty as often and as excessively as was possible. In a time before circumcision probably the secondmost biggest drawback for any leader, who wanted to keep his bird, his meat and his life for longer than a week that is, was having to be involved in the bi-daily hunting activity of the tribe. I mean, here was an occupation that was fraught with danger, of the dying kind. What our semi-consolidated-in-his-position-leader needed was a strategy to allow him to stay out of the death scrum that was his equivalent of our trip to Tesco's until the hunt was brought to a satisfactory conclusion by others, regardless of casualties, but this reticence must still allow our leader a large share of the kill; not easy given the appetites, tempers and table manners of the usual killing-crew.

You didn’t need to be a genius (a phenomenon impossible to latch onto in these days of single-syllable education and diplodocus-to-squeeze-a-grape diplomacy anyhow) to work out this was where the fault lay in an otherwise pretty safe job. I mean, there was no money so no need for a chancellor to muddy the waters of authority; there was no health service so no worries about waiting lists and crabby customers moaning that, because the surgeon had removed the wrong leg and you’d have to go back in to have the correct one off, it wasn’t sufficient recompense for you to be told the patient in the next bed wanted to buy your slippers; no railways so no disgruntled passengers bitching about.........well, well everything really, no trains, dirty stations, not enough carriages, too costly, take your pick. No, the early, pre-Stone Age leader had it pretty cushy all-in-all. The only dickey moments in an otherwise trouble-free existence were these interminable, bloody, hunting forays.

Most of the youngsters enjoyed them, of course, even looked forward to them, daft buggers so there was always a core group of willing sacrifices, but the hunt needed all hands on deck to become succesful, and some of those hands had to be skillful, knowledgeable and not just used for masturbation techniques. To these older members of the tribe, and the life-of-pig-sty-luxury that was our leader in particular, the hunt was nothing more than a daily throw of Lucifer’s dice.

Today of course, being a leader means being surrounded by plush carpetry and warmth, enough ‘canapés and champers’ to sink then refloat the QE2, a willing bevy of large-breasted maidens on permananet call-out and the certainty of large wedges of cash landing in your lap at the end of an evening spent dressed in a D.J. All the preceding helps soften the blow of any enterprise built on luck and the all pervading stench of livestock. However, at this point in history, and apart from the willing bevy of large-breasted maidens and the all pervading stench of livestock that had nothing to do with bluffing your way through life, the ambience of the surroundings left a lot to be desired in these far off days when D.J. stood for Dingo-skin Jerkin and a large wedge stood………? No trays of delicately prepared nibbles in this particular casino of life; no sir. This whole precarious existence was held together by a diet that had to be wrestled to the ground immediately after grace, so a large chunk of the available “fun-factor” was removed from a pastime that already had an enjoyment factor of zero; add all this to the fact that the odds of you returning home to enjoy the spoils of the chase were well stacked against you and you have the perfect recipe for a miserable day out. If the flailing feet, slashing claws, gnashing teeth or scything horns housed in and on the fight-you-to-the-death victim didn’t get you, then the anticipation-edged, dribble-fuelled, sheer bad aim of your hunting companions probably would; it’s not hard to see why so much thought was given over to how to avoid this pre-historic, daily scratch-card by those new to power.

It was whilst out walking one day (not too far from the village in case a Plain’s Lion was about and peckish, you understand) and deep in thought (or as deep in thought as a life which revolved around the space between lower rib-cage and knees would allow) that our new leader saw a way forward on this issue; there, before him was a tree. Not that he hadn’t seen a tree before, I mean, he sctarched his arse up against one every day, just before defacating at its base and then peeing up it, but this one intrigued him, or at least in these days of limited descriptive vocabulary, made him look at it harder. As he stared, a large cloud passed over the face of the sun causing the tree’s leaves to curl slightly as the bright glare dimmed somewhat. For over half-an-hour he stood watching, which is a very long time in days when the average life expectancy was 30 years and bloody. Then the clouds cleared momentarily and the leaves stretched again, folding out gently, facing the brilliant orb once more. A further larger and darker cloud passed over the sun and once again our leader was rooted to the spot as the leaves once more folded into a shy curtsey in deference to the sun’s disappearance............and the awareness hit him like a bolt of lightening! In fact it was a bolt of lightening. So absorbed had this idiot been in this metrologoical occurrence that he’d failed to see it was a thunder cloud full of electronic malice that cast the second shadow. Luckily our gallant leader's teeth stopped the massive charge from earthing so he was able to carry this knowledge, and his molars, back with him to camp.

Once he’d scampered home and had time to sort through his emotions and damaged canines, he began to piece things together and the revelations came slowly and with difficulty, like a Virgin Express into Bristol Parkway. Those leaves had been like the tribe.......his tribe...... locked on to the shining beacon of......of strength and certainty of the sun which in his tribe's case shone on them in the shape of him...............their leader. But, when that warm glow of strength and health threatened to leave them they curled..........withered in their inadequacy of his strength and purpose. These leaves, like the men in the tribe, were the life-blood of the tree.........which represented the group. They helped make it grow..........kept it strong..........gave it purpose, but all of this ability was instinctively recognised by the tree.........by the tribe...... and its leaves to be dependant on the sun.......on him.......and the sun convinced the tree of this every time it was covered by cloud......and the tribe needed to know this was the way it worked without him..........! ‘Course, our illustrious leader didn’t think quite like this. I mean, how could a man with a brow that was reminiscent of a 1984, formula one Maclaren rear-spoiler work out such complex ideologies? No, he’d just watched the leaves curl, figured they looked like a hand gripping onto a cock and worked out that he needed to convince the tribe that, without him, they’d be nothing but a bunch of wankers. But the question remained the same; how to feed and fornicate well but get off jankers when the hunt was next called and not lose face and position.

The second flash of lightening and accompanying crack of thunder cowed him in the corner of his urine-soaked abode as he was reminded of the elemental payback of forgetfulness, but it also cleared the way for his second flash of insight namely, in order to avoid any further field dentistry, send someone else out to look at the bloody tree, or, in the case at hand, send someone else out on the hunt in his place!......... But who……and by what excuse? A valuable lesson in timing was forthcoming here as our leader realised he could do with another artist of flint and stick like at the lsat hunt. Should’ve saved him, but then, his demise had had an element of timing in it; surely there was another lesson in timing to be gleaned here?

Michael Howard - 11 Reasons Not to Vote for Him - Reason 4

4) BUILD MORE PRISONS AND FEWER CRIMINALS WILL BE FREE TO COMMIT CRIME.

Right – But infantile in its content and aim. They’ll not be free to commit crime as long as they’re locked up, so, what does Mr Howard suggest, that we lock up a serial shoplifter for life? His lack of a grasp on reality knows no bounds really. It has to be said that the prison population expanded rapidly and dramatically under Howard’s guiding hand; but did he build enough prisons? What do you think? No, he gave us “Prison Ships” (see below) that wonderful export from the States. Under his guidance he kept banging them up (the Conservative version of “stack ‘em high, sell ‘em cheap”) and, as the prison population rose, the number of staff remained stationary; in 1993 it was 1.1 Staff to 17 prisoners by 1996 it was still 1.1 staff but now it was to 33 prisoners. Surely even someone as bereft of ideas as Howard could see this was a recipe for disaster; certainly Lord Woolf did when he published his “Inquiry into the causes of the Strangeways riot” in 1991. Howard? Well, true to form he dodged the bullet, used Derek Lewis as a scapegoat for the problems and came up with that slogan, “Prison Works” in ‘93’ (although, 'works in achieving what’ still remains to be answered). Woolf identified overcrowding as one of the most damaging features of prison life back then, and also concluded that the amount of time prisoners spend occupied in purposeful activity should be increased, and it was; now the prisoners had the luxury of taking part in educational and meaningful employment for 4.9 hours…………………………per week.

See, Howard’s “prison works” credo was a totally misread approach to a paper originally published by Martinson; in that paper, when Martinson wrote that, in prison, “nothing works” he actually meant it as a spur to find alternatives to this regime, a regime where nothing you can do for those prisoners whilst they remain in those degrading and debilitating surroundings works. But those with little intellect but big ideas (Howard must have been at the front of the queue when these attributes were handed out) who were seeking to impress the public and win office saw it as a green light to “get tough”.

So, with Howard banging on about building more prisons and now seemingly wanting to lock up every fourth citizen for dropping litter (see below) there’s a certain irony in Margaret Thatcher endorsing a white paper which stated that prisons were 'an expensive way of making bad people worse', a view also held by seven of Howard’s predecessors as Home Secretary (and a mass of Home Office research) but for some reason, not by Howard. Instead he gave us that gem of thoughtful plagiarism, “Prison sends a powerful message to those outside prison: crime doesn't pay”. And with that brash and easy statement he washes his hands of the responsibility, the causes and the results, and that sends an equally clear message to those who run our prisons; that we don’t care for them or their charges. By his methods we treat prisoners like livestock; doing nothing, learning nothing, promising nothing. A rise in the prison population doesn’t cure crime and you cannot build your way out of prison overcrowding.................unless you can get the Private Enterprise People involved that is. Howard's way is to hive off the prisons to your cronies in the business world, charge them a rate for doing it and, "Hey Presto", prison building, maintenance and staffing costs slashed - slap on back, well done Michael, cut taxes...... Howard loses sight of the fact that such ideas create the atmosphere in which poorly managed prisons run for profit become a breeding ground where badly supervised prison officers chalk up their level of job satisfaction by playing “Gladiators” or “Coliseum” with the inmates. So, with Howard’s ideas of tackling crime to the fore and a prison population rising to record levels under his guidance, how will Howard demonstrate his caring attitude to prisoner’s welfare?

Back in the 90’s when he was Home Secretary, did he build enough new prisons to hold the new inmates he’d crammed in for misdemeanours, increase the pastoral and educational structure in prisons, increase the pay, conditions and staffing numbers for the prison service as a whole, support the governors of those prisons in coping with this increase? In a word, ‘No’. So bad was the shortage of prison places people were kept locked up on those aforementioned prison ships (nice and cheap, that) which left prisoners sitting in cells for 23 out of 24 hours and receiving, in 1995/6 the grand total of 4.9 hours of education per week mentioned above; his methods doubled up prisoners per cell, injected a pittance in the social, pastoral and educational welfare of those prisoners (punishment, prisons are for punishment) flying in the face of research which showed reoffending could be slashed by 12 per cent if every prisoner had some form of education, ignored the increasing calls for extra manpower to cope with the overcrowding problems (that he’d created) from prison warders and governors alike, ignored the regular warnings of serious disturbances that were likely if the trend continued and obviously considered the rise in prisoner suicide rate, which according to the Home Office’s own figures shows a direct correlation between suicide rates and prison population, as a sign of his ‘success’. Anyone who can sit through a rise in one year, 1993/4 of the suicide rate in British prisons of 30% to 61 cases and not scratch his head and say, "Errrr, I think we might be getting this wrong, guys" doesn't deserve to be in charge of a whelk stall. And you know the most horrifying statistic to come out of the 93/94 prison suicide figures? Of those 61 cases 40% of them (that’s around 25 individuals) committed suicide whilst on remand…..know what “on remand” means? It means not found guilty of any crime……you know......like......innocent.

Think this is bad enough from a man who wants to run this country? Howard then compounds the felony of point 4 with a crassness only reserved for politicians on the make with point 5.

Michael Howard - 11 Reasons Not to Vote for Him - Reason 3

3) PUT MORE POLICE ON THE STREETS AND THEY’LL CATCH MORE CRIMINALS.

Right – But infantile: Only a fool would say, “Put more police on the streets and they’ll catch less criminals.” Under Howard’s hand, police numbers actually fell between 1993 and 1997 by over 1000 officers. What he relied on was the “SUS” law, another landmark in criminological thinking by someone who was a lawyer, f’ goodness sake! Howard said, “.....and Conservatives will support the police when it comes to stop and search. Increased stop and search is part of the solution to rising crime.” This from a man who wants to run the country. Increased stop and search is part of the problem to rising crime. It alienates people, makes them feel picked on, distrusted and, if you’re of a non-white group you’re far, far more likely to be SUSSED and all that does is breed resentment. Howard believes that, “Effective policing depends on stop and search” and yet we all know that effective policing depends on the police actually doing the job they're paid for and being supported in this by managers and politicians keeping their fingers out of the pie thereby allowing the police to do their work properly in the first place, not hoping that a blanket “check ‘em all” will net a few criminals, no matter how many other innocent people we upset so that they can meet the government targets laid down to clinch the next election, only to see the case collapse through shoddy work and dishonest attendants.

Michael Howard - 11 Reasons Not to Vote for Him - Reason 2

2) THEY’RE RIGHT – ALL TOO OFTEN CRIME PAYS.

Wrong – It may well be the only wage some of them will ever get, but crime doesn’t pay them or society. What it pays out is in broken homes, fatherless children, brutalised young people and massively over-stretched social services. By using a statement like this, Howard shows his hand early. By his every speech and utterance he seeks to create a “them-and-us” society, the old adage of “Divide-and-Rule" mentioned above. They're not citizens, they're the “muggers”, the “murders”, the “burglars”, the “rapists”, the “criminal”, the “wrong-doer”, we're the “victim”, the “law abider”; all these stereotypes figure heavily in his speeches. WE are afraid to let our children walk to school because of THEM. WE fear intimidation from THEM, the hooded youths as we walk home at night. WE feel powerless and insecure against THEM. WE’RE Decent, hard working people; THEY’RE yobs and drunken hooligans. He creates a picture of a nation of US’s cowering in our front rooms, doors locked windows barred whilst THEM, the bacchanalian hordes, this idea of a “feral” nation of youth, destroy the citadel. It’s a method he’s used countless times in the past and right up to the present day to deflect eyes from the horizon of what he really stands for. Like the red-tops, he’s not looking for solutions, he’s looking for revenge and as long as he can keep us cowering in our beds with his scaremongering he stands a chance of getting it too.

Michael Howard - 11 Reasons Not to Vote for Him - Reason 1

Fashioned After Howard's 11-point Crime Plan
Last year, Michael Howard published an 11-point "crime and law and order manifesto" on the web. The responses that follow on this and subsequent postings here at Broadsword..... are an attempt to dissect the social amoeba that is M. Howard. Oh, and the point number one below and all the others that will appear here over a period of time are real.....not made up by me to make him look stupid....it's actually what Michael Howard believes......honest; look it up if you don't believe me: -

I BELIEVE THE PUNISHMENT SHOULD FIT THE CRIME. by M.Howard - aged, 'old enough to know better'

1) MOST CRIMINALS AREN’T STUPID. THEY COMMIT CRIME BECAUSE THEY THINK THEY’LL GET AWAY WITH IT.

Wrong: Most criminals commit crime because they are disenfranchised from society by dint of geography, social strata, personality, background or education. This “would be” Prime Minister shows, by his asinine first statement, that he is a man of little intellect when it comes to the reasons for crime; and this from a previous Home Secretary too. Like all good politicians he believes he’s making history but removed from it. When Howard and his league of cohorts, not least of all our beloved Margaret Thatcher, decided they’d reshape these islands in their own image they desecrated and destroyed communities, livelihoods and ideologies, closing schools, running down hospitals, selling off public transport and cutting the number of police during this time. What they left were ghettos of isolated communities who were left to their own devices. Abandoned by Howard’s government, these vacuums of self-esteem lacked the educational and social tools they needed to develop at the same pace as the favoured few. This presented the country with a ready-made section of the population who, fuelled by resentment, had no way, intellectually, fiscally or creatively of getting out of their position in society; they also presented Howard and Co. with the perfect "Divide and Rule" tool. Apart from winning the lottery or becoming a celebrity, the only way to keep the wheels of survival turning in these deserts of social help and become what the Conservative government said you must strive for (“Anyone who still travels to work by public transport at 30 is a failure”) is to steal. And what is all this theft for? A recent study by the Association of Chief Officers of Probation of 20,000 homes in Watford, Hertfordshire, which included extensive interviews with burglars, found that the majority of burglaries are carried out to pay debts—in fact four times as many as to fund drug or alcohol habits. Howard says that people living in deprived areas are more than twice as likely to be mugged as those living in better off neighbourhoods. Well, I say that can be easily solved; give the people living in those poorer areas a ‘better off’ area to live in then there’ll be NO CRIME after a while!

Political History: The Making of the First Democracy. Chapter 5

How exciting those early days of leading a sibling democracy must have seemed to those who achieved high office. As our political model in the previous chapter's illustrates, leadership was nothing if not exciting, even though it may have always teetered on the edge of being for a short space of time only, reappointment being brought about quite swiftly by any less-than-aware incumbent being eaten; 'lost leader' would have been a phrase coined just about now, if sufficient brain power could ever have been diverted from the chase (luncheon or sexual) and focused on such a profound thought, that is.

With the successful groups’ becoming larger hunting became more problematic for the crowd, but it was recognised by our leader that the sharing of food items became a requirement if he was to thrive and spread this seed of communal living amongst others of his kind; and one thing our man in high power wanted to do was spread his seed. To that end the killer-group, still led by our indefatigable leader but from a safer distance nowadays, began to take only a small portion of the kill for themselves before returning to base camp with the remaining spoils. This massive step forward in communal awareness would mean the non-hunting members – particularly the women – would be fit and able to continue the tribe’s growth.

Before this the culmination of the kill had instigated a first-past-the-post routine for the non-hunting members. This group, remaining within the vicinity of the hunt at a rough camp site, waited, straining for the sound of silence that signified the beast was dead and it was safe to close in. On reflection, I guess this silence could also have signalled the demise of the whole hunting group to some gang of ravening Plain’s Lions waiting by the kill site in ambush mode, thereby consigning this second wave of newly arriving, far weaker, younger, older or sissy members to the dubious position of a fast disappearing dessert; but rumbling tums often throw caution to the wind, one silence sounding much like another and those who did the killing never left a lot for latecomers.

Any hunt that was successful and completely Plain’s Lion-free (and had the animal that formed the central core of the hunt either dead or at least only twitching weakly) would be the signal for this mass of masculine hunter-flesh to fall upon the newly deceased beast, flint axes flailing, clubs kerr-banging and jaws chomping, followed as quickly as was possible by the remainder of the non-hunting group as they caught up with the slaughter-house-crew. In fact it was wise to keep moving once one became part of this melee for fear of having a limb removed and eaten by an overzealous companion. Obviously the choicest portions of the beast would be removed, fought over and devoured first. Hearts’ still palpitating, livers’ still quivering, whatever came out first; indeed those back at camp would be lucky to gain so much as a scrotum if they didn’t make the site of the kill in time; definitely not a scrotum as that was considered a delicacy even back then, claimed usually by the leader and gulped down first.

There is, in a museum in Iceland in fact, the only authenticated case of a humanoid leader choking on a scrotum. The research team who discovered the corpse worked out, by the bangle on one arm (not so much a bangle, more the spincter muscle taken from the arse of a caribou) and the crude tattoo on his other (that bore the barely decipherable marks, LIKL cut into the man’s forearm by some semi-sharp instrument, someone’s teeth probably) that this was indeed a man of substance if of poor scenting prowess, education and spelling ability. The body lies, still frozen, in an ice-coffin, the ice preserving both scrotums intact as it were. We can only surmise whether there was much of a first-aid struggle for the scrotum-choking leader. Maybe his companions tried possibly to retrieve the offended appendage; if they did so it was to steal and eat it probably, no room for sentiment where scrotums are concerned back then. So the scrotum-scrum descended as this mass of slack flesh ballooned out in the leader’s throat, our ancestor coughing, gurgling and turning blue with a trick only repeated by our most celebrated porn-stars since then. Once the lack of air had rendered four-balls into the ‘prone and still’ position one can only conjecture why the sweetbreads were not removed from the throat and scoffed down by another group member for, as is well known, testicles are a luxury for a dead man. Professor Jorgen Denser of the Faculty of Pre-History at Helsinki University, by deft and painstaking research, thinks the reason for this is the graphic way the poor unfortunate died.

As Professor Denser stated in his paper, delivered to the Geographical Society (London) 1984, and entitled, “Why Risk Assessment Confused Proto-Primates”; “The act of dying was still a much feared and awesome process back then, video not having been invented, and this man’s death throes as he thrashed around the open space in ever decreasing circles, pointing at his throat, legs and arms akimbo until he disappeared up his own bearskin must have at first frightened then intrigued the other group members.” Denser then continues. “It may even have been sufficiently intriguing for them to halt their own feeding frenzy and try to copy the dying man’s movements as they seemed almost magical in their gymnastic activity”; (Denser 1984).

Professor Denser’s theory falters here, however, as he then goes on to proffer the hypothesis that this was the point in history when disco was born. This idea is dismissed by all others at the Faculty. As they rightly point out (and up and then across the floor) a pair of white pants and a pot of paint belonging to ‘Lakoftalent Man’ had been found alongside a club, together with a torn and grubby section of sheet music, the tune of which could only have been performed by a spider monkey with a strangulated hernia. All these detractors, the other workers in this field, use as evidence;

1). The geographical position where traces of the hunt were actually discovered; i.e. atop a plateau with a one-thousand-foot drop at its eastern edge;
2). Where the frozen body of ‘Cho-king Man’, as he became to be known, was discovered; i.e. at the foot of this thousand-foot cliff; and
3). The fact that Professor Denser, two weeks after delivering this paper, up and married a fiddler crab he’d met on the beach the day before.

All of the above three points tend to give their alternative theory credence. Primitive man was fond of his food, but when lack of wind, caused by a jammed scrotum, sent the perpetrator pogo-ing over a thousand foot drop? Well another important political lesson was learnt; namely when you realise your leader is talking bollocks, distance yourself.

Political History: The Making of the First Democracy. Chapter 4

So, there we have it, the birth of political thought. Not much too it really providing a future could be guaranteed for the post-holder. The evening of the disastrous hunt, for their late artist-man at any rate, the disgruntled group sat round the camp-smoke, coughing and swapping grunts about how succulent that Giant Elk would have been. Then as if to describe the scene and thereby lay claim to becoming the first political commentator, the aforementioned 'largest member of the tribe complete with slashing club' (let’s call him “the large fucker”) points to the leader of the group and lets out a similar but deeper yell to the one late artist-man had unleashed earlier, that douses what they laughingly referred to as a fire; this is the chance the new leader has been waiting for to cut this massive specimen down to size; a feat that could, heretofore, have only been accomplished with a sickle, fagging hook wielded by someone with faint regard for their own safety.
Using the newly-doused fire as the focal point and with points, jumps, waves and grunts our leader shuts down "the large fucker" and tries to convey to all the difficulties involved in the totality of the hunt. The need for all to keep on-message as to how to conduct themselves during the final stages of the pursuit, and the very real possibility that, even when the result seems certain, they could all be Portillo-ed; which is, he explains, just what happened with their Giant Elk, the Plains’ Lion, their ex-artist-and-late-lamented-Plains’-Lion-lunch-companion and this……this……arse!
The rest of the group nod in agreement as the spin works its magic. After that little party grunt they are already well on the way to granting the leader carte blanche with the female members of the group and a doctorate in explanations. As a person they turn on "the large fucker" and brandish their clubs at him. Now, as large as this fucker is, he’s not stupid…………………remember we’re talking early man here so “not stupid” is a relative term…………and he has to abide by the democratic decision of the assembled group; made all the more democratic by the number of clubs waved at him. Expelled from the group for that night, "the large fucker" is forced to cross the floor and sit furthest away from the now doused fug-pillar. No food for him tonight………………in fact no food for anyone tonight; the group discover early on that shared responsibility is fine so long as you don’t have to share it.

Michael Howard - Truth to the Rumour that Esso have found a new Oilfield

Profuse apologies to all my readers. I've been away for a few days, which is why you've had a drought of my razor-sharp wit and cutting-edge politcal comment. Hope the withdrawal symptoms haven't left you too drained. Went to London (the big "L") to have the opportunity to question Michael Howard (the leader of our illustrious Conservative Party) in a 5-minute, face-to-face on Channel 5 on Thursday evening. It's a live programme and they get nine people to have this opportunity; and I was one of the lucky nine. So, I got to ask him how he could say "Prison Works" (one of his favourite, overused and dogmatic statements that he first conjured up in 1993 at the Blackpool conference) when over 50% of released prisoners re-offend and 36 % of them are back inside withing 2 years. Before it came to my turn, I was privileged to watch this slithy tove in action. He's very good at the "dodge-the-bullet-shine-for-the-camera stuff, doesn't make him anything less of a shit than he is, but he's very good. He skillfully manipulated the conversation with the other questioners very well, making points when he could, looking contrite when it suited, putting on a smile that would kill a pig at forty paces; you know, regular politician.

Got to my turn and I listened to a man who was dry of ideas yet soaked with revenge. Here was a man who, as Home Secretary, gave us prison ships, cut the number of hours a prisoner was given education in the prison down to 4.9 hours................................per week, cut the police force by 1200 officers and, after making his speech in 1993 containing 27 changes to how the judiciary and police would operate from henceforth - not one of these changes mentioning anything about helping prisoners - presided over a 30% increase in the number of suicides during the 93/94 year; a total of 61 prison suicides, and 40% of those 61 suicides (that's around 23 human beings) were of people on remand. You know what "on remand" means? It means not found guilty of any crime yet.......you know..........innocent. Yet, Mr Howard seems to think his record in government was good...............only a politician, huh?

Anyhow, I got my twopenn'orth in and hopefully, when he and the rest of that hideous group of self-serving fuck-wits get a bum deal in the election this year, I'll have played a small part in his demise; 'cos you can bet y' bottom dollar when the Conservatives get the fuck off in May.....or June........or whenever then, like all packs of rabid dogs, they'll turn on one of their own (Mr Howard, step forward and take the bite in the neck.....which should be a new experience for you seing as how you've been unfavourably compared to a vampire) and the hapless sap will get the blame and the boot. Let's face it, anyone who worked under (pun intended) and supported Margaret Thatcher (remind me to tell you what happened when I met her in 1989) deserves all the bad times we can give them.

Trouble is, who the heck do we vote for? Damned if I know, they're all as untrustworthy as each other. All promising tax cuts, better services.....only a politician would think the best way to improve services to the public is to cut the workforce by 30%, the budget to run the service by a half, then offer the remainder to some city-slicker to run...........and a bag of doughnuts too, I shouldn't wonder. Be very aware when a politician tells you that what he's doing he's doing for our own good. watch this space, I'll return with more facts about Mr Howard, the Conservatives and where the best place to stick your cross might be in my next instalment.........................bet you can hardly wait...............all of you..........

Political History: The Making of the First Democracy. Chapter 3

Political Model No 1.

Leadership and Shared Responsibility.

Let’s say, for instance, that your cunning has paid off, you’ve managed to con your way to the top, past the largest member of the tribe, who’s slashing club was what passed for “a slight disagreement” back then, and now you’re a leader; a semi-magnificent specimen of a low-brow hominid and you and your mates have cornered a succulent, young Giant Elk. You’ve managed to avoid a spiking by those massive horns and visions of yourself, the leader, taking the largest slice of roast venison-and-ash, swiftly followed by unceremonious sex with anyone you feel like, are floating in your head; the Elk’s down for the count; all that’s required is for you, as brick-team leader and all-round-good-egg, to administer the last rites. Knuckle-bone clubs are sooooo last year, and you can’t help but feel a tinge of smugness as you draw out your ‘this-season’s’ flint hatchet. This magnificent tool you stole from one of the more creative but far dumber and weaker team members. He’d been living on vegetation due to his hunting inabilities until he joined the group………I mean, how do you expect to be treated when people find out you’ve been existing solely on chanting and roots? You get beaten up and your flint hatched stolen, that’s what. So, brandishing this delicate piece of flint-art with which you are about to bash in the brains of this daughter-of-Bambi, you make your advance. It’s then that the late-owner of the flint axe suffers a bout of premature-emasculation-first-hunt-fever and lets out a whoop of such blood-curdling savagery (at a volume that no-one thought possible without the perpetrator having a bowel movement, particularly on that all-fruit-diet) that it halts even your steps, thereby spoiling the fine dash of a figure you were cutting as you closed in for the kill. Unfortunately, and just forty-yards away, it also halts the progress of a very large, male, Plains’ Lion that was just wandering off in the opposite direction to this hunt (being, as he was, unaware of it’s taking place until he heard the rebel yell) to a shady spot by yonder bog to try and catch a few flies for lunch, so slim have been its pickings over the past eight days.

Now this well-maned chap has the build of a Humvee, the temper of a seriously pissed-off hornet, the patience of a well-struck shotgun cartridge and the appetite of garbage truck, and that’s on a good day. Today? Well, today is a real bad, Plains’-Lion day; in fact it’s the mother and father of a shit day, it would’ve been penned in red ink on the calendar, were they to have one, and our little group of intrepid huntsmen will have to search pretty damn good to find even a spark of gaiety or slap-on-the-back camaraderie in their soon-to-be, furry, companion. Today this lion would tackle a feeding frenzy of alligators that had the piranha squad as minders just for a morsel of slug excrement so poor has been its diet of late; then your man with the fruit-squits lets out the calling-card whoop and all of a sudden our team leader is faced with an undeniable truth; government built upon legend is doomed to proving itself one day.

All other members of the group take one step back, leaving semi-brick-man leader unexpectedly at the forefront of the party as the cuddly beast steps into the arena and surveys the still warm and palpitating, main course Elk, and the choice of hors d’erves in back of it. As our man in hiresuit costume and pouting rectum faces what seems to be a set of teeth the size of Telford, he realises that the proletariat have voted with their feet and he’s expected to claim the prize by shoo-ing away this ravening beast that looked like the role-model for Goodfella’s, bearing nothing but what was an object of beauty and envy, but is now just a very inadequate ‘short piece of stick with a bit of stone at the end of it’.

At this point in his early political career, it dawns on our leader that being top man is only O.K. so long as it doesn’t involve being eaten in the first flush of power. “Fuck this for a game of soldiers!” hadn’t been invented then, and neither had the AK47; it was however the birthplace of “political strategy”. Moving carefully backward our slight-of-build leader bows down before Fruit-and-Root-Whooping- Man and offers him the return of the flint axe. Now, if you had any brains, you’d refuse the axe with a look of disdain that says, “Do I look like I just stepped out of some hippo shit?” Unfortunately there were three things against this happening. Firstly, the pea whizzing round in a vacuum that was fruit-loop’s head was all he’d been blessed with for a brain; great for being creative, useless for being strategic. Secondly, he was totally unaware, being as thrilled as he was in getting back his beautiful axe, seeing its glint in the setting sunlight, feeling the shape of the head, the graps of the handle.......... that the leader had placed the axe in his hand then crawled behind him just as all the other gathered hunter/cowards had also taken another step backwards to distance themselves from the slight of hand and the Plain’s Lion. And thirdly, it really did seem that he’d just stepped out of some hippo shit seeing as how easily he was moved from also-ran to favourite in one swift move. It only remained for our leader with an eye on survival to give fruit-loop a hearty push towards the fuck-up-on-four-legs and the poor sucker was eaten in a trice, flint axe and all, went down really well as an appetiser. As the last of his skinny little and sadly underused legs disappeared down the chomping, Plains’ Lion-maw, it didn’t go unnoticed by his fleeing troupe of fair-weather friends that modern weaponry couldn’t come too soon. To the happily surviving leader there was a realisation that tribe top-man could be a particularly short-term occupation in its present form. To make it a job worth continuing in it had to have some form of longevity built in; at least until after the next hunt had finished.

Political History: The Making of the First Democracy. Chapter 2

Of course, the events described in the closing passage of Chapter 1 can hardly be termed “democratic”; it reads much too much like the way modern U.K. government works to be that. No, we have to move on, and so, to further the political tale on a little and in order not get too bogged down with pre-history………I mean, how much conversation concerning tax cuts and the free market economy can you have with a semi-human who’s knuckles’ still drag along the floor………we’ll leap forward a millennia or two from the above dawn of human life on earth, safe in the knowledge that they are well on their way to at least forming a fledgling democracy.

The first tribes or groups of hominids had, by cave-man times, worked out it was better to co-operate than live a single, precarious and lonely existence. To begin with, there was a greater chance of sex with a group of people than with oneself, for although masturbation is not to be underestimated as a sexual experience (after all it’s having sex with someone you love) too much of it does make the knees and eyesight weaker and, if over-indulgence takes place, can cause certain physiological changes; in such a condition, any prey larger than a dik-dik would present serious challenges for the solo hunter. No, if prey is to be, nay has to be pursued and caught, then a mob of blood-thirsty, club-wielding, gentlemen would stand a far greater chance of tackling that doe-eyed beast and avoiding damage to themselves than would our lone hero sporting poor eyesight, severely damaged knees and a sore knob. It must also be said, should a large carnivore appear on the scene alerted by the kafuffle engendered by the chase (ever the opportunists, carnivores, y’ know) there was always the chance that you and/or your companions of the hunt, when cornered, could frighten the beast away with a concerted group effort; or failing that divert the big-cat’s ire onto one of the least-able in the group whilst the rest made their escape; in other words, the first recorded instance of tactical voting.

Now, all this scampering about the bushes and vigorous exercise would certainly lead to men of brick-shithouse stature, and as is always the case in any community some would be more brick than shithouse. To be a well-built specimen a la chasse in such a group meant one could gain access to the most females, the biggest share of the available food and the cosiest sleeping place. Not necessarily in that order but certainly as near a perfect existence as one could hope for, given the brutality and built-in shortness of 'life-before-Pot-Noodle' that was pre-history; but the bullies didn't have it all their own way. To be a lesser specimen but rather cleverer than your companions also paid dividends as all sorts of tricks and wheezes could be used to gain the biggest share of the available birds, bread and beer. Such individuals as these became the ancestor of our modern-day politicians. However, back then, being big and strong meant you could annihilate your way out of sticky situations or another, seemingly well educated (we're not talking Harvard here, you understand) tribe member extracting the urine. However, if you were cunning enough, you could bamboozle this tank on legs but make no mistake, aspiring to leadership and being slight of build did have its downside…………just ask any 8-stone weakling with a double first from Cambridge who’s been approached by his petite younger sister in a pub who tells you, “There’s this chap and he won’t leave me alone, can you go and talk to him”. Donning your best Sir Lancelot pose you march across the pub only to find you’re facing something that resembles a gorilla with speech whose idea of a good meal is something that’s still moving; qualities of leadership and great debating skills are all well and good, but there are times when a Kalashnikov comes in real handy.

Political History: The Making of the First Democracy. Chapter One.

Picture the scene, if you will. Aware that too much time spent wandering around by yourself meant you would cease to be an ancestor and become a lunch, you and the first, solo members’ of Homo erectus cautiously gather together (remember, we didn’t say who’s lunch) for your first foray into the world of ‘commune living’, pre-dating the sixties movement by some 70,000 years. Much time is spent nervously sniffing the air and pointing (much as some folk in parts of the UK do today when a train goes by) until one of this assembled shambles (let’s call him 10) bends slowly and plucks a small flower growing just outside of this nervous circle and, with benign expression and soulful eyes, offers it across the void to another member of the meeting opposite.
The man (I use that term in its loosest possible sense) who has been singled out for the honour (let’s call him 11) moves tentatively forward, arm outstretched, brow knotted in quizzical yet trusting eagerness as the proffered fore-runner of Interflora is twitched in beckoning temptation sending ripples along the stem and through the petals of the pink bloom. Gently, slowly, 11 reaches forward and his fingers’ grasp the stalk of the quivering campion, the hairs on the back of his hand flickering and bristling in paroxysms of heightened sensitivity at the closeness, the “almost there”-ness of the moment; indeed, so all consuming is this moment that 11 fails to spot the mastodon knuckle-bone held behind the back of 10 and which now comes crashing down on 11’s skull, pole-axing him in an instant. 10 looks at the devastation that was once 11, then at the surrounding group of shocked proto-primates; he grunts, points at the lifeless corpse in front of them, looks them all in the eye, grunts once more, lifts the mastodon knuckle-bone above his head and nods; my friends, we are witnesses to the first recorded instance of a political manifesto.