Monday
THE environmental impact statement into oil field development was not very encouraging. Of course you all must, as always, respond to the public consultation as you see fit, but bothering to have an EIS for this project feels fundamentally dishonest. Sure sure, there are mitigations, nibbling at the edges. But what were Navitas ever going to say that could possibly distract from the inescapable fact that it’s an oil field?
What does anyone think the environmental impact is going to be? Yes, hang on, I’ve just checked all the world news for the last few decades, and it turns out it’s not great. My suggestion for the impact statement would have been a photo of someone in the year 2040 running around with their hair on fire because they accidentally stepped into the sunlight.
Equally, the recent quote from MLA Roberts: “…everything would be put in place to make sure it was delivered as safely and as environmentally consciously as humanly possible” is no doubt accurate, but dare I repeat myself, we’re talking about cracking open the planet to extract more fossil fuels here. Let’s not pretend the government can do this and still tell everyone they’re the good guys. Some people might be better off financially, I don’t really know, but hang on, let me check all of world history again, and I see it’s suggesting that about eight white guys are going to make out like bandits while the rest of you suffer the consequences.
Tuesday
With graceful synchronicity, Just Stop Oil has been in the news after staging a protest at Stonehenge. They sprinkled some of their trademark orange powder over some of the stones, in another bid to gain attention for everyone getting burned from the surface of an uninhabitable planet. I know, cringe!
The reaction was faster and more furious than Vin Diesel, particularly from Labour, who were keen to establish their crackdown credentials ahead of taking office. “The damage done to Stonehenge is outrageous. Just Stop Oil are pathetic. Those responsible must face the full force of the law,” tweeted Keir Starmer. If only he was half as outraged by the use of white phosphorus on children as he is by cornflour on rocks.
Then there was Rishi Sunak, who said: “The action of the militants is ruinous. The feeling amongst sympathisers of the cause in the House is one of panic. I am frankly not very hopeful of success if these tactics are persisted in.” Oh no wait, that was David Lloyd George in 1909, talking about the Suffragette movement. Silly me, that has no relevance at all.
History has not been kind to the olden days Liberal Party Prime Minister. Just for balance, I should add that Lloyd George also once said of a political rival: “When they circumcised Herbert Samuel they threw away the wrong bit,” which just goes to show how far public debate has fallen in this country. You’d never get a burn that awesome from Ed Davey.
Perhaps the funniest aspect of the reaction, once it had been established that JSO had sprinkled powder on Stonehenge and not set about it with artillery shells, was the attempt to maintain that proper damage had been done, actually, if you considered the rare lichens that grow upon the stones. It was the most concern for lichens that climate change deniers have ever shown in all of history.
At about the same time JSO activists also went to an airport and sprayed orange paint over a load of private jets. This really did damage them, and one of them belonged to Taylor Swift, so that was much worse. Nobody seemed bothered about that, but then there are no rare lichens on Taylor Swift that we know of.
The thing I fear most is the first time MLAs go abroad on one of their hands-across-the-water friendship jollies and find themselves confronted with Just Stop Oil protestors. Nobody wants to see an MLA covered in bright orange powder. Some of them wear glasses, which would get completely blanked out, and then leave a glasses-shaped gap in the powder when they remove them. Honestly, it doesn’t bear thinking about.
Wednesday
Writing this column a week in advance has rarely been so irksome. Firstly, US President Joe Biden might be standing down after a presidential debate performance that made his cognitive decline punishingly obvious, though you might argue that has been the case for at least two years. At time of writing, no decision has been made, though rumours fly. Many have written that they found it unbearably moving to watch Biden stumble and mumble his way through the event, but let’s look on the bright side, he’s not a Palestinian child, so comparatively he’s doing great.
More pertinently for the Falklands, a General Election will have taken place in the UK by the time you read this. Not to come over all Markstradamus, but I believe you chaps in the future now live under the benevolent reign of PM Keir Starmer. I’m going to assume this is the case, but should the mother and father of all political upsets have occurred, and I am here committing the greatest faux pas since that time I met a friend after a few months away and laughed at his comedy hat with permed hair attached, only to find it was just a hat on top of his real hair, you’ll have to forgive me.
Starmer got himself into a spot of bother in the last few days by suddenly blurting, “At the moment people coming from countries like Bangladesh are not being removed because they are not being processed.” Which was weird because nobody else had been talking about Bangladesh, especially not the person asking him the question.
Never fear, Labour has long since mastered the Trumpian art of furiously insisting you didn’t hear what you heard, and in fact you are the one causing offence by wilfully using your ears.
Watching Labour at this election has been a disconcerting experience, as crushingly bleak and depressing as watching England in the Euros. You’re sure we used to have a left wing, but those players have abandoned that part of the pitch, and what’s Phil Foden doing way over on the right talking about sending Bangladeshis back where they came from?
None of it matters because Rishi Sunak and the Tories in general are currently so despised that Keir Starmer would still have won had he used the last leaders’ debate to step from behind his podium, drop his trousers and demonstrate to the nation his prowess at helicopter willy. “Look at this, everyone! My promise to you is change, growth and me doing this!” British voters would have shrugged and decided he couldn’t be worse than the last lot, and besides, Starmer has long since established that you must not believe any of his pledges, even ones about helicopter willy.
Thursday
I mentioned football there, and normally I don’t like to sully these pages with it, my secret passion, my hidden shame. The Covid-delayed 2020 European Championship (played in 2021) was the only time my interest has ever come in handy, since England’s progress meant there was cause for PN to publish reports on the knockout games, so I had to pretend to be a sportswriter for a few weeks.
I was tempted to use the weird tenses and clauses employed by professional pundits – “He’s gone up there the lad like one of your Ronaldos or your Messis and he’s knocked it in early doors” – but in the end decided on professional moderation. I should do that more, I wouldn’t get shouted at so often.
I won’t get into the details this time, but I will say that one thing I always enjoy at tournaments is that no matter how depressed or anxious a fan in the stadium might be while watching their team, the moment the director does a crowd shot and they realise they are on the big screen, they transform into a crazed picture of joy. “Oh no that’s four nil, this the the worst day of… hey, that’s me! YAAAY!” Confirmation of my theory that being on the telly is the finest of all the human experiences.
