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General Election 2024

Sleazy scumbag and cabinet minister, Scottish Secretary Alister Jack thought it was a bit of a grin to place a bet that the election would fall between June and September. Until Sunak’s July bombshell was announced, the smart money was on November, but a cabinet minister- purely by coincidence obviously- bet on an earlier election.

Even if we believe Jack, it’s demonstrative of how dangerously out of touch/ couldn’t give a flying f*ck, these idiots are. Did they even consider how dodgy this would look? Then again, rules are only for the little people.

 
Need to unpack "consumption" though. Given a reliable source of renewable green energy we can use some of that to "consume" in more renewable ways. Rather than use fossil consumption to fill more and more rubbish dumps.

Entropy does rise, but energy can reverse it locally -and here locally can mean 'on Earth' if we are using an energy flow from outside the Earth. Matter of technology not fate. Will, not inevitability.
Doughnut economics is worth a look

 
A priori, the downward pressure on journalists to tow a line surely exists. However there may also be an upward pressure, a pressure from the consumers of journalism.

I'm not a journalist, so I don't have any first hand experience. Andrew Marr is, and I was rather interested in his account of the ethos in the Telegraph in this youtube

I think if there were much upward pressure journalists would be more trusted and better liked than they are. Not if they’re holding up a mirror and showing us our own worst desires, you might say, but then what kind of business is it that trades almost exclusively on our worst desires, and then builds a country around them.

So I mean, there is upward pressure, but no means for ordinary people to shape and channel it (even consumer power: nobody actually buys these shitrags, they’re loss leaders, almost all of them): journalists, their owners and their clients choose what form the pressure takes. They serve us up slop and call us swine.
 
IIRC that’s the Liz Kendall that managed to score a huge 4.5% vote in the Labour leadership race compared to Jeremy Corbyn’s paltry 59.5%. She is the voice of the people.
She is someone trying to grasp the conviction of Margret Thatcher, but without any real conviction. She has been told what to say, and she will say it.
 

Britain as seen from America:

There is mold in the walls and shit in the rivers, posh butter in the supermarkets has anti-theft tags stuck to it, the trains run on schedule about half the time, the average pub-poured pint of lager—the blood of the nation—is nearing the criminal price of 5 pounds ($6.34), and on May 22 a new general election was announced to the people of Great Britain by a prime minister who is richer than the king.

“Don’t waste time worrying about rain,” the poet Philip Larkin once wrote to his mother. “This is a wettish country. Lots of it falls.” As Rishi Sunak, that prime minister, started speaking outside 10 Downing Street, the pour began. By the time he finished (having used the phrase “bold action” six times), he was sodden. Sunak later admitted he got himself drenched in an attempt to appeal to those most prized qualities in the British soul: stubbornness, unflappability, pluck. Instead, this ex–Goldman Sachs banker, married into a grotesquely wealthy Indian tech dynasty, embodied the fate of his party: drowned. Just out of shot, a protester had set up an amplifier, and as Sunak evoked “the most challenging times since the Second World War,” he did so against the happy strains of the D:Ream hit “Things Can Only Get Better.”


 

Britain as seen from America:

There is mold in the walls and shit in the rivers, posh butter in the supermarkets has anti-theft tags stuck to it, the trains run on schedule about half the time, the average pub-poured pint of lager—the blood of the nation—is nearing the criminal price of 5 pounds ($6.34), and on May 22 a new general election was announced to the people of Great Britain by a prime minister who is richer than the king.

“Don’t waste time worrying about rain,” the poet Philip Larkin once wrote to his mother. “This is a wettish country. Lots of it falls.” As Rishi Sunak, that prime minister, started speaking outside 10 Downing Street, the pour began. By the time he finished (having used the phrase “bold action” six times), he was sodden. Sunak later admitted he got himself drenched in an attempt to appeal to those most prized qualities in the British soul: stubbornness, unflappability, pluck. Instead, this ex–Goldman Sachs banker, married into a grotesquely wealthy Indian tech dynasty, embodied the fate of his party: drowned. Just out of shot, a protester had set up an amplifier, and as Sunak evoked “the most challenging times since the Second World War,” he did so against the happy strains of the D:Ream hit “Things Can Only Get Better.”


Some choice phrases in that article...
"the hurried evacuation from the party’s platform of anything that might resemble policy. “Starmerism” at best might be described as a Giro d’Italia of backpedalling: Vanished are the promises to impose rent controls, limit bankers’ bonuses, reform the House of Lords, or give the Commons a deciding vote on war. One of the Tories’ most nakedly cruel schemes was to cap welfare payments to out-of-work families at two children; three kids means no extra cash. Labour will not throw that out, either. A transformative climate change scheme once pledged investment of 28 billion pounds per year; that figure is now 4 billion pounds per year and receding quicker than Prince William’s hairline..."
 


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