Täällä seurataan Britannian lähtöä EU:sta 23.6.2016

[kuka hemmetti]

tulin vaan kattoon saako jo nauraa itsensä kuoliaaksi koska PM BoJo tai ehkä pitäs itkeä en tiiä

[Kennedy Bakircioglu Kuutio]

tulin vaan kattoon saako jo nauraa itsensä kuoliaaksi koska PM BoJo tai ehkä pitäs itkeä en tiiä

rojekti etenee

https://www.theguardian.com/politics/li ... -live-news

Fourth round results in full

And here are the results with changes from yesterday, and overall percentages (rounded up or down).

Boris Johnson – 157 – up 14 – 50%

Michael Gove – 61 – up 10 – 19%

Jeremy Hunt – 59 – up 5 – 19%

Sajid Javid – 34 – down 4 – 11%

There were two spoilt ballot papers.

Elikäs Javid laulukuoroon ja sitten jännätään miten Javidin äänet jakautuu ja meneekö jäsenvaaliin BoJon seuraksi Gove vai Hunt.

[Kennedy Bakircioglu Kuutio]

Huomionarvoista muuten, että kaksi äänesti jotain aku ankkaa tms. Ilmeisesti viimeisen tolkun ehdokkaan eli Stewartin putoaminen eilen oli vaan joillekin liikaa?

[Ingmar Bergmanin kuolema]

Irlannin pääministeri Leo Varadkar, että vaikka hän on valmis odottamaan vaikka maailman tappiin, niin hänen kaverinsa ympäri Euroopan alkavat hikeentyä. Valtava vihamielisyys jatkoaikaa kohtaan kuulostaa aika isolta maailailulta, mutta näyttää siltä, että EU27 ei aio antaa enää uutta jatkoaikaa pelkään kakkaisten housujen vaihtamiseen, vaan Britannialta vaaditaan uusi kansanäänestys tai parlamenttivaalit, joissa EU-kysymys on ykkösasia. EU-johtajien on toisaalta helppo koventaa linjaansa, kun vastapuolen johtoon on asettumassa jääräpäinen ääliö, joka aikoo ajaa maansa kovaan eroon.

Olen itse jopa yllättynyt siitä, kuinka tiukkaa viestiä EU-piireistä kuiskitaan jo tässä vaiheessa.

https://www.theguardian.com/politics/li ... -live-news
There’s very much a strong view across the European Union that there shouldn’t be any more extensions. While I have endless patience, some of my colleagues have lost patience, quite frankly, with the UK and there’s enormous hostility to any further extension.

So, I think an extension could only really happen if it were to facilitate something like a general election in the UK or perhaps even something like a second referendum if they decided to have one.

What won’t be entertained is an extension for further negotiations or further indicative votes: the time for that has long since passed.

[Kennedy Bakircioglu Kuutio]

Olen itse jopa yllättynyt siitä, kuinka tiukkaa viestiä EU-piireistä kuiskitaan jo tässä vaiheessa.

No niin no, kyllähän sieltä aika hyvää tykittelyä alkoi irrota jo tuossa kevään kiihkeimmässä vaiheessa. Nyt toki ollut välissä hiljaiseloa.

Vajaan tunnin kuluttua tiedetään suhmuroidaanko BoJon kilpakumppaniksi jäsenäänestykseen Gove vai Hunt. Ilmeisesti BoJon tiimi toivoo, että vastustajaksi saataisiin taktikoitua Hunt, kaksinkamppailusta Goven kanssa on kirpeitä muistoja esim kesän 2016 pj-kisan ajoilta. Hunt voisi olla sopivan säyseä kilpailija, jonka voisi sitten hyvillä mielin ottaa hyväntahdon eleenä kuitenkin mukaan hallitukseen.

Itse tietenkin toivon että Gove vie, always maximize the madness

[Kennedy Bakircioglu Kuutio]

Guardianin livestä normaalisti:

All 313 Tory MPs voted, she says. There was one spoiled ballot paper.

Boris Johnson - 162

Jeremy Hunt - 77

Michael Gove - 75

perkele

[kuka hemmetti]

kuten edelläkin on jo todettu esim lokakuussa ois oikein hyvä hetki heittää noi nyt jo hiuksista vittuun mut ikävä kyllä tälle on aika matalat todennäköisyydet koska lokakuussahan uk on järjestämässä parlamentti tai brexit II äänestystä tai molempia ja EU päätyy sopimaan lisäajasta.

ennustan edelleen: ei tule mitäön brexit

[Jesse Python]

Briteissä kaikki toivoo salaa että jäispä tää nykynen limbo pysyväksi

[viemäri-INTEGRITY]

Briteissä kaikki toivoo salaa että jäispä tää nykynen limbo pysyväksi

Itsekin uskon Limboon ja aikanaan muistista häviää syyt miksi EU:lta pyydetään säännöllisesti jotain mystistä "lisäaikaa"

[kuka hemmetti]

ittehän oon brexit rosessin ekan kuluneen 85 vuoden aikana toistaseksi edustanut koulukuntaa että nyt ei saa hötkyillä ja toistaseksi eu on mun mielestä tehnyt just mitä pitää elikkä ei just yhtään mitään mut nyt alan pikku hiljaa valmistautua takin kääntöön ja hard brexit now leiriin siirtymiseen ryhtymisen harkitsemista.

lokakuulla sitte nähdään johtuuko se et eu ei toistaseksi oo tehnyt mitään viisaudesta vai toimintakyvyttömyydestä. paitti jos sillon on vaaleja tulilla sumujen saarilla.

[kuka hemmetti]

Briteissä kaikki toivoo salaa että jäispä tää nykynen limbo pysyväksi

Itsekin uskon Limboon ja aikanaan muistista häviää syyt miksi EU:lta pyydetään säännöllisesti jotain mystistä "lisäaikaa"

limbo makes sense koska toimiihan ne vesi ja lämmityskin



















jotenkin


joskus

[Nahkanuijan nuupauttaja]

Police called to loud altercation at Boris Johnson’s home

Neighbour records shouting and banging at flat potential PM shares with Carrie Symonds

Police were called to the home of Boris Johnson and his partner, Carrie Symonds, in the early hours of Friday morning after neighbours heard a loud altercation involving screaming, shouting and banging.

The argument could be heard outside the property where the potential future prime minister is living with Symonds, a former Conservative party head of press.

A neighbour told the Guardian they heard a woman screaming followed by “slamming and banging”. At one point Symonds could be heard telling Johnson to “get off me” and “get out of my flat”.


The neighbour said that after becoming concerned they knocked on the door but received no response. “I [was] hoping that someone would answer the door and say ‘We’re okay’. I knocked three times and no one came to the door.”

The neighbour decided to call 999. Two police cars and a van arrived within minutes, shortly after midnight, but left after receiving reassurances from both the individuals in the flat that they were safe.

When contacted by the Guardian on Friday, police initially said they had no record of a domestic incident at the address. But when given the case number and reference number, as well as identification markings of the vehicles that were called out, police issued a statement saying: “At 00:24hrs on Friday, 21 June, police responded to a call from a local resident in [south London]. The caller was concerned for the welfare of a female neighbour.

“Police attended and spoke to all occupants of the address, who were all safe and well. There were no offences or concerns apparent to the officers and there was no cause for police action.”

Loput: https://amp.theguardian.com/politics/20 ... ssion=true

[Liskomies]

New Yorkerilla oli pitkä artikkeli Bojojoingista. En paste tähän alleolevaan enempää:
----------------------
In 2001, at the age of thirty-six, Johnson was elected a Member of Parliament for Henley, a safe Conservative seat in Oxfordshire. When he came under pressure to resign from The Spectator, because of the conflict of interest, he demurred, and coined what has become his best-known political aphorism: “I want to have my cake and eat it.”

Johnson hates choosing between things, even right and wrong. In 2003, Lynn Barber, of the Observer, asked Johnson what principles he would be prepared to resign over. “I’m a bit of an optimist so it doesn’t tend to occur to me to resign,” he replied. “I tend to think of a way of Sellotaping everything together and quietly finding a way through, if I can.”
-------------------------------

[Kennedy Bakircioglu Kuutio]

https://www.theguardian.com/politics/20 ... wont-budge

Donald Tusk: Johnson may make Brexit more exciting, but we won't budge

[spekulatiivinen pasta]

Tää ei tainnut olla täällä vielä, muutaman päivän takainen bloggaus. https://blogs.spectator.co.uk/2019/06/my-boris-story/

My Boris Johnson story
Jeremy Vine

17 June 2019
8:07 AM

With four minutes to go, Boris Johnson ran in. I was already concerned – maybe more concerned than Boris. It was an awards ceremony at the Hilton, Park Lane. The room was packed with financial people in bow ties. It was a couple of years before Johnson became Mayor of London. At this point he was a backbench Conservative MP and newspaper columnist. Right now he was due to make a funny speech.

In four minutes.

There I was, at 9.26pm, sitting with a table-load of London bankers, trying to answer their questions. ‘Will Boris actually arrive?’ ‘Is he normally this late?’ ‘Has he got lost?’

I answered them all as best I could:

(a) I’m sorry
(b) I don’t know
(c) I don’t see Boris Johnson that often

You see, I explained, I am only here to hand out the awards for… (I consulted the sign at the back of the stage)… ‘for International Securitisation,’ and Boris is making the after-dinner speech. So we have not coordinated at all. I don’t know where he is. Yes, I’m a little worried too.

To be perfectly frank, I had not the first idea what securitisation was either. The event was named something grand like The International Securitisation Awards 2006 and I really did not want to ask what exactly the prizes were being handed out for, since I was the one handing them out.

Suddenly – BOOM. A rush of wind from an opened door, a golden mop, a heave of body and dinner jacket onto the chair next to mine, and the breathless question, at 9.28pm:

‘JEREMY. Where exactly AM I?’

I actually had that stress feeling – a kind of sunburn, creeping across my arms and back. So he was late and he had not prepared a speech. And he was due onstage in ninety seconds.

I said, ‘It is the Securitisation Awards, Boris.’

He said, ‘Right-o. And who is speaking?’

‘You are.’

‘Good God,’ he cried. ‘When?’

I looked at my watch. ‘Um – pretty much now.’

Eyes widened around me. I speak at quite a few dinners and always feel most comfortable if I do some research a couple of weeks before – what’s the occasion (that helps), who is attending, etc. – then write the speech longhand in advance. It is not that I am the school swat. It is just that underpreparedness, that dream where you are sitting final exams in a subject you didn’t know you were supposed to revise, scares the pants off me. Later we will talk about public speaking and what I’ve learnt about it. But right now, this was an emergency.

I noticed we now had the attention of the whole table.

Boris said: ‘Okay, first up. What IS securitisation?’

Nervous laughter. A man from one of the big Far East banks, who had the luxurious rich-person’s coiffe you see on magazine covers, explained quietly in a mid-Atlantic purr. ‘It is where we take your debt, your mortgage, say’

Boris is staring at him.

‘…and we split it into tiny pieces, combine each of them with other similar slivers of debt, and sell them around the world so the risk effectively disappears.’

Everyone nodded.

The words would echo back to me two years later, when all those invisible slivers of debt would suddenly return to sender, flooding back at us in one huge avalanche of manure that kept flowing until it buried banks, businesses and homes across the western world and almost stopped the cashpoints working.

For now, this guy was the expert and we were listening.

Boris asked for a sheet of paper. Someone produced a piece of A4, the reverse side of our menu for the night. He laid it on his thigh, below the tablecloth.

‘Anyone got a pen?’ he said. ‘Quick!’

A biro slid across the table. Very quickly, taking it, the future Mayor of London and Foreign Secretary began to write what looked like a plan for a speech. It was now past nine-thirty. One of the organisers was staring at us imploringly from the other side of the room, as if thinking: ‘How much longer can we give him?’ I felt that pricking of the skin again. If I could sense the stress on his behalf, what on earth was Boris feeling? This was going to be a catastrophe. He was going onstage in a minute or two with barely-legible notes written on the back of a menu and no idea even of which event he was attending. An after-dinner speaker normally talks for twenty to thirty minutes. How much material did Boris have? Looking at the scrap of paper I could make out very little of what his scrawl said. There seemed to be about ten words. There was one at the very top that I could make out:

SHEEP

and then, a few inches below that, another in capitals:

SHARK

but I could not read the rest of the scrawl. Boris harrumphed and groaned, as if straining at an idea. Then his arm was tugged and I heard the announcement: ‘Ladies and gentlemen, please welcome MP and journalist, Boris Johnson, to the stage.’

Applause.

I pressed my palms into my trouser legs, ready for the catastrophe. And then I noticed: he had accidentally left his page of notes on the table. Could I run up with them? It would be too obvious. He was already at the podium.

‘Ladies and gentlemen… errrrrrrrr,’ he began.

This could be even worse than I imagined. They might have to cut out of it early and go straight to the awards. I had a five-minute speech myself, followed by the eighteen securitisation awards. The script was in my hand. I would need to be ready.

Boris had the look of a man who had been dragged out of a well by his ankles. His blond hair seemed to spring vertically from his head as he embarked on some opening remarks, where the occasional word, not always the obvious one, was shouted at double-volume.

‘…errrrr, Welcome to THE International. Errrrr…’

The catastrophe had happened. He did not know, could not remember, what event he was at. This is one of the biggest fears any speaker has, forgetting where they are.

Johnson then did a crazy thing. To find out where he was, he very obviously turned around and looked at the large logo projected at the back of the stage.

‘…to the International SECURITISATION Awards! YES!’ he cried triumphantly, and to my amazement it brought the house down. There was a huge cheer. Everyone realised this was not going to be a normal speech. The chaos had descended on us, we were in it, and we were going to enjoy it.

‘SHEEP,’ he began. He started a story about his uncle’s farm and how OUTRAGEOUS it was that they couldn’t bury animals that had JUST died, as they used to do back in the sixties, seventies and eighties. No, he said, EU regulations meant an abattoir had to be involved. ‘One died today. A SHEEP. And my uncle had to RING a fellow at an abattoir fifty MILES away. His name was Mick – no, it was Jim – no, sorry, MARGARET, that was it, MARGARET…”

People were now, not just roaring with laughter, but listening. He continued.

‘Which is why my political hero is the Mayor from JAWS.’

Laughter.

‘Yes. Because he KEPT THE BEACHES OPEN.’

More guffawing around me. He spoke as if every sentence had only just occurred to him, and each new thought came as a surprise.

‘Yes, he REPUDIATED, he FORESWORE and he ABROGATED all these silly regulations on health and safety and declared that the people should SWIM! SWIM!’

More uproar.

‘Now, I accept,’ he went on in an uncertain tone, ‘that as a result some small children were eaten by a shark. But how much more pleasure did the MAJORITY get from those beaches as a result of the boldness of the Mayor in Jaws?’

Brilliant. The whole room is hooting and cheering. It no longer matters that Boris has no script, no plan, no idea of what event he is attending, and that he seems to be taking the whole thing off the top of his head.

I realise that I am in the presence of genius.

The speech is now about halfway through. Perhaps gaining in confidence after the disaster with the timings and his forgotten notes, Boris embarks on a story about a former Foreign Secretary, George Brown.

As soon as he starts, I know what to expect. The ‘George Brown in Peru’ story is so well-known that most people have stopped telling it. The tale is probably untrue. George Brown was a high-ranking Labour politician in the sixties and seventies who took to drinking as a result of the pressures of high office (he famously said, ‘A lot of politicians drink and womanise – I’ve never womanised’). He was said to have been at an official reception in South America when he saw a beautiful Peruvian in front of him and asked for the honour of waltzing with her.

The reply came in three parts.

‘I cannot dance with you, Foreign Secretary, sir, firstly because you are drunk. Secondly, sir, because the band is not playing a waltz, as you imagine, but the Peruvian national anthem. And thirdly, I cannot dance with you because I am the Archbishop of Lima.’

So the story goes. Boris ploughs into it with gusto. ‘And the reply came back, from this vision in red, NO, I cannot DANCE with you, firstly because you are drunk.”

He paused.

‘SECONDLY because this is not a WALTZ but our national ANTHEM.’
Again, a pause. ‘And – and thirdly because…’

Now Boris had stopped.

He looked around.

There was silence.

He looked behind him at the logo on the screen, as if International Securitisation Awards was going to help.

A lone person at the back burst out laughing as we waited.

Finally, from the stage: ‘I am terribly sorry, everyone, I have forgotten the third reason. Very sorry about that.’

It brought the house down. He had spent five minutes starting the story about George Brown and forgotten the punchline. I had never seen anything like it before.

Something about the chaos of it – the reality, I suppose – was utterly joyful. The idea that this was the opposite of a politician, that suddenly we had an MP in front of us who was utterly real, who had come without a script or an agenda and then forgotten, not just the name of the event but his whole speech and the punchline to his funniest story. I watched in awe.

Finally he said, ‘Right-o. Jeremy VINE is out here and he will be presenting the…’ (looks behind him again) ‘…International Securitisation Awards…” (cheering because he has said the name a second time) ‘…and I ACTUALLY have some of those very trophies here.’ He starts handling one of the glass awards. ‘I suppose you could call this, not really an award, but a sort of elongated lozenge.’

Laughter. A wave. Cheering. Applause.

I did something I have never done before. Ditched all the funny things I had planned to say as a warm-up to the awards, because I realised what I was saying could not be even faintly amusing after that. I had been completely blown off the stage.

Later I sent Boris a postcard: ‘Boris. Brilliant. Inspired. Funniest speech I have ever seen. In the presence of the master. Jaws!’

He responded a week later in the scrawl I remembered from the back of the menu:

‘Jeremy. You were INCREDIBLE.’

I thought about that night for a long time. During the Blair years, we got used to a way of presenting information that was so mechanically smooth, so professional, that in the end we stopped believing any of it. This mastery of the message eventually backfired completely and came to be known as spin. When Gordon Brown took over as Prime Minister, his first public performance was praised because his head was blocked by a pillar, meaning that the main camera was unable to get a proper shot of his face. Was Boris, with his total lack of varnish, part of the new wave?

Eighteen months after the marvellous securitisation night, I arrived at an awards ceremony for a totally different industry. I cannot recall whether it was concrete or chiropractors, but once again I had dutifully done my research and brought my script. However, the organisers had asked for only five minutes of opening remarks.

‘Is someone else speaking?’ I asked.

‘Boris Johnson,’ the organiser said, a frown appearing on her brow. ‘Do you know where he is?’

And here we were again. He was due to speak at nine-thirty. He arrived seven or eight minutes before the actual moment, heaving and laughing himself into the chair beside me.

‘Jeremy,’ he said, ‘what is this?’

(jatkuu)