A recent article in the Daily Mail calls into question the accuracy of our Government’s unemployment statistics, claiming that the real figure is six times higher than the official one. However, the Government is standing by its statistics:

Employment minister Caroline Flint yesterday claimed the official unemployment figures were 'very strong'. The so-called claimant count was 855,300, down by 8,500 from the previous month and the lowest total for over two years.

Is she right? Well, how would I know? As a sub-intellectual, I am not qualified to form opinions on political matters. And if I were to get above myself and attempt to form an opinion, it would change along with my oestrogen-induced mood-swings. So naturally I must look to an intellectual – and a man – for my views. And who better than that formidable intellect Lawrence Auster? I’m sure Mr Auster, who likes to keep abreast of UK matters, knows a lot about vital statistics. So what does he think of Ms Flint’s figure? Let’s see (emphasis added):

Cleavage in the Cabinet: another ridiculous female in government

For anyone who thinks I'm wrongheaded and hateful to say that the increase in the number of females in leading government positions is a negative development for Western society, check out the Daily Mail's photo of Caroline Flint, Great Britain's Employment Minister. To an infinitely greater extent than men, women, especially contemporary women, are focused on their bodies and their looks and their vanity. In many cases (Condolezza Rice comes to mind) they make it all too clear that they don't take their jobs seriously, and that their jobs are a vehicle for the expression of their vanity; or, as in Flint's case, for the display of their breasts. Can you imagine a male cabinet officer going around in a shirt open to his mid-chest? The presence of women such as Caroline Flint in high office is an unfunny, nihilistic joke, a symbol of a civilization that doesn't respect itself and doesn't want to survive.

So Flint went into politics to bare her Bristols? And never thought of Page Three of The Sun? My goodness. She must be topless. Let’s have a look, shall we? Those of a nervous disposition are advised to avert their gaze:

Shocking. Auster has seen the crack – in our civilisation. We are doomed and must be melted down through tremendous suffering. In the Good Old Days of Victorian values, before that monstrous regiment of bosoms – sorry, women – had the vote, our female leaders knew better:

Ooops. Perhaps not. Auster’s right. Even a little cleavage is a dangerous thing. Flint’s is nothing. As I noted in this post, Jacqui Smith and Hillary Clinton wield their war chests with gay abandon. Their political failings are unimportant, bounced out of the ring by their bazoomikas. Margaret Thatcher never showed any cleavage, nor did Golda Meir. But that’s not the point. They had it to show, and it could have popped out at any time, causing untold mayhem.

Let’s be honest, mere possession of a bosom disqualifies a woman from participating in public life, even on a blog. Heavens, mine comes between my brain and my keyboard – how could I possibly type anything sensible?

In the Daily Mail article linked above, there are many things about Caroline Flint that one could focus on: her attractive, lively, intelligent face, her smart jacket, and, last but not least, her words, which I believe are inaccurate. But Auster instead homes in on, dwells on, that small, barely perceptible display of cleavage. For some reason, probably hormonal, this little joke springs to mind:

A shrink drew a circle on a piece of paper and then asked the patient. "What does this remind you of?"

The patient answered. "Sex".

The shrink drew a square. "What does this remind you of?"

"Sex". The patient replied.

Then the doctor drew a triangle.

"It reminds me of sex". The patient stated.

"You seem to be obsessed with sex". The shrink told the patient.

"I'm obsessed with sex? You're the one who's drawing the dirty pictures!"