It may seem to the casual reader that I am becoming increasingly obsessed by helichoppers but readers with a long memory will recall this is nothing new (see November 2003...)
It all started with the show trial of the hand-lotion-and-etchasketch bombers just across the way the other week, as detailed in the exciting saga of Me, the Ex-Minister and the Blue Rubber Gloves
Since then, Gert Cottage has been haunted by helichoppers. Normally at bedtime. Just when I want a moment or two of still as I hit the pillow.
I accept the inevitability of helichoppers at home. Poised strategically at the junction of two major A-roads and almost within view of a prison, in a high crime area, there will always be helicopters.
But it seems to be every night at the moment. I saw something on the TV about how railway line grafitti and vandalism hotspots are being targeted by police helicopter, and I suppose that might be an explanation. I don't regard myself as living near a railway line, but, actually, the sidings and sheds of Streatham Hill and the complexities of Tulse Hill are not too far to the South and East respectively, with lines running through densely populated areas.
Although another set of vaseline-and-vibrator bombers were up in front of the beak at Westminster Magistrates it was very low key. Satellite TV vans seemed to outnumber the curious public. Police presence appeared to be minimal, although what does a casual momentary passer-by really know?
And a helicopter hovered. All morning. In one place. It seemed to have nothing to do with Westminster Magistrates, being that it was some distance to the North East, more or less over Parliament.
I imagine it's probably something to do with meejah coverage of shenanigans in the Labour Party. But it seems entirely pointless.
Parliament isn't sitting, so why bother even sending reporters there? And gusess what folks, Tony Blair isn't going to resign today, and even if he does, there won't exactly be a motorcade from No. 10 to the Palace, because I am almost 100% certain that Queenie is at Balmoral. She usually is at this time of year.
The more I hover around Westminster Village, the more cynical I get about the posturing and pointlessness of our major news media providers. Now that's what I call an easy job, posing and preening on College Green, pouring forth empty speculation. sure as hell beats working for a living.
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