Tim Westwood? Fucking hell. I mean, yeah the guy is pretty absurd, but he's hardly fucking wrecked Britain by committing himself to promoting hip-hop for 20-odd years. I'm so bored of people taking a shot at Westwood these days, I say mad props to him for sticking with what he's doing in the face of pretty much universal criticism. There's no denying he genuinely loves his hip-hop.

Tim Westwood? Fucking hell. I mean, yeah the guy is pretty absurd, but he's hardly fucking wrecked Britain by committing himself to promoting hip-hop for 20-odd years. I'm so bored of people taking a shot at Westwood these days, I say mad props to him for sticking with what he's doing in the face of pretty much universal criticism. There's no denying he genuinely loves his hip-hop.

It seems he was really struggling to find things to be angry about. Greg Dyke for moving the nine o'clock news? John McEnroe for shouting at a referee?

Letts has such a tediously moralistic worldview. For example, I agree with him about the 'fcuk' campaign, not because it was shocking but because it for many years managed to sell plain black t-shirts with completely uninspired slogans for ridiculous prices to twats who thought it was clever. Letts has to go too far though:



What?

His bit about Ted Heath seems nasty too, he includes him for the crime of sacking Enoch Powell, which, he says "made it almost impossible for British politicians to criticise immigration for the next 40 years", which ultimately meant that "By 2005 we had become a country in which the separation of cultures had fed an ethnic grievance culture which bred British Islamic terrorists". Ethnic grievance culture, indeed.

4 James Callaghan

In March 1966, the Chancellor of the Exchequer, James Callaghan, made an announcement which changed - shortchanged - the British way of life.

For centuries our kingdom had maintained a quirky duo-decimal system of currency which sharpened our mental arithmetic, burnished our national identity and baffled foreigners.

It had survived the Norman invasion, the Hundred Years' War, plague, Oliver Cromwell, the Industrial Revolution, Napoleon, the Luftwaffe.

But Callaghan, bluff old 'Sunny Jim', sly and matey, bespectacled yet glinty of eye, was one atrocity too far. Heritage was trashed in the name of modernity.

Callaghan announced that pounds, shillings and pence had had their day. The date, February 15, 1971, when it came, was known as 'D-Day'. Decimalisation was a victory for the 'make it simple' brigade.

Multiples of 10 are easier than multiples of 12 (there were 12 pence in the old shilling, and 20 shillings in the old pound). In pre-decimal Britain, shop assistants thought nothing of doing agile arithmetic calculations, the like of which would baffle most of us today.

With our ancient coin names we had a link back to the currency of Anglo-Saxon times. We differed from much of Europe, certainly, but we were proud to be distinct.

Jim Callaghan and the political class of 1966 thought otherwise, alas. Damn them.

Seriously, what the hell. It was 37 years ago, Quentin.

I love this notion that pre-decimal currency and imperial measures magically made people smarter. Based on absolutely sweet fuck all bar idiot nostalgia and terror of the "new". It's absolute arse.

Also, in my experience, anyone groaning about swearing being the root of all society's ills is lost for a good fucking slap.

No irony? Wink

I love this notion that pre-decimal currency and imperial measures magically made people smarter. Based on absolutely sweet fuck all bar idiot nostalgia and terror of the "new". It's absolute arse.

Funny, I'm well inside the decimalisation timeframe, but I was taught 'em to twelve too, possibly the 13 and 14 as well.

You are correct. The sevens were proper bastards.

19 Topsy and Tim

Twins Topsy and Tim are sister and brother. They are aged five and have remained that age since they first blighted our culture in 1960.

They live in a town and lead lives of blameless, centre-Left orthodoxy. This being the New Era, girls and boys must be considered the same.

So sometimes it is Topsy who cries, sometimes wimpy Tim. Sometimes Topsy kicks a football, sometimes Tim admires a flower. Oh look, a pansy.

This is also true of Topsy and Tim's Mummy and Daddy. They share the household chores. Their bland characters are interchangeable. Mummy never succumbs to a bad mood. Daddy is never distant, or batey, or hungover.

He never has a snort of hard drink in the evenings. Not much of an introduction to modern Britain, is he?

Over the years the soppingly damp stories of Topsy and Tim have, inexplicably, sold more than 21 million copies.

A Britain peopled by disciples of Topsy and Tim would not last long in the world of international terrorism. If we succumb to the worldview of Topsy and Tim, we might as well give up now.