KISS ME GOODNIGHT SERGEANT MAJOR.

However much you think you have heard it all before and that the absurdities which bedevil our lives have reached saturation point, something comes along to highlight the distressing reality that there is plenty more in the pipeline and that the exercising of common sense is a foreign country as far as our lords and masters are concerned. The latest lunacy to leap fully formed, like Athena from the brow of New Labour, concerns discipline in the army. No longer will drill sergeants be allowed to bellow with traditional insensitivity at new recruits.
That’s right, no more “Stand up straight you ‘orrible little man” From now on personal feelings and sensitivity must take precedence in the training of our military, and the defining ethos is to be the soft word that turneth away wrath, and at the same time turn the troops into a bunch of wimps who could not knock the skin off a rice pudding with a silk handbag. Just the sort of training necessary to fight the Taliban. The brass, or, to be more precise, they who boss the brass, have in their wisdom decided that the army must reflect the gentler society in which we now live. That they against whom we send our troops are unlikely to sign up to such fragile notions is neither here nor there, indeed sending our deliberately emasculated troops to be slaughtered only goes to prove the moral superiority of our leaders who think they are so much better than the lesser breeds, not of course that they have either the guts nor the honesty to admit to such feelings, that would be racist God dammit.
There is not much left of our way of life which Labours polytechnic trots have not molested, which is why they are mounting this assault on the military, who they despise, but are, at the same time ready to dispatch to their deaths so the likes of Blair and Brown can mince along the red carpet at international jamborees, pretending to themselves they are more important than they actually are, while exposing themselves to the contempt of they who actually possess power, remember bum faced Brown’s meeting with the American President in a kitchen? If such posturing is not worth a few gallons of British blood then I do not know what is.
One could say that all this will end in tears, not exactly, it will end with the Argentineans in the Falklands and the flag of Spain flying over the rock of Gibraltar, by that time the clowns of Gordon will have moved on to their gold plated pensions while the rest of us work until we drop. Am I a cynical son of a bitch? Well, what else could I be and remain sane in this arse about face world of ours.