How I Learned To Stop Worrying And Love The Bomb

I lost internet for two days. Two days of the most complete isolation you could imagine. No Wikipedia to answer my constant and moronic queries. No reassuring Facebook chatter. No warm, forgiving MSN Messenger to tell me everything's okay. No soothing Tweets from Stephen Fry or Tony Hawk to keep me updated on which Californian city they're skating in next or what particular type of Twinings they're drinking. It was terrible. I resorted to watching the semi-finals of Britian's Got Talent, or rather, Britain's Got Recession. Go away Piers Morgan and never return. Please. Go away to your fantastical vision of 1950's Britain and judge their talent contests, because in ours, your only purpose is to counteract the capitalist brutality of Simon Cowell and provide a male counterpart to Amanda Holden's irrepressable Englishness. "I lovelovelovelove you" she says, with that wonderful motherly face. She's a BNP member's wet dream, let's face it.

However, not having the passive distraction of the internet's loving embrace did allow me to focus on revision. All today I went native, revised politics in the garden and drew up my very own set of reforms for Britain's political system. There are a lot and I won't list them, but they involved a second elected chamber, fixed terms, recall, iniatives. I had every possible base covered. Since I went into study-hibernation, I've not really been watching Jeremy Paxman or any political commentary; I did however, catch Question Time on thursday. It was rather ruined because my dad watched it with me - we're all on holiday meaning his bedtime is extended and this silly expenses row has awakened some mild political/extremist aspirations in him. He kept talking over Dimbleby and muttering a collection of phrases like "scum.. conmen... out of touch.. toilet... yoghurt" et cetera. It would be forgiveable if, firstly, he wasn't out of sync with the rest of the country with his rage and secondly, if he hadn't made the u-turn of Green/LibDem to UKIP.

I'm not sure where along the line he got from "environment is the most important" to ALL MP'S ARE ROBBERS to "we should leave Europe because the French don't know anything". Maybe he thinks global warming is already too far out of control (I agree, though it's still cool to be a member of Greenpeace), or that the whole political system is crap (again, agreed, though the Liberal Democrats aren't conmen, our own MP for christ's sake is LD and he's clean, and they are the only ones who want electoral reform and all that jazz) - but the French are great! Nobody can say anything against croissants, coffee or Juliette Binoche. The situation is again exasperated by the fact that many of the people in the audience of Question Time are of the same level of understanding as my dad, and keep asking the same question "I'd get prosecuted" etc. Which is all very well and good except, the expenses thing really isn't the main issue; we need constitutional reform across the board. This expenses thing isn't new; people do do this in the real world except, being even more untrustworthy and weak and sinful, they don't get caught as easily. The hypocrisy of the Murdoch-press is astounding; I saw the perfect Mail headline the other day:

"BBC MUSLIM EXPENSES ROW".

God knows what was going through Littlejohn's head, but I am sure it was akin to those pictograms infant school teachers use to cement basic numeracy in children's heads before they move onto addition and subtraction. If they'd had "Romp" on the end, it would have been heavenly. Hell, it seems that The News of the World has completley abandoned all sanity and gone BGT mad, as you'll know if you saw the adverts.

In lighter news, I downloaded the two Hush Sound albums I didn't have and completed my Tool collection. They're progressive metal, which means "weird, note for observation". Listen to Tool. Then listen to The Hush Sound to bring you back to the real world. Oh, and did you hear? North Korea is gonna blow us all up with a big bomb or something. I didn't listen properly, but the gist of it was telling me to go hide in the bunker with the shotgun.

G'night kids.