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Boris Johnson


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Just because somebody says that it's an IQ test doesn't mean that you have to believe them. Trust me, never take anything at face value ;)

 

One of the students on my psychology course asked 'what is IQ?' the answer from the Prof was "its what IQ tests measure". He wasn't being facetious, just pointing out that the link to 'intelligence' which has many different facets, was tenuous.

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Just because somebody says that it's an IQ test doesn't mean that you have to believe them. Trust me, never take anything at face value ;)

 

Especially not one of the Bear's Lounge posts Whitey Granddad!

 

You'll have operation CEOP all over your PC before you can decide whether you've got 2 apples or only 1.

 

;)

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One of the students on my psychology course asked 'what is IQ?' the answer from the Prof was "its what IQ tests measure". He wasn't being facetious, just pointing out that the link to 'intelligence' which has many different facets, was tenuous.

 

These measures change all the time but I was always told that IQ was a standard distribution with a mean of 100 and a standard deviation of 15 which is presumably why uncle Boris chose his levels of 85 and 130 being one sd below and two sd above the mean. This article states that the extremes of the distribution are not Gaussian:

 

http://hiqnews.megafoundation.org/Definition_of_IQ'.html

 

I also stumbled upon this article which I found interesting: http://www.isreview.org/issues/57/gasper-genes.shtml

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  • 2 months later...

http://www.telegraph.co.uk/news/politics/10642745/Riding-my-broken-bike-is-like-working-with-the-Lib-Dems.html

 

At first, I couldn’t believe it. No, I said when they told me of the death of my bike. Get away, I said; and then they made me look at the appalling wound, and it was only when I had run my fingers round the almost invisible injury that the news sank in. And then I felt like some relative coming to terms with the loss of a loved one.Think of Alexander grieving for his favourite mount Bucephalus, or Wellington mourning the death of the great Copenhagen. After eight years of uncomplaining service, the venerable steed had charged his last. This was the bike that had taken me every day to distant parts of London, carried me into battle in two elections, heard my agony as I cursed up hills and listened in reassuring silence to my whispered rehearsals for the speech I would have to make when I arrived.

By now it was a bit like the ancient ship Argo, or the broom belonging to Trigger the roadsweeper in Only Fools and Horses, in that almost all its vital parts had been replaced. It must have had four sets of wheels, three sets of brakes, two sets of pedals, umpteen lights and at one stage it had been under a general anaesthetic for a complete cogwheel-derailleur transplant.

Old Bikey had survived every prang and prangette that goes with urban commuting: shaving trucks, kissing buses, and lovingly locking wheels with a motorbike on the Embankment – an encounter from which, alas, the motorbike came off second best.

No one had seen fit to nick it in all those years – not even when I chained it and left it for several nights outside King’s Cross. I had bundled it roughly into taxis and taken it on trains and even skidded with it down Goswell Road in that vicious winter when the roads were sheets of ice. It was always game and obedient, and I swear it sometimes wagged its rear mudguard when it saw me coming.

Now it was dead, killed by – the weather. Yes, amigos, it was slain by the rain. My bike has been one of the many economic casualties – admittedly, a very minor one – of the inundations that have caused so much grief and misery across the country.

It happened like this. It was Friday afternoon, shortly after a detailed lunch with my father, and it was bucketing down. As I cycled up Whitehall, I saw a puddle ahead; well, not so much a puddle as an inky mere that spread six feet across the road. I wonder how deep that puddle is, I said to myself, as Old Bikey whizzed me nearer. I wondered whether I should steer round it; and then I thought, nah. This is my road, a Transport for London road, serviced to the most exacting standards. To steer round a little pool of rainfall was not only wimpy; it was positively disrespectful to the superb roads-maintenance team in our Surface Transport division.

So I clapped my spurs to the side of the machine, and pointed it straight to the bit that seemed darkest and most sinister – and, as ever, Old Bikey lunged forward with joyful acceleration. You may vaguely remember the story of the Lacus Curtius, the mysterious and terrifying pit that opened up in the Roman forum, and how some young buck decided to save the city by leaping into it, fully armed, on a horse.

Well, I think I know how he felt. Down, down, down went the front wheel for what seemed like a very long time, before jack-knifing on some storm drain or sunken U-boat or other obstruction at the bottom; and then, sploof, I went over the handle bars before making brief but thorough contact with the wet tarmac; and, boing-oing-oing, I bounced up again – as we old rugby players have learnt to do – a millisecond before the taxi behind me could organise a swift election, and I had taken the bike off the road to assess the damage.

I had not a scratch, but it was clear that Old Bikey was unwell, in some fundamental way. Nothing was obviously broken or even bent, but as we went along it made a terrible mewling noise, like some stricken animal, and when I turned one way or the other the rear wheel would lurch in the opposite direction, as if it objected to the very principles of my leadership. It was like trying to run a coalition with the Lib Dems.

The first bike doctors were stumped. They span the wheels, checked the gears, twanged the brakes – and after a lot of frowning over their stethoscopes they said it was nothing too bad, just something to do with the ball bearings in the pedals. I tried to believe them. I crossed my fingers and carried on. But by now my steering was so wonky that a casual observer might have formed the impression that I was riding a bike while under the influence; and we couldn’t have that.

I went for a second opinion, to the medicovelocipedal equivalent of Harley Street, where they did an ultrasound or whatever – and they found the problem. After eight indefatigable years of jouncing and bouncing over potholes and cobbles, with a load – including clothes and rucksack – of approaching 17 stone, the bike’s great heart could take it no more.

Something fatal had taken place not in the replaceable periphery, but in the irreducible core of the machine. I had managed to snap the frame itself. One of the lower wishbone struts had sheared in two – not at the join, but right in the middle. Couldn't we solder it? I asked; but I knew the answer from their faces.

So I grieve for Old Bikey, like the owner of some superb steeplechaser that has snapped his fetlock in a freak mid-season accident, and has had to be put down. My sorrow is assuaged by one small detail about this bike – a point I have not yet shared with you – the only defect it had. My friends, it was made in California. Now is the time for a bike that won’t expire beneath me, a bike that won’t snap. It’s time for a British bike.

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  • 5 months later...
Hmmmm Baroness Varsi's resignation yesterday (bad news for Dave) followed by perceived good news (for the Tories) today.

 

Coincidence or stage-managed?

 

Stage-managed, probs. Boris was positioning himself in a couple of articles about the EU this week; he has also spoken out more stridently on Gaza than Cameron. Warsi was speaking about a senior Tory that was not a minister. I wonder...

 

Excellent. Boris for pm!

 

I worry about this. Seems to have a bit of a temper, doesn't have many political allies and hasn't picked his people well in the past.

 

Great orator (in his own way); just wondering if he can walk that talk.

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Good fun, making serious points. I got 5/10

 

Yes, the deputy majors and ticket offices being particularly poor shows.

 

That said I don't quite follow the point that is being made by highlighting that many Boris bike users earn over £50k. Are they expected to get taxi's when they reach a certain earnings threshold?

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Yes, the deputy majors and ticket offices being particularly poor shows.

 

That said I don't quite follow the point that is being made by highlighting that many Boris bike users earn over £50k. Are they expected to get taxi's when they reach a certain earnings threshold?

 

The misogynist comments aren't too clever either.

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Will David Cameron be worried, I wonder?

 

Boris said he wasn't going to run for MP in 2015 17 times, according to many articles. Gotta give the bloke credit. He is smarter than Lord Melchett, who used the exact same plan an 18th time ;)

 

We all know that Boris running for MP means that Boris will be gunning for the PM's position. Quite a few disaffected Tories on the backbenchers that could organise a leadership challenge. The 80 or so that argued for a European exit during the petitioned Parliamentary debate of Europe might be top on his list.

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I'd really like to see him installed as Conservative Candidate for South Cambs which is coming vacant.

Although not a Tory, I vote for who I consider is the best party at the time, I'd have no problems voting for him.

 

He doesn't have a particularly good record as a constituency MP. Considering that he'd be attending parliament, attending cabinet, finishing his term as mayor and plotting a leadership challenge I'm not sure he'd do much for you.

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Boris isn't dangerous, he's just a politician like everyone else. The big difference is that he is more interesting and can make people listen to him more than any other politician. I don't feel that who is in power makes a massive difference to things that actually matter so why not give him a go. If he fails then he would be out fairly quickly anyway. If he was a success it would really wind up the liberals too so I'm all for it.

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  • 1 month later...
  • 1 year later...
  • 2 years later...

I came across this piece and thought I should post it on here rather than derail either of the other threads in which he is the star of the show right now.

 

https://www.newstatesman.com/politics/uk/2018/04/boris-johnson-has-achieved-impossible-he-s-been-even-worse-expected

 

Boris Johnson has achieved the impossible: he’s been even worse than expected

The Foreign Secretary has routinely humiliated Britain – but a weak Prime Minister dare not sack him.

 

There was much surprise when Theresa May named Boris Johnson Foreign Secretary on 13 July 2016 (not least from the man himself). But the appointment was hailed by some as a political masterstroke. By putting the Brexiteers in charge of Brexit, May, it was said, had followed the Pottery Barn rule: “you break it, you own it”. And in naming Johnson Foreign Secretary, she had shrewdly kept a leadership rival inside the tent.

 

Two years on, May’s decision, to put it mildly, has not aged well. Johnson has performed the rare act of ****ing inside the tent as well as outside of it. He has routinely humiliated May at home and the United Kingdom abroad. Indeed, it sometimes feel as if he is writing a book entitled 100 ways to cheat the sack.

 

Johnson’s latest offence was to assert last month that British laboratory Porton Down was “absolutely categorical” (had “no doubt”) that the poison used in the Salisbury attack originated from Russia. In fact, as it transpired on Tuesday, UK scientists could not determine “the precise source”. Johnson’s typically loose lips gifted Russia its biggest political victory since the attack (the Foreign Office, to the Kremlin’s glee, was forced to delete an inaccurate tweet).

 

The surprise is that anyone should be surprised. Johnson is an accident permanently waiting to happen. This is the man who wrongly told the Foreign Affairs Select Committee that Nazanin Zaghari-Ratcliffe was in Iran to train journalists (the second anniversary of her imprisonment passed on Tuesday, with no prospect of release), who accused French president François Hollande of contemplating Nazi-style “punishment beatings”, who said the Libyan city of Sirte could be like Dubai once “the dead bodies” were cleared away, and who recited Rudyard Kipling’s colonial-era poem, “Mandalay”, in Myanmar (forcing the British ambassador to interject). Johnson is one of the world's foremost practitioners of anti-diplomacy.

 

His overweening ambition to become prime minister has led him to shamelessly flout collective responsibility. His 2017 Conservative leadership bid (disguised as a verbose Daily Telegraph article) disrupted the party’s conference and helped precipitate the speech that nearly killed Theresa May.

 

Again, the surprise is that anyone should be surprised. Dishonesty, ineptitude, truculence and narcissism are the hallmarks of a man who was sacked by the Times for fabricating a quote and by Conservative leader Michael Howard for lying about an affair. In defiance of the nation’s finest economist and statisticians, he has continued to promote the mendacious claim that the UK will gain £350m a week or more if it leaves the European Union (in fact, it is forecast to endure a net fiscal loss of nearly £300m a week).

 

In normal times, Johnson would have been sacked long ago. But these are not normal times. Theresa May, forever damned after blowing her party’s majority, cannot dismiss Johnson for fear of collateral damage.

 

And so Johnson (who journalists privilege by calling “Boris”) continues to hold sway at King Charles Street. An austerity-ravaged Foreign Office, once lauded as proof of British “superiority”, now merely exhibits its decline.

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Yes we understand you don't like Boris Johnson. You've made it abundantly clear and despite your protestations, your political allegiances are transparent.

 

Well you're right about one thing here, but wrong about the other.

 

Absolutely I don't like Boris. He loves to portray this image of being a bumbling but lovable buffoon, but he is nothing of the sort. He is devious and dangerous and he's a f*cking embarrassment to this country.

 

But I have no political allegiances - never have had. My beliefs and opinions should theoretically push me to lean towards Labour, but I find it very difficult to fully get behind them right now when they are clearly at war with themselves, and I could never bring myself to vote for them under Blair, Brown or Milliband. The only reason I voted for them last time round was because I have the utmost respect for my local MP and her genuine efforts to actually work in the interests of the community.

 

The only certainty I can state in this respect is that I would sooner shoot myself in the head than ever vote for the steaming cesspit of corruption and elitism that the Tories represent.

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Yes we understand you don't like Boris Johnson. You've made it abundantly clear and despite your protestations, your political allegiances are transparent.

 

And so are yours, so what? Your allegiance to the likes of Boris and Jacob speaks volumes.

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Boris is an embarrassment to this country. It is not a political opinion, but one based on his own actions and verbose linguistic style. In trying too be clever all he demonstrates is a complete lack of good sense and judgement. He courts publicity for his own ends. Politics aside he simply is not fit to hold one of the Great Offices of State.

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His latest " gaffe" about Porton Down shows how dangerous the man is. His intervention in the case of that poor woman in prison in Iran was disastrous. The New Statesman may be biased but can anybody seriously dispute the errors that Boris has made ??

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  • 7 months later...
Did anybody else used to watch The Thick Of It and find themselves thinking "My god! Imagine if government was actually like this!"...

 

https://twitter.com/chunkymark/status/1067374989962330112

 

Armando Iannucci was recently asked if he'd like to make a Brexit version of The Thick of It, he said that there was no point because the reality was more absurd than anything that he could envisage.

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