79. Floods, fanatics and a film.

FLOODS AND LETHAL FREAKS.

What a week. First of all the floods which left thousands of people in desperate straits, then the attempts at mass murder by religious maniacs.
The floods are proof of just how wicked nature can be and the terrorists' activities are a reminder of the depths to which depraved humanity can descend.
Only time, a massive effort by the social services, a determination by government at all levels to spend more of the taxpayer's money on the needs of the taxpayer and less on unnecessary wars, quangos and pointless consultancies, will enable us to overcome similar or worse flooding in the future. The cure will be up to the politicians
They will doubtles appoint a quango to report and teams of consultants to advise...
I fear there is no cure for the mind of the twisted fanatic, either.
On Tuesday it became clear that the majority of those intent on indiscriminate killing were - and in some cases still are - employees of the National Health Service.
Doctors, would you believe?
In my time in the NHS all doctors took the Hippocratic oath which bound them to a code of medical ethics. I thought the standards of some of them tended more towards hypocritical than Hippocratic but I seldom experienced any evil in the medical profession. Minor larceny, lechery, arrogance, indifference and political connivance, yes; evil, no.
So what the hell has driven some apparently intelligent professional people to become monsters?
Who knows?
When it comes to analysing lethal freaks in pursuit of a divine mission I defer to the experts. Writing in The Independent, Yasmin Alibhai-Brown and Johann Hari gave reasoned opinions as to what had motivated the abortive bomb attacks in London and Glasgow.
I carefully digested their views and I am trying to be level-headed.
But my conclusion is that the bomb happy bastards are mad.

FAREWELL WIMBLEDON

The cat Shadow stirred on my lap, lifted a sleepy head, inquired: "Is it over?"
"Yes. And you're getting very heavy. Want your dinner?"
He stretched languidly, got to the floor, scratched behind an ear, said: "Who won?"
He is convinced that tennis was invented as an armchair cure for insomnia.
"The women's was won by Venus Williams, an American," I related patiently. "The men's was won by a Swiss called Roger Federer."
"Just as well Andy Murray couldn't make it," he said. "He's too young, anyway. He'd have finished up like Tim Henman."
"Murray's older brother, Jamie, did very well," I informed him. "He and a Serb called Jelena Jankovic won the mixed doubles."
"Get away. Really?"
"Really. They were wild cards and they won 6-4, 3-6, 6-1 against a Swede and an Australian who were No. 5 seeds."
"Great." He started towards the kitchen: "Dinner."
I followed him.
"A Scot amongst the winners, eh?" he said. "Someone else to be described as British by the media."
I forbore the usual trite cliche about sarcasm.
He's right.
I gave him an extra helping of his most expensive cat food.

HARRY POTTER AND THE ORDER OF THE PHOENIX

The film opens here on the 12th. We shall not book seats for that day. We'll let the over-priced sweets and drinks brigade fill the place with excitement and litter and wait to hear how much they enjoyed it. We'll go at a later date in a slightly quieter atmosphere. We'll sit back in comfort and make up our own minds.
Ah-h-h, my mind is made up already. I'm going to hate Dolores Umbridge, adore Linda Lovegood and revel in the rest of the superb cast playing roles they have made their own.
So that makes me childish?
Of course it does.
So what.