A good day to bury bad Speakers

With MP's left, right and centre either weeping into their cheque books or stamping their expensively shod feet over the 'pay it back' instructions from Thomas Legg, and the entire world learning about a hitherto unknown oil company that dumped its toxic shit all over some poor Africans, the media and the blogosphere had a busy day yesterday.

One man will have been extremely grateful for the diversion.

Nobody was looking when Michael 'Gorbals Mick' Martin, completed his epic journey from sheet metai worker to member of the aristocracy yestrday, when he entered the House of Lords. Gorbals Mick no more - we're looking at Lord Martin of Springburn.

The man who presided over the expenses scandal that has destroyed the little remaining respect the nation had for its MP's. And who, rather than mending the system, tried to conceal it from the world, spending our money - over 20 grand of it - on endless legal battles to continue the cover-up.

A man who was not averse to sticking his fat Glaswegian snout into the trough himself, claiming 4 grand for taxi's for his wife, for fucks sake.

The man who, when information about the woeful and corrupt state of his expenses system was leaked, first responded not by apologising, but by calling in the police to find out who had leaked.

A man who, as Speaker, was supposed to keep affairs in the House under control and civilized, but in his final days stood there, puce in his fat bastard face, shouting abuse at MP's.

The man who was so utterly, pathetically fucking incompetent that he became the first speaker in over 300 years to be chucked out of the job.

Why is this egregious trough pig not languishing at some job centre in Glasgow, hoping that the metal works will have him back? Why does he get to walk away from his mess? Why has the fucker, instead of being sacked, been promoted?

Ironic - no, not ironic, massively fucking hypocritical - that a man who expressed such disdain for pomp and tradition should now be dressing up like an 17th century landowner, and enjoying being addressed as 'My Lord'.

And because of that, Gorbals Mick's lardy, Lordy arse is now sitting very comfortably indeed. His Speaker's pension will be paid to him already and if the fat stroke dodger lives to 65, his MP's pension will kick in and he'll be on a juicy £80,000 a year. 80 fucking grand. All from the pension pot we filled up for him and his like.

And, as a peer, he'll claim £174 for each night he spends in London. Nice.

Labour have talked for many, many years of reforming the Upper House; changing the way in which Lords 'n' Ladies are created; making the role more accessible. Looks like they've suceeded: if someone as incompetent, venal, dishonest and fundamentally fucking thick as Michael Martin can become a Lord, then surely anyone can.


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