Robert McNeil: A world safe for Wimbledon is worth an arm and a leg

Published on Monday 29 June 2009 19:28

NOT unusually, I am feeling out on a limb. Are you out on a limb too? Perhaps there are more of us out on a limb than there are in on a limb. These remarks merely serve to limber you up for the bombshell observation that, as someone with no interest in Glastonbury, Wimbledon, or Lady Gaga, I feel the world is going about its business without me. You too, eh? No? It's just me? I see.

As Glastonbury is the place to be, that's where you won't see me. As for Wimbledon, the very sight of it gives me the dry boak. I'd like to bung a bottle of Buckfast into the centre court and shout unintelligible things in broad cod-Scottish tones. Even Andy Murray does not excite me, though I hear he's losing any semblance of a Scottish accent for some sort of mid-Atlantic affair. Nobody else in the world tries to lose their accent like the Scotch. It says everything about us really.

As for Lady Gaga, her name keeps appearing in the papers and, as usual, I ken not whae she is. I'm damned if I'm going to read anything about her. From the photies displayed, she just looks like another of these daft female singers cavorting on stage in her pants.

So the world goes on. Still, I suppose we should be grateful it's going at all. Yesterday, there was an arguably interesting article in a mid-market newspaper. I love the way papers say vaguely dismissive things like that about each other; I don't know which market I appeal to – Paddy's probably, and even that's been closed down.

This article investigated the War Book, a recently declassified document revealing training exercises for that Armageddon. Chilling stuff. Most of my youth was spent like the chieftain in Asterix: believing the sky was going to fall on my heid at any minute. It was a distinct possibility, on account of the Cold War. Today, thanks to Saint Michael Gorbachev – a truly heroic man – we don't worry about it so much, since the evil Soviet Union is no more. True, there remains a threat from religious nutcases and from North Korea, but the former don't even have proper uniforms or anything, while North Korea just makes the world titter (and I hope these are not famous last words).

Phew, thankfully, here are some more words. In the Sixties and Seventies, it really did seem that the men in suits would blow us all up. Accordingly, plans were made for the top suits to hide in bunkers, with UK leaders bunged undergroond in yon Cotwsolds. The BBC was given a bunker too, and its job was to broadcast practical advice such as: "If possible, wear a thick woolly hat."

Above groond, it was thought that a dog-eat-dog situation would develop, as citizens looted shops for Winalot and other tinned foods. You can bet your boots, too, that with the end of the world looming, some folk would still loot jeans, shampoos, CDs and so on. Consuming till the end.

The worst thing was that, in the exercises, civil servants had to play the part of ministers, because the actual politicians spent too much time gabbing and arguing instead of getting on with things. Imagine a bomb had gone off and the few survivors in thick woolly hats managed to get a hazy black and white picture on a telly, only to find Broon with his fake, on-off grin, telling you how proud he was to be British and that he had some difficult decisions to make: tinned beans or Fray Bentos steak pie, for example.

Thankfully, this story had a happy ending. By sensibly threatening all-out destruction – including of ourselves, if necessary – we were we able to make the world safe for Glastonbury, Wimbledon and Lady Gaga. So, instead of complaining, we should be grateful that we still have some limbs to go out on.

Put your faith in atheism… and unicorns

I HAVE great faith in Richard Dawkins. Anyone taking on Jehovah the Merciless – even arguing that he doesn't exist – earns my worship. I was distressed, however, to read about Camp Dawkins. This allegedly seeks to indoctrinate children into the ways of atheism, rather as Christian groups hold camps to teach children superstitious rubbish.

I should say that these atheistic exercises are called Camp Quest, but they've been dubbed Dawkins, right, by our never knowingly accurate press because of the amiable professor's support for them. Controversial activities include making children prove that unicorns do not exist, though any child worth their salt would tell their tutors to stop wasting their time and ask if there was going to be any football.

It's not the atheism that bothers me, but the whole camp thing. Generally, I find any kind of camp suspicious. It implies a separating off from the rest of society, with the distinct possibility of trying to overthrow us. In my view, it would be better if tanks flattened these camps, as they present a potential threat to democracy.

Funnily enough, Camp Quest actually started in that America, which we have been conditioned to view as a nation of religious simpletons, with loudspeaker announcements calling the faithful to prayer and women forced to cover their faces. However, there is more to America than meets the eyelobe, and it turns out that, beneath the authoritarian facade, atheist groups are flourishing and now have their own priests, archbishops, verger's assistants and so forth. This is excellent news. I still don't get the bit about unicorns, though. The one who comes to my back-garden is called Bernard, and he loves a cold sausage roll.