Wednesday, 4 March 2015
Last year Nick Clegg, in the process of being soundly thrashed by Nigel Farage in the television debate he called for, hit out at Farage’s claim that 70% of UK laws came from the EU. In fact for days afterwards this was his only parry and some even wanted desperately to believe him. So the news that two-thirds of UK laws do indeed come via the EU is not only further refutation of Clegg’s credibility and proof of his duplicity, it should come as a stark warning for voters everywhere to wake the fuck up.
The European Union is out for one thing and it is the thing we all suspect many politicians are out for – themselves. But having managed to divert a colossal amount of sovereign wealth into the leaky culverts of bureaucracy where it disappears without trace there is little else for the god-like powers to do but amuse themselves at our expense. One of the ways in which the EU likes to entertain itself in these long, wet winter days is to enact legislation banning things that people rely on. It disrupts industry, delivers poorer outcomes for consumers and impoverishes us all further… and is therefore exactly in tune with what all the evidence points to is the primary purpose of the projekt.
Words, organisations, beliefs, indigenous cultures, self-determination, freedom – of course they love to curtail them, but that is the humdrum day-job. To liven things up they like now and then to prohibit the use of material things; especially those that actually work. Either already banned or in the process of being banned or curtailed are: Cars that drive fast, weed-killers that kill weeds, pesticides that ‘cide’ pests, hair-driers that dry, kettles that boil… and vacuum cleaners that don’t suck because they suck have been replaced with vacuum cleaners that suck because they don’t suck. And now, having banished the good old cheap general lighting service lamp known by generations as a light bulb, they are coming for the rest of your beloved incandescent lamps. Got downlights? Then get ready to fork out for LEDs; at ten-to-twenty quid a pop the future isn’t looking so bright
Back on the subject of social engineering and behaviour modification, Labour MP David Lammy’s astonishing logic suggests that if you steal from, say, Fortnum & Mason you’ve been less dishonest than trousering a Mars bar from the corner shop. Of course, he is bound to have been ‘quoted out of context’ but where does this road lead? Given that the state is the biggest racket of the lot, presumably avoiding tax or defrauding the DWP should be seen as a noble act which should be rewarded. Honours for evasion? Legalised bank robbery? And do rich people deserve to be murdered more than poor people?
Replacement light bulb - EU standard
It’s ludicrous, unnecessary, intrusive and utterly arrogant; the high-handed, rough-shod ride over the plebs. And you know what the EU, Labour and many besides have in common? The belief that people who live their ignoble lives outside the rarefied air of Westminster, the BBC and the right-on, 'progressive' think tanks have no aspirations, no education and must be treated as naughty peasants. But think on, Mr Politician, we peasants can still wield a mean pitchfork.
Tuesday, 3 March 2015
After much deep thinkings I have come to the conclusion that England is now nothing more than a collection of noble notions which exist only in the half-remembered past. Did I really grow up in the land that invented fairness and tolerance, the stoic endurance of hardship, make-do-and-mend and leaping to the defence of the underdog? Or was the propaganda so good that the Albion we were brought up on half a century and more ago was a mere figment of the fevered imagination of several hundred years’ worth of deluded historians, writers and thinkers?
Whether by the over-writing of that glorious history by the Marxist destroyers of inconvenient facts, or by the constant erosion of shared values in favour of a loose collection of un-earned entitlements, that land, real or otherwise, is lost. English, British values are no longer prized and the upcoming generations are being force-fed a utopic vision of a federal super state which will deny them the freedoms that forebears so vigorously contested. Theirs will be a future bland in substance but dazzling in ubiquitous, mind-dulling technologies; the machines are winning after all.
I’m not really angry; more disappointed. The promises of a future worth having are now torn up and thrown away, but there’s no point in getting angry – the time for that is gone. Better, I think, to hang on to one of those lost English values of stoicism, bide my time and time my exit. Yes, I can kick up a fuss, if the occasion warrants, but ultimately it is easier to absorb the slings and arrows and make the decision to rise above them. I do get exercised about the loss of the country I used to belong to and that used to belong to me but I realise that in the end England is really just a piece of land I have to share with millions of others who are increasingly not like me at all.
The young? I never liked them. Foreigners? Not that I dislike them for their origins, far from it; I applaud those who uproot and travel to better themselves, but why should I personally attempt to accommodate those who have no understanding of or allegiance to the scrap of land I used to think of as England? The old? I never understood the old and now I’m nearing old myself I still see nothing I have in common with them. Life can brutalise a man, but not me. I‘m no brute. True I need little in the way of comfort but that is simple resilience, not lack of sophistication. I’ve seen sophistication and comfort and idleness and I’m not sure I want much to do with it.
'Urry up 'Arry!
I still have things I want to do but if I want to try and do them while living in the UK I have to work seven days a week to merely stand still financially. So in the end I shall leave it behind without much of a backward glance. I can take my insular English self-reliance with me and I can retire elsewhere in the world. My land may have been forfeit to the forces of political correctness and uncommon sensibilities, but I can take England, my England wherever I roam.
Monday, 2 March 2015
Well, that was all I needed yesterday. There I was at breakfast, sucking the last bits of sweet, succulent flesh from the bones of the baby we barbecued on Saturday evening – babies are so much better on the barbie ,as all that fresh young fat keeps the flesh marvellously moist – when, out of the blue rinse, a super-annuated ‘committed socialist’ who was ‘passionate about social justice’ decided to call me a racist and condemn my rabid ranting… on account of my having retweeted this. Well, I wasn’t having that, so I reached for a scrap of parchment, made from the flayed skin of some insignificant peasant (it makes great writing paper - nice and thin after a lifetime of regular tanning) settled back into my chair made from an overstuffed relative of Diane Abbott (who is coming along nicely, by the way) and began to pen a reply.
Now don’t get me wrong, it’s marvellous that the old dear is still shuffling about, using up oxygen but really, claiming that those who pay virtually ALL the taxes are unable to make rational deductions, run the country fairly and make ethically sound judgements? You’d think that having lived through a fair number of Labour administrations she might have cottoned on to the cycle of bust and bust they always bring about. But no, so here we go again having to explain to the toothless old dinosaurs of a Labour-that-never-was that wantonly spending the workers’ money while never improving the lot of ‘the poor’ is practically the definition of ‘financial illiteracy’. If even the sainted Maggie couldn’t get that through their thick skulls it’s little wonder the rest of us have mostly given up.
But here’s the real nub of it. Whether you choose to acknowledge it or not, we have some major problems right now which are beyond our power to solve as long as we remain in the grasp of the unelected commissioners of the socialist comrades' great big European Onion. Our borders are like semi-permeable membranes allowing those who wish us harm to osmotically ooze from one side to the other; our welfare system is out of control and beyond easy reform; our sense of national identity is being systematically eroded year on year and our education system serves a politically driven dogma, rather than the needs of its charges. We have a collective inertia we are powerless to reverse as nobody has their hands on the wheels of this runaway soon-to-be-failed state. Our glorious past is well and truly behind us.
I can’t be a Tory any more, as there are no Tories left. I could never support Labour because its adherence to a culture of equality at the level of the lowest common denominator can only ever end in abjection. And I still have no idea who the Libdems represent… or why. The Greens are a hopeless jumble of communism and new-age, Mother Nature mumbo-jumbo and the SNP hate the English so much I can virtually feel the hot, toxic saliva dripping from their slavering jaws every time they tell us this. Which leaves Ukip.
I liked Ukip when they were the alternative Tory Party. I like them less now they have so many ex-Labour bottom feeders in tow. But one thing is absolutely for certain and that is without Ukip’s relentless focus on the sheer idiocy of rule from Europe we wouldn’t even be close to having a referendum on our continuing membership. But of course it will be rigged. David Cameron’s supposed ‘re-negotiation’ will be nothing of the kind. Instead we will get meaningless, already agreed and insignificant ‘concessions’, dressed up with the aid of EU bribe money and packaged for sale to the gullible public. The date for the referendum will be ‘whenever we think we can guarantee a yes vote’ and – as a whole – the stupid British public will vote to stay shackled.
They’ll say we need to be in the EU to have a voice, to be heard, to have power and influence in the world, to keep our friends and trading partners… to effect any change at all. But look around; I’d say ISIS with apparently few friends and little in the way of an economic base or any coherent policies are doing pretty well. They’ve changed the game; they’ve changed the world. And they’ve done it just by doing it. If we don’t leave the EU they won’t let us go. Only we can do it, nobody else will do it for us. So there you go @Hepworthclare OBE, if you think my defending the notion of saving our little island from a life of desolate subservience is racist, then you’re as much an idiot as your bio suggests. Oh and you and your hero Ed ‘Beaker’ Miliband can just do it... fuck off, that is.
Sunday, 1 March 2015
Protests against Ukip’s very existence at their conference, protests against 'Pegida' in Newcastle, protests in Yarmouth. The right to peaceful protest and free speech is once again denied to those who don’t toe the ever-shifting line in the wave-washed sand drawn by the politically correct wings of Whine Against Fascism and Sanctimonious Sods (WAF’n’SS) and all the other rent-a-mobs conjured by union activists, schoolchild wannabe politicians and plain soft-in the-head agitators for more casual drug abuse, wanton ignorance, lax moral discipline, disregard for order and general promiscuity in all areas of our increasingly fluid and weakened society.
Multiculturalism is the goal of the diversity industry and just as with all the false visions of cultural Marxism it is sold as the opposite of what it really is. In the propaganda of decline, diversity enriches us and makes us a more understanding and cohesive society; immigration can only ever be good. But in reality diversity is plainly and simply a dilution of all sorts of social standards; it impoverishes us and mostly divides and pits us against each other. Even now it’s not Pegida against islamisation, it’s lefty thugs against common sense. The plan is working and the whites are scrapping amongst themselves. How the EU Commission must laugh at their achievements and our feeble attempts to overturn them.
A recent study reveals what those of us from the Church of the Bleeding Obvious have been saying for decades; well-educated Brits are leaving this declining country to be replaced, in the main, by those with lower abilities. The claim that our skills gap can only be filled by immigration is as false as the claim that every immigrant brings a net financial benefit. But the war on unckecked immigration appears to be already lost. Just as with the beheadings and the burnings and the hate-filled sharia-wallahs, over-exposure makes the horrific humdrum. We roll over and let the hordes breach our borders while those of us who are able pack up what they can carry and slink away through the gaps. To spin the clear damage immigration has been doing for decades as ‘a problem of success’ shows simple contempt for the lost citizens of Britain.
The reason for the Newcastle demo is that far too many of our ill-educated, culturally bereft immigrants are of the barbarous ‘religion of peace’ with their wonderfully tolerant views on other people’s culture. But far from recognising this and working with the besieged Britizens our leaders have conspired to turn blind eyes at every opportunity and make the concerned themselves the objects of hatred. The EU has been stealthily engaged in indoctrinating the young and impressionable for years and Labour, given the opportunity, would enshrine suppression of any expression of truth and dissent in law.
The rich diversity that islam brings
What can we do? Our voices go unheard. Before you are no longer allowed to tell the truth before to do so becomes an illegal act, stand up and shout out silently with me. Islam has no place in the twenty-first century and Islamism – if you want to make a distinction that I certainly don’t recognise – is a declared enemy of every good thing in the world. In so far as I am capable I choose to exclude it and its practitioners, its businesses and its beliefs from every part of my life. Peaceful protest? I will peace you to fucking oblivion.
Friday, 27 February 2015
Exploration is a dangerous game and many have paid the ultimate price for their wanderlust and curiosity. But for those who stay the course wonders and sometimes fame and riches abound. Or, at the very least, a lifetime’s supply of rousing anecdotes and tales to thrill your dinner guests. Contact with strange tribal peoples who practise dark rituals or the discovery of new and wonderful species can be the gateway to a lucrative career in after-dinner speaking, as long as those discoveries can be substantiated. But sometimes one stumbles across sights that question one’s grasp of sanity; mirages and apparitions feature large in the memories of those who venture from the path well trodden.
Thus it was that the famous explorer Colonel John Nicholas Blashford-Snell, OBE, kept secret for many years the story of the strange creature he had witnessed in his Congo expedition of the mid-seventies. Entering a clearing his party had come across a troop of perfectly familiar olive baboons, which can be found all across the central African regions. Normally the troop would have scattered but on this occasion they were otherwise engaged, chattering wildly and gathered about a single, very different individual. This outsider, which had the appearance of a mandrill but with a curiously bright yellow face, sat impassively as the throng clamoured about him.
Blashers bade his men stand still and they watched until, suddenly, the unusual specimen began chattering loudly and becoming agitated. The surrounding gang of olives suddenly became quieter and stepped back as the yellow-face individual began to take great gulps of breath, faster and faster, grunting all the while and as they all fell into stunned silence watching intently the cheek pouches began to inflate and turn red. Louder and faster it huffed and puffed until soon its whole body began to inflate and then, slowly, cheeks a bright, flaming red, it took in one last huge gulp of hot air and began to hover a few inches above the ground.
Not a murmur sounded as the super-heated, puce-faced primate floated up into the tree canopy and vanished from sight. The explorer shook his head in disbelief and quickly went for his hip flask. After a few quick swigs of medicinal brandy he could no longer be sure he had even seen what he thought he had and on his return to Blighty, though he embarked on many lecture tours and happily engaged the crowds, he kept this one episode to himself. It was not until a few years after the turn of the twenty-first century that he found himself in the company of Sir David Attenborough and they both set to reminiscing about their Congo days.
Who you laughing at, bum face?
During one of Sir David’s accounts of a Zoo Quest expedition, Blashers suddenly remembered the curious incident in the clearing and when Attenborough finished his story, the colonel tentatively told his, fully expecting to heard with derision. Preceding the anecdote with the cautionary suggestion that he may have dreamed the whole thing, he told it as he remembered it and waited for the great naturalist’s incredulous response. Instead though, David nodded enthusiastically and said that he too had seen the curious beast, including its agitated levitation act. “Blashers, old son,” he said finally, “we can count ourselves lucky to be two of the very few westerners who have ever even heard of, let alone seen, the rare ‘hot air baboon’!”