Friday, 31 July 2009

Boring conversation, anyway.





Apologies for not posting on here recently but it’s been a wild old ride at Casa Del Davies. For example, a couple of days ago I was abruptly awoken first thing in the morning. Which, as anyone who has met me for more than 30 seconds will tell you, is a sure-fire way to put me in a bad mood. Worse it wasn’t the warmth of companionship or the smell of bacon sizzling in a hot pan that jolted me from my slumber. Instead it was the sound of my girlfriend shouting up the stairs.

“Gareth! We’ve got Guinea Pigs!”

Now had it not been for the fact that 30 seconds earlier I had been dreaming of being a ringmaster in a circus where all the performers were crocodiles then I probably would have guessed that something wasn’t right. Because, if I'm honest, my darling partner only ever calls me “Gareth” if something requires my urgent attention. Otherwise she addresses me with an affectionate “G” or a not so affectionate “You there.”

However, considering that this was 7.30am and my brain doesn’t generally kick in until 2 in the afternoon, I misjudged the entire situation.

“Babe.” I huffed “I know we have Guinea Pigs. We’ve had them for quite a while now. They even have names”.

“No you moron!” screamed the future mother of my children, “We’ve got more Guinea Pigs!”

“Oh.”

It turns out that little Aphrodite (Gee Note: The artist formerly known as Bill) had given birth overnight to a litter of pups. And so with a whiff of curiosity and a slight sense of dread I dragged my sorry ass out of bed and started to throw on some clothes. I was halfway through the traditional battle between my legs and a pair of trousers when another call came from downstairs.

“Gareth! I NEED YOU HERE! QUICK!”

Jeez. She sounds overrun. There must be, like, five thousand of the furry bastards.

Well no. There were only three. However one of them had become spooked and charged headfirst into the wire mesh on the front of the cage and got stuck (Gee Note: Awww bless. He takes after me). So after gently nudging the poor blighter back to safety before he could hurt himself, we swiftly broke a previously made promise not to name any of the baby Guinea Pigs and christened him “Stupid”.

The thing is the drama hasn’t ended there. Obviously to stop a repeat occurrence of this sort of thing we’ve got to get Loki, the father Guinea Pig, snipped (Gee Note: I hate to do it to the old boy but A) I do not want to be woken up in the middle of the night to go and rescue some incredibly daft rodent ever again and B) having never impregnated anything in my life he’s starting to make me look bad).

We’ve also got to work out what gender these three new arrivals are. Which is apparently very straightforward (Gee Note: “To sex your Guinea Pig, simply gently part the genital opening” says Cavyspirit.com. “That sounds easy” says I. “Dude, what the hell are you doing?” says the Guinea Pig. “I’m sexing you” says I. “Man, I don’t know what your game is, but shouldn’t you at least take me to dinner and a movie first?” says the Guinea Pig. “I don’t mean sex you in that way. I mean finding out if you’re a boy or a girl.” says I. “I know. I was joking. Tsk. Some people. No sense of humour.” says the Guinea Pig). Except I’ve been prodding the furry little swines for three hours now and the only firm discovery I’ve made is that they’re definitely Guinea Pigs. Outside of that they could be boy, girl, or some kind of giant evolutionary step forward as far as I know.

So yeah, so far this week has been a wee bit hectic. Still I guess it could be worse. My name could be Dolores Kane.

Allow me to explain. Or better yet, allow me to introduce you to David Shayler. Shayler, born in 1965, is a British citizen probably best known for being the most high profile person convicted for breaking the Official Secrets Act, a British law designed to protect sensitive information from finding it’s way in to the public domain.

Davey boy was gainfully employed by the British Security Service, commonly known as MI5, for six years until 1997. After leaving his post the Mail On Sunday, a newspaper that positively loves to scream the words “Political correctness gone MAD” at any given opportunity, paid Shayler a whopping £40,000 to sell his story. Which he did. More importantly he gave the Mail a bunch of red stamped MI5 documents which proved to be very interesting reading indeed.



These documents appeared to claim that during the 1980’s MI5 had become “obsessed” with socialists and had in fact kept files on current Cabinet ministers Jack Straw, Harriet Harman, and The Lord Mandelson (Gee Note: Which is apparently the correct way in which to address Lordships. Despite the fact it makes them sound like they’ve been given orders from the Emperor to rid the galaxy of those pesky Jedi Knights). By 1997 all three had become high profile members of Britain’s new ruling political party Labour. So as you can probably imagine, the fact that they were once considered worth keeping an eye on by Military Intelligence was most certainly scandal worthy.

Shayler, claiming that he leaked the files in order to serve public interest, also started telling anyone who would listen that MI6 (Gee Note: You know, that place where James Bond had a licence to shake and not stir and would throw hats on Miss Moneypenny. I think that‘s what he did anyway. I don’t know. I always try reading stuff by Ian Flemming but then he says something like “And as everyone knows, homosexuals can’t whistle” and I give up) plotted an assassination attempt against Libyan leader Colonel Gaddafi. David then realised that continuing to give away government secrets might just land him in some hot water. And so he promptly scampered off to France.

Now there’s a reason why Ronnie Biggs, after escaping from prison while serving time for his part in Great Train Robbery, chose Brazil as his hiding place. There’s also a reason why Lord Lucan possibly ended up in India after accidentally killing his nanny. Those places are about five million miles away from Britain and have enough poverty riddled villages to chill out in without the worry of your face flashing up on a television screen. France on the other hand is right next door to Britain, most of it’s pretty well built up, and they speak pretty good English.

So see if you can guess what happened.

No go on, guess.

That’s right. Shayler was caught by the French police and flung in to jail. He was held without charge for four months while the British government, tired of being embarrassed by this wannabe Deep Throat, desperately petitioned their French counter parts for Shayler’s extradition. France, being France, had other ideas and after umming and ahhing for a bit rejected the British governments pleas and released David back in to the public (Gee Note: You know, a cynical person might suggest the French do this kind of thing just to mess with us Brits. Not me though. I love the French. I mean they’ll incarcerate a man for four months for, er, no real reason. It’s like a Buster Keaton movie come to life).



Shayler returned to Britain in 2000 of his own accord. He was arrested just hours after setting his feet back on English soil, and charged with three separate accounts of exposing official secrets. After two years of convictions and appeals he was eventually sentenced to six months hard time. Less than seven weeks later he was judged to have paid his debt to society and was again a free man.

And so, no longer forced to run from the law, Shayler did what any sensible ex-con does. He settled down, found himself some regular work, and lost his mind.

No really, the dude’s completely lost his mind.

Last week the Daily Mail did a follow up piece on their former source. It turns out that Shayler is now squatting in a farmhouse in Surrey, smoking a shed load of cannabis, and wearing a dress and insisting people call him “Dolores Kane” (Gee Note: OK so I’d like to point out that I have absolutely no problem with men and women wearing the opposite genders clothes. I mean it’s only a piece of fabric after all. No big deal. Whatever makes you happy. But if you’re a transvestite you can also pick your own name right? So why on Earth would you intentionally choose a name that makes you sound like a two bit Vegas stripper? Dolores Kane. You might as well go the whole hog and call yourself Tits McGee).



Oh and he’s claiming to be the reincarnation of Jesus Christ.

Yeah, I know.

You see since his time in the chain gang David’s been a busy boy. For a start he’s become an outspoken critic of the “official” version of the events of 9/11. While initially embraced by the 9/11 Truth Movement, who were undoubtedly swayed by our lad’s impressive background in MI5, as soon as he started spouting his theory that the planes that crashed in to the twin towers where in fact missiles camouflaged by holograms (Gee Note: You know, like the one Darth Vader used instead of a cell phone) the folks at the 9/11 Truth Whatever started to do that thing where people shuffle their feet and whistle and pretend to look at something, possibly a bee, flying above their head.

And when he started to talk about being the reincarnation of the Son of God the 9/11 Conspiracy Posse officially washed their hands of him. Not to worry though, Shayler took the lesson taught by the previous occupant of the spirit of Christ, Che Guevara, and turned the other cheek.

(Gee Note: For those keeping score at home, David Shayler was born in 1965. Che Guevara died in 1967. Now I’m not entirely sure exactly how reincarnation is supposed to work but, well, you can see where I’m going with this.)

Now all of this might remind you of a certain Mr. David Icke. You remember him right? The sports broadcaster who claimed to be the son of God before deciding he, er, wasn’t and instead started telling anyone who would listen that the World was controlled by 9ft tall shape shifting aliens. Well the comparison isn’t lost on Shayler. “David’s done some enormously important work”, he was quoted as saying before going on to claim that Icke was the John The Baptist to Shayler’s Batman Christ.

In a revealing interview with the Independent a couple of days after the initial report in the Mail, Shayler put forward his views that on December 23rd 2012 Gaia the spirit the links all life will awaken and reshape the cosmos. Also he suggests that society's problems can be cured if we all grew some hemp. As for the cross dressing which, along with the claiming to be Jeebus is sure to annoy the snot out of the religious right, Shayler has this to say.

"I don't give a f*** what other people think of me.” (Gee Note: Good to hear, because I think you’re f****** barking mate) “A bloke in a frock is whole lot less offensive than blowing up innocent people in Iraq and Afghanistan.".

Which is tough to argue with I guess. Of course it doesn’t make a whole lot of sense. It’s like saying a banana is less dangerous than a bomb. Well sure it is, but I still don’t like bananas.

Of course the real issue here is that David Shayler has gone from Britain’s most notorious secret seller to the media equivalent of a travelling freak show. And, I don’t know about you, but to see someone who once caused panic behind Government doors reduced to a “human interest” story is kind of disappointing. It’s hard not to wish that he could lose the JC mumbo jumbo, the new age consciousness crap, and the conspiracy theories, because truth be told he would make one hell of a political pundit, dress or no dress. Somehow however I doubt that Shayler would agree with me.

Now if you’ll excuse me, I need to go and patch up the wire mesh on the front of the cage. Turns out that Guinea Pigs can be just as silly as humans sometimes.

No comments: