Everybody's somebody's chav. Look at cut-glass Kate Middleton, with a voice like ice-clinky Pimm's poured from Waterford Crystal, who has had to put up with years of "Doors to manual!" taunts from the gaggle of in-bred half-wits who wish they were in her shoes and her prince's bed.
What would Lord Reith – who allegedly insisted that all male radio announcers wore dinner jackets – make of Jenni Murray's Country Casuals or Evan Davis's Prince Albert piercing? He would turn in his urn! This being so, I really don't see what all the fuss about Jordan being approached to guest-edit Radio 4's Today programme is about.
I love Jordan. She is her own Frankenstein and her own monster, impervious to insults and all those limp jeers of "Ooo, I wouldn't touch her!" Idiot – she wouldn't even wipe her feet on you, let alone anything else; she wouldn't even do you for the practice. I like her views on the punishment of rapists, which is worthy of Valerie Solanas; when a man is convicted of the crime, he should be raped in turn by another, presumably gay, man.
Far, far more sensible and compassionate than the country which shares her name, where men regularly murder their female relatives – even children – who have been raped, in order to "cleanse" the family "honour". Though murder is punishable by the death penalty in Jordan, a court usually commutes or reduces sentences in such shameful cases. Between 15 and 20 women are murdered each year in Jordan in the name of honour, and their parliament has repeatedly refused to introduce reforms to punish the crime properly.
Yes, I certainly know which Jordan I prefer.
She says dumb things, but don't we all? The idiotic Archbishop of Canterbury, a former guest-editor of Today, has said that the adoption of some aspects of sharia law in this country "seems unavoidable... there's a place for finding what would be a constructive accommodation with some aspects of Muslim law". Like that on "honour" killing, perhaps, you ocean-going nutter.
Jordan's no dumber than Stephen Fry (who hasn't been a guest-editor of Today yet, but probably will be soon). Witness his claim that the MPs' expenses fraud was "not that important, it really isn't... a tedious, bourgeois obsession". And then there's the recent claim that women only sleep with men "because sex is the price they are willing to pay for a relationship". No. Stevie – men only sleep with YOU because sex is the price that they are willing to pay for a relationship with multi-millionaire Stephen Fry. And isn't it great that the Catholic Church has just given the go-ahead for male prostitutes to use condoms, but not married men? Because now Catholic male homosexuals can have sex without fear of infection whereas Catholic women can practice the form of disease-avoidance that obviously suits them best – complete abstinence. Sorted!
The mere mention of Katie Price stepping up to that iconic microphone has let loose a torrent of that most heinous of four-letter C-words: CHAV. Like I said, everybody's somebody's chav: I've had friends who were ex-prostitutes, welfare mothers and/or benefits dependents chuck the word about disparagingly of other low-status people, and it's as much as I could do not to laugh in their faces. The latest example of this – though the word chav wasn't actually used – was the vile X Factor freak Wagner (a benefit-blagger from Brazil) calling Cheryl Cole "a girl from a council estate who got lucky".
Her dignified response – "I am very proud of my roots, and I am very, very lucky" – said it all. No doubt about it – being non-racist is an extremely good thing. Sadly, over the past decade, an interesting number of those who passionately oppose racism in one breath have found no problem whatsoever in then firing vitriol and hatred at another group – the white working-class – thus proving themselves to be utter hypocrites.
Still, I can't say I'm that fussed anymore, because I've worked out that just like racists before them, if someone uses the word chav in a nasty way (as opposed to in a sarky, celebratory way like what I do) I know three things about them. I know they're socially insecure, that they haven't got half as far in life as they thought they would, and that they don't have sex much. Therefore the word is used as much in fear as in loathing – and that gives me a warm feeling to the bottom of my shiny chavvy soul, that snobs are suffering so tragically and lashing out so transparently. Go, Jordan!
I'll raise a glass as Ireland sheds the yoke of freedom
I've always found the idea that Irish nationalism is somehow radical really cretinous. With its reverence for the supremely reactionary Catholic Church, and its historical opposition to divorce, abortion, homosexuality, feminism and everything else that makes life worth living, it's about as radical as Islam.
Ireland, like Catholicism generally, has a slimy back-beat of anti-Semitism; the Prime Minister of "neutral" Ireland during the Second World War, Eamonn de Valera, famously signed the book of condolences at the German embassy in Dublin on the occasion of Hitler's death.
As a left-wing teenager, I don't know how many times I had to hear the argument that it was OK for the IRA to blow the arms and legs off an English child because they were basically a unit of the British imperialist war machine and therefore a legitimate target.
All for reunification with a toy state that made even married couples use cling film for condoms – wow, talk about aiming high!
Over the years I've watched Eire's tinpot posturing over its alleged Celtic Tiger economy and its smugness over the exemption from income tax for writers, composers and artists up to (since 2006) £250,000.
(And how damning it is of that creep Bono, that he even then feels the need to relocate part of his business to Holland, where the tax rate on royalties is even lower!)
It would be almost pleasurable to see the Chancellor handing over £7bn of our money to the clowns who run the preposterous place if it wasn't so annoying.
It made me recall the late Irish journalist Stan Gebler Davies who ran as a Unionist candidate in the 1987 elections in Eire under the slogan, "Removing the yoke of freedom from old Ireland's back".
Anyway, it'll give the keepers of the Celtic flame a chance to update those brain-dead old "rebel' songs for the better. From "The Wearing Of The Green" to "The Begging For The Green"? I'll drink to that!
Housewifery, not feminism, caused female depression
I recently read in this newspaper Joan Bakewell recalling her mother: "She was extremely intelligent but belonged to that generation where women were expected to stay behind, look after the children and keep an immaculate house. Although she did that with an almost fanatical attention to details, she didn't find it fulfilling. We didn't know it was called depression, of course, back then but that's what it was."
And I still remember my dad explaining that I was going to have to be a brave girl and go to nursery school full-time because "ladies get very sad if they have to stay at home".
Every babbling female cretin who expresses a hankering for the traditional sex roles of the good old days – the sort of saddo who can't come unless she's lying on a Cath Kidston bedspread – should remember that feminism did not cause female sorrow and depression.
On the contrary, female sorrow and depression – born from traditional sex roles – caused feminism. Any woman who can't grasp this is so profoundly thick that she should probably have her voting rights removed forthwith. That'll make life "simpler", won't it, you tragic bitches?