So, in memory of two world wars, we'll have a 17 hour silence ...

SO WHOSE idea was it to have a two minute silence in memory of the victims of the 7/7 London bombings? Who advanced the argument? Who handed down the decree?

I ask because, to be frank, I’m sick and tired of the sentimental mawkishness with which this country greets disaster. Yes, it was a terrible crime that 52 people were killed by terrorist bombs, but that happens every day in downtown Baghdad, and no-one even blinks.

And why two minutes? More people died at Hillsborough, yet they only have a minute’s silence for them. (Although because they’re Scousers, they hold it every week.) Are these things incremental? Are we now saying that the 7/7 victims are the equivalent of all the dead of two world wars? And Korea, the Falklands and Iraq?

I raised the issue with several people, but mostly met with blank looks. Since the Dianafication of Britain, conspicuous mourning is apparently what we do. So I just snuck off and had a fag instead while the grief junkies were wringing their hands in public.

THE SON of a friend of mine is a Para out in Afghanistan. To quote his Dad, he effing loves it. He gets to do what he’s been trained to do - to kill bad guys who come out to fight fair, rather than use dynamite-strapped kids or cowardly roadside bombs to do their killing for them. And it’s not the long-distance, superior firepower, computer game fighting that the Yanks like. It’s down and dirty and eye to eye.

He also said it was just like a Flashman book. I wonder if he knows his history. The Brits have fought and died in the mountains of Afghanistan for hundreds of years. We still are, with six dead in the last month. And we’ve never, ever won. And we won’t this time.

Mr Blah and his feckless pals have tried to give us the impression that we sent troops out there to help in the reconstruction of the county. Unfortunately, like so many NuLabour promises, this is a complete and utter lie. Our boys are there to try to re-take the country from the Taliban and, along the way, to persuade poor farmers to grow pomegranates rather than opium poppies.

It is a foolish, thankless and ultimately impossible task. The clues come amid the bravado in those brief phone calls home. Yes, they “slotted” the 20 or so Taliban who ambushed them, but within minutes attacks were coming in from two other sides. They were pinned down, outnumbered, and despite calls for help were told that no air, artillery or ground support was available as all resources were tied up elsewhere.

This is no coincidence. The Taliban, fighting instincts honed by centuries of resistance, know our numbers and know that if they can co-ordinate a timed series of ambushes or attacks, those lethal Apache helicopter gunships will only be able to turn up to one battle at a time. Elsewhere, it’s going to get a bit nasty.

The truth of the matter is that if we have to be out there, then we must be there in sufficient numbers to defend ourselves. That is patently not the case at the moment but given that the Army is woefully overstretched, where does Mr Blah look for reinforcements? The Sea Scouts? The local grammar school cadet force? The 3rd Armoured Brigade of Traffic Wardens?

I dearly hope my mate’s lad comes home safe. I don’t even mind if he enjoys his war; it’s what we’re good at, after all. But I also hope that people in power who sent him out there managed to find time off from fomenting revolution at their universities to read a bit of Kipling: “When you're wounded and left on Afghanistan's plains, and the women come out to cut up what remains, jest roll to your rifle and blow out your brains, and go to your gawd like a soldier.”

PAEDO UPDATE: Peter Wilson, 59, was released from prison last week after serving half of a 10-year sentence for sex attacks on young boys.

Unable to find him a place in a bail hostel, the leather-elbowed geniuses from social services promptly booked him into the £53-a-night Premier Travel Inn in East Sussex … an hotel boasting a “child-friendly restaurant” and conveniently located next door to a children’s home. They also neglected to mention their client’s previous at the check-in desk.

Marvellous stuff.

THE NANNY State ninnies on. This week we’ve had an official “Level 3 Heatwave Alert” warning the bovine population that if they staked themselves out in the midday sun, they might get a bit of a headache and perhaps feel a bit sore about the shoulders. The following day, local radio gravely announced a “Met Office Flood Warning”, as torrential thunderstorms followed days of high temperatures.

Has it really come to this? Are people so thick these days that they can’t work out to handle a bit of sun and a bit of rain? The mind boggles. The next thing you know, they’ll be running television commercials telling us how to barbecue a sausage. Oh … hang on …

O The views of Mr Beelzebub are purely personal and do not necessarily reflect the opinions of the Editor or staff of this website, of any 17-year-old who thinks he can accompany his Dad's mates to the cricket, keep up with the big lads when it comes to drinking, but then has to be taken home by his mother after the unfortunate reappearance of a chicken sarnie; of anyone moaning about the heat while surreptitiously eyeing up the T-shirted totty parading down the street; or of anyone who tore out and pinned up that Sun picture of Ronaldo's face on a dartboard. You were never on the terraces at Anfield in the 70s, were you? Forza Italia!