Such a prescient, beautiful sentiment.

Thursday, 19 December 2013

A Rare Event.

A Two Day Long Subject, Sarah Vine.

Our spiteful tiradedress, against whom I launched my invective post, yesterday, is non other than Mrs Michael Gove. Now her nastiness, aimed squarely at her parents' generation, I assume is only meant for the likes of me. A poor boy from the other side of the tracks, not worthy of one jot of consideration for our contribution to the remnants of decency still left in our United Kingdom.

I assume her Hubble's mundane background, from which he has risen to the exalted level of Cabinet Minister was done from an immaculate conception rather than a "baby boomer" nurturing and comfort. Albeit this suggest a another bunch of selfish "boomers" with little care for how their Mikey might fare in life.  

"Mr Gove was adopted when he was four months old. All he knows about the woman who bore him is that she was a student. His adoptive parents scrimped to educate him privately. The family, which lived in Aberdeen, moved from a maisonette to the relative comfort of a semi-detached house. It is an almost cinematically Thatcherite back story, and Mr Gove still carries the convictions of the respectable, unfashionable, self-made middle class: reverence for country and military, disdain for modish educationalists and dinner-party liberals."

It would seem Mrs Gove's hubby hasn't looked that carefully at his spouse for a little while. How easy and comfortable she is in her own privileged skin. A woman prepared to pour such venom on the very generation which has allowed her ilk to prosper and rule. How we have got to this position in our Country with such inciteful, unselfish, unspoiled brilliance of mind and acumen in our midst, escapes me.

I'm sure her coke head, selfish and irresponsible, know all generation of greedy "live now pay later" compatriots will be relieved its all someone else's fault their lives and poverty destined futures are to happen. Well, not in her case, naturally, only the trailer trash serf, of course. More coke, Mrs Saatchi, divorced?

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