The Red Planet in 1973

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Following the recent success of the BBC's “Life on Mars” it would be nice to think that a sequel could be made where by a leading member of today’s SWP is sent back to 1973.

Of course, due to the curious structure of the SWP, and its self perpetuating leadership, most of them were members of the International Socialists (IS) in 1973, or very shortly afterwards, so she may have the shock of meeting her younger self.

She would be able to explain to the IS, that the role of Rank and File papers is to develop a cosy relationship with members of the national executive of the union, and fudge clear positions of principle if that relationship is in danger. So last year (2006 not 1972!) Post Worker (PDF) took no position on the vital vote over “Shaping the Future”, which was an attack on working conditions and staffing levels as a prelude to privatisation. Instead of a clear recommendation for a NO vote, Post Worker published a “debate”, with NEC members Norman Candy and John Farnan in favour of acceptance. Our time traveller can explain to the IS that when faced with a make or break vote on a Union NEC, it is not mandatory for your delegate to actually turn up and vote. (SWP member Jane Loftus was absent from the crucial UCW NEC debate and vote on “Shaping the Future” – for reasons not explained.)

Some relationships may be a little strained of course. The time traveller would meet among the IS’s leadership, Roger Rosewell, who later scabbed by informing BL management of the identities of 13 IMG members in Cowley plant, and became a far right adviser to Dame Shirley Porter. Of course all left groups can suffer from former members moving to the right, but Rosewell's flakiness was commented upon at the time, but his factional loyalty to Cliff protected him.

She would also meet the genuine working class hero, Harry Wicks, who had been a founder member of the CPGB, and she would know that within two years the IS would expel Wicks, along with most of the group’s industrial militants.

She would of course have to keep to herself their future knowledge that Provisional Sinn Fein would grovel on their knees to join a coalition government with Ian Paisley, and be prepared to abandon all their political principles for the honour. Saying that in 1973 would probably have been enough to see her certified, but even more bizarre would be the idea that in the very Stormont election where Sinn Fein capitulated over every issue, that Eamonn McCann would write (PDF) that the story of the election was an SWP comrade getting a 2% vote: “Sean’s success in finishing ahead of long established parties like Alliance and the Workers’ Party was widely regarded as the performance of the election.”. Surely no-one in 1973 would believe that Socialist Worker would intervene in a Stormont election without mentioning the role of British imperialism in Ireland.

There may be some embarrassment for our time travelling comrade when she hears IS members criticising the IMG for looking for agencies of revolutionary change other than the working class. She will of course argue that the IS are wrong, and explain that Muslims are an inherently anti-imperialist force. Indeed in 1973 she could even start a platform within the IS to argue this.

(There is by the way no sub-text or inuendo behind the picture., except the Sweeney are so 1970s)

Sir Alan and the spirit of capitalism

Watching The Apprentice is similar to scoffing a Krispy Krème doughnut. You know rationally you shouldn’t eat one but secretly desire it . You feel the saturated fat envelope your heart, and the cholesterol pumping through your veins. You know you will feel sick and ill after the experience but you just can’t help it. I should seek therapy, a form of tough love and maybe that will stop me being a masochist but I really really can’t help watching this programme. I must kick the habit.

This form of low-rent reality tv has kicked off its third series with 5million viewers. Is it cos we are all addicted to hearing Sir Al saying the immortal lines, “You’re fired”… and the accompanying feeling of Schadenfreude watching the sacked contestant doing the walk of shame to the taxi whisking them back to their old life? Who knows.. Around 10,000 people applied to be part of The Apprentice. What does that say?

I watched some of the 2nd series and was surprised how this programme caught on even the contestants had their own nicknames such as the rather shallow and irritating Ruth “The Badger” Badger, who now runs her own consultancy firm and laughably, answers “work problems” as kinda corporate agony aunt in a glossy women’s magazine. The 16 current wannabes include a couple of lone parents, managers and my own personal favourite, a bankrupt entrepreneur. Reading their CVs online is littered with words like, “feisty”, “brash”, “driven”, “ambitious” and so on. I couldn’t see “wants to be a capitalist scumbag who would really like to shaft people”. Shame really, it was kinda conspicuous by its absence!

When you unpick the ideology of The Apprentice you are left with a bunch of desperate wannabe capitalists trying to please their hero. And trying to be the best. The ultimate desire of being picked by Sir Alan and to be part of his Amstrad empire.

The poor unfortunate from last week, Andy, kept desperately saying to Al: “Look Sir Alan, I will give you 110%”…. It was utterly souless to watch and smacked of desperation. I mean, c'mon mate, you only had to sell cups of skinny decaf lattes to Islingtonites not split the atom.

What would people have made of this programme 15 or 20 years ago? The dog eat dog side of capitalism is celebrated not condemned. Capitalism turns even its own rotten ideology into a saleable commodity.

Though the programme that makes me want to clean my AK47 is the buy-to-let worshippers wet-dream, Relocation, Relocation. I think I need anger management classes....

Did Mr Canine Kill Bob Woolmer?

My cricket viewing has been marred by something I couldn’t quite put my finger on - until a few minutes ago when it all came back to me. As inexplicable as Michael Vaughn’s record breaking attempt at least runs has been, or the fabulous bowling technique of 'Slinga' Malinga, or the carefree sight of cameramen zooming in on large-breasted women jumping up and down, it was the slightly irritating and memory-tickling tune played in between, er, play which has disturbed my appreciation of a game I like to watch but unfortunately can't play (my record runs thus: no runs, no wickets and no catches; this is especially grating when I think that even the oafish Mike Gatting did better than this).

Perhaps the BBC can explain why it is the tune to Mr Snoop Doggy Dog’s Drop It Like It’s Hot is being used. But all this pales into comparison to Mr Canine’s lyrics to that same tune. Ponder if you will, as I have attempted to do below, some of the lyrics, if that is indeed the word I’m after.
“When the pimp’s in the crib ma”. Is Mr Snoop addressing his mother as to why a pimp is in a baby’s crib? I have no idea what this gentleman is referring to.

He goes on: “When my niggaz fill ya vest they ain’t gon pass me shit”. Let me get this right. The “niggaz” are going to fill my vest? But they aren’t going to pass you any “shit”? I am afraid to say that I don’t see the connection between my vest and some gentlemen passing you “shit”.

Mr Canine then demands that I “think before you fuck wit lil skateboard P”. There are many things I have been accused of, but wishing to “fuck” a “skateboard” is not one.

I am completely baffled by Mr Canine informing me that: “Drive my own cars, and wear my own clothes”. If it helps, Mr Canine, I wear my own clothes too.

“Must I remind you I’m only here to twist you” and “Pistol whip you, dip you then flip you”. I believe that his meaning is as follows. His role is to hit me with his gun, immerse me in an unspecified liquid and then somersault me. Why that would be anyone’s job description is baffling.

Why can't the BBC just stick to using the wonderful cricket theme (a theme unsurpassed in all of music associated with sport)? Maybe the BBC has been trying to tell us something - a something, I think, I have deduced. Mock if you will, but I am now of the belief that Mr Woolmer may have attempted to have intercourse with a skateboard and was murdered by Mr Canine. I shall be contacting the Jamaican police department forthwith.

Dr Who: rhinos in space

I am currently in a Zen like state of mind as programmes such as House and The Sopranos are back on terrestrial telly (my Zen existence disintegrates when I remind myself that I don’t have cable….). And now to complete things Dr Who is back. The Xmas episode was kinda sub-standard but I am willing to forgive Russell T. Davies as he usually is on top form…..most of the time. Now we have a brand spanking series with a new woman assistant. Well, guess what, I just had to review the first episode. And as Simply Red once crooned, if you don’t know me by now, pop pickers, then you will never never never know me.

We meet Martha Jones, who as a medical student encounters a rather "sick" looking “mister Smith” who inexplicably has two heart beats, during the ward round. She thinks stomach problems while the consultant thinks psychiatric!

There are strange meteorological problems afoot and I am not talking global warming either. There’s a build up of static electricity, raging storm clouds and pouring rain only hitting the hospital and nowhere else.

And before you can say cost cutting exercise, the hospital lands on the moon (honestly, they go to extraordinary lengths to impose PFI schemes nowadays). In defiance of science and the laws of physics (hey, this is fiction) the moon has air and before you know it a cluster of space ships hits the surface and enter the Judoon. A bunch of inter-galactic shock storm troopers who look remarkably like rhinos. These thuggish cops are on a mission to find a plasmavore, who is in the guise of a sweet innocent pensioner, who assimilates blood, rather quaintly, through a straw as opposed to using fangs (look, jokes about the blood transfusion service are tempting). The Judoon probe the “humans” in this hospital and in a British state kinda way indulge in shoot-to-kill tactics and ask questions later.

Anyway, the Doctor and the medical doctor have to find this pesky little plasmavore before the Judoon decide to execute everyone and to save the hospital staff and patients from lack of oxygen all in a matter of 45 minutes…..oh and return to earth. There’s lots of running around and Martha trying to elicit information from this enigmatic character known as the Doctor. And the gorgeous Martha gets to indulge in some 'genetic transfer' with him (Tut! before the watershed as well...).

Martha, in a similar way to Rose, has “emotional baggage” in regards to her family. Rose was brought up by her mum in a council flat while Martha’s parents are divorced yet affluent. Different social class, race and backgrounds yet both are asserting their independence and are strong women but feel there’s more to life. I am sure as the series progresses Martha’s character will be fleshed out and evolve (rather like Rose).

Martha can hold her own against the vile Judoon (critics say these critters are a rip-off from Hitch Hiker’s Guide to the Galaxy). And no bloody screaming either (ah, the golden olden days of the average one-dimensional weak woman assistant in Dr. Who)….Thank-you Russell T. Davies. The one thing I like about Russell T. Davies he does create good strong women characters.

I give it 8 out of 10 (but I am biased). It looks like the BBC spent a couple quid more on special effects than ITV on their piss-poor but hilariously-funny-but-for-the-wrong-reasons, Primeval. Oh well, Torchwood is now a distant memory since Dr Who is back…

Rumour has it that the final episode stars the excellent John Simm playing a Blairesque prime minister who is really the Doctor’s arch-nemesis the Master in disguise. So that’s what is up with Tony Blair then…..

I am on the Weakest Link, Goodbye

Well this isn't socialist news as such, but it is news about a socialist - and hopefully not as dire as Galloway on Big Brother! For those of you who know me, I'm sure you're used to me making a twat out of myself. But if you want to see me make a twat out of myself in front of 6 million people, watch the Weakest Link on Thursday 7th September, 5.15pm BBC2. I'm sure this is going to be terribly embarrassing, and they'll cut it to make me look a complete idiot, but hey, it's all in the name of fun. I got a cutting remark in on her fox hunting, which they may or not let in. And I'm sure they'll be all to happy to name and shame me as a member (at the time anyway) of George Galloway's party. I won't tell you what happens, you'll have to watch and see, and I hope you all have a good laugh at my expense!