I’m starting to enjoy this election.
For queens birthday weekend.
Whenever I hear of new knight, I think of this.
‘Well, it’s nothing very special. Uh, try and be nice to people, avoid eating fat, read a good book every now and then, get some walking in, and try and live together in peace and harmony with people of all creeds and nations.’
Lots of people in the New Zild social media vortex got very excited about Marxism this week.
I suppose it keeps them off the streets.
Over at Dimpost, Danyl has had a go at the limits of 21st Century Marxists, still proclaiming the destruction of capitalism will solve everything.
His main point is that it won’t, I think. And, all things considered, it’s probably not a view I’d disagree with.
He’s had a response from Gio, who backs Marxism, as anyone familiar with Gio’s work might expect, although it isn’t all that clear what he is exactly backing Marxism to do except make things, and people, nicer.
Which has to be the ultimate triumph of hope over experience, I suppose.
I think it’s safe to say I’ve read enough Marx to conclude I’m not a big fan.The verbosity, the moral superiority, the perpetual anger, the body count in the millions, etc etc etc…it’s just not me, really.
To be fair, Gio is a charming chap in real life, and as unlikely to cart anyone off to any gulag as I am to lecture you on dialectical materialism.
I’ve written before about the style of thought, of which Marxism is but a subset, before, here – again, in response to something Danyl had written.
The only thing I’d add, perhaps, is to put a bit more emphaisis on the danger of all encompassing systems of political thought – and the way in which they have come to replace religion, or at least the least attractive aspects of organised religion.
English poet T E Hulme, writing in the first decade of the 2oth century, called Romanticism ‘spilt religion’ and it seems to me this style of thought has often spilled over into politics, mostly with unfortunate results.
Still, as a conservative interested in political ideas, I find all this stuff diverting. It is fruitless at best and dangerous at worst, though, to take it all too seriously.
So, finally…Monty Python, in a kind of of Unspeakable Secrets of Aro Valley Goes to the Gulag (and if you haven’t read Danyl’s latest novel, Mysterious Mysteries of the Aro Valley, then do so: it’s hilariously brilliant):
Scene: A field. An unmistakable historic figure from 200 years ago stands, alone and glowering, in his French uniform, his arm tucked in characteristic pose.
A stentorian voiceover demands, rhetorically: ‘Why did Napoleon keep his hand inside his waistcoat?’
Napoleon pulls his hand out. His trousers fall down.
This was one of the earliest things I can remember laughing like a drain at for several hours afterwards. It is stuck in my mind for that reason and also because it was the first time I realised how you pronounced ‘Napoleon’.
I had read the word – probably in Look and Learn magazines – but had no idea how to pronounce it.
Napoleon was, I think, played by either David Jason or Terry Jones. The sketch was from Do Not Adjust Your Set, a tv series made in Britain in the late 1960s by several people who went on to form of Monty Python’s Flying Circus.
It is best described as a kind of children’s version of Monty Python, although it pre-dates that series.
It was shown in New Zealand in the early 1970s – I think 1972.
And I loved it. The combination of eccentricity, humour, and historical references like the one above was just magical.
It was just so gloriously different.
It’s been on my mind at the moment because I threw together an iTunes music playlist for a road trip last month labelled “Brits” which included the obvious ones such as the Kinks and Madness and Ian Dury and the Jam and the Smiths…and then, for light relief, the Bonzos.
Vivian Stanshall was…well, an alcoholic nutter, and probably rather awkward to be around. A brilliant eccentric, though.
The Bonzos only had one hit – I’m the Urban Spaceman – and the B side was this lovely piece.
I first heard this on a jukebox in an Auckland cafe, sometime in the mid-eighties, and lay on the floor under the table laughing uncontrollably.