Sorry for my - what’s the term? - ‘light blogging’ lately. Been off work for a bit. Had a flu jab a couple of weeks ago, and felt a bit feverish and achey for a while and then the next thing I know I’m sectioned under the Mental Health Act and detained in a secure unit for the irretrievably autistic. Bloody vaccinations.
Anyway, I’m a bit blown away by all this Climategate stuff. It looks like a bit of a blow for those fascists who want to stop us travelling by plane and enjoying 24-hour flloodlit, patiowarmer golf.
For those of you who don’t know what I’m talking about because you get your news from the BBC, a massive file full of emails and other data from climate scientists (who work at the ‘University of East Anglia’ - bwahahahaha polypolypolypoly) was hacked/leaked/left lying around, and has now appeared on the interweb.
The upshot of it all appears to be that scientists fudge data when it doesn’t fit the theory, collude and gang up on anyone who doesn’t agree, and all they care about is chasing kudos and research funding.
I’m like: and?
What do you expect? They’re scientists. It’s what they do - they’re a bunch of shysters.
There is this foolish image of scientists being sweet-natured boffins who only care about the truth. Well, it’s a load of arse! The typical research department is a pit of vipers full of the sort of characters who make Scarface’s Tony Montana look like Bungle off Rainbow.
Take our own world-renowned research institute, presided over by the Headmaster, The Middle Bit of England Centre for Anorectal Diseases. I happen to know that when they couldn’t get some paper into the journal Arse, they had two of the editors killed. And the HM actually sold his own grandmother on e-bay to get a letter in the BMJ. And one of their seminal papers on the precise clock positions of haemorrhoids was based on a single patient, which was the Headmaster examining himself.
The thing is, once they get in too deep, and they’re all being invited to join the UN Intergovernmental Panel on Haemorrhoids and fly off to exotic conferences, and they get all the praise and fame and money and chicks (well, probably not the chicks) it’s too late. They have to keep the lie going at all costs.
No-one’s going to be interested in a paper showing that - sorry to bother you - but the classic haemorrhoid positions of 3, 7 and 11 o’clock were right all along. Are they?
Jerry,
I just rediscovered your column after an interval of 2 years (?) (i.e. since HD stopped printing). Just wasted 10 minutes reading your love letters to Patricia H and making uncontrollable snorting laughing noises.
Arse!