Home rule for Cwmbran…

…with me as Commander in Chief/La Grande Fromage/King.  Don’t laugh people, it could happen.  My role as the supreme being goes without saying, the extent of my realm is still open to discussion; as it would seem is most of the United Kingdom.  Now did ‘Call me Dave’ get lucky, or did he (and his strategists) play an absolute blinder?  Many a bar room discussion will differ, but tactical nous or Lady Luck (for the trivia fans amongst you, the title of a song by the Scottish group, The Proclaimers), has now driven the other Dave  (of the Ed variety) up a dark alley with no battery life left in his phone.   No wonder the former head of the Crown Prosecution Service and now wannabee Labour MP, Sir Kier ‘like your quiff’ Starmer, who was named after the North Lanarkshire bred founder of the modern Labour Party and the first independent Labour Member of Parliament, wants a nice easy seat in the leafy suburbs of London, not in Govan.

As may not have escaped your attention, there was this week the small issue of a vote of independence taking place somewhere north of Hadrian’s Wall.  To add to the litany of comments, perorations and asseverations made:

  • Will Andy Murray send back his OBE?
  • Will Murray Mound at Wimbledon be renamed/reclaimed by the English/handed over to the SNP who will then be responsible for paying the rates and council tax?
  • Will Judy Murray be the first to be told to hoof it stage left on Strictly Come Prancing? (And Anton thought that he had his work cut out with Anne Widdecombe).
  • Why could Gordon Brown not be such an orator when he was Prime Minister?
  • Who thought that Gordon Brown would play such a blinder (clearly none of his own party).
  • The democratic process does work; a near 90% turnout of the electorate is almost unheard of and cannot be argued as anything other than a true representation of the people.  America take note.
  • Why did Alex Salmond choose to liken himself to William Wallace when the latter was sent to meet his maker by King Edward I who had him hanged, drawn and quartered for high treason and crimes against English civilians.  Then again…
  • Will some generous spirited hair dresser please offer their services to the Deputy SNP leader?

Elsewhere this week, the headlines in one tabloid led with the death of a racehorse called Wigmore Hall.  Unfortunately the said horse broke a leg racing last weekend at the St Leger meeting at Doncaster and was swiftly and humanely destroyed.  Some charming individual took photos showing the moments pre and post mortem and the Daily Mirror saw fit to make it their lead story.  What it highlighted – other than the efficiency and professionalism of the team at Doncaster – was that if I had a choice I would choose to be a racehorse; well certainly if it was a choice between being a racehorse with a broken leg or someone who needed to be admitted to a hospital in Wales.  The story of the elderly lady from Swansea who died in the back of an ambulance outside Morriston Hospital whilst it waited for 45 minutes to get to the front of the queue of waiting ambulances was truly horrendous and leaves one despairing that it could ever happen.  This is no reflection on the skill or commitment of those directly involved in treating the lady, but a damning indictment of the shambolic administration of Welsh hospitals.  The Welsh hospitals run by the Welsh Assembly.  Do you still want to go it alone?