The new mantra.

There is a phrase being spouted by politicians. It isn't a new one, in fact I'd say it's been making regular appearances in the circle of professional politics for the last five months but in the run up to this weeks budget, it is everywhere - "Open for business." 

The three-word mantra is the basis for the bulk of the legislative agenda being hurriedly pushed through this year and will serve as a bedding for more to come. 

If you think this is the ramblings on an inebriated malcontent then watch this weeks news coverage, read the soundbites of every politician this week and you're guaranteed to hear something along the lines of: "taxation must be cut to show foreign investors that we are open for business", or "in order to boost the economy, we must do away with red tape, so that Britain can be seen as open for business.' The cosmic quality of that chant is that it justifies ideas and decisions that previously, would have been questioned and quite possibly would have met their death in early committee meetings. But its real power is that it shouts from the rooftops that everything is "for sale" and by everything, we mean all things public, schools, health services and soon roads and motorways.

I read an article in The Telegraph by a clergyman, he expressed concern over the governments decision to temporarily suspend Sunday trading laws. The root of his concern was that such an experiment was merely a litmus test for the eventual eradication of Sunday trading laws, something he believed would result in society spending the Lord's Day worshiping in retail dungeons, lapping up buckets of Costa lattes while shopping for boat shoes and iPads. What hit home about his frustrations was his dismay for the idolatry of 'the economy', the slightly confused patriotism of throwing all political motivations into being 'open for business'. 

As I watch the Budget announcements on Wednesday and read the final draft of the NHS bill, I'll take stock of the clergyman's anxieties. Hopefully others do too.

I want to be Vin Diesel

I watched Fast Five over the weekend and enjoyed it immensely. For those unfamiliar with the film, it’s about a team of Top Gear enthusiasts who use their knowledge of sparkplugs to exploit the criminal underworld of Brazil – or something of that nature. Any who, as I sat through ninety plus minutes of high octane car chases and urban slurs (big up Tyrese), I found myself slowly warming to the character Dominic, a moody protagonist, played by Vin Diesel, whose monotone exchanges and bland face make him the human equivalent of the colour used to decorate prison walls. That aside, there were three reasons why I gravitated towards him:

1) Bad dialogue notwithstanding, Dominic is a criminal with conviction and has an unbreakable allegiance to his team of chiselled bandits.

2) Beyond an endless supply of white tees, white vests of white jeans, his desires are minimal, the sign of a man who has mastered himself.

3) Dominic, like many a shaved head psychopath, is a man of his word. Whether it is enacting revenge on enemies past, or sharing his Tesco Petrol Points, he prides himself on being a man who lives by a set of self-compiled standards.