It’s Halloween tomorrow – oooh, spooky – so here’s a video that’s been passed round Facebook and Twitter today. It’s actually a public information film, but is probably scarier than most full-length, hack-n-slash, flesh eating zombie flicks. Watching it again, I’m thinking the haircuts and clothes are even scarier than the weird, hooded figure. Ah, pity the poor souls who were children in the 70s, they’re doomed to a life of embarrassment every time the family photo album comes out.

Before I go – five years ago today I published the second post* on this blog – the first was on the 24th, but it just said ‘test’, so doesn’t really count. Anyhoo, my blog is now five whole years old. If it was a person, it would be tying it’s own shoelaces and going to school. Aaw, little blogs grow up so quickly. It won’t be long before it’s rebelling by refusing to publish new posts, only displaying emo tracks in my LastFM chart  and linking itself to unsavoury blogs.

*If you’d like to see the second post, it’s here – must have taken me hours to write it.

Unless you live in a cave, you can’t have failed to miss the outrage surrounding Jan Moir’s pernicious Daily Mail ‘article’ about the death of Stephen Gately*. I’m not going to post a rebuttal this late in the day – that’s already been done to great effect elsewhere – but I do want to raise a point that occurred to me during the last few days.

For a long time now, some elements of the mainstream media (msm) have been quite dismissive of bloggers, not all, some journalists have embraced blogging, but there are still many who see it as some kind of poor relation at best. One of the biggest criticisms has been that bloggers are not regulated, and therefore lack the ethics of msm journos. Can they still realistically claim that when one of their own published a piece that was so full of vitriol and insinuation even other journalists attacked it**? And of course, it’s not just Jan Moir and the Daily Mail, many newspapers are really not worthy of the name because what they publish isn’t news, or even factual.

Earlier this week the Guardian published the results of it’s attempts to dupe tabloid editors into publishing completely fictitious stories about various well-known people. Have a look, it makes for interesting reading. There is a market for rumour, gossip and innuendo and these publications have absolutely no qualms about supplying it. Yet, the people who write this tripe would still call themselves journalists, and would still insist they operate according to some kind of ethical code. Ironically, journalists do have a code, they are expected to “inform, educate and enlighten”. How does puerile drivel about the sex lives of celebrities do that precisely? Am I missing something? Is it really so important that we know some celeb cries ‘I love stew and dumplings’ in the throes of passion?!

Obviously, I’m not suggesting the blogosphere is packed full of positive, mind-improving, factually correct missives. It isn’t. There is a reason bloggers have a reputation for snark and it’s often appropriate. It’s also true that many bloggers make no attempt to check sources, or do any background research. The difference is, bloggers don’t claim to hold any kind of moral highground. We know we are a loose collection of individuals with widely differing opinions and ethics. Somehow, we do find common ground, and we also tend to challenge anyone who is overtly offensive, not just occasionally, but often.

Over the weekend, I listened to a radio phone-in about the Moir drivel, and heard Matthew Parris (possibly playing devil’s advocate) say that although he found the article offensive***, he supported Moir’s right to publish it because journalists have to cover stories while they are still current. That is a fair point, or would be if this had been a news story, which it wasn’t. The article in question is full of conjecture and hypothesis; it dismisses medical fact and suggests Stephen’s family and the Spanish legal system are involved in some kind of cover-up. That is not news, it’s just sensationalism. Reporting his death was news; insulting a dead man before his family had chance to bury him is not. However, it does highlight the diabolical state of journalism both in the UK and elsewhere.

The idea that an opinion piece must be written just because a news story is ‘hot’ is very wrong. If Stephen Gately had been a politician who preached morality and family values, then yes, the circumstances of his death may have been relevant. But he wasn’t. He was a harmless individual who happened to make a living doing something that brought him to the attention of the public. Should that really mean he, or anyone else, is fair game for any journalist who can’t think of something informative, educational or enlightening to write? I really don’t think so.

There was a time when journalism was an honourable profession; journalists did believe in such silly, old fashioned ideas as common decency, and the wider implications of a story were taken into consideration before publication. The phrase ‘in the public interest’ is often used, but that works both ways. Sometimes, it’s better not to publish something because it has no real value, doesn’t alert the public to anything they should know about, and risks causing pain and offence to innocent people. All that has been forgotten in a desperate attempt to sell newspapers in an ever dwindling market.

And that brings me back to my first point: can journalists really say they are more ethical than bloggers when so many are willing to resort to downright unethical tactics to make money? I’d love to hear your thoughts!

* If you haven’t read the article, Google it, I’m not going to provide a link.

** That is quite unusual, journalists usually keep their criticisms private.

*** Before anyone accuses him of being some vicious right-wing media type, Mr Parris is gay, so I’m guessing would have been quite hurt by some of the ’suggestions’ about his sexuality.

Thought it was time I popped in for one of my irregular visits to this blog before I start to receive emails asking if I’ve been abducted by aliens. I was going to bring you a well thought out piece about the Guardian gagging furore, but I’ve got a headache, so instead here’s some random stuff I’ve done and thought …

- Been blogging here and here. If you visit say nice things, it might persuade them I’m worth keeping.

- I was a little miffed to notice someone unfollow me on Twitter after I tweeted that I liked a particular Pearl Jam song. Why would someone do that? However, then I reconsidered: that’s not really a bad thing is it? Anyone who hates Pearl Jam that much was never going to be on the same wavelength as me; not even Radio-1-to-my-Radio-4 close, so it’s a good job they’ve gone. And really, I should be appealing for haters of Led Zep, Red Hot Chili Peppers and Manic Street Preachers to hit the unfollow button too. Also, people who don’t like Martin Scorsese, or Humphrey Bogart, or Escher, or Manet*, or cats. Those who don’t get Monty Python should probably go, along with those who do get Chubby Brown. Anyone who’d say yes to the question ‘does my bum look big in this?’ … oh, anyone who gets to snog Sean Bean, and people who don’t RT my tweets. (Do you think the last two are a bit picky?)

- I’ve decided never to visit Melbourne. I’m sure it’s lovely, but I’m not going now a study from the University of Melbourne has revealed it’s a breeding ground for spooky, super-intelligent babies. OK, it doesn’t actually say that in the article, but what other conclusion can you draw when you read “children under the age of two should be banned from watching TV or using other electronic media, including computers and DVDs”? What kind of toddler does that? How many babies do you know who are au fait with the workings of an iPhone?

I know about under twos, I’ve had some experience in that area. Up to the age of one, they struggle to control their own limbs let alone concentrate. And why watch tv when the real world is so incredibly fascinating! They veer between amazement and amusement at every mundane detail; the under-ones are the only people who can be genuinely entertained watching someone load a washing machine.  Who needs Dancing Celebrities in the Jungle, when you’ve got a pile of dirty socks?! (Hmm, yes, the babies might have a point.)

After the age of one, they turn into mini-mountaineers and proceed to scale every item of furniture in the house. When they aren’t doing that, they like to stick things up their nose, or paint other children interesting colours (which is why water-soluble art materials are a very good idea**). Their only interest in television comes in the form of a penchant for doing the legendary bum-waggling-boogie toddlers so excel at every time they hear an advert with a particularly annoying jingle.

Watch television? They don’t have time, they’ve yet to conquer the north face of the dining table – once they do, they will gleefully paint each other purple, stick peas up their noses and celebrate with a victory boogie to the We Buy Any Car jingle. Swap the beer for Ribena, and children between the ages of one and two really are very much like students during freshers’*** week. Toddlers don’t have time for tv either; it’s more fun to drink three cups of apple juice and dance on the table.

Of course, the above are human children. The tv-watching-internet-surfing-dvd-playing ones at Melbourne University – I’m not so sure.

* The reason I have a large collection of Monet items; when I mention Manet, people think that’s who I mean and buy me books, stationery, prints (obviously) and even wallpaper. And I have to smile and thank them politely, even though I’m thinking MANET, NOT MONET! THEY’RE VERY, VERY DIFFERENT!

** Yes, it seems obvious until the time you’re in a hurry and  forget to check, then spend three days explaining why your child has an orange moustache.

*** I Googled that term last week and was amazed to see how often it was incorrectly punctuated – these are university websites! (When I was at uni, we were beaten for incorrect usage of the possessive apostrophe. Oh no, that wasn’t me and it wasn’t punctuation: it was Oliver Twist and asking for more food. ) It’s freshers’, not fresher’s, there are many freshers, not one with their own week.

See, I you told it was random stuff Thinking: there should have been elephants though …

Meet Dave aka Blair-lite; just like Tony, but with less substance

The Tory conference kicks off today, and David Cameron (aka Tony Blair-lite) has already hit the headlines and proved that contrary to the touchy-feely image he tries to portray, his party are still the same vicious, selfish bunch we de-elected back in the 90s. Of course, a decade ago, the Tories contented themselves with tormenting single parents, who did at least have the faculties to stand up for themselves. They’ve obviously decided they won’t make a similar mistake this time round and will instead blame the country’s woes on a group who can’t fight back: the disabled.

You see, you may think those people who use wheelchairs, or those who wander the streets with guide dogs, have genuine conditions that mean their lives are filled with extra challenges and difficulties. I know I did. But, it seems we are wrong. Apparently, most of these people are ‘putting it on’. I know! I was surprised too! I guessed there may be a few who managed to convincingly fake some kind of ailment, but millions!? My mind is boggled. Anyhoo, Dave has cottoned on to their scam and plans to put an end to it by taking away their disability benefit and sending them all out to work.

The problem is: where are the jobs for these people, what can they possibly do? I have a couple of suggestions.

1) Thesping: We seem to have a pool of really serious, but undiscovered acting talent in this country. Fakers should be encouraged to apply to RADA the moment their benefits are withdrawn. Within no time, we’ll have a whole new generation of Burtons/O’ Tooles/Oliviers, and the British film industry will be saved. Good old Dave, saving both our money and our culture in one move. What a guy!

2) Banking/Finance: I’ve been hearing stories about the luxurious lifestyles the ‘disabled’ lead, and I’m impressed by their money management skills. Somehow, they all own luxury cars (often more than one), numerous expensive gadgets and devices, and go on umpteen exotic holidays a year. And all on less than £100 a week! Logically, we should offer them jobs in the City – replacing the existing lot whose greed and incompetence led to the current recession – with their financial alchemy they could save the economy, have us back in profit, and probably with enough left over to treat everyone in the country to a nice cake on a Friday afternoon. How great would that be?

Looking at the idea in those terms it’s such a winner I can’t imagine why no one thought of doing it before. Oh hang on, I remember why: because it’s bloody evil! And even more evil, are the self-centred Thatcherites* who wholeheartedly support it. They constantly whine on about how this country is “broken” without ever understanding or caring that, if it is broken, their political dogma is responsible. When their pin-up girl decided we were no longer a nation made up of communities but one consisting of millions of individuals, and set about selling, dismantling and destroying huge swathes of the country – in the process throwing hundreds of thousands of people out of work – she broke Britain. In her attempts to decimate the unions and the core support of the (real) Labour party, which resulted in less job security for all, and the elimination of many traditional, manual jobs, she broke Britain. When she decided importing coal mined by ten year olds in Columbia, or cars and electrical goods manufactured in sweatshops was preferable to paying people in Birmingham, Sheffield or Manchester a fair day’s pay, she broke Britain. When she promoted selfishness and greed as virtues, she broke Britain.

Taking care of the less fortunate is not a sign of a broken country, quite the opposite. However, being a self-centred whinge-bag who continually asks ‘but what about me, me, me?’, and who is only too happy to make life miserable for vulnerable people? That signifies a very broken person. And the Tories? Obviously still the nasty party.

Still wish I could slap Dave with that haddock …

* These are the same morons who also support the plans of Blair-lite to abolish the Human Rights Act. You know the one I mean, that thing they insist was imposed on us by European commies but which actually came from Winston Churchill? The act that protects us from silly little things like … ummm … being tortured? I’m guessing Thatcherites like the idea of torture, maybe they believe the regular application of thumbscrews is character building.

Updated to add the photo, don’t blame me for it, I was encouraged by other members of the Blogs clan – yes, the other kids made me do it

I’ve been promising to write another weird search terms post for a while, but it hasn’t been easy, weird search terms have been thin on the ground. I’m still wondering why that is. Is it possible internet users are becoming more sensible? Surely not.  Anyhoo, it’s taken some time, and these terms are not as weird as others I’ve featured here, but they are a bit random, if not always odd.

Oh, I haven’t included the term mentioned in this post – it goes beyond weird. I recently told someone what it was, and they pulled a disgusted face and kept saying, ‘oh no, that’s just wrong’. See you don’t want to know, so stop asking! However, I have discovered Germantown is a very small place, and I can’t help but think people must know about this, it doesn’t seem like something you could keep hidden. So, if you’re visiting from there: yes, I do mean him!

Onwards and upwards, possibly ….

do brit guys say they love you differently than americans do?

Yes. They say it while standing on one leg, and wearing their underpants on their head. Oh, and they always sing 15 verses of Rule Britannia beforehand. Obviously British women don’t do that. For a start, we don’t wear underpants, we have knickers, which are very different. No, instead we stick our left finger in our right ear and read the first three chapters of The Hound of the Baskervilles, just to get us in the mood. You can safely assume that if your Brit does not do these things, then he/she is really not that into you. Hope that helps

chaise longue sex video

Firstly, I don’t have such a thing, and secondly, it is very specific isn’t it? I wonder if it has to be a chaise longue, or would a sofa or even an armchair do? I’m also a little concerned about what role the chaise longue plays … so let’s move on.

wildlife silly bands

I don’t even understand what that means. Performing artists with a great love of the natural world?

how do i stop weatherseal contacting me

You can’t. If you have your phone disconnected they’ll contact you by post. If you seal up your letterbox, they’ll send you email. Stop looking at your email, they’ll tweet you; block them on Twitter, they’ll add you on Facebook. There is no escape! If you move to a remote Hebridean island, with no postal service, no phones and no internet, you’ll be contacted by one of their crack team of telepaths who’ll bombard you with dreams of new double glazing. It’s true. It happened to my friend’s mum’s dog’s hairdresser.

deadmouse metropolis

OK, this is weird, and I have no idea what the searcher was hoping to find, but it would make a great title for a book.

meet britain

Umm, ok, hi Britain Once again: what does this mean? Does the searcher want to meet the whole of Britain, and if so, why are they looking here? I haven’t got them! Does this blog really look like the sort of place you could store 60 million people? At the most, I could possibly squeeze a dozen into the admin interface, and even then they’d have to sit on each other’s knees. And of course, plumbing would be a problem because at the time of writing, no one has created a loo plugin for WordPress.

child catcher peter mandelson

See, it’s not just St Jude who thinks that. Mandy really does not come across well.  Seriously Labour, you are going to have to do something about him if you want us to vote for you. Really! He’s just too creepy for words. Why do you think the Prince of Darkness tag caught on so quickly: it’s because we can all too easily believe it to be true! I honestly think Joe Pesci doing a reprisal of his role in Goodfellas would be a better option.

And that’s all!

One of my neighbours has bought a dog. I’m sure they love it, and I’m sure it’s delightful if you get to know it, but, it is still, quite possibly, the single Most Annoying Dog on the Planet.

I was going to say it yaps, but that doesn’t adequately convey the unique hideousness of the noise it makes. How to describe it? Imagine Jane Horrocks catches a terrible head cold and in a dash for the bathroom to find much needed Lemsip, stubs her toes on a door frame. Think of the screech she’d emit. That’s what this dog sounds like. For hours, and hours, and hours. Oddly, my neighbour/it’s owner thinks it’s “cute”. Hmm.

Anyhoo, after nine days of living two doors away from the Most Annoying Dog on the Planet I started thinking*. You know how the Hounds of Hell are always depicted as huge, black and menacing. That image is wrong. Big dogs are nearly always softies who want to love you and hug you and be your bestest friend forever, and most importantly, they aren’t particularly noisy. They bark when someone comes to the door, or if anything out of the ordinary happens, but most of the time they’re the silent types. However, small dogs nearly always try to compensate for their lack of stature by behaving like homicidal maniacs, and making as much noise as caninely possible. Which do you think Satan would own?

To me the choice is obvious: Satan would own Yorkshire terriers. A whole kennel of them. All of which make weird, shrill Jane Horrocks noises, from the crack of dawn till the dark of night. And Satan chuckles, and remarks on how cute they are. In fact, that is why Hell is hell. It used to be quite nice back when he kept labradors.

In other news: Last night I dreamt I was doing topiary (is that correct, does one do topiary?). It was someone else’s – I could tell, there was an immaculate bowling-green-style lawn, I wouldn’t have one of those. What surprised me was that I was quite good at the topiary. I wonder if this is a sign. Should I take it up? I hope not, it looks really dull.

* Ha ha, yes that was the clanking noise you heard.

Unfortunately, Noel Coward isn't the norm in Britain; compared to many Brits, Noel Gallagher is quite impressive (Photo courtesy of Wikipedia)

A couple of days ago, a friend of a friend on Facebook asked me about the reaction in the UK to the protests against US president Barack Obama. I had to tell him we found it quite perplexing; we’ve never had a prime minister subjected to such a degree of vitriol. It would be easy to use the current outbursts as evidence of the stupidity of Americans, especially here, where we do like to think of ourselves as above that kind of thing. However, that would be unfair because not all Americans behave in that manner – I’d guess we’re talking about a minority who do – and we aren’t exactly devoid of the stupendously stupid ourselves.

It would nice to be able to say all British people are charming, witty and sophisticated, that a conversation between two Brits is akin to watching Noel Coward and Oscar Wilde at their most eloquent. But I can’t. We try to keep them hidden, but we do have a dimwitted contingent who continually let the side down. If you live in Britain you’ll be familiar with them, if not, here’s an introduction to Britain’s Most Stupid …

The Thoughtless Voters: These are people who routinely vote for the same party, election after election, never giving any thought to what they are actually voting for. They don’t study the policies, or take any notice of televised debates. Why would they? They are Labour/Tory/Monster Raving Loony party through and through, just like their dear old dad. It wouldn’t matter if their party of choice was now advocating a 99% tax rate and the public flogging of anyone called George, they’d still vote for them – even the ones called George.

Individually, the Thoughtless Voter is harmless; problems arise when they congregate in numbers in one area and persistently vote in the same old political retainer, who then disappears back to Westminster with no intention of improving the lot of his/her constituents, because there is no need. The Thoughtless Voters will return them anyway.

Mr and Mrs Why-Oh-Why-Oh-Why: You remember when you were at school, there was one child who seemed to be middle-aged by the time they were 9? They grew up to be either Mr or Mrs WOWOW. If you’re wondering what they do now, I’ll tell you. They spend their time watching programmes/films they highly disapprove of and reading the Daily Mail. When they find material they particularly disapprove of, they write angry missives to the Daily Mail to express their disgust.

Mr and Mrs WOWOW hanker for a Britain that never really existed outside Enid Blyton books, but you must never tell them that! If you try to explain the grim reality of life in the ‘good old days’, they’ll stick their fingers in their ears and label you an apologist for a socialist conspiracy to exterminate decent middle class people like them. This is ironic, because Mr and Mrs WOWOW don’t actually know what it means to be middle class; they think it’s about income, which is why, to their consternation, they find themselves constantly rejected by genuine middle class people.

Mr and Mrs What-The-Feck: Mr and Mrs WTF are the downmarket cousins of Mr and Mrs WOWOW. They actually quite enjoy the programmes/films WOWOWs find offensive, but only if they feature people who are just like them. In other words, only if they feature white people. Mr and Mrs WTF also bewail the loss of a non-existent Britain, although in their version of the myth wife/child beating was acceptable, Love Thy Neighbour was considered funny, and no one had a problem with a man shoving his hand up a woman’s skirt. Once again, you must never try to disabuse them of these notions, they will resist, often violently. However, more reasonable ones will insist black people thought Love Thy Neighbour was hilarious and any woman who didn’t like having her bum felt was obviously a lesbian.

Mr and Mrs WTF are also guilty of irony; although they deplore anything ‘foreign’, they regularly holiday in Spain, and think a Friday night isn’t complete without a curry. They will of course, hurl racist abuse at the staff in the curry house, because it would never occur to them that being rude to people who handle your food is a seriously bad idea. They’d also be quite puzzled if you pointed out the aforementioned irony; they’d think it meant they were made of iron.

I’m a little confused about Peter Mandelson. Well, not him as a person – although I do find him creepy  – no, I’m wondering why he’s allowed to tell us all what to do when, the last time I checked, he hadn’t actually been elected. Am I correct in thinking, he was given a title to go with his existing one (Prince of Darkness) and then shoe-horned into a cabinet job? Is that allowed? Aren’t government ministers supposed to be people we’ve actually voted for? Or is that just silly nonsense peddled by the sort of elderly people who like to talk about the good old days when you could buy an Austin Allegro, a 3-piece suite, a holiday in Benidorm and still have change from a fiver?

Anyhoo, as Mandy is allowed to boss me around, I decided I’d retaliate by insulting him in really bad verse – he doesn’t even deserve my usual mediocre poetry, that’s how irked I am.

So, I present for your perusal:

You’re Mandy, Bite Me!

I remember your days in Hartlepool,
You had a moustache and looked like a fool.
But seemed mostly harmless,
Although pretty charmless.

As the years passed it became apparent,
You had a career, but no real talent.
Though foppish and vapid,
Your rise has been rapid.

Now Mr Brown has fallen for your smarm,
Probably mistaking it for upmarket charm.
But, the voters aren’t sure
That your motives are pure.

So Prince of Darkness, I feel I should say,
Your time in power? Soon be close of play.
And think yourself lucky,
It won’t get more mucky.

Just as we hated the divine right of Kings,
So we detest your self-serving dealings.
Of course, you will keep your head,
But lose your smugness instead.
And may wish for aegis,
Exiled in Bognor Regis.

Yes, I did kind of paraphrase the title of 10CC’s I’m Mandy, Fly Me. Sorry.

Aren’t you excited? No? Oh. Sorry I know, I should pamper you with ever funnier, longer and more profound posts, but you’d only get spoiled. Oh, and you can’t say anything, I have a note excusing me from proper blogging … oh no, I appear to have left it in my other bag. Darn. I’ll show it next time …

I’ve been trying to compose a post all day, but without much success. It’s the school hols, and between doors slamming, people racing up and down the stairs and the wail of electric guitars*, forming coherent thoughts has been somewhat tricky. So, here’s a mixture of the incoherent thoughts I have been able to form, and some interesting links I’ve (stolen from other people) found on my totally independent internet travels.

What is the social network etiquette for people you know in 3D, but really don’t like? If they add you, is it acceptable to just ignore them, even if you know they’re going to see your posts on the walls of mutual friends?

Star Wars, is it a boy thing? I thought it was, but a conversation with Michael has made me doubt my theory. I clearly remember my mother taking my brother and me to see it, and although he loved it – to the extent he spent the entire film with his chin resting on the balcony, gazing in wonder at the screen – I was genuinely puzzled about why she’d taken me to see what was obviously a boys film**. And this puzzlement has lasted for years, I even mentioned it to her recently***. Anyhoo, you can be of service Dear Reader, if you leave a comment, tack an extra sentence on telling me whether you like it or not. It’ll be a bit like a survey, but lacking such things as: proper controls, and a point.

Spotted this cartoon earlier and it made me chuckle. Imagine that! A woman wearing shorts while on holiday. Shocking behaviour.

Some album covers are works of art. Other’s less so.

If you have five minutes to spare and a romantic nature you might enjoy this whimsical short story.

And that’s it, thank you for reading my filler post

* I know, I should be grateful none of them took up the drums.

** Although, thinking back to my rather Lisa Simpson-ish 9 year old self, there’s a good chance I wanted to wait a week to see an independent film about distressed gentle-cats living in a commune in Tuscany.

*** Really. Her response was, ‘I thought you’d like it’. Hello Mater, have you met me? Your daughter, the one who hates sci-fi and summer blockbusters. And did back then, although she didn’t have the articulation to express it.

In common with a lot of people in the UK, I’ve been watching the US healthcare debate with mounting bewilderment and indignation, particularly because of the allegations being made about the UK National Health Service (NHS). Over the last week or so, I’ve seen ever more bizarre claims being made about it’s inadequacies, which bear absolutely no resemblance to the system I’ve used all my life. No, it’s not perfect. It’s an enormous organisation run entirely by human beings, and human beings are fallible. However, for the overwhelming majority of people it works. It’s there when we need it; we can visit a doctor, or attend A&E knowing the first question we’ll be asked is ‘what are your symptoms’, not ‘how are you going to pay’.

One of the positive outcomes of all this crazy talk (from people who seem to have a vested interest in maintaining the status quo) is that we Brits have, for once, appreciated just how lucky we are. Yes, we are a nation of whingebags, we like to complain, and complaining about the NHS is right up there with complaining about the weather as one of our favourite national pastimes. However, it’s a bit different when we hear criticism coming from other quarters. That, we don’t like. We might take our health service for granted; we might moan about car parking, cold dinners, rude doctors, but that doesn’t mean anyone else can. As the #welovethenhs threads on twitter show, for the vast majority of people in the UK, the NHS is an important, and fundamental part of our society, one we hold deep admiration and respect for.

At a time when we hear so much about the breakdown of society, it was heartening to see so many people uniting behind a cause that benefits the country as a whole. And surely this unity should send a message to NHS critics across the pond. Shouldn’t they be asking themselves why we hold it in such high esteem if it’s as inadequate and evil as they say? You’d think so, but they won’t, because their response is that we’ve all been brainwashed by a socialist plot. Oh yes, Dear Reader, I am merely a spokeswoman of a Stalinist regime. (This is where I do something I rarely do on this blog, I’m going to swear, in English: To paraphrase Jim Royle – Stalinist plot, my arse!)

It’s easy to see why some people might believe the NHS is socialist; it epitomises Marx’s ideal of  “From each according to his ability, to each according to his need”. But, as anyone with a grasp of British history will know, the NHS (and the labour movement) has it’s roots in good, old-fashioned Christianity. Forget anything Palin the Peabrain and her band of malodorous  minions have told you, the NHS is not an evil, communist brigade who kill people’s grannies, it actually grew out of a long European tradition of religious orders providing healthcare to the poor – which meant pretty much anyone who wasn’t a king or aristocrat. The reason so many British and French hospitals are named after saints, is because they were originally adjunct to monasteries, whose monks tried to emulate the healing work of Christ by providing what passed for medical treatment at the time.

If you are a Christian, you might be familiar with this Christ chappie, and you’ll know that when He wasn’t walking on water or organising large picnics, He healed the sick. At no point during the healing process did He stick out His hand and ask for 30 pieces of silver. That wasn’t His style. He believed He had an ability and it was right for Him to to use it as it was needed. That’s how the NHS works. Collectively we all fund it, assuming we’ll rarely need it, but knowing it will be there when we do. And in the meantime, other people who do need it get the care they deserve as fellow human beings. We do this because we can, and because it’s the right thing to do. I think Christ would approve.

Updated to add: For an amusing video on the topic above, go here. With thanks to Chairman Bill