Yes, David "Call me Dave" Cameron may think we are stupid enough to be taken in by a cosmetic exercise in rebranding the same old product, but a Tory is a Tory is a Tory, end of (s)tory. This apparently affable, apparently liberal fellow, with his apparent distaste for what went before in recent Conservative (his)tory, is a supporter of blood sports, however much he tries to disguise his prejudice in the rhetoric of non-interference. The anti-hunting bill Labour brought in was a fudge, and a ludicrous one at that, but at least it was a step in the right direction. Now Cameron is committed to undoing it.
Most people left politics around the time Blair was elected. He made it seem a distasteful, cynical, manipulative art that men and women of principle should have no truck with, precisely because he emphasised style over substance, treatment over truth, in the way Cameron (his best disciple) is doing now. But with a Tory landslide now on the cards, and the repeal of the anti-hunting legislation a very real prospect, the time has come for people of principle to get back into politics. There are something like 14 Old Etonians in the higher echelons of Cameron's Tory Party--maybe even more. Do we want their bretheren rampaging through the fields murdering animals willy-nilly once again, as they were before 1997?
If you don't want that, get involved. I'd suggest a good place to start would be at
Stop Cameron, which is the internet home of a campaign against the repeal of the hunting ban and the most prominent public supporter for that. A Cameron victory at the next election would be a disaster for everybody, but for foxes it would be Apocalypse Now.
2 comments:
Hey, Bruce? You haven't fainted, have ya? Where, oh where have you gone? I can't trot over to your place to check on you, so do me a favor...get up and write something!
No, I didn't faint. Haven't done that for six months now, though the urge comes on me every now and then. But I have been having a bit of a time, as you have judging by your blog. Every now and then I go nuts, spin out, lose temporary control of my marbles (which may be no surprise), find myself hanging from the jaws of the Black Dog. I've tried counselling, I've tried drugs (legal and otherwise), I've tried meditation, but the only thing that REALLY works is going to my bed and sleeping until I need to go out for supplies. And that's where I've been this week. In bed, dribbling on my pillow thinking existential thoughts and having the weirdest dreams. I'm glad someone missed me.
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