Tag Archives: England

Time for a New Six Nations?

So the Six Nations tournament is in full swing. This always gets me thinking about rugby, and in particular, the competition’s format. Rugby fans might find what I am going to say controversial, whilst nobody else will give much of a shit. But as a rugby fan, I want to make my feelings heard. And before we go any further no, this blog isn’t about the self-destructing Wales team.

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You see, I don’t think the Six Nations should be six nations. Not any more. Frankly, Italy (wooden spoon winners in two of the past three seasons and odds on for a hat-trick) are not strong enough to contest and do themselves no favours by continuing to slug it out with the big boys of European rugby. From the 85 games they’d played up to the start of the current championship, they’d lost 72 and their overall points difference stood at an alarming -1553. That’s more than twice as many as the second worst team, Scotland.

It’s nothing personal. I admire the way Italy stick to their guns, often in the face of overwhelming odds. They are a strong, powerful team, and have produced a couple of top players. But this season really should spell the end of their involvement in the Six Nations tournament. Who needs it? They were effectively out of the reckoning after just two games, having been on the end of two home thrashings at the hands of Wales and Ireland (7-33 and 10-63 respectively). They usually have one good game a year, and that came last week at Twickers. They gave England a scare, more through clever exploitation of the rules than any real skill, but still ended up losing by double digits. All the evidence suggests that Italy are getting worse at this rugby lark, not better. It could be time to go. And you know what? They can take France with them.

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Controversial? Let me explain…

At several points in it’s long history (the first comparable tournament was played way back in 1883) the Six Nations was known as the Home Nations, and consisted of England, Ireland, Scotland and Wales. Then in came the French and it became the Five Nations. Then Italy made it six. Where’s it going to end? Shall we just invite every rugby-playing nation in Europe and call it the 17 Nations? Of course not, that would be impractical. But then you have to wonder why Italy deserve a place. Georgia are actually above them in the world rankings and Romania and Russia aren’t far behind.

I want a return to the old days. But not because I’m some Neanderthal racist who hates Italians and Frenchies. Nope, I have a plan. The tournament should return to its roots, but I think we should do it differently this time. I want the home nations to play every other home nation twice a season, for a total of six games. And lets mix up the draw each year, pulling the fixtures at random, instead of having the format and fixtures set in stone. That gets boring. The draw for the next tournament can be made at the end of the previous one to give fans time to make arrangements, and thereby amping up the drama even more. Put it on live TV, make a spectacle out of it like the FA Cup draw.

Let’s be honest, nobody really likes playing the French. Not because anyone is afraid of them (though they do have a nasty habit of running in good tries), but because they bring nothing to the tournament, especially the way the team is at the moment. They currently stand at 8th in the latest World Rugby rankings, lower than any of the home nations, and haven’t been serious contenders for years. They were fortunate to beat Italy last season. If they’d lost, they would have suffered a second whitewash in four years. Not good enough, sorry.

There’s long been talk of introducing a two-tier system into the Six Nations, with promotion and relegation. If that ever happened, Italy would undoubtedly be the first team relegated. And there’s a decent chance France could follow. I suggest we take the initiative and cull them now, then put them in a separate European group with two of Georgia, Romania and Russia. Maybe even Spain, Germany or Portugal. All are emerging nations ranked in the world top 25. Playing each other (along with France and Italy) on a regular basis would improve their game immeasurably, which can only be good for the sport. The European group of four (even five or six would be manageable as these teams play less games per year than the elite) can also play each home and away, then face the winners of the British group in a grand final every year at a neutral venue. Obviously France would dominate for the first couple of years, but I the other teams would soon catch up with them.

There, sorted. Think about it. This proposed new format would benefit everyone involved. The British teams would only have to play one (or two, if they get to the grand final) more games a season, there would be more opportunity for sponsors and TV revenue, the fans would get more of what they really want (Wales v Scotland, England v Anybody), the smaller rugby-playing nations would have a framework and a chance to develop, and there would be a huge showpiece final every year to rival the (football) European Championship.

Who’s with me?


Wales Euro 2016 The Impossible Dream | americymru.net

The dream is still alive!

Group-shot

Read the piece below to see why.

Source: Wales Euro 2016 The Impossible Dream | americymru.net


How to Have the Perfect Bank Holiday

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In Britain, we are lucky enough to be gifted the occasional Bank Holiday. When you are kid it’s like having two Sundays in a week, but when you grow up and start work you learn to really appreciate any extra down time. The big question is, how to spend it?

Time Management

As tempting as it may be, if you spend the whole day in bed (especially if you are alone) you will regret it later. Have a lie-in by all means. But set an alarm and get up at a reasonable hour. Make a list the day before of all the things you want to do, and be realistic about your goals.

Chores

Everyone has them, nobody wants them. Get used to it. Doing the laundry, popping to the corner shop for some milk, washing the dishes that have been festering in the sink since last weekend’s curry night, whatever little jobs need doing, get them out of the way early doors. Then we can all move on.

Fun Time

We all have our guilty pleasures in life. Something we truly enjoy, but rarely have time to indulge. If only there were more hours in a day, right? Well, today there is! Kind of. It might mean firing up the Xbox, going for a walk, having a kick about with your mates or masturbating furiously to repeats of Charmed. Whatever floats your boat. Just remember to lock the door if that last option appeals to you, and don’t let ‘fun time’ last too long.

Spread Your Wings

This part is key. It’s very simple. Do something you’ve never done before. It can be anything from visiting that museum you’ve always fancied, to taking up a new hobby. It’s your call. It will make this particular Bank Holiday memorable, and make you feel as if you’ve actually achieved something.

Chill

What you shouldn’t do is have a big night in the pub. That would equal a short week from hell. You should have done that on Friday. Or Saturday. Maybe both. In a recent survey, ‘watching a film at home’ topped a list of people’s favourite things to do on a Bank Holiday, coming in just above ‘doing chores’ and ‘relaxing.’ The chores should be done by now. At least, the important ones. So now you can relax and watch a film. Two birds, one stone. You’ve had a busy day. You deserve it.


Ye Olde Trip to Jerusalem

One recent Sunday afternoon, I found myself at a loose end in Nottingham. Obviously, the first thing I did on checking out of the hotel after a heavy session the night before was to find a J.D. Wetherspoon’s and get a traditional English with a beer chaser. That business concluded, with about three hours to kill before my train came, I decided to take a stroll over to the castle, which was (almost) on my route. Being Welsh, I have a thing for castles. No disrespect, but as it happened, Nottingham Castle has nothing on any castle I’ve seen across the border. I don’t know why, I’m not an expert. It just didn’t seem to have much character. Not enough to make me stop for long, anyway. So I kept on walking, and down the road a bit I stumbled across a cute little whitewashed pub set in a courtyard called ‘Ye Olde Trip to Jerusalem.’ Sometimes you find the best things when you aren’t looking for them.

3678811833_9c238ef29c_bJerusalem

I remembered thinking what a strange name that was. A lot of pubs in Britain are named after something connected with the local history. The Plough, The Hope & Anchor, or The Railway Inn. As far as I knew, Jerusalem was a long way from Nottingham. I could tell the pub was old. It had that clumpy, uneven look about it. But I didn’t realize how old until I saw the sign outside that said, ‘The oldest Inn in England, Est. 1189AD.’

That settled it. There was only one place this path was leading.

Inside, it looked just as old as it did on the outside. Wooden tables and chairs, sloping ceilings, there’s even a suit of armour standing in the corner. I couldn’t bring myself to buy a cheap imported lager in a place like this, so I got a pint of Fuller’s Wild River, took a seat in a quiet corner, and whipped out my Kindle. That felt weird too, and I found myself wishing I’d brought at least a paperback, if not some form of ancient scripture to read instead. It was like being in a time slip. I kept expecting a buxom blonde waitress with a massive heaving bosom to come waltzing through. Or I might have just been hoping. Either way, no such luck.

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When I got home I Googled Ye Olde Trip to Jerusalem, and found that the pub is attached to rock caves which were once used as a brewing house, and are believed to date back to around the time Nottingham Castle was built in 1068. As you can probably imagine, it has a suitably grisly history. The pub is said to be plagued by poltergeist activity, and there is a disused condemned cell on the premises where prisoners were shackled to walls and left to starve to death. My favourite story is the one about how they keep a cursed model Galleon in a glass case. Superstition has it that anyone who cleans it will die or suffer terrible luck, so everyone stopped cleaning it years ago and now it’s covered with a thick layer of grime.

I also discovered that Ye Olde Trip to Jerusalem isn’t the only place that claims to be the oldest pub in England. In fact, there are two more in Nottingham alone. If I’d had more time I could have gone on a mini-pub crawl and decided myself which one was the oldest, or at least which one was the best, but I had a train to catch.

*All photographs nicked off the internet. If they are yours, blame Google Images.


Gig Review – A Day to Remember @ Alexandra Palace, London, 12/02/2014

A Day to Remember

W/ The Story So Far, Every Time I Die, Mallory Knox

@ Alexandra Palace, London, 12/02/14

ADTR 2014 UK Tour Poster

The older I get, the less new bands I can get into. Maybe it’s an age thing. The days of me sitting around watching MTV for hours on end are long gone so not much really sticks. The Story So Far are one band, however, that I did notice. After a succession of splits and EPs, the Walnut Creek punks hit the mainstream last year with their album What You Don’t See and a well-earned spot on the Warped tour. They play the energetic brand of pop punk championed by the likes of The Wonder Years and I couldn’t wait to see if they could cut it live. Unfortunately, I missed their set through my own ineptitude. Ditto Every Time I Die and Mallory Knox. Which is a shame, I was impressed with Mallory Knox’s debut and lets face it, any band named after a character in Natural Born Killers can’t be bad.

There are some bands that when you listen to their studio recordings, you just know you are only getting half the story. ADTR are one of those bands. They’ve been near the top of my ‘to see’ list since I first listened to 2009’s Homesick, still one of my favourite albums. I was less enamored with last year’s Common Courtesy, partly because of all the faffing about between songs. It’s a ‘window into the creative process’ that, frankly, I could do without. After ‘I Remember’ there’s about 6 minutes of it. Despite that, they remain a band notoriously difficult to define. Are they punk? Hardcore? Metalcore?

Does it even matter?

Anyway, bring it ADTR. Here is your chance.

They take the stage in a flash of pyro to the thumping strains of All I Want. They are much less poppy in a live environment. Surprisingly, a lot of their lighter material seemed to fall a little flat while the more hardcore songs went down a storm. Fast Forward to 2012 sequeing into 2nd Sucks was absolutely brutal. Mid-set they surprised everyone, and showcased their considerable skills in the process, by going acoustic for a song and a half. Surprisingly, the set was weighted considerably toward older material, highlights being My Life For Hire and You Should Have Killed me When You Had the Chance. The guitar interplay between Neil Westfall and comparative new boy Kevin Skaff was just as layered and complex as it sounds on the records, but live it has an added punchiness that powers the songs effortlessly toward their thundering conclusions.

I don’t know what the huge multi-level doll’s house stage set was all about, but the band made full use of it, jumping around with admirable intensity. At one point, somebody (it might have been Jeremy McKinnon, it might not have been) crowd surfed in a giant bubble. Haven’t seen that at a gig before. I was also stumped during the encores when the band brought out about 25 bemused-looking teenage girls to stand behind them. Maybe they were competition winners or something. Or maybe they were just a bunch of horny groupies. Who knows?

The choice of venue wasn’t ideal. As legendary as it is, the Ally Pally is like a gigantic cavernous shoebox stuck on the edge of north London. It’s not easy to get to, the acoustics are awful, and if you are more than ten rows from the front you can’t see shit. ADTR are at that awkward stage in the UK where they can’t decide whether they want to be an arena band or not. Personally, I wish they had either bitten the bullet and booked the 02, or done two or three nights in a smaller venue. Ally Pally is the worst possible choice. But what the fuck do I know?

Setlist

All I want
I’m Made of Wax, Larry.
Fast Forward to 2012
2nd Sucks
Right Back at it Again
A Shot in the Dark
City of Ocala
You Had me @ Hello
If It Means a Lot to You
Complicated
Homesick
Mr Highway’s Thinking About the End
Life Lesson’s Learned the Hard Way
My Life for Hire
Sometimes You’re the Hammer, Sometimes You’re the Nail
You Should Have Killed Me When You Had the Chance
Have Faith in Me
Plot to Bomb Panhandle

(Encores):

Violence
All Signs Point to Lauderdale
The Downfall of us All


UFC Fight Night 30: Machida v Munoz

October 26th 2013, Phones 4 U Arena, Manchester

Following last weekend’s spectacular night of entertainment, the question on everyone’s lips was how would UFC Fight Night 30 compare to UFC 166, described by Dana White as ‘The greatest card ever in UFC history?’

High-profile UFC events don’t come to the UK often, so when they do British MMA fans bust their balls to get tickets. This event was originally built around local hero Michael Bisping, but unfortunately he was forced out of the fight after suffering a detached retina in training. The UFC then pulled off a masterstroke by drafting in ex light heavyweight world champion Lyoto Machida to headline the card against Mark Munoz. But I’m getting ahead of myself, there was much more to this card than the headline fight. There’s no point talking about who couldn’t be here. We’re much better off talking about who could…

The prelims were stacked with names familiar to most British fans, kicking off in the middleweight division with English hope Brad Scott of TUF: The smashes fame, against Dutch judo specialist Michael Kuiper. This promised to be an exciting fight, and it didn’t disappoint, Scott tapping out his opponent in the very first round. Elsewhere, the first Scot in the UFC, Robert Whiteford, took the fight against Jimy Hettes at a week’s notice, and it showed as he was heavily outclassed by the American, and Cole Miller spoiled what could have been an impressive victory over Andy Ogle by making some disparaging comments about judges and European fighters, before literally running away flanked by minders. Maybe that’s why he’s still on the undercard at big events, if he’s lucky.

Next, Brit pioneer Rosi Sexton came up against Brazilian Jessica Andrade in the women’s bantamweight division. With both coming off losses, there was a lot on the line here with the loser possibly facing the dreaded cut from a loaded division. Not surprisingly, the crowd was right behind Rosi, and the smile on her face as she entered the Octagon was a joy to see. However, the smile didn’t last very long as she was picked apart over three rounds by a younger, faster opponent. Nobody could fault the heart of the Manchester native, as she did well to go the distance, the referee almost stepping in to save her several times. It was heartbreaking to watch, but the sad truth is that maybe Sexton is out of her depth at this level.

Someone who is certainly not out of his depth is TUF 17 finalist Luke Barnatt, who had a real tear up with highly-rated Andrew Craig. The Cambridge upstart floored his more experienced opponent twice with strikes before ending the fight with a submission. Any observers couldn’t help but be impressed by his striking. Perhaps less-so by his habit of celebrating prematurely. Twice he turned away with his arm raised in triumph, before actually finishing the fight. Headlining the prelims (if such a misnomer exists) was Al Laquinta v Piotr Hallmann in the lightweight division. I like Laquinta, but he hasn’t really proved himself at the top level yet, and here he was up against some stiff opposition in the Pole, who despite flying under the radar up until now, has accumulated a pro record of 14-1-0. His submission rate would indicate that he loves taking fights to the ground, but he didn’t have much of a chance against the classier Laquinta who won the judges decision.

First up on the main card was a flyweight clash between Portsmouth’s Phil Harris and the Brazilian John Lineker (who, allegedly, is named after Gary!). These two have been destined to meet each other for some time, and were originally scheduled to face off in August at UFC 163 where Lineker fought (and beat) Jose Maria when Harris was forced out. Here, they finally clashed. Anyone who was expecting a floor battle would have been disappointed as Lineker lived up to his ‘Hands of Stone’ monicker and rocked Harris with punches several times in the first round before finishing the fight with a solid body shot. Game over for Harris. Perhaps his only saving grace could be the fact that Lineker failed to make weight, not for the first time in his career, which didn’t cast him in a good light with the UFC hierarchy.

Next up was Italy’s Alessio Sakara against Sweden’s Nicholas Musoke at Middleweight. Sakara is the wrong side of 30 and has lost his last three match-ups, admittedly against world-class opposition, so he was probably fighting in the last chance saloon tonight. Despite wins becoming increasingly rare, Sakara usually puts on an exciting fight but in the opposite corner, Musoke, taking his bow in the Octagon, is a largely unknown quantity. Both fighters came out swinging to roars of approval from the crowd, and both were clearly rocked in some frantic opening exchanges. After a spell against the cage, Musoke then took Sakara to the ground, where again it was a see-saw battle with both fighters going for subs. Sakara seemed to be getting the better of it and was throwing some serious leather from the top, until he left an arm out and quick as a flash, Musoke grabbed it and held for an arm-bar. Welcome to the UFC, Nicholas.

Irishman Norman Parke was up next, the 26-year old fighting John Tuck at lightweight. The popular and talented Parke is a familiar name to most UFC followers after winning The Ultimate Fighter: The Smashes last year, beating fellow Brit Colin ‘Freakshow’ Fletcher in the final, but since then has been used sparingly by the UFC, his last appearance coming at UFC 162 where he got an impressive decision win over Kazuki Tokudome. Fellow prospect Tuck was a less familiar name, being relatively new to the UFC, but the MMA Lab product started the night with an impressive career record of 7-0-0, including six first round victories, the only blemish being a defeat to Al Laquinta during the entry rounds to TUF: Live, but as those fights are classes as exhibitions it didn’t go on his record. All eyes on Parke, then, who did a decent enough job. He threw some good combinations and was never in serious trouble, winning a unanimous decision. Parke, who’s record in the UFC now stands at 3-0-0, seems to have all the tools in his locker, but by his own admission he needs to start finishing fights if he is going to make an impression.

Among light Canadian heavyweight Ryan Jimmo’s claims to fame is tying for the fastest knockout in UFC history (7 seconds, against Anthony Perosh at UFC 149). Here he took on London’s Jimi ‘Poster Boy’ Manuwa, the former BAMMA and UCMMA champion going in with a faultless record of 13-0-0, with none of his fights ever requiring a judge’s decision. Fair to say, then, that this was a ‘blink and you’ll miss something’ kind of fight. The opening round was less than explosive, but Manuwa took the center of the cage and delivered some killer knees and kicks at close quarters. To the frustration of the crowd, Jimmo seemed determined to use spoiling tactics, and time and time again the pair were separated by the referee. Then, with just 25 seconds left in the second round, Manuwa caught Jimmo with a knee to the face. He reeled backward, bounced on his heels, and then slumped to the floor holding his leg in the air. Legitimate injury or not, Manuwa walked away with the TKO.

Ross Pearson has won himself a lot of fans with his tireless work ethic and constant desire to improve, myself included. His co-headliner slot on the bill is well-deserved. However, the Sunderland lightweight faced his stiffest test yet against American striker Melvin Guillard, veteran of 46 professional fights and perennial title contender, but with four defeats from his last six, there were signs that the Young Assassin was on the slide. Plus, tonight he wasn’t just fighting Pearson, he was fighting every member of the 21,000 crowd. This was many people’s pick for Fight of the Night. Shame it didn’t pan out that way. After a frantic opening flurry, Guillard pushed Pearson against the cage and caught him with two brutal knees, opening up a nasty gash on the Englishman’s forehead. The only problem was, at least one of those knees were illegal blows. Marc Goddard stepped in quickly and pulled the two apart, while the crowd looked on in bemused silence. From here, the result could have gone a number of ways. Judging by his protestations, Pearson must have thought he’d been TKO’d. Guillard probably thought he was going to get disqualified. But in the end the decision was a No Contest. Another strange and slightly disappointing end to a fight. I’m already looking forward to the re-match.

UFC Fight Night 30 poster

And so here we are at the headline event. Machida v Munoz. Despite an unimpressive record of three wins against three defeats since losing the world light heavyweight championship to Mauricio Rua in 2010, the Brazilian karate specialist remains one of the most popular fighters in the promotion. Who could forget that front-kick on Randy Couture which one Knockout of the Year in 2011? Coming off the back of a controversial split-decision loss to Phil Davies, Machida could not afford another slip-up tonight. This was his first appearance at middleweight after spending his entire career thus far at light heavy, a move welcomed by many in the sport. His opponent, the Filipino Wrecking Machine, is certainly no slouch, having won five of his last six against some of the best opposition in the world (the defeat coming against current champ and Anderson Silva-slayer Chris Weidman) and fresh from a decision win over Tim Boetsch in July. His game plan coming into the fight would have been simple; clinch, grapple, take the fight to the floor. Basically, grab hold of Machida, known as one of the most elusive fighters in the sport, and don’t let go. Of course, having a game plan and seeing that game plan through are two very different things.

Already a favourite, Machida endeared himself to the crowd still further (and showed some impressive local knowledge) by coming out to the Oasis track Fuckin’ in the Bushes and some delirious cheering. At middleweight, he looks lean and mean, and wasted no time taking the center of the cage and immediately embarking on his traditional ‘feeling out’ period. Not that there was much feeling out to be done, with these two being regular training partners. Munoz attempted to stay on the outside, trying to be as elusive as his opponent, and there were early signs that he could have been trying to beat the Dragon at his own game. But then, at about two minutes in, he walked straight into a devastating high kick which dropped him to the canvass. Machida pounced, fists ready, but hesitated, knowing the fight was over. He knew before the referee did, and certainly before Munoz did.

In summary, maybe it wasn’t such a good night for the British fighters, but there was hardly a dull moment in a fine night’s entertainment. Here’s to hoping the UFC comes to these shores again in the not-too distant future. We have some unfinished business, ya’ll.

This post was originally published by the Huff Post UK: http://www.huffingtonpost.co.uk/chris-saunders/


A Royal Pain in the Backside

This post was originally published in the Huffington Post (UK).

Media Coverage of the royal birth

Media Coverage of the royal birth

I inadvertently started an international shitstorm on Facebook recently. The status update that sparked it all read, “When poor people who have never worked have a kid, they are called benefit cheats. When rich people who have never worked have a kid, they are called royalty.”

Justified, I thought. And topical. There has been a lot in the British press recently about benefits scroungers cheating the system. And, in case you missed it, Prince William and Kate Middleton have just had a baby. Like a lot of other people, I am tired of hearing about it. It’s on every TV channel, every news website, and when I get my morning newspaper, I have to flick past 18 pages of coverage and a 16-page ‘souvenir’ supplement just to get to the sports section.

Private Eye magazine got it right with their front-page headline, ‘WOMAN HAS BABY.’ Does anything more really need to be said? How much more can you say, really? Sure, tell us how big or heavy it was if you must. What time it arrived, maybe. Tell us what they are going to call it. But anything else is superfluous.

The status update got 29 ‘likes.’ But I managed to ruffle the feathers of a couple of people who were quick to jump to the Royal’s defence. They informed me that, apparently, most of the Royal family do have ‘real world jobs.’ These jobs include (or have included) admirals, helicopter pilots, and ‘working for Jaguar.’

Not ‘real world jobs,’ in my book. I don’t know any admirals or helicopter pilots. They are generally regarded as jobs for the privileged. Those from a certain stock. And if they do count as real jobs, which one would assume, come complete with a legitimate (as in, earned), and quite substantial salary, then why do the Royal family as a whole skim around £36 million in additional funds per year from the British taxpayer? And that’s not even including policing costs, which add another few million. I can’t imagine many of them ever putting their hands in their pocket to get the beers in, either.

So what’s my problem? I want to live in a fair society, that’s what. Is that so unreasonable? That is the crux of my argument. Why should a select group of people be entitled to the best quality of life our modern existence can offer, while the vast majority of others have to scrimp and save? These are times of austerity, as we are constantly being told; yet the Royal family and their legion of cohorts and hangers-on fly around in helicopters and dine at the most exclusive establishments at the nation’s expense. And now we have another mouth to feed.

It’s not accumulating wealth that I’m against, per se. If someone gets rich through hard work and endeavor, good for them. But the Royal family just sit back and live off the sweat, blood and tears of others. They have done for centuries. One reason the working classes in Britain struggle so much financially is because of the high taxes, which is where that £36 million-plus a year that keeps the Royals living in luxury comes from.

Many people claim that the Royals pay for themselves because they encourage tourism. Sorry, that argument doesn’t hold any water. Do you think people only come here specifically to see the Crown Jewels? At best, it would just be another thing to cross off a checklist. Britain is the 8th most popular tourist destination in the world, just ahead of Russia and far behind Turkey, China and the US. None of which have a Royal family. France is the number 1 tourist destination worldwide. They don’t have a Royal family, either.

I am from Wales, but I am lucky enough to have lived in several different countries and forged good relationships with people from all four corners of the globe (*I don’t know where that saying came from. Globes don’t even have corners). Interestingly, all the people who took issue with my comment shared the same demographic: white, middle class, university-educated English guys. In my experience, most middle class, V-neck wearing, Volvo-driving English people adore the Royal family. Other Europeans are indifferent, people from farther afield, like the US and China, are baffled by it all. One American friend recently summed up his impression of last year’s Royal wedding by saying, “All the hoo-hah is ridiculous, but fascinating!”

Welsh, Scots and Irish are usually hostile toward the Royal family. Or, more accurately, what it represents. Why? There are many reasons. A particularly pertinent one for us is that the current Prince of Wales is not Welsh. It’s a stolen title, used as a tool to force the will of the establishment upon the Welsh people. The last real Prince of Wales, Owain Glyndwr, went into hiding after leading a revolt against enforced English rule in the 15th century and was never seen again. Every ‘Prince of Wales’ since has been about as Welsh as Pol Pot. They visit Wales a couple of times a year, to open hospitals or ceramic factories, then swiftly leg it back across the border. And for that, we are supposed to be grateful.

Maybe this makes me anti-monarchist, I don’t know. Call me what you want, I don’t care. The irony of it all is that Britain is keen to market itself as a democracy, a jolly nice place where everyone is equal. But I sure as hell didn’t vote for the Royals. Did you? I say put them to work for a few weeks on minimum wage, let them get a taste of how the other half live.

http://www.huffingtonpost.co.uk/chris-saunders/royal-baby-pain_b_3663059.html


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