JUST over a century ago they would have been conscientious objectors.
Today they’re called anti-vaxxers. Or t***s, in my book.
In 2021 we aren’t at war
But we are calling up an army of both young and old folk, begging them to do the right thing for the sake of generations to come.
It’s been a hellish 14 months for everyone.
Finally, the end is in sight and Freedom Day looms — but not if these moronic, selfish, invariably woke idiots have their way.
Boris Johnson this weekend urged everyone to “play their part” and get jabbed.
And then double-jabbed.
If we are to beat the Indian variant, or strain B.1.617.2, to give it its cute little pet name, it is imperative we all play our part in stopping the spread of this insidious disease.
The vast majority of those in hospital wards in Bolton and Blackburn, where the spike in cases is at its most alarming, haven’t been vaccinated.
Why? Unless you’re under 40, there is no excuse.
While health officials in Bolton are demonstrating an impressive amount of common sense, and jabbing residents as young as 17, worryingly there remains a high percentage of millennials elsewhere who are stubbornly refusing to get Pfizered.
A quick scroll of Twitter makes for depressing reading
As the rest of us diligently wait in line for our jabs, later wearing the heavy, aching arm and violent, typhoidy sweats as badges of honour, these snow-flakes reckon mandatory inject-ions are an invasion of their civil liberties.
Others cite the lack of long-term research into the after-effects.
Frankly, I don’t care if I grow horns and a tash like a schnauzer if it means life can go back to normal on June 21.
If it means my parents are kept safe, and the vulnerable can once again live like human beings, not lab rats.
Meanwhile, a small but gobby percentage of under-30s are panicking about the minute risk of getting a blood clot from the Astra-Zeneca vaccine.
Many are actively bragging about their unchallenged immune systems.
Insisting they don’t need protection because they’re “too young and fit” to get ill.
Or is it simply a case that they’re a bit scared of a little prick? (Which is ironic, for obvious reasons.)
Back in the day we’d have given these cretins white feathers.
They’d have been pariahs in their local pubs.
Today they’re the ones first in line at the bar, masks off, demanding to be served
Let’s not forget that around 19,000 people worldwide died in “bathtime related accidents” last year, (most of them in Japan, apparently).
Another 620 poor other souls were killed falling down the stairs, 151 were felled by coconuts.
HUMAN RIGHTS
To date, and to put our incredible jab rollout into context, fewer than 50 people in the UK have died as a result of clotting.
Yet this dangerous, pernicious scaremongering continues apace.
Those who insist on exerting their “human rights” should be made to face the consequences.
Why aren’t they made to sign some sort of waiver denying their right to NHS treatment if and when they get Covid?
Similarly, why should they be allowed to claim furlough? Or socialise with the rest of us?
Fine, don’t get jabbed — but don’t then benefit from the collective public-mindedness of the rest of us.
To those under 30 who argue they’ve already had coronavirus, and therefore “don’t need” a vaccine, you’re missing the point entirely.
In 1914, Lord Kitchener pointed a finger, reminding the nation to do our bit.
One hundred and seven years later, it’s Boris stubbing his stocky little finger, telling us, quite rightly, to do our bit
Until we are all protected, none of us are protected.
Keir's total pants
PICTURES of poor Sir Keir Starmer panting, bent over double and gasping for breath emerged yesterday.
The entirely unstaged photoshoot of the Labour leader playing footie – man of the people! – has surely backfired
Not even a casual, equally unscripted post-match pint did much to help.
When will politicians learn that we simply do not want to see them red-faced and mottled of skin, lumbering around in baggy shorts and Adidas T-shirts?
Boris, Keir, Matt Hancock and Michael Gove: Put it away, lads.
A reel boost at last
MUCH has been written about the death of the cinema.
Thanks to Amazon Prime, Netflix, Apple TV et al, apparently we’re all too comfy watching films from our soiled, wine-stained, bottom-dented sofas to ever brave an Odeon again.
I disagree.
The cinema might cost twenty quid for a pair of tickets – and inevitably the same again in pick ’n’ mix/popcorn – but it affords an all-too-rare chance to turn off the mobile, ignore the kids/cats, and focus, entirely, on something for two whole, blissful hours.
For someone who’s developed the concentration span of a small toad in lockdown, I can’t wait.
Life in the old game
THIS weekend’s FA Cup final, cheered on by living, breathing people, and Liverpool’s victory in the Premier League thanks to a stunning last-gasp header by the goalie, Alisson, proves there’s life in the old game yet
Yes, VAR is rubbish (unless you’re a Leicester fan), and players are over-paid prima donnas, but at the heart of it the magic remains.
Gwyn is half baked
STILL reeling from Gwyneth Paltrow’s harrowing account of eating bread during lockdown?
The Hollywood actress reckons toast, and a spot of pasta, were her pandemic low points.
No, Gwyneth.
“Low” is monstering an entire marshmallow tray-bake, designed for 12, over the course of a (hungover) day.
“Low” is ploughing through a giant tiger loaf and dousing the rest in Fairy washing-up liquid to prevent you going back for the crust.
A real “low” is fishing through the bin to pull out a half-eaten brownie, giving it a cursory rinse, and shovelling it down the hatch.
Put your TikToks away, Addison
UNTIL 24 hours ago I’d never heard of Addison Rae.
Now, thanks to her MTV Movie & TV Awards red carpet outfit, most people in Britain will be aware of who she is.
Or, rather, what her underboob looks like.
Obviously, she’s 20, still has collagen, and can therefore pull off anything.
But this is one sartorial trend that, let’s hope, never takes off.
No one needs to see this much flesh, no matter how pert
The American millionaire TikTok “star”, who won Breakthrough Social Star (I’ve literally never felt older), has 38million Instagram followers.
Or seven times the population of Scotland.
WC OK… not PC
SOME p***-poor news for the woke brigade.
The drive for neutral loos has been flushed away under new planning regulations.
By and large, I couldn’t really give a toss about sharing my lavatorial space with a bloke.
Except when 10pm strikes, I’m in the toilets of a bar, a couple of hundred units down, and gossiping in front of the mirror with a complete stranger, telling her how much I love her bag/coat/lipstick, and dispensing unwanted advice on her love life.
You just can’t do this with a man. (Unless he’s in drag. Then the same applies.)
Erm, intellect?
ANOTHER day, another foot-shooting podcast for Harry Windsor.
But what was most staggering about his latest attack on the Royal Family was said podcast’s description of the mouthy ginge.
“Prince Harry sits down to charm our pants off with his intellect, wit and thoughtful stance on approaching mental wellness,” it declared.
Erm, intellect?
Since when have two A levels (B in art, D in geography) and a bunch of GCSEs apparently so poor the results were never declared, from a school costing 40k-plus a year, made one a Brain Of Britain?
If he’s an intellect, I’m a (very, very distant) descendent of Einstein.
Bombshell
SO the BBC has quietly shelved its “bombshell” Panorama probe into Martin Bashir’s ill-gotten interview with Princess Diana.
Director-General Tim Davie’s decision to pull the plug coincides with a potentially devastating report by a former judge into how the tainted broadcaster secured his infamous chat.
Last week Bashir quit the Beeb on grounds of ill health.
Of course, the decision not to pile a whole new heap of grief on to an ailing man is entirely reasonable.
However, had this decision been made by the right-wing press, The Sun for example, we’d have had a bucketload poured on us.
But that’s Lefties for you.
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