All My Idealism Has Vanished With My Hairline...

"Your right leg, I like. I've got nothing against your right leg. The trouble is, neither have you."

Hello. How are you? It's been a couple of days since my last post. Sorry about that. Have you missed me? I've missed you. Pining like a little lost puppy. "Have they called? Have they written?" I'd ask the Better Half. It's ok. We're all back together. We can cyber-spoon later, or something. 

Sorry. Got caught up in that weird train of thought. Onto what I actually wanted to say. With the streets of London running red with poorly-applied hair dye at the G20 summit yesterday, I was reminded of something that my old housemate, the Mighty Richard, used to say.

Political protest? A pointless exercise. Yes. Really.

Think about it. What's the first thing that happens? All the shops and offices board up their windows and doors. Using wood. From trees. That's the environmentalists time wasted by turning up, then.

And then the police kit themselves up with riot gear. And who manufacture shields, truncheons and helmets? Not magic pixies. Christ, look. The guy in the picture has a bloody gun! Not literally bloody, obviously. That would be bad. 

And if everything does kick off and the place gets trashed, then companies put in insurance claims. The insurance companies pay out and put up the premiums next year. Their profits increase and what drives the globalised economy and the stock markets? The life and insurance companies. Then everyone gets annoyed at the profiteering and we start all over again.

Richard's tongue was firmly in his cheek when he said it, but I like the logic at work...