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Divided By A Common Language, Part Two

31 Jan

N

Nappy: Diaper
National: Federal
National Insurance number: Social Security number
Newsagent: Newsstand
Newsreader:  Anchorman, anchorwoman
Nick (verb): Steal, rob
Nick (noun): Prison, state pen, slammer, big house
Nil: Nothing, zero
Nought: Zero
Noughts and Crosses: Tic-Tac-Toe
Note (money): Bill
Number plates: License plates

O

OAP: Senior citizen
Off-licence: Liquor store (also available as a drive-thru)
Off-roader: SUV (sport utility vehicle)
Off-the-peg: Off-the-rack
Operating theatre: Operating room
Overtake: Pass

P

Pants (y fronts): Underwear, briefs, shorts
Paraffin: Kerosene
Parking brake: Emergency brake
Patience (card game): Solitaire
Pavement:  Sidewalk
Pay in: Deposit
Pay packet: Pay check
Pay rise: Pay raise
P.C. (Police Constable): Police Officer
P.E. class: Gym class
Pelican, zebra crossings: Pedestrian crossing
Petrol:  Gas
Piles: Hemorrhoids
Pitch (sports):  Field
Plait (hair): Braid
Plaster (bandage):  Band-Aid™
Plaster (walls): Drywall
P.M.T.: P.M.S. (it’s a proper syndrome in America, not just a bit of tension)
Pocket money (child’s):  Allowance
Poorly:  Sick
Pop socks: Knee-high’s
Post: Mail
Post box: Mailbox  (flag up to indicate you have something to be picked up)       
Post code: Zip code
Post-Mortem: Autopsy
Potholing, caving:  Spelunking
Powercut: Power outage
Pram:  baby carriage, buggy
Prawn: Shrimp
Press-up:  Push-Up
Pressurise: Pressure
Propstand (push bike): Kickstand
Pub: Bar
Public school: Private school
Pudding, sweets, afters:  Dessert
Pull: Pick up, score
Puncture (tyre): Flat
Pushchair:  Stroller
Push bike: Bike, bicycle

Q

Queue: Line
Quid: Buck (slang for a dollar)

R

Randy: Horny
Rasher (bacon):  Slice
Redundant: Laid-off
Register: Roster
Return (journey): Round-trip
Reverse (a car, etc.):  Back up
Reverse charges: Collect call
Revision: Study, cram
Ring (on phone):  Call
Roadworks: Construction
Rocket (vegetable): Arugula
Roundabout: Traffic island
Row: Argue, fight, quarrel
Rubber:  Eraser
Rubbish (refuse): Garbage, trash
Rude: Risqué

S

Sack (get the sack): Fired
S.A.E:  S.A.S.E (self addressed stamped envelope)
Saloon (car):  Sedan
Sand pit (children’s):  Sand box
Sello™ tape: Scotch™ tape
Semi-detached: Duplex
Semi-skimmed milk:  Lowfat, 2% milk
Serviette: Napkin
Settee:  Sofa, couch
Shaving foam:  Shaving cream
Shop:  Store
Shopping trolley:  Shopping cart
Silencer (car):  Muffler
Single ticket:  One-way
Solicitor: Lawyer, attorney
Sorbet:  Sherbert
Skint: Broke
Skip: Dumpster
Skive: Play hooky
Sledge:  Sled
Sleeper (rail):  Railway tie
Slip road: On-ramp, off-ramp
Slowcoach:  Slowpoke
Smock (dress): Jumper
Snog: Make out
Spanner: Wrench
Spirits: Liquor
Stabilisers (child’s bike): Training wheels
Stag night: Bachelor party
Starter: Appetizer
Static caravan: Mobile home
Strop, wobbly: Hissy fit   
Study: Den
Sub-contract: Outsource
Supply teacher: Substitute teacher
Surname: Last name
Suspenders:  Garter belt
Swear: Cuss
Swede:  Rutabaga
Sweets:  Candy
Swimming costume: Swim suit, swimming trunks, bathing suit

T

Takeaway:  Takeout
Tannoy: Loudspeaker
Tap: Faucet, spigot
Tarmac: Pavement, asphalt, blacktop
Teat (baby bottle): Nipple
Tea towel: Dish towel
Telly: TV
Tetchy: Touchy
Thousand million: Billion
Tick: Check, checkmark
Ten-pin bowling: Bowling
Till: Cash register
Tin (of food):  Can
Tip:  Dump
Tipp-X™: Wite-out™ 
Toilet, loo: Bathroom, restroom, john
Toilet roll: Toilet paper
Torch: Flashlight
Touch wood: knock on wood
Tout (tickets): Scalp
Towbar: Trailer hitch
Trainers: Sneakers, tennis shoes
Tramp: Bum, hobo
Treacle: Molasses
Trousers: Pants, trousers
Tumble dryer: Dryer 

V

VAT:  Sales tax
Verucca: Plantar wart
Vest: Tank top
Video: VCR

W

Waistcoat:  Vest
Walking (country): Hiking
Wardrobe:  Closet
Washing up: Dishwashing
Wellies: Rubber boots, galoshes
Whinge: Whine
Windcheater: Windbreaker
Windscreen: Windshield
Whatsit: Doohickey, thingamabob
Write-off (car): Total

Z

Zebra crossing, pelican crossing: Crosswalk
Zimmerframe: Walker
Zip: Zipper
 

Some of these words are familiar to my readers, whether they are British or American or Other. I don’t doubt you’ve heard many of them on television or in films. So why, may I ask, is it so difficult for you to understand them when they come out of my mouth? Well, you can plead ignorance no more. Thanks to the time and effort I’ve taken to enlighten both my countries’ citizens, I’m certain that US/UK relations will improve.

And as we say in all types of English, you’re welcome.

Censored!

19 Jan

On January 18, you may have been disappointed to see that this webpage had gone black.

Yes, my words—the words of Agatha Whitt-Wellington—were censored from my adoring public.

Why? Because I was participating in the largest online protest ever, to protest SOPA/PIPA, two bills in the US that could severely limit Internet freedom. While the vote on SOPA may have been temporarily delayed, it’s not gone even though President Obama has criticised it (surprising, eh? as you know how much Congress and the Senate value his take on things). I may joke about censorship, but if the Internet were censored how might the Arab Spring or the Occupy movement have been affected? Would I be rolling in cash proceeds from my extensive back catalog if the Internet were censored? I shudder to think. That’s why we all have to do something.

What you can do:

1. Cherish those on the Internet who use their freedom wisely.

2. Use your freedom wisely.

3. Never give away your freedom.

4. Talk to people about what’s going on.

5. Stand up and do something, whether you’re in the US or not.

Of course, I’d never deliberately offend anyone’s sensibilities on my website, nor would I break any laws, because with freedom comes responsibility. But I won’t stand by doing nothing when our freedom is in danger. I hope you won’t either.

How To Beat Blue Monday

16 Jan

Today is Blue Monday, which is supposedly the most depressing day of the year. Of course, there is some logic to back up this claim. The formula is:

So, according to the science boffins (at Sky Travel, mind you), 16 January 2012 will be the most depressing day of this year. I was surprised that this year didn’t lead to a slightly different conclusion, what with the world predicted to end and all (which I would’ve assumed might lead to a slight dip in happiness levels), but whatever.

You know me, I never argue with science—especially when it’s used to advertise a Murdoch media organ—so I guess, facts is facts, and today we’re all depressed.  Therefore, I’d like to offer a couple helpful suggestions to get you through.

You see what I’ve done here? It’s called satire.

1. This year, Blue Monday is also Martin Luther King Jr Day in America. Perhaps it would cheer you up to remember how far we’ve come with eliminating racism and making it safe to peacefully protest.

2. Get some rest, eat right, take some exercise and remember that whatever is wrong in your life is no worse today than it will be tomorrow.

I suppose if you’re struggling today, you could always try to distract yourself until midnight. Snuggle up with a copy of The Sun or The Wall Street Journal, maybe watch a show on Fox or a film you’ve saved on Sky+.  Rupert Murdoch’s going to get your money one way or another, so give in to Blue Monday and do as you’re told.

‘Twas The Night Before Christmas

24 Dec
Twas the night before Christmas, when into the house
Creeped little drunk Christopher, the Yuletide souse.
The Alka Seltzer was left right next to the Aga,
In hopes he would grab it instead of some lager.
 
Miss Agatha was nestled all snug in her bed,
Dreams of an incident-free Christmas danced in her head,
Though she quite certain it was too much to ask,
When she discovered that Christopher had taken her flask.
 
When in the kitchen there arose such a clatter,
She sprang from the bed to see what was the matter.
She put on her slippers and her silk dressing gown,
Nipped out of the bedroom and headed straight down.
 
The amber of the streetlamp flooded the room
As she entered the kitchen, filling with gloom.
When, what to her wondering eyes did she spy,
But a little-too-merry boy, starting to cry.
 
Though he had promised this year to abstain,
She instantly thought, “Here we go again.”
He claimed to be sorry right down to his core,
Though he was interrupted when he fell to the floor.
 
Oh Stella! Oh, WKD! Oh, Malibu and Coke!
You’ve turned Christopher’s promises into a joke.
The night before Christmas is a time to deck halls,
But he’s pissed away, pissed away, pissed away all!

 

I hope your Christmas Eve did not include what has now become a tradition round here, a young man coming in intoxicated and spewing what are clearly the issues he has with his mother onto me. For once I’d like to fall asleep on Christmas Eve, dreaming of sugarplums, rather than questioning my level of tolerance that allows this pisshead to live in my home.

If you prefer the traditional version, enjoy and Happy Christmas to all.

Let’s Talk About . . . Freedom of Speech

3 Dec

When I was about aged nine, each Tuesday, I would kiss my parents goodnight, climb under the covers of my bed, and take out the transistor radio secreted in my bedside cabinet. With the earphone in my left ear (in those days, we were satisfied with just the one), I waited patiently for my clock to chime midnight for that heralded the beginning of my favourite radio series—a locally produced lecture series called “Let’s Talk About . . .” There would be a few seconds of theme tune and then the voice of Dr. Langley Crispier, whom I imagined was most certainly greying at the temples in that most distinguished way many scholars do, would say “Let’s Talk About” followed by the most deliciously exciting pause before announcing the topic of that week’s episode. There was no way of knowing in advance what would be discussed. What made the anticipation so palpable was the fact that, after those few seconds of silence, that man could have said anything.

Except, of course, he couldn’t have said anything. He couldn’t have said “Let’s Talk About Barack Obama’s Presidency,” because this was long before Obama even dreamt of such a thing. He couldn’t have said “Let’s Talk About Emetophilia,” because that would have been too disgusting to hear about at that late hour. He couldn’t have said “Let’s Talk the Bomb That Will Be Hitting Our Town in Three Minutes,” because that would have caused total panic. He couldn’t have said “Let’s Talk About the Policy of Adding Poison to the Food Served at Tim’s Cafe,” because that would have been slanderous (and anyway Tim’s Cafe was a major sponsor of the show and the food there was delectable). Despite America’s laws protecting free speech, Dr. Crispier was not totally free to choose the topic for that night’s speech.

This why I feel compelled to punch in the face those who defend the obnoxious shite that is spewed by the likes of Jeremy Clarkson, David Irving and Ann Coulter with the phrase “Well, it’s a free country and we have free speech.” I don’t stoop to violence, of course, but goodness me, I sometimes want to.

The first problem involves the word free, which can mean “without cost.” Do you think Jeremy Clarkson would be willing to post a rebuttal here for free? I’ve a feeling I’d have to provide him with a rather large cheque for the privilege of publishing his “free” speech. But cost does not always refer to dollar signs. Ask a parent whose gay son committed suicide because of bullying or a worker whose rights are abused because his employer is non-union. The old chestnut “You can’t yell Fire! in a movie house” is true because people could get hurt. Words that perpetuate ignorance and hate may be without cost to Jeremy Clarkson, but someone is paying the price for them everyday.

Ultimately this is what is most important about free speech. Freedom works best when it’s coupled with responsibility. The greatest gift that language offers us is its ability to change the world. I so admire those who use that gift wisely.

I am not arguing for changing laws protecting free speech. But with freedom comes responsibility. If an injured fox were lying in my driveway, I technically have the freedom to run over it with my motorcar. Despite this freedom, I would not because it would be cruel, stupid and messy. It would not be the right thing to do.

But Jeremy Clarkson would run over the fox. And then the BBC would pay him thousands of pounds to talk about it on a television show. And if people were offended, the Sun newspaper would accuse them of wanting censorship.

And that makes me want to vomit (and not in a sexy way).

Halloween: We Fear What We Don’t Understand

27 Oct

Here is something I know: in England the current connotation of the word Halloween is “another American concept that is slowly destroying the world via our children’s innocence.”

Here is something you know: I am very clever and generally understand things better than you do.

Therefore, in the spirit of John 8:32, I would like to enlighten you to some truths about the Halloween holiday so that you shall be set free from your misconceptions. While the practices of the holiday should be limited to children, the theories behind it provide some good moral lessons we’d all do well to remember.

COSTUMES

Adults wear costumes (yes, of course, I’m talking about fancy dress, don’t pretend you don’t know what I mean) to escape their own mundane existence and live someone else’s life for an evening (although why people think slutty nurses’ lives are so fascinating is beyond me).

However, for American children, costumes serve an educational purpose; they’re used to introduce them to different career options. By the time American children reach puberty, they have already had first hand experience in a number of fields: medical, law enforcement, construction, super-heroism and witchcraft. Another benefit of children’s costumes is that they should be homemade. Homemade costumes are economical; support recycling (for at least a decade in America, all pantyhose were sold in plastic eggs, yet you never saw one of these in the landfills because they were ever so crafty); and encourage ingenuity within a family, forcing children and parents to discover new purposes within objects (I once wore Mason jar bands as earrings for my fortune teller costume, don’t tell me that’s not creative).

Sadly, families today often feel that they just don’t have the time to devote to the traditional costume-making process. Purchasing a costume loses some of the true meaning of Halloween; however, if it has to be done, the only appropriate option is a boxed costume which contains a highly flammable, colourful smock-type outfit and a plastic face with eyeholes and a thin, easily snappable piece of elastic to secure it to the head.

TRICK-OR-TREATING

Trick-or-treating is not begging. It’s actually an ancient form of barter: when you give a child a “treat,” you are actually paying for the entertainment they have provided you by making you feel frightened, amused or vaguely confused. Trick-or-treating in America is organized; there’s a single night chosen and if you don’t want to participate you just turn your porch light off. The “trick” part of the name is often interpreted as a threat, but this is incorrect. Despite what the horror films tell you, there are actually no recorded incidents of any mischief, criminal or otherwise, around Halloween on the books of any single American police station. Fact. Being scared, though, is part of the holiday’s tradition: ultimately, it’s a lesson in mortality and the sooner a child learns of his impending death, the happier the child will be, I always say.

Treats are generally candy, partly because sweets are enjoyed by most people and partly simply because they come individually wrapped. Years ago there was an urban legend that strangers were sticking razor blades in apples and contaminating cookies, so parents feel safer when a child comes home with individually wrapped candies–though, of course, a hypothermic needle could easily be used to inject candy through its wrapper without raising any suspicion (would-be poisoners should ignore this remark).

The candy most associated with Halloween is candy corn. To eat candy corn, you are required to bite off, chew and swallow the white bits and then discard the rest in the nearest bin. A little wasteful, yes, but it’s the law.

JACK O’LANTERNS

These days, there’s a real art to pumpkin carving. I myself prefer the traditional Jack O’Lantern face—circle eyes, triangle nose and the toothy grin. Carving even this relatively easy design is a great way to develop dexterity and knife-handling skills. The inside of the pumpkin is then frozen to be baked into Thanksgiving pumpkin pies and the seeds are roasted for a nutritional snack. In the carved pumpkins, you place a candle. You do this because it looks nice. Carving pumpkins is just nice, okay? Doesn’t niceness matter anymore?

Ultimately, I don’t care if you like Halloween. Support it or don’t, it’s no skin off my nose. However, if you decide you don’t want to be a part of it, keep your anti-American sentiment out of it. Halloween was an important part of my childhood; don’t let your ignorance try to taint my memory. If you find any of these meaningful traditions interesting enough to adopt in your own lives, I am happy to provide you with additional suggestions, costume designs and recipes. However, I request that you please ask your children not to come round my house during Corrie.  Halloween or not, that’s really annoying.

We Are What Democracy Looks Like and We Look Fetching

16 Oct

October 15, 2011 was a Global Day of Action. I hope your actions included more than just eating chips and listening to the football scores. The Arab World had the spring, and this autumn is a chance for the rest of us to make a difference.

The day was tied to the Occupy Wall Street protests in New York. If you aren’t aware of them, may I politely suggest that you wake up and pay attention to the world around you? They’re a leaderless, non-violent movement of people of all ages, races, and political persuasions who are a bit sick and tired of the power and greed of corporations. One of their slogans–We are the 99%–highlights the fact that the richest 1% of the US owns 40% of the wealth and takes home nearly a quarter of the nation’s income, and therefore politicians seem more keen on protecting them and corporations than looking after the majority of the country.

The government bailed out the banks because “they were too big to fail.” I’m no mathematician, but 99% of a country seems like a pretty “big” group (see chart).

So protesters began “occupying” Wall Street. Within weeks, thousands of Americans were occupying their own cities. The movement went global yesterday with protests in countries around the world. People are gathering together to say, “Yo, politicians, we are here and you must pay attention to us.” (Use of the slang term “yo” is obviously optional.)

As an American who is—yes, I know this may shock you—part of the 99% and as a concerned global citizen, I felt I had to act. So Christopher and I led an occupation of the village green yesterday.

We set up our tent in late morning, and it didn’t take long to attract some attention. This may or may not be explained by my incredibly captivating attire (merci to the boys at Designs by Maurice). However, our multimedia presentation quickly helped to inform the less enlightened villagers, and soon our numbers rivaled those in major American cities.

Unlike the hypocrisy shown in many American cities towards the universal rights of freedom of assembly and expression, our local police were most respectful of our protest. I confess there were a few arrests. This was not due to violence or destruction, but rather because, during our General Assembly to vote on our demands, some participants insisted on saying “pacific” instead of “specific” and I felt compelled to shop them to the coppers as that level of ignorance has no part in any effective social change movement.

One criticism of the American protests is that they are unfocused: opponents see this as a weakness but many supporters see it as a result of the many different societal problems caused by greed. Our group decided while we stand in solidarity with all multi-issue protests, we would focus on one simple specific demand: we will continue to occupy until the world becomes a fairer and all round nicer place to live.

Although I elected not to stay the night out on the green, I have just returned from there and can report that the occupation is still going strong. If you would like to help us, here is a list of the campers’ current needs:

  • Food
  • Tarps
  • Cardboard and paint for signs
  • A job offering a living wage
  • Yesterday’s Wales v. France rugby result
  • Water

If you’re not able to stop by our group, please consider supporting or starting your own local occupation. Show your politicians that enough is enough. Greed has to led to a global financial crisis and austerity measures, which hurt the poorest the most, will not eliminate the problems. Take action. Do something. Just don’t bother throwing a pie in Rupert Murdoch’s face, because that didn’t really change anything, now did it?

Je Suis Innocent!

19 Jul

Despite what you may have heard in today’s select committee, I was never present at any discussions between Coulson, Cameron and Brooks. A certain flame-haired so-and-so is clearly only dragging my name into the proceedings to make herself appear more likeable by association with such a popular, attractive and clean-as-a-whistle writer as my good self. And the implication that I have locked lips with either of the Murdochs—come on, you know how I feel about Australians!

At this point, I am not likely to get my legal team involved: there are much bigger fish to fry first. I’ve hardly been harmed in the way others have by News Corporation and far be it from me to draw the attention away from the real crimes this soulless organization has committed.

I’m sure the fact that when you click on Rupert Murdoch’s Wikipedia page you are immediately redirected to the Amazon entry for my latest novel is purely a technical hiccup and will be straightened out soon.

Advice for Appearing Before The Parliamentary Committee

18 Jul

Remember when you were little and got into trouble? Maybe you were passing notes in class or were caught sneaking back into your bedroom window past your curfew. There’s that split second when the light goes on or the door opens and you hear that adult voice asking, “What are you doing?” and you know they know the answer to the question and that the whole world’s going to be crashing down on you momentarily and there’s not a single thing you can do to stop it. It may be one of the most horrible feelings in the universe.

Being “invited” to appear before a parliamentary committee investigating a  scandal of this magnitude is at least five or six times worse than that feeling. I can barely imagine it.

But then again I can barely imagine most of things this lot has done.

However, this has got to be a little nerve-wracking for them. Maybe not as nerve-wracking as getting your hopes up that your missing daughter is still alive because a journalist has deleted her voicemails, but still pretty worrying.

Although I have never been put into this position myself (it’s actually relatively easy to stay out of trouble like this), I do have some advice which Mssrs Murdoch and Mrs Brooks might want to take on board for tomorrow.

Don’t worry too much about how you look: everyone already hates you so you won’t be winning over any hearts by dressing “innocently.” Rebekah, the red hair—it is what it is; people might make jokes about it, but the truth is, it’s not your red hair but the moral vacuum behind your eyes which is your worst physical trait.

It appears that your primary concern is “avoiding self-incrimination.” This isn’t going to be as simple as it sounds. In America, they’ve got a little trick called “pleading the Fifth,” which means you can refuse to answer any question—this is because no one can be forced into giving self-incriminating evidence. It’s legal and I suppose there are cases where it’s probably a good thing: maybe a witness could put a drug dealer into jail, but because she once bought a joint off him and is therefore also guilty of a crime, she might refuse to incriminate herself. However, ask almost anyone who has seen a witness plead the Fifth and the first assumption that is made is that she is GUILTY—probably of even worse things than she is trying to hide.

Now the particular issues which are bound to be raised tomorrow are a bit heavier than a spliff or two. They’re actually rather mind-blowing (I would list them but I already know that you know), and appearing to be focused only on your own future is not going to make you smell too sweet. This isn’t just about Sienna Miller, you know? This is about big, bad, and horrible things. Sitting in a silence or refusing to answer or redirecting the questions is not advised.

At the same time, I would not suggest you do what’s been done in previous committee hearings, which is to deny and lie. The jig, as they say, is up. I don’t want to see a repeat of this tomorrow, and I bet you don’t either, because face it, it’s pretty humiliating:

Shameful.

So, what are you to do, you ask? You are indeed in a bit of a pickle. I’m afraid that there’s really only one option for you: say what you knew and when you knew it. If it makes you look bad, you are bad, and you deserve everything that you get.

What Rebekah Brooks Knows

8 Jul

Not too many people in the mood for bigging up ol’ Rebekah Brooks today, were there? A  staff member said, “For the sake of one person, 500 people at the News of the World have been sacrificed”; Nick Clegg has called for her to go; David Cameron claimed he would have taken her resignation and I confess I’ve never been too keen on her face since the whole Ross Kemp incident. Basically, she’s pretty much top of everybody’s shit list.

Except there’s one man who just can’t quit her. It’s the lovely Mister Murdoch. Why hasn’t he sacrificed her as many assumed he would and believe he should?

Today Rebekah Brooks reportedly told those News of the World staffers who could bear to listen:

I am a working journalist who has worked here since I was 19 years old. You are trying to say to me that because an allegation came in that we do not know if it is true, you think I should resign? If you think this is a bundle of laughs trying to fight and get this company’s reputation back, it isn’t.
We have more visibility perhaps with what we can see coming than you guys. I am tied by the criminal investigation but I think in a year’s time, every single one of you in this room might come up and say “I see what she saw now.”

Hmmm. . . is this just a typical journalist’s teaser to get us to tune in later? No. I’m afraid it’s the truth. She’s seen a few things; she indeed knows things that we do not know.

So what’s she on about? You may think that she’s just hinting at the fact that closing the News of the World was simply a gesture, and that it will be back to Sunday business as usual shortly (just with The Sun at the top of the page instead). Some speculate the real pay off of closing the newspaper will come when the BSkyB bid goes through.

The truth is Murdoch won’t axe her because she is privy to some sensational information about the man. Exactly what that sensational information is is what everyone wants to know. I’m afraid it’s far worse than anyone imagines. Here is just a taster of the things that I can’t tell you about Rupert Murdoch, his dastardly deeds and his wicked, wicked ways:

  • The first restraining order in Melbourne’s history was taken out against a young Rupert Murdoch by a neighbour who claimed she didn’t like the way the boy was looking at her dog (if you know what she means).
  • Rupert Murdoch suffers from automatonophobia.
  • Remember how we were all fine with there being nine planets in our solar system? Well, Rupert Murdoch wasn’t. Now all of a sudden, Pluto doesn’t count. You do the math.
  • Rupert Murdoch doesn’t know how to read.
  • Rupert Murdoch has never taken a one-stroke penalty when his ball is in an unplayable lie.
  • Murdoch started the rumour that centrifugal force is “fictitious” and today that’s what we teach our children.
  • Have you ever seen Rupert Murdoch and DB Cooper in the same room? Think about it.

So Rebekah does indeed have a few things on the man.  However, despite her red hair, she seems to have forgotten the Golden Rule of Evil: you deal with the devil, you’re going to get burned. The truth is that Rupert Murdoch is more powerful than any of us realise. It won’t be long until Rebekah Brooks, too, gets what’s coming.