by Mark Leigh
My Views On… Modern Art
When the great British artist J. M. W. Turner painted
The Slave Ship in 1840 he depicted a ship sailing through a tumultuous sea of churning water, leaving scattered human forms floating in its wake. Now I’m not using this painting to discuss the arguments in support of the slave trade (or even against it), but to point out that apart from being a fantastically atmospheric image, it’s also extremely realistic.
If you gave a modern artist the same subject matter you’d probably end up with a wooden box containing sawdust, a length of vacuum cleaner hose and an old Wellington boot.
And that, in a nutshell, is the problem with modern art.
It’s not so much a way of expressing yourself as a way to piss away a grant from the Arts Council. A grant that comes mainly from your taxes. I’ve been criticised for wanting to abolish the Department for Culture, Media and Sport, but can you blame me? When UKIP gets into power we’d still invest in art but I’d fill our galleries with works by real artists - not just by Turner, but also Blake, Constable, Landseer, Madox Brown, and even Rosetti and Millais (even though they don’t sound British). These were people who knew how to paint; people who cared more about colour and composition than entertaining a gullible liberal elite.
I like to think I’m as broadminded as the next man but come on. If I displayed my unmade bed with dirty underwear and used condoms I’d be locked up in the loony-bin and my kids would be put on the ‘at risk’ list in the blink of an eye. I’m a genuine bloke; what you see is what you get (well, unless I’m concealing my true views of course) and I abhor affectation. Unfortunately the modern art world is overflowing with pretentiousness. Where else could you see a shopping basket painted gold containing a stuffed vole called ‘The Physical Impossibility of Comfort Made Beautiful by the Inescapable Truth of the Virgin Mother Forever’? Or witness someone staring at a series of random pink blobs, who then says, without any hint of irony, ‘It conjures up a self-conscious sexual paradigm and an oppressive male archetype.’
At the end of the day a bunch of coloured squiggles is still a bunch of coloured squiggles no matter how much you stare at them and scratch your chin – and a decapitated Barbie doll wrapped in barbed wire is not so much a comment on social inequality as the artist’s silent cry for help.
And anyone knows that half a dead sheep is not a statement. It’s a kebab.
Nursery Rhymes That Tell It How It Is
Nursery rhymes need to be made more relevant.
I’m not talking about updating them for the poncey liberal elite who want to get your kids singing ‘Baa Baa Rainbow Sheep’, or ‘Three Visually Impaired Mice’, or any of that load of balls.
I’m talking about updating them so they reflect modern Britain – now a dysfunctional country thanks to the policies of Blair, Brown, Cameron and Clegg.
They had as much idea of what was good for Great Britain as Mother Goose.
It’s raining,
It’s pouring,
It’s just the weather. It’s got nothing to do with climate change, you idiot
Old Mother Hubbard
Went to the cupboard
To get her poor doggie a bone,
When she got there
The cupboard was bare
So she had to go to the food bank again
As I was going to St Ives I met a man with seven wives
He was probably an illegal immigrant
Pat-a-cake, Pat-a-cake
Baker’s man
Bake me a cake as fast as you can
Before the EU bans colourants and those really tasty
artificial sweeteners.
There was an old woman
Who lived in a shoe
She’d lost her job in the recession
Jack and Jill went up the hill
To fetch a pail of water
Jack fell down and broke his crown
And has to wait five months for an operation
thanks to Government
underfunding of the NHS
The Owl and the Pussycat went to sea
In a beautiful pea-green boat,
All they had was honey; they didn’t bring money,
Not even a five pound note.
The Owl looked up to the stars above,
And sang to a small guitar,
We’ll soon arrive in Dover where due to Britain’s open-door
border policy
we’ll soon be helping ourselves to Jobseeker’s Allowance,
housing benefit and council tax benefit
The Grand old Duke of York
He had ten thousand men
But not anymore as the Government just announced
yet more jobs losses in the armed forces
Little Jack Horner
Sat in the corner
Eating his Christmas pie
Except we can’t call it Christmas anymore in case it offends
non-Christians
so instead it’ll be known as Winterval
London Bridge is falling down,
Falling down, falling down,
London Bridge is falling down,
I told you we shouldn’t have hired those Polish builders
Ride a cock horse to Banbury Cross
Although the word ‘cock’ might be offensive to women
so instead we’d better just say horse
I’m a little teapot
Short and stout
Here is my handle
Here is my spout
I’m not really a teapot, I just think I am. But the
Conservatives’
Care in the Community policy has put
me back on the street
and I’ll probably kill you in a random frenzied knife attack
Doctor Foster
Went to Gloucester
In a shower of rain
But now you’ll have to go to your local A&E as your local
cash-strapped NHS trust can’t fund
any more house calls
Georgie Porgie, pudding and pie
Kissed the girls and made them cry
They must have been lezzas
I’m Not the Only One…
Who Thinks Our EU Neighbours Are Some of the Most Godforsaken Places on Earth
Austria
No one clings to former glories as the Austrians do, and since these former glories include one of the most distasteful interludes in history, this is not their most attractive feature.
Bill Bryson
Belgium
Belgium is a nice place, though. It’s the place people go to when they’re on their way to another place, a place they’re going to spend more time at. It’s kind of the Jennifer Aniston of countries.
Craig Ferguson
Bulgaria
So what if you misplaced a little weapons-grade uranium? The important thing is keeping track of all those hand-made doileys and goat hair rugs.
Conan O’Brien
Croatia
A bloody and brutal four-year War of Independence… and this is what we end up with?
Anonymous
Cyprus
Realizing that they will never be a world power, the Cypriots have decided to be a world nuisance.
George Mikes
Czech Republic
A land of disappointments.
Anonymous
Denmark
Beer is the Danish national drink and the Danish national weakness is another beer.
Clementine Paddleford
Estonia
The world does not understand Estonians, and Estonians do not understand the world…
Andrei Hvostov
Finland
Finland has long been a popular destination with travellers who enjoy the feeling of knowing that if their car breaks down, they could be eaten by wolves.
Dave Barry
France
The French are sawed-off sissies who eat snails and slugs and cheese that smells like peo
ple’s feet. Utter cowards who force their own children to drink wine, they gibber like baboons even when you try to speak to them in their own wimpy language.
P. J. O’Rourke
Germany
The best thing you can say about Germany is that since 1990 there’s only been one of them.
Anonymous
Greece
After shaking hands with a Greek, count your fingers.
Albanian saying
Hungary
Sins are born in Hungary.
Czech saying
Italy
Italy is not technically part of the Third World, but no one has told the Italians.
P. J. O’Rourke
Latvia
It’s where Romanians go to feel better about themselves.
Anonymous
Lithuania
The Lithuanian is stupid like a pig but cunning like a serpent.
Polish saying
Luxembourg
On a clear day, from the terrace… you can’t see Luxembourg at all. This is because a tree is in the way.
Alan Coren
Malta
There’s one reason young Maltese men wear moustaches; it’s so they can look like their mothers.
Anonymous
The Netherlands
Dutch is not so much a language as a disease of the throat.
Mark Twain
Poland
In the past few centuries, Poland has become known as ‘the airplane lavatory of Europe’ – dirty, subject to turbulence, and almost constantly occupied.
Chris Harris
Portugal
Take from a Spaniard all his good qualities, and there remains a Portuguese.
Spanish saying
Romania
Come see our museum of the Middle Ages. We call it ‘Romania’.
Conan O’Brien
Slovakia
Potatoes are not food; Slovaks are not human beings.
Hungarian saying
Slovenia
Did a Slovenian feast take place here or did wild pigs run riot?
Anonymous
Spain
A wonderful country where there are only three things in excess: fleas, bed-bugs and Spaniards.
Victor Hugo
Sweden
Speculation is that the Swedes are slowly boring themselves to death. This is certainly the case if their cars and movies are any indication.
P. J .O’Rourke
Lie Back and
Think of England –
The UKIP Guide to Sex
Look, like most middle-aged British men I’m very self-conscious about writing about sex, let alone doing it. I know a lot more about the Euro Zone than any erogenous zone and have difficulty locating my car keys let alone any G-spot.
When I was growing up I learned everything I needed to about ‘how’s your father’ from copies of Spick and Span and Club International. These days the Internet is probably the best teacher but stay away from some of those German websites. Call me old fashioned but I firmly believe excrement should be kept in the bathroom not the bedroom.
The one thing you’ll learn from the Internet is how many different sexual positions there are. In my day there was just one but now it seems that the positions are only limited by your imagination and arthritis.
NB Because I’m so uptight writing about this subject, for the purpose of this feature, the word ‘penis’ will be replaced by the word ‘Majority’, while the word ‘vagina’ will be replaced by the phrase ‘Ballot box’.
Sexual positions influenced by the EU
The Cameron/Merkel Congress
The man lies on his back with his arms at his side. The woman faces him and lowers her Ballot Box on to his Majority, holding it in a vice-like grip and enjoying the absolute power and control this position allows her. The man whimpers.
Brussels Style
The woman leans backwards against a wall with the man facing her. She sits in the man’s cradled hands, her thighs gripping his waist and her arms around his neck. The woman prevents his Majority from entering her Ballot Box unless he can produce both a signed Sexual Consent Form 4435/665/h and a Contraception Affidavit 332/f, both of which have been completed with blue ink in block capitals throughout, accompanied by photocopies of his passport and countersigned by two independent witnesses.
Foreign Policy
The woman lies on her side. The man kneels behind her and grasps one of her ankles. He holds it aloft and tries to insert his Majority in her Ballot Box but it’s flaccid. He tries this several times but each time his Majority is more like a minority. The woman tilts her face towards him and laughs out loud at his impotency.
The Political Union
The man lies on his back with his legs apart and the woman kneels over his chest. The man twists his body to one side and raises one ankle. The woman arches her back. The man rolls over. The woman lays flat and lifts one leg. The man puts his hands on her shoulders. The woman grasps each of his ankles. The man grips the woman’s waist between his thighs. The woman lowers herself on to his back. The man and woman realise they are incompatible and the whole experience has been a colossal waste of time. They separate.
Greek Style
The man positions himself behind the kneeling woman and thrusts his Majority energetically into her Ballot Box while shouting, ‘I’m the European Central Bank. Take this, you bitch economy, take it!’
The Immigration Back Door
As above but the man inserts his Majority into the woman’s bottom while shouting ‘How’s this for border control?’ in a foreign language.
TWO SEX POSITIONS I RECOMMEND
FOR ALL MY CANDIDATES
Bloggy Fashion
The man updates his political blog in bed with his laptop resting on his chest. The woman faces the man, sitting astride his lap. His Majority is deep inside her Ballot Box. The man props the laptop lid against her breasts, and tells her not to rock forward and back too energetically because he’s trying to delete that post suggesting that the Gideon Bible be replaced by Mein Kampf.
Reverse Bloggy Fashion
As above but the woman sits facing away from the man with the laptop lid resting against her lower back.
UKIP Fairy Tales No.2 Snow White
… After the huntsman had spared Snow White she wandered for ages in the forest until she came upon a charming cottage in a clearing. There was no one at home but she found seven small plates on the table neatly set out for dinner, and seven small beds upstairs. By this time she was cold, tired and hungry so she helped herself to some food and fell asleep in the bedroom.
That evening, when the owners of the cottage came home from work they were surprised to see that someone had not only entered their cottage, but had taken some food and drink from the table. But the biggest surprise was when they found Snow White asleep upstairs.
All this commotion awoke Snow White who sat up and rubbed her eyes.
‘Who… who are you?’ she said, nervously looking at the seven funny little men with beards who were staring back at her.
The first little man cleared his voice and spoke, introducing himself and his six companions.
‘I’m Bureaucracy,’ he said. ‘One of the EU dwarfs.’ Then, gesturing to his six companions, he introduced them all in turn.
‘And this is Inefficiency, Incompetence, Intrusion, Confusion, Dispassion and Unaccountability… We’ve just got back from the European Parliament where we sit on various Working Group Steering Sub-Committees.’
Snow White beamed a beautiful smile. ‘Can I stay with you? I’m hiding from my stepmother, the Wicked Queen.’
‘Not unless you’ve got the form 45227/hl/331 Parts 1 and 2: a Permission To Lodge License,’ Bureaucracy said.
‘Oh,’ said Snow White with surprise. ‘I don’t.’
The dwarfs all shook their little heads.
‘But can I get one?’ Snow White asked.
The dwarfs all laughed.
; ‘Well, if you apply now it will take about ninety days,’ said Inefficiency.
‘Ninety-eight,’ corrected Incompetence. ‘And that’s providing you’re already in possession of a Woodland Transit Visa.’
‘And while your application is processed there’ll probably be a host of new EU prohibitions, restrictions, regulations and edicts, so you’ll probably have to start your application all over again,’ added Confusion.
