In all the excitement, and I use the word loosely, surrounding the recent Scottish Parliamentary elections, I forgot to check the results to see if Gorgeous George Galloway had managed to once again wangle his way past a gullible electorate who completely missed the point. That is, he is a pompous, verbose, although sometimes given to misuse of two dollar words, a liar and an honorary life president of the Saddam Hussein Fan Club. Don't get me wrong. George, at least in small doses, can be quite amusing. Come to think of it, some footage of Idi Amin and Adolf Hitler have been known to raise a titter in the Lewis household. I did, however, quickly change channels when I was unfortunate enough to observe him on all fours, rubbing imaginary whiskers with imaginary paws and mewing, all in an apparent effort to get his leg over Rula Lenska, unsuccessfully I might add.
If you'll forgive my profanity, I almost peed my pants when I heard him say to his good drinking buddy Saddam, "Sir, we salute your indefatigabiliy.". The only previous experience I have of the word 'indefatigable' is that was the name of a ship in C.S. Forester's 'Hornblower' series. I suppose we should thank George for keeping archaic language alive.
There is, you may be surprised to learn, a dark side to Gorgeous. His friendship with that well known, sadly late, Iraqi property magnate (anybody's property he fancied, if you catch my drift) for a start. I'm not suggesting that George had any ulterior motives, other than his intense admiration for one of the world's great statesmen, I'm just throwing it out there, so to speak. Closer to home, can I be the only one who chuckled when George announced his candidacy for Parliamentary elections, standing for the, wait for it, Respect Party? Is my sense of irony just too sensitive? I have never once known George to show the slightest respect for anyone, with the exception of the aforementioned Iraqi playboy. If you have been unlucky enough to get through to his radio show and forgotten to pay homage to Gorgeous, well, you'll know what that red button on his console is for. He certainly does, and practises its use with monotonous regularity.
Since this piece risks giving George more publicity than his fake accent deserves, I'll close by saying this: don't make the mistake that George's absence from the political scene will make it less exciting. It'll just be quieter. My deepest apologies go to Countess Roza-Marie Leopoldyna Lubienska (Rula Lenska, honestly, it's her real name and title) for dragging up a part of her past she probably wishes she could forget.