5 March 2004

Bill Ing Not Willing To Make A Killing

Murmurs of unrest in the clergy of Cornwall have followed other concerns as to the objective of Objective One.

As you know and have been trying to ignore, the vast majority of Cornwall are poor. Sort of marginally better off than your average Albanian. Now, our Euro-Masters have come to the surprising conclusion that it is NOT A GOOD THING for parts of the EU to be living in poverty while the rest of the place is awash with cash. Consequently, a few years back they came up with the concept of Objective One, which is intended to regenerate and make viable the lives of the poor plebs who are being ignored by their individual governments.

Unsurprisingly, thanks to the decades of neglect invested in the county by successive generations of Westminster power-lunchers, Cornwall features big in the EU Objective One league. In deed, if it wasn't for the presence of fierce competition from parts of rural Greece and southern Italy, Cornwall would have an Arsenal-like grip on the championship.

So, Cornwall keeps getting Euro-swag, which has been ploughed into such things as the Anthony Eden Project and the Notional [sic] Maritime Museum at Falmouth. However, as indicated at the start of this diatribe, recently there have been rumblings of discontent. Not at receiving the Euro-loot but at the way it is being used.

In the last couple of weeks it was revealed that visitor numbers for the Eden Project had dropped considerably now the novelty has worn off. Nevertheless, plans are still going ahead to dig up the entirety of St. Austell and make it into the EP roundabout to ease traffic congestion. This week it was announced that another £20 million Euro-smackers are to be ploughed into the EP.

This was the final straw for Bill Ing, the Bish of Truro, who this week decided to come out of the cloister/closet/chorister/whatever and question the distribution of the Euro-boodle. He went public claiming that the Objective One Euro-dosh was intended to be for the benefit of the whole community and not just a few prestige projects.

'A few individuals and a few locations are doing very well out of the Objective One plans but the vast majority of the people, whom it was intended to benefit, are scarcely being affected, if at all. They are pissing away our future to provide entertainment for the rich visitors to Cornwall and give the Queen something to open. [If she can remember where Cornwall is. Ponce Charles can't seem to and he is the Duck of Cornwall],' he might have said if he'd been interviewed by the Reporting Team! Anyway, it was words to that effect.

Meanwhile, £20 million pounds worth of freshly polished cactuses (yes, I know it's cacti but 'cactuses' has more emphasis) are on the way to the Eden Project, while Camborne and Redruth ever-increasingly resemble the scenery in the Mad Max films.

When Worlds Collide!

Snatched from this week's thrilling edition of the St. Ives Times & Echo, a news item and a letter. The polarity of the views would seem to indicate that one of them exists in some inverse dimension in an alternative universe. Apparently they are talking about the same place and people!

Draw your own conclusions:-

Ermine Trudi Joe Q. Public
skate news.jpg (46100 bytes) skate letter.jpg (50227 bytes)

Flame Academy!

Anyone flying long-haul (or just having an astral out-of-body travelling trip like Winwaloe) will have had no difficulty identifying the extreme west of Cornwall last weekend. Largely due to the blazing beacons that the Good Lord lit up in St. Ives and Sennen.

First, the curse of Chillies struck on Saturday. For the uninitiated, Chillies is/was the crap restaurant at the bottom of Fish Street, across from the Sloop car park. In recent years a succession of failed business enterprises have to come to grief there, each successively plumbing a new depth not previously achieved by the last disaster.

After a winter hibernation, the old Chillies signs (version 127.1) were taken down to be replaced by shiny new signs promising the advent of a great new venture to be called Slipways.

Three weeks ago Slipways opened. Last Saturday it went up in smoke!

This was not a good thing as, apart from the traditional reasons, much of Downlong represents a peculiar fire hazard in that it is all joined together, with not many genuine fire-breaks between buildings. Cue total carnage as the Cornwall Fire Brigade tried to manoeuvre 7 or 8 fire engines plus ancillary vehicles into St. Ives on a sunny Saturday afternoon when half the roads were in a state of dug-uppedness.

Anyway, it all ended disappointingly when, despite the best efforts of its staff, the fire refused to spread to the Sloop!

Clearly, god thought that that was such a laugh he decided to do it all over again within 24 hours as a thatched mansion in Sennen went up in smoke on Sunday. The icing on the dog-turd in this particular instance was that the owner of the property had purchased it for a mere £500,000 (lunch money for Winwaloe) only a week earlier!

To Bey Or Not To Bey ...

... that is the question.

And we've got the preliminary results, which, even at this early stage, make for interesting reading.

Check out the scores and/or have a go yourself by clicking on the link to the Beyblade Truth-ometer:-

Check The Beyblade Truth-ometer!

Meanwhile, Professor Von Hedgehog has analysed the readings and come to a couple of starling conclusions:-

Gill and Helling both got the same score, which would indicate a consistent approach to life, but failed to score as one of the female bladers, which may indicate too much caffeine/testosterone in the diet!

Big Mac and Vile Jelly got different scores but the in-depth ratings for both bladers would seem to confirm the stroppy, feminist lobster's view that all men are bastards!

As ever the side has been let down by Winwaloe who, as you will see from this week's e-mus, not only failed to participate in the challenge but failed even to register its existence.

It's these cheap, plastic, pre-fab, chinese mass-produced saints, y'see. You just can't get the parts. Not like the good old days when you could burn a saint at the stake, impale and crucify them, throw them to the lions and still get half a dozen miracles out of them before the pubs closed!

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