The Last Furlong

Comments on the race of life.

Weep, laugh, fear

2 Comments

Snippets from today’s online browsings to make you weep, laugh, fear

The family of Oscar Pistorius have claimed they have been warned he will be beaten up and gang raped in prison unless they pay a bribe.

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Graduates are more likely to be diagnosed with brain tumours, a study has shown.

Men with a university level education lasting at least three years are 19 per cent more likely to discover a glioma—a type of cancerous tumour arising the cells around neurons – than those who left school at 16.

For women the chance of being diagnosed with a tumour was even higher, a 23 per cent increased risk for the most educated.

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Unicef –

It estimates that 65.3 million people were either refugees, asylum seekers or internally displaced at the end of 2015, an increase of five million in a year.

This represents one in every 113 people on the planet, according to the UN agency.

Meanwhile, the UN refugee chief has said that a worrying “climate of xenophobia” has taken hold in Europe as it struggles to cope with the migrant crisis.

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The only progress in the EU is towards the bottom...

“I’d like to renegotiate the arrangement of our deckchairs”

So, when you are berated for being a Little Englander. When you are patronised for not understanding ‘complex’ issues that seem pretty straightforward to you. When you feel bullied for having an opinion when all around you are allowed opinions you find distasteful or wrong. When you are told that you are wrong even as the evidence of your existence is that the peaceful and tolerant country you used to love is disappearing in front of your eyes remember that all of this is happening by design and with the complicity of ‘your’ government. And when today’s Dianafication of Saint Jo in Parliament is used to accuse you of being complicit in her death, make a decision to reject the lot of it and vote to Leave on Thursday.

Author: Elizabeth

I'm someone also pounding the Path, just like you.

2 thoughts on “Weep, laugh, fear

  1. Harsh, but true. Poor you. You have to live there. I don’t.

    Meanwhile, back at The French Ranch, my baby is back home with Mummy. Poor little bugger. He is only 50 years old. Snort.

    He’s been “Thrown Out” by this ghastly woman who has been on two anti depressants a day for the past thirty years. I don’t actually understand what this means.

    The worst that I can do is to question his choice in the first place. Which was never any of my business. And too bloody late now anyway.

    Anyway, I am a bit preoccupied. And a bit distressed. But not half so badly as he is.

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