“Protestants who could not accept a united Ireland should be given a decent opportunity to go back to Britain”. (1980)

“The British presence on the Island of Ireland is equivalent to our occupation of Vietnam. (1971)

“British insensitivity is the the cause of this (the Hunger Strikes) crisis.” (1981)

In 1978, he successfully pressured President Jimmy Carter's administration not to allow the U.S. to sell arms to the Royal Ulster Constabulary - sanctions which effectively equated Britain's Ulster police force with repressive dictatorial regimes in Africa and Asia.

Gerry Adams attended his funeral.

Who is this loather of Britain and the basic human right not to get blown up by terrorists?

Non other than Senator Edward Kennedy, knighted by the Queen on the orders of Gordon Brown who also attended the funeral. 

Kennedy was a pigmy, only enlarged politically by his illustrious surname. Nepotism of the worst kind saw him escape jail in the wake of the Chappaquiddick tragedy and Kennedy, against convention, challenged the sitting Democratic President Jimmy Carter fatally damaging the progressive agenda and handing the Oval Office to the Republicans for twelve years.

"If your name was simply Edward Moore instead of Edward Moore Kennedy,' one Democratic rival for his Senate seat told him, 'your candidacy would be a joke.'  A much better epitaph than the cringing praise from Mister Self Loathing in Chief, Gordon Brown whose presence at Kennedy’s funeral is a slap in the face to all the victims of Ulster’s Long War.

If you ever doubted how much the Tory Party hates the Northern Working Class, Chris Grayling confirms that base prejudice is their real agenda.

Take that Daily Mail word “Chav”. What the faux Middle Class like to refer to people who worry them; because they fear that is what THEY are really like, with their unsustainably mortgaged Mock Tudor mansions and yet not a book to be seen. They like to look down on the more unfortunate members of Society to make themselves feel less insecure.

Good for you Jack.

“Another day and another Tory is talking Britain down.  This time it is the man who wants to be Britain's Home Secretary.
This morning the Shadow Home Secretary compared Britain’s streets to the blood-drenched streets of a city in an American TV programme, in which hundreds of people are shot and killed every year.

It’s not the first time Chris Grayling, the Shadow Home Secretary, has used sensationalist comparisons with TV programmes to get his name in the papers. He’s already dismissed half of Britain for belonging to a Jeremy Kyle culture or a Shameless society. But this time his sensationalism is not just misleading – it’s dangerous.

Gun crime is a serious issue that needs to be tackled soberly – to make policy based on sensation is reckless. If Chris Grayling was serious about gun crime, why did he and the Tories not vote for mandatory sentences for handling guns?

Instead of talking Britain down, Labour believes that there is nothing that is broken in our society that cannot be fixed.

 
Take Moss Side - one of the places Chris Grayling writes off: recorded crime is actually down in Greater Manchester, and youngsters on Moss Side estate are now also benefiting from Manchester Academy, which got rated outstanding by OfSTED this year.

That is how we get crime down and build a better Britain – not by using the kind of unhelpful language that Detective Superintendent Darren Shenton, who heads Greater Manchester Police's Xcalibre anti-gang crime unit, has called “really sensationalistic”.

I’m proud of Britain’s towns and cities - and I'm serious about tackling gun crime. If David Cameron is too then he should force Chris Grayling to apologise.”

If you sat down without knowing the outcome, viewed the stats for most runs and most wickets in the series and were posed the question “Who won this series?” then the answer would have to be Australia by a country mile.

England skipper Andrew Strauss topped the Most Runs category with 474 at an average of 52.66. World class by any standard and he was deservedly Man of the Series. His elevation to the top job has been thoroughly vindicated. But until Trott’s wonderful ton in the second innings at the Oval, Strauss was the only Englishman with a century to his name across the five Tests. Contrast this with the Aussies. When Mike Hussey finally got his act together his was the eighth contribution of hundred or more from the tourists, and when you factor in that both Clarke and North came within 10 runs of a third ton each, and that seven out of the top eight run getters came from Australia, then you would assume it had been one sided.

Then there are the bowling stats. Mitchell Johnson was roundly castigated early in the series but still took 20 wickets, two more than Stuart Broad who topped the table for the hosts. Siddle and Hilfenhaus both bettered any England bowler so how was it that England managed to get their hands on the Urn?

I would contend that three passages of play went England’s way at crucial times in the series which meant the Aussies were always going to be playing catch up cricket.

Firstly the improbable hour long stand by Panesar and Anderson at Cardiff. Having complied a monumental lead, watch the hosts chase leather for a six sessions and Strauss appear clueless,  Ponting’s bowlers seem to freeze in that last evening session. If Brett Lee had been fit then he would have knocked over our tail in no time, but a flat pitch, soft ball and no variation from the visitors allowed England to cling on.

The second passage came in the next Test. The plaudits went to Flintoff at Lords and his spell on the last morning to wrap up the tail was simply what a fast bowler ought to do, so although it made for great copy, the real root of our first victory over the Old Enemy at HQ since 1934 were laid on the first day when England climbed into the Aussie attack and although 221-1 became a rather limp 425, England’s openers had totally dominated the attack with Strauss going on to score 162 psychologically vital runs. Australia always target the Skipper and Strauss had vanquished his opposing Captain when Ponting went early in the reply leaving the Tourists at 10-2.

Following the Captain’s example the bowlers got stuck in and in the end  it proved to be a crushing win for us.

Momentum was continued by Anderson and Onions at Edgbaston, although Clarke’s wonderful century on the final day of this rain ruined draw create a tilt towards Australia which they took advantage of by humiliating the hosts by an innings and 80 at Headingley.

A slog fest from Broad and Swann  as the ship went down exposed the lack of a killer instinct in the Aussie attack, and everyone was dumbfounded when the Tourists attack remained unchanged for the Oval.

England posted a par score having won the toss. Then came the third and final decisive session for England as Broad blew a top drawer and full of runs Australian top order clean away claiming 5-37. The Tourists had gone mentally and Trott took full toll. The rest is history.

Don’t get me wrong, I loved the win. But it somehow seems a bit weird when you consider that Cook, Bell, Collingwood, Bopara and Harmison were virtual passengers for most of the series.

The selectors must be ruthless. Out goes Harmison for good. Cook and Colly need time off a la Strauss 18 months ago. Cook along with county colleague Bopara need to play in the Championship for the next month. Denly needs to go to South Africa and Yorkshire’s Adil Rashid with back to back century/ five wicket hauls in the same game should go into the side to see if he can hack it at Test level. Rob Key deserves a recall.

The real test of how good England are will come on the 2010/11 tour Down Under.

Boaz Myhill: Whilst, like Andy Dawson, Myhill’s elevation from the basement Division to the highest echelons of the domestic game including International recognition with Wales is the stuff of dreams, the sad truth is that City’s keeper has a number of flaws in his game which make him unsuitable for an extended life in the Premier League. Chiefly Myhill does not dominate his eighteen yard area and has been involved in a number of mix ups, some costing goals. Such ineffectuality doesn’t instil any extra confidence in an already shaky back four, and although Myhill can be an impressive shot stopper and rarely makes any glaring errors, Phil Brown should make it a priority to sign a top class ‘keeper. We should have snapped up Joe Hart, but instead Shay Given’s number two is now on loan at Birmingham.

Steven Mouyokolo : Some years ago Southampton were scammed by an African chancer who ended up playing in a Premier League game on the recommendation of a guy pretending to be George Weah. On this performance it would seem that the joke has been repeated at Paul Duffen and Phil Brown’s expense. I was no fan of Ricketts, but it seems rather contrary to sell your right back and not have a replacement lined up. It seems Nathan Doyle is not going be given a chance which is a shame as I could envisage a useful partnership up the right flank with Bernard Mendy. A problem position for a number of years which needs sorting asap. I hope I’m wrong about the lad, but he looked completely clueless.

Andy Dawson: As with Myhill, a great story from the left back that dropped a division from Scunny to secure first team football at then League Two City but despite some barnstorming performances during our purple patch last year including a Bobby Moore esque tackle on Theo Walcott at the Grove, Dawson is totally out of his depth and Aaron Lennon ran him ragged last night. OK for the odd game or coming of the bench, but the old adage about keeping it tight at the back as a priority rings true for us. Conceding five goals at home is morale sapping for everyone.

Michael Turner: Had his first out and out, first class, genuine nightmare in a Tigers shirt. Turner is our best player by a country mile. A contender for England honours he played every single minute of our inaugural top flight season and his errors are usually in the hens teeth category, so if he is being dragged down to mediocrity then it must be spreading like a certain H1N1 virus in City’s dressing room. Having said that Defoe, whom Turner was charged with keeping quiet, produced one of the finest displays of the striking art I have ever had the privilege to watch and he deservedly walked away with the match ball. If he can maintain this form into the World Cup then you just never know….

Anthony Gardner:  The original injury prone irregular, the former England International reminds me of Titus Bramble. All the talent, work rate and ability but you are just waiting for him to drop a clanger at any moment and combined with the rest of the defence, this makes for nerve shredding anxiety. The lack of a holding mid field man now that Ashbee appears to have played his last game, certainly does nothing to help the back four.

Bernard Mendy: Great when things are rosy, but forget it if matters go awry. He exposes his defenders at regular intervals and seems to have lost a half yard of pace going forward in the last year. Bench only.

Seyi Olofinjana: No disrespect to the lad who seems game enough, but there has to be a reason why a fellow struggling Prem side decides to offload a player when it has nothing to do with a bad attitude. The Nigerian is at City to take on the Ashbee role but he was totally anonymous last night and coupled with the fact that Mendy and Cousin couldn’t be arsed to tackle back, it’s no wonder we got tanked.

George Boetang: Such an intelligent footballer, and along with Turner the only City player who would make it into another Premier League club’s starting eleven. But until Bullard comes back the Dutchman is carrying the centre mid field and for an ageing player it’s going to be a right old slog game after game.

Stephen Hunt: The Irishman has made a super start to his career at Walton Street, netting in both games, putting himself about and arriving in the box to help out the forward line at regular intervals. He looks to have a great attitude. A real team man and just what we need in a scrap. Phil Brown’s best signing of the Summer. So far.

Caleb Folan: A trier and no one can doubt his work rate. Damned with faint praise? When your centre forward has the turning circle of a super tanker, a first touch that would draw criticism if he were playing in League Two and zero heading ability then, yes.

Daniel Cousin: Subbed after 22 minutes because he couldn’t be flippin’ bothered. Get rid. An attitude like his is pure poison and the reason why Premier League footballers are characterised as pampered, decadent, out of touch ponces. If Cousin played rugby league then one of his team mates would have paggered him within two days.He absolutely does my head in, and I’m ashamed to say that I’ve been guilty of giving him jip, despite railing against the East Stand boo boys who saw off the likes of Junior Lewis and Jason Harris in days of yore.

Geovani: Mendyesque.

Nicky Barmby: The spirit is willing but the flesh is weak.

Craig Fagan: Not enough quality at this level. In a similar vein Richard Garcia, Peter Halmosi and Matt Duke.

We just have to hope that the return of Jimmy Bullard who, it seems has been involved by turning up every day and joining in on match days to boost morale, and the signings of loanee American striker Altidore along with Algerian front man Kamal Ghilas may galvanise us as I feel just one win will give us the confidence to kick on.

Having slagged off the whole team that seems a bit rich actually. It’s just that I am heartily sick of losing.

Figures released yesterday show that nearly 1 million people under 25 have lost their jobs in this recession,  that the dreaded dole queue is now longer than we came to power and we face creating a second lost generation with all the social consequences that follow.

When labour came to power the mantra was; “Education, education, education”, and Tony Blair doubled the money going into the system in order to try and create a highly educated workforce which would help Britain to adjust to the decimation of our industrial base which saw a contraction of 25% between 1979-81 and unemployment reach 3.5 million in the mid eighties.

But I feel strategic mistakes have been made by the Government, not through malice but because of a lack of attention to detail. Blair was a great one for sweeping catch all ideas but with little time to enforce a sense of doing things right. A good example is the NHS data base where he just decided we needed one and expected it to happen overnight. When the advice came that it would be a lengthy and costly process his response was just get on with it, the technology must be there!

And so it has been with education. “Hey! Let’s get everyone a University standard qualification and all will be well!”

Thus many young people have been carolled into thinking that University was their only option for progressing after school, and as a result a whole “industry” has developed of expanding Universities at the expense of standards, and the aggressive marketing of frankly risible courses mean that young people take on a stinging level of debt, have unrealistic expectations foisted on them  and end up with a pointless and irrelevant degree.

And the mirror image is of young people who feel like total failures if they don’t achieve the 5 A to C benchmark at GCSE, and are turned off by a curriculum which is far from the inclusive ideal that Labour strive for.

What is needed is for the Government to re align the system via increasing the level of meaningful apprenticeships, vocational courses post 14, and a return to the old system of awarding A level grades based on a graph rather than pre set marks to give true rewards to the high fliers.

1 in 6 of our young people are kicking their heels and desperate for work. There has to be a drastic re evaluation of where we are going otherwise along with gambling and the erosion of civil liberties, youth un employment will be part of the toxic legacy of this Labour Government poisoning so much of what has been great about the last twelve years of progress for the UK.    

A mixed bag of reading material over the last month or so.

The Third Policeman is a stunning book and I can’t understand for the life of me why it isn’t considered as a genuine classic. It’s well ahead of its time style wise, as we are introduced to an unnamed narrator in rural Ireland who commits a heinous crime with a bicycle appendage and then has to first out wit his accomplice and the ghost of his victim, plus the eponymous policemen to regain the loot.

In addition our hero is deeply influenced by fictitious philosopher, the manically bonkers de Selby, and has to contend with his annoying soul who is a proper character in his own right.

The tone of the prose is confidential; you can visualise your man leaning over a pint of Guinness in a back room, looking around as he tells us his absurdist story.

The book is easier to read than Joyce, and the existentialist themes are much more straightforward  to understand due to simplicity of the prose which brings the comic to the fore despite such a dark canvas on which the narrative is painted. But I have to confess I had to refer to a couple of websites to fully understand the ending. No matter. The author challenges us and provokes discussion which is what great books should do.

Strange, a bit annoying, surreal but quite compelling and I can see why the writers of Lost drew inspiration from it and I hope such exposure brings a wider readership to this bit of genius.

“The C Words” is about the thirty something males ambivalence about matters such as commitment and children. We are party to Tony, recently divorced with kids, and his embarrassing attempts to get back into the singles circuit, and Alex who is doing things via the self help book route.

Mason will never win the Booker, but do you know what? I enjoyed this book and it’s immature, “I deserve to be happy” naugties middle class idiots because the writer sends them up a million times better than any self righteous Gardianista  (John O’ Farrell anyone?) ever could.

“Netherland” was a total let down based on the hype and the endorsement of President Obama who is the reason I read it. He said on the Today Programme that he found it a good commentary on modern times.

Maybe it is, but I don’t subscribe to the view that when you earn sheds of money that it’s ok to do the dirty on your partner in the name of self development, like going on a life skills course with the added bonus that you get to bed the tutor.

I quite liked the Dutch cricket loving main protagonist Hans. At the start. But he becomes more and more irritating, pedantic and wet as the novel goes on. I was going to say “progresses”, but it never really does, which is a shame as we begin with the possibility of Test cricket coming to New York, and a dead body.

His wife is a caricature of the worst vaguely lefty, organic eating, NCT child worshipper, loaded due to background, selfish product of Thatcherism you have nightmares about. I could only see Harriet Harman. Be scared. She has some kind of pathetic re evaluation of life after 9/11 which leads her back to England and an affair, whilst Hans is left in the Big Apple coming under the influence of some Hunter S. Thompson type crossed with the fat bloke from the Big Lebowski.

I read this because I am a snob and didn’t want to be seen as missing out on a great book. Maybe it’s just me but Obama didn’t seem to want to be the one who pointed out that the Emperor is wearing no clothes.

Frozen.

“What gives mate?” The flow of an Asian language is interrupted and if you closed your eyes it could have been Danny Dyer standing over me. I am in a semi foetal position due to Coriolis effect going on in my now throbbing head. Placed in a hard chair and connected to a drip this is not what the family of a guy struck down in the last couple of hours by a catastrophic brain haemorrhage need to see whilst they are pacing up and down this windowless, starkly lit and cold room.

But this is what they see. Me slumped, shivering and desperately trying to keep my emotions in check. There are spasms of intensity burrowing into me and it won’t be long before they make the return journey shooting out in a barrage of abusive rantings.

A nurse approaches. But I can tell from the footsteps that he will pass by this door. “Excuse me!”. This shouted perhaps a tad louder than I intended but no matter, the guy’s Zen like immunity to his surroundings does not distract or delay him from his necessary task in hand.

I smile weakly at my new friend who is by now showing distinct surprise on his face. “You need a blanket”. He leaves his relatives to speak to someone. There is an awkward silence.  I resist the default position of a lame joke.

My man returns. “Someone’s getting one, and a pillow”. I don’t tell him that the idea of an extra pillow is reaching the level of satire. “Cheers. Sorry about this. I’ve been here since 2.30.” “Two hours!”. The Granddad. “Yeah”.

I want to say; “Get your son out of here! Now! No one gives a flying fuck. Go anywhere, anywhere else. Run and don’t stop!”  But the poor guy needs to be re assured. “He’s in the best place.” Kindness, reaching for comfort. A word from the staff. The way GG always presses my shoulder. “You stick with me kid. I’ll see you alright”. Unsaid but there.

Monday 11am. Rory and I fret more, much more on the possibility that Michael Clarke may steer the Aussies home to a world record breaking run chase in the Lords sun. He leaves at 12 and England are on their way, thanks to an inspired spell from Flintoff which sees the match and the series momentum swing England’s way.

All is well in the world as England vanquish Australia at HQ for the first time since 1934, and I am waiting to get started on my next treatment.

Half seven. I am tearful with frustration and it all boils over. I stand with my case in the corridor in the midst of a rant. It is a cross between Kinnock at the 1985 Labour Party Conference (“I’m telling you, and you will listen!) and Keegan’s 1996 meltdown on Sky Sports (“You’ve gone right down in my estimation! Forty nine days over six admissions. Yes count them. 49. A never a peep out of me! Meningitis, five hour waits for morphine. NOT A PEEP!)

Eight pm. I am in a private room.

Friday 2.20. My first ever contact with a Charge Nurse. He is local, London wise and we joke about Hull City and other footy matters. Wonder what he wants? I am slightly cross that he has woken me to discuss Phil Brown’s perma tan, but the real reason is that he wishes to move me out of that room and onto the ward. I have enjoyed a good run and acquiesce. Big mistake. I co operate and appear easy to manage.

4.50. “Where the fuck have you been? I’m busting for a slash, my throat in raw with de hydration, I’m fucking freezing and my head’s pounding. I’m going to fucking have you lot. Ignoring me. Leaving me in a bastard waiting room, you heartless tosser”.

There is split second where those words could have been uttered but luckily I remember that these people have immense power.

“Took your time!” suffices.