Anton's Ideas

Anton Wills-Eve on world news & random ideas

Month: April, 2016


<a href=””>Curve</a&gt;

‘curve’, how apt for everything politicians try to do with facts to suit their own ends


There is a lovely row going on in Britain about whether saying you do not support zionism or disagree with zionist policies makes you anti-semitic. The real joke is that the row is between a former left wing mayor of London and his Labour (ultra left wing) party leader. The latter  has suspended the former mayor from the party for saying  something  against zionism, because this equals being anti-semitic in his eyes.

Personally I do not think the state of Israel should have been established  in the way it was in 1949 purely because the people who were intending to live there had no legal right to do so. The vast majority of founding Israelis were European and American, and had no excuse at all to throw two million Palestinian arabs out of their homes and steal their land. I am NOT anti-semitic, I have many, many Jewish friends, but that’s a racial distinction not a political one. As a Catholic I no more support the religion of Muslims than I do of Jews, but if I like members of those two faiths as people, and recognise them as friends, that doesn’t mean I am not a Chritstian. What I must never do is offend people on purpose because of their religion or race. Well I don’t. Nor did the mayor referred to above. My first wife, who was killed with my daughter in a war, was an Asian Buddhist. Hardly an indication that I don’t like people of other races or creeds. But I am still allowed to separate politics from race and beliefs without being offensive. Well I hope I am!

Apart from anything else I get very fed up with millions of people on a daily basis being unbelievably offensive and blasphemous to my face in a grossly un-Christian way and, when I report them to the relevant authorities, am just told to …something …off, and that by the state officials who are supposed to be protecting civil rights in our country. But I put up with it because my job in life is to love my neighbours, whoever they are and whatever they do. And if they offend me I should forgive them. I wish some so called minorities would start doing the same.




<a href=””>Mask</a&gt;

one word prompt ‘mask’ is just toooooooo tempting


The ultimate non-choice for President is now looking very likely to steal the GOP nomination and then  we will see if he is prepared to drop the mask. So far the obnoxious insult to the American population, Donald Trump, has managed to convince enough people that Republican party members should give him their nomination to run for President. What we have to ask ourselves is this. Was his campaign just an attempt to make sure his party had a really strong candidate to return them to power, or was his performance up to now a serious series of statements of his intent to act like an idiot if he gets the top job?

Personally I think he had been hiding behind a mask and he will now drop it, the Republicans will let out a sigh of relief and give him their heartfelt support. If he doesn’t drop the mask, however, there are only two things the GOP can do. First of all throw him out of the party. He has already said he doesn’t like the people he represents so why would they acknowledge his self styled allegiance? No they would have to take away his GOP membership and in July put forward an intelligent, popular and moderate candidate. Preferably a woman. The second thing they must do is convince ALL Americans that people like Trump, left or right, are extremists of the very worst sort for whom there is no place in a respectable political party. Failure to do this will effectively mean a new party will have to be formed to replace the GOP.

But then I’m a moderate Democrat, so I hope this necessary restoration of the Republican image comes much too late to Stop Hilary getting the armchair in the oval office. I know it’s not all over yet, but the longer Trump rants on insanely, the longer the rest of the world is going to wonder what is happening in the US to make its citizens support such an obviously unpleasant man. His foreign policy will never work because no other world leaders, and I mean any, will even talk to him.

Roll on November and let’s get this freak show right off the road. It’s damaging America’s image unbearably, something the world cannot afford!








<a href=””>Disaster</a&gt;

I love one word prompts, they offer such unlimited scope to enjoy yourself.


The worst scenario now for Giovanni was the prospect of his Mafia ‘friends’ working out how he had escaped. What would they do to him if they ever caught him? But how could they? Jacob’s sister Barbara had assured him they would never trace a man who had changed his name, his country and his looks. She had done a very good job on him. So he went into the main waiting room at the railway station in Bologna and sat down to kill 25 minutes until his train arrived.

He put his small green suitcase down beside him and started to read the e-book on the tablet he had with him. Barbara had even given him her own pocket computer, so nobody could trace him through that. He was still fidgety, though, and was surprised to discover the book on the reader app was in French. He didn’t speak French, but it was too late now. He started to read ‘Malaise en Malaisie’, a two dime thriller that might have been romantic, pornographic, a ‘whodunnit’ or all three for all he could make out. But, in case he was being watched, he ploughed through it as the pages scrolled forward on an automatic turner. He was intelligent enough to realise that the main good guy was called Jean-Claude, his romantic helper must be Francoise, the arch hood was obviously Mephisto, well he had to be, and his moll seemed to be called ‘Ma Belle Etoile’. A bit of a mouthful in a crisis, Giovanni thought, but he wasn’t actually very bothered about the story. But he was a bit worried about a cute young girl who sat opposite to him and seemed to be watching everything he did while trying very hard to appear uninterested in him. 

As luck would have it his train was delayed, then cancelled and finally announced as arriving about two hours later than it should have done. Our fleeing hero was feeling hungry and decided to get a sandwich out of his case. The sandwich box, a thermos flask and some night clothes and wash things were the sum total of the possessions he had brought for the journey. The case could be stolen for all he really cared as nothing in it would identify him in any way. He munched hungrily on some pastrami and bread, and sipped a little coffee, as he became ever more engrossed in the book which became less comprehensible by the page. Indeed Mephisto  appeared to be about to shoot Jean-Claue, or it could have been the other way round, and the two women were knifing each other – at least he thought that was what they were doing – and the approaching climax had got him quite excited by the time his train pulled in.

Hastily Giovanni put the tablet in his small suitcase, shut it and ran onto the platform to catch his train to the Swiss border and freedom. But to his horror his pretty ‘apparent stalker’ jumped up and followed him. Who was she? Giovanni was taking no chances. He changed seats three times, but each time the girl moved to a position from which she could see him. He just prayed they would make the border before she could alert any Italian contacts. But no such luck. As the train started to move slowly out of the station at Turin, the last stopping point in Italy, the girl was up like a flash, snatched the suitcase, whisked open a door and jumped onto  the very end of the platform.

Giovanni was lost. Why did she take the suitcase and not worry about him? Well, she hadn’t bothered about him so he just sat back in his seat and relaxed for the first time that day. In the early evening he was very glad when he got out at Geneva and went through Swiss customs with no problems and nobody watching him. He was safe. And there, ahead of him by the taxi rank, was Barbara waving to him. He kissed her on both cheeks and asked her what they did now as she was the one who spoke French and would get him on to his next destination, London by plane. His English was fluent and his future safe. But Barbara looked at him stunned.

“Giovanni, where is your suitcase?” she asked, almost in a panic stricken voice. “You left it on the train!” Then he explained what had happened and wondered what on earth was so important about his only bag. Barbara asked him to describe the girl. When he had finished she  swore quite immoderately.

“You put my tablet in the green case? You idiot!  The girl you described is one of my best friends, Louise Martin. We have a bet on about which of us would read Coco Manche’s latest thriller first. I downloaded it last night and thought I had beaten her. You fool, now she will read it before I do. I lose a 500 euro bet. Honestly Giovanni, you are sooo stupid”. But our hero asked her to take out her mobile phone and text Louise. 

“This will win you 500 euros, Barbara , my thanks for your help. Just tell her  this. ‘On page 217 Jean-Claude is facing Mephisto at gun point. In the next room Francoise and La Belle Etoile are fighting each other’. You couldn’t know that if you had never read ‘Malaise en Malisie’ as I have , could you? Louise will admit defeat.” Barbara stared at him.

“But you don’t understand French. How could you have read all that?”

He smiled. “I don’t and I can’t. I only managed to follow those names, and the odd word here and there. Louise must have seen what I was reading and seen me put it back in my case. I hope I haven’t spoiled the plot for you, but then I may have got it completely wrong and only picked up the names. But she’ll still believe you’ve read it first!”




<a href=””>Snap</a&gt;

thanks for this prompt!


I was once told that blogging was the equivalent of keeping a diary. It was, one should say is, the digital diarist’s  method of recording for posterity the events of everyday life. I have not used it as such  yet because I have never been sufficiently bothered about daily events in my life in the past two or three years. It’s all been hospital visits, funerals and similarly forgettable reminders of my mortality. But this week has been different.

As many of my readers know I live on a diet of music, prayer and sport. Well, music and prayer are lovely but not quite the stuff of diaries. I am fortunate, though, in that I live with a lady who some forty years ago did me the great honour of becoming my second wife. Both of us  were widowed but, despite each fighting dreadful illnesses ever since we met in a London hospital, we have had two great things going for us. Firstly we fell in love on sight, Romeo and Juliet really does happen in real life, even to people with histories of terrible personal sadness like us. Secondly, she happened to be equally passionate about motor racing, cricket and her beloved home soccer club Liverpool. Geographically we had some slight problems as I supported the London team  Tottenham HotSpurs. She was also a red rose Lancastrian so supported Lancashire at cricket and  I support Surrey. A real North-South divide. But our love was strong enough for us always to be overjoyed when the other had success to celebrate. Just imagine this week.

I am recovering from my fifth stroke, the long term effects of a double spinal fracture when being the only survivor of a helicopter crash in Cambodia, suffering from osteoarthritis, am being treated for my third ulcer, have had cancer for sixteen years now, surviving three terminal prognoses,  and have been a martyr to agoraphobia since I was five and a half years old. My wife was dreadfully ill with claustrophobia -how we met – at university in London but still persisted in studying aeronautical engineering. She was the only woman on the team that designed the two main helicopters in use by the British military today. She retired young after contracting very bad pernicious anaemia and then had an acute heart problem, which resulted in major surgery last year. It is still not properly fixed. So would you expect to see us sitting up for two late nights this week in a state of frankly uncontrollable excitement, a condition extremely dangerous for both of us? No you wouldn’t, but listen to this.

Major sports events do something to us. We can’t explain it. But on Sunday night, it’s six hours later over here, my my wife said she’d watch some of the last round of the Masters golf from Augusta to keep my son and me company. His wife was  on an overnight shift, she’s a senior staff nurse at a Merseyside hospital’s acute blood cancer ward. But it was just to be sociable, after all we had no thoughts of an English victory. But Danny Willett had. As the leader, and certain winner, Jordan Spieth faltered  Danny compiled one of the most immaculate rounds in golfing history. Starting at level par he did not drop a shot on that round and when told he was leading proceeded to birdie the most notorious hole on the course and went on to win by three strokes having shot a five under par 67. 

It was past midnight, my wife was still on the sofa, fists pumping the air and all of us in a state of disbelief. It was great too because Danny nearly did not play as his wife had their first baby just two days before he flew out to the US and he was the last player to sign in for the championship. He also had with him a snap shot of his new son. Can you beat that? I can, listen.

Last night, in the key European UEFA cup, Liverpool were playing the second leg of their quarter final against cup favourites Dortmund. In Germany they had tied the first match 1-1 the week before. Naturally my wife was watching this game. But what a game! The Germans were 2-0 up after nine minutes and this meant Liverpool had to score three as away goals count double in the event of a draw on aggregate. I commiserated with her as this was still the score at half time. All she did was remind me that Liverpool came back from 0-3 down to win the European Cup final against Milan eleven years ago. I smiled in sympathy.

Three minutes into the second half Liverpool got one back, hope was bubbling up on the sofa, but the Germans made it 3-1 ten minutes later. It was all over. My wife looked at me in surprise, “There’s still enough time.” I felt sorry for her. Well that was until 12 minutes from the end when Liverpool made it 3-2. And it turned into disbelief when they got an equaliser to make it 3-3 on the night with two minutes to go. But the Germans would still go through on more away goals in a 4-4 aggregate.

Time was up, but there were four minutes extra time to be added on for stoppages and with just one minute and 53 seconds to go Liverpool somehow scored again with a snap header to take a 4-3 lead  (5-4 overall). And that was how it ended. Did my wife leap up in euphoric delight? No, she just looked a little surprised that my son and I had doubted the support of the home fans; and then she took a pill to control her pulse which was dangerously high.

The end? No, something else happened to warrant putting this story in any sports report ever written. A chap tweeted in, the TV commentators told us, who was also a Liverpool fan but had been forced to watch the game on his mobile phone while holding his wife’s hand as she gave birth to their first child. Their son entered this world just as Liverpool were scoring the winner.  Now babies don’t really have that much effect on sport, but twice in five days? That’s more than a coincidence and worthy of an entry in any diary.




<a href=””>Giggle</a&gt;


Today’s One word prompt and  two more Limericks for fun


A young girl with a really cute wiggle

Squirmed, and then started to wriggle.

Crying, “ Oh, I beg of you Sir.

Please stop tickling me there!”

Before giving in with an amorous giggle.


A middle-aged matron called Kate

Telephoned for a masculine Mate.

She quite fell for young Peter,

And he was happy to meet her,

But found her well past her ‘use by’ date.


Seeing a girl with two dogs, in the bars

Don Juan, was quick to re-fill her glass,

And to quieten her spaniels

He bought two Jack Daniels,

Before placing his hands on her rrrs.



<a href=””>Newspaper</a&gt;


On a good day it had reported, in type face tall,

The rise of dictators, and equally often the fall

Of tyrants, cruel rulers and abusers of nations,

Exposed in their paroxysmal atrial fibrillations.

Now we live in sad days, hardly any news at all,

Its columns, dry and useless as old leaves in fall.

Full of meaningless words to amuse its readers

Who cannot distinguish them from lofty leaders

So carefully crafted by a younger editorial staff,

Turgid ‘new’ reflections that make old men laugh

At the ignorance of youth and the paper’s demise,

Today no longer newsworthy to young or old eyes.





<a href=””>Street</a&gt;


The voters in the Wisconsin primaries today may have forgotten that the worst man ever to represent them was  Joseph McCarthy. But most importantly they should remember that he represented everything that was disliked in a politician. He changed parties, or supported nobody really except himself.

He had blatant and open contempt for the first amendment, the right of free speech.

He picked on homosexuals because he did not like them and gave false testimony against any who served in the government.

He was held in contempt by most of the world and was greatly disliked by both Presidents during his successful years as a communist witch hunter.

He had no problem in correcting himself whenever he made public speeches and regularly altered the text of his pronouncements to journalists and even the President himself.

He never tried to support any accusations or opinions with checkable facts and accused his country of being un-American.

This remind you of anyone? I mean today it ought to!