Monday, 31 December 2012

Happy New Horrorshow


So here we all are again and another year over, done for, sorted, fizzled out... and as we drag our weary carcasses into 2013 what can we expect from the grey, drizzly months ahead?

A dose of reality says that the just and justifiable war on welfare will continue, as it must, until the ridiculous notion of propping up everybody on benefits is ended. The opposition can belly-ache all they like, but they were instrumental in getting us here by a deliberate policy of prescribing addictive handouts for everybody except the super-rich, who they believed would happily pay for it for ever and ever, Armani.

But of course it’s going to be much worse than that. Breaking the addicts’ cravings will cause pain up and down the food chain as welfare is replaced by black marketeering and a bit of light looting which, as actual crimes, will be far outside the remit of the police force who are far too busy breaking organised offence-taking activities and stamping out malicious gossip on Twitter. The twittle-twattle battle will continue.

But, soft! What light through yonder window breaks? Well, it ain’t the sun, and it’s unlikely to be any sort of new beginning so, sod it, forget the load of old bollocks we’ve had until now and let’s greet 2013 with some cheery NostraBatsby predictions.

2013 will be the year when all political parties will competitively embrace gay marriage and in that spirit, Ed Balls will lovingly plight his troth with Ed Miliband while their ex-wives get it on in a highly publicised girl-on-girl bout, eventually garnering thirty-seven hits on YouTube... gangnam style!

A five year old retired wind turbine will be elected as head of the Green Party in a closely fought leadership battle against newly-avowed eco-warrior, Abu Qatada, who having renounced Islam in favour of an even more unfeasible belief system now has his hopes set on the biggest council house in the land; Number 10.

In foreign news the European Commission will decree that the use of the word ‘Farage’ will be punishable by the newly restored death penalty. Anybody found guilty of ‘Faraging’ or inflicting ‘Faragement’ on another will be subjected to a slow, but inevitable choking process comprised entirely of indecipherable bureaucratic diktats, edicts and directives. A new red-tape dawn for 'Yerp'.

In the summer the royal family will welcome its newest member and in a bid for popularism the young Prince Mohammed Andrzejek Leroy Manny-Already will be baptised in a Judeo-Christian-Islamic-Rastafarian-Zoroastrian ceremony in a yurt at Glastonbury, presided over by Simon Cowell and the winner of the latest Britain’s Got Nothing Better To Do show.

Global warming – sorry, climate change – will cause ice storms in Kent and a minor tsunami off the Mull of Kintyre, while golf balls the size of hailstones will batter Cornwall throughout much of July and East Anglia will become a series of flat, muddy islands and be redesignated as a shipping area: “Fisher, Dogger, German Bight, Humber, Peterborough...”


In summary then, a year ahead much as every other year. And all we can do is look helplessly on as we slide deeper into the abyss. And on that positive note - A Happy New Year to you all! 


Monday, 24 December 2012

A Christmouse Tale

'Twas the night before Christmas, when all through the state,
Not a worker was working; no, not for that rate.
But stockings were hung by the chimney with care,
‘Cos it’s cruel for the skivers to have cupboards so bare.

The children were nestled all snug in their beds,
While visions of paedophiles danced in their heads.
And blokes from the seventies, mostly with beards,
Shredded their hard drives and shivered with fear.

Up from the Lords there arose such a clatter,
Lord Baron Von Prescott got fatter and fatter.
His Police and Crime gravy train gone like a flash,
He slunk back to Pauline who kept all their cash. 

The reflection of neon on the rain-sodden street
Gave a sparkle to Bobbies on Downing Street beat,
“Fuck off you plebs!” said the naughty Chief Whip,
But as soon as he’d said it, his career did unzip.

"Now, DASHER! now, DANCER! now, PRANCER and VIXEN!
On, COMET! on CUPID! on, DONDER and BLITZEN!
This gay marriage lark is so hard to take serious,
Why Dave even bothered is what I find mysterious.

The Queen was well feted this Jubilee Year
And our runners and jumpers and cyclists made clear 
That cheating with drugs like Lance Armstrong was wrong 
But Korean Psy’s Gangnam stole the show with his song.

One thing not short was a year-long inquiry, 
With Leveson imposing on famous folks diaries. 
The outcome was certain, it’s said the press lied. 
And Ed Milibands response? “An inquiry!” he cried. 


So here we all are on this new Christmas Eve,
The politics behind us and all given leave.
To get pissed and make merry and not give a fuck 
About who believes what and Gawd ‘elp us, good luck!

Friday, 21 December 2012

Mayan-naise

According to some, the Mayan calendar predicts the end of the world some time today, so it hardly seems worthwhile writing a blog. Instead I just stole some stuff 'off of' t'Internet. Some people are calling me a plagiarist - their words, not mine (Stewart Francis)


The end of the world? Or merely the end of civilisation? In the case of the latter, good old left-wing thinking has been pushing us steadily in that direction for decades.


I'm off out now - I may be some time. Feel free to add your own End Times prophecy below and if we're all still here at teatime I may even award a prize. Happy Friday! 

Thursday, 20 December 2012

Happy Health & Safety

Just in case the Mayan preppers are right, I thought I’d get this out there before Friday! 

T’was the night before, er, Friday and all round the house, not a creature was stirring… unless you count that mouse. Mouse? Where? There on the stair, right there, see? The little mouse with clogs on? Anyway, I digress. The wind swirled, bringing soft flurries of snow to settle on the window sills and all slept soundly in their beds. All except for Uncle Ebenezer… 

Uncle Ebenezer was a retired Health and Safety Officer. He had spent his years seeing life as one long hazard and he hated Christmas with a loathing hitherto seen only on the faces of ‘Occupy’ mobtards sensing the arrival of an honest tax-payer in their midst. Ebenezer’s vituperation of the Christmas season knew no bounds and would put to shame even Andrew Mitchell’s supposed anti-constabulary invective. Look, he didn’t like Christmas, okay? 

Ebenezer it was who had insisted on grab rails and fall arresters on every roof in the land, to guard Santa – imaginary character or not - from any slippery folly on Christmas Eve. And he it was who had decreed that every tree erection should be preceded by a thorough risk assessment; tinsellation not to commence until suitable hard hats and armoured gloves were donned. In the department he had attained the ultimate accolade of ‘right miserable twat’. 

The snow fluttered softly down and all was at peace until a sudden crash caused Ebenezer to sit bolt-upright in his bed. Grabbing his hard hat (not a euphemism) and drawing his bedclothes up to his chin he called out, “Who is there?” and then added, “And how did you get in? I double locked those doors myself!” A vague shape stirred in the corner of the room. 

“I am the ghost of Christmas presents!” said a disembodied voice and the walls of Ebenezer’s bedroom dissolved into a soft glow. Images appeared and he recognised a family, gathered around a Christmas tree. All the usual trimmings were there: non-flammable decorations especially dulled to prevent any hazardous reflected glare; a large bucket of sand either side of the tree and a small arsenal of fire extinguishers nestled beneath; twin, interconnected smoke alarms in the vicinity and clearly-marked, illuminated signage to the nearest exit. A door opened and in walked Bob, Ebenezer’s trainee, with an armful of presents. 

“Bob, Bob, Bob!” wailed Ebenezer, as Bob went to put the presents down, “bend your knees, for pity’ sake!” he pleaded as Bob, straight-legged, bent over to shower the parcels haphazardly on the table. Ebenezer winced in professional anguish and cried out, “Why are you showing me this torture, spirit?” The ghost replied, tetchily, “I am the ghost of Christmas presents – weren’t you listening? Look!” In slow motion, a tumbling parcel arced through the air. Ebenezer saw, too late, where it was heading. He cried out, but to no avail. The parcel struck the youngest of the family, Tiny Tim, on his little toe. “I could have prevented that!” said Ebenezer, sadly. “If only I had not wasted so much time at my desk.” 

Ebenezer leapt from his bed and dressed hurriedly. He ran out into the snowy street scene and besought of an urchin thereon, “What day is this?” The urchin replied, “It’s Friday, you nonce!” for the vernacular was ‘street’ innit. “Then I am not too late!” cried Ebenezer and hurried away, as the urchin made ‘wanker’ gestures toward his departing form. 

At Bob’s house all were gathered around Tiny Tim as Mrs Bob administered the Elastoplast. Tim bravely gained his feet and wearing but one slipper hobbled towards the table of parcels. Suddenly the door burst open and there stood Mr Ebenezer, the right miserable twat himself. Bob cowered and pleaded, “Surprise inspections, sir? Not on a Friday, surely?” Ebenezer laughed and said, “Fear ye not, Bob. Not this Friday, nor any Friday hereafter, for I bring you…” and with a flourish he revealed his gift to them. They gasped.

The family stood around, gawping in awe as Ebenezer busied himself at the table. “It is Christmas, Bob!” he cried as he worked, “A time when everybody should be safe and well!” He smiled beatifically at Tiny Tim before stepping back to reveal his work.

The scene was magical. Lights twinkled at every corner of the table; amber lights, atop a barrier of the brightest yellow. And not only that, but multi-coloured, multi-lingual signage glistened, securely fixed, on every bollard.

Santa's little Health & Safety helpers

The family fell still for a moment in wonder and shock, until the silence was broken. Tim shuffled forward and grasped the incident tape in his tiny, tiny hand. He looked up into the smiling face of Ebenezer, shook his head and uttered the immortal words, 

“Gawd ‘elp us, every one!”

Wednesday, 19 December 2012

I don't believe it!

So, the Plebgate plot thickens. CCTV footage seems to dispel the previously widely accepted version of events, showing former Chief Whip Andrew Mitchell, far from being engaged in a foul-mouthed rant, appearing to calmly accept the police decision not to open the main gate to Downing Street, then leaving without fuss through the side gate and going on his way. It's also alleged that a supposed 'witness' to the event was not only not there at all, but may be a serving police officer.

I say 'may be' because, frankly, I haven't a clue what's going on now. I rarely take much in the newspapers at face value because leaks, biased reporting and downright inaccuracy are hallmarks of the press in the UK and no doubt throughout the world, but it seems that the default position must now be utter disbelief in anything I haven't observed with my own eyes. And even then the life works of people such as Derren Brown, David Copperfield and "O-ho, that's magic!" Paul Daniels demonstrate how easily we can be fooled.

We apparently spent a fortune in not deporting Abu Qatada, the planet may or may not be suffering man-made climate change and all of a sudden all former celebrities have become rampaging, predatory paedophiles overnight. Did they really land on the moon? Did President Kennedy have a secret sex-change operation? And is Alan Titchmarsh really a government plot to lull us into a state of meek, dribbling, senile dependency ahead of  some massive conspiracy to sell us all to China? David Icke's giant lizards not looking so far-fetched now, eh?

And all of this on the run up to Christmas when normally sane people turn into gurning fools, engulfed in sticky tape, pine needles and tinsel. Housewives dancing around with sprigs of mistletoe whenever the milkman, the postman or the man from Tesco Direct shows up; workers dancing around offices, work abandoned, eagerly awaiting a chance to put their careers in jeopardy after a mid-morning sherry and a secret Santa ceremony. The world's gone plumb [pudding] crazy and I just don't know what to believe any more!


At least we've got Bing Crosby, Bob Hope, Max Bygraves, Dean Martin, Morecambe and Wise, Andy Stewart and the White Heather Club to keeps us entertained and sane over the holidays. Aren't you glad of some stability in an ever-changing world? Sorry, what? Nooooooooooooooo!


Tuesday, 18 December 2012

Decent Homes for Decent people


Have you heard of the Decent Homes Programme? Until today neither had I, but it’s been in existence for a while now. Introduced in 2000 and overseen by the Department for Communities and Local Government, the programme aims to improve the condition of homes for social housing tenants in England. The cost to date stands at around £40bn, so I was naturally curious to know where the money went.

There are four principle requirements for a decent home.

1. It meets the current statutory minimum standard for housing - to be decent a dwelling should be free of  category 1 hazards  under The Housing Health and Safety Rating System (England) Regulations 2005. This includes the nasty stuff like risks from asbestos, lead and various other inarguable hazards.

2. It has reasonably modern facilities and services.

3. It is in a reasonable state of repair.

4. It provides a reasonable degree of thermal comfort.

I would challenge anybody to deny social tenants these fundamental and ‘reasonable’ requirements. Even a nasty, snarling, frothing, right-wing aberration like me can see that to provide anything less would be an affront to human dignity.  But where it starts to get contentious is in the interpretation of just what is reasonable.

How did I come by today’s enlightenment? I spoke to a programme manager for a contractor involved in the scheme. His company is tasked with bringing up to ‘decency’ some tens of thousands of homes. But their brief goes far beyond what you or I may consider merely decent. For instance, in search of thermal efficiency they are installing air and ground source heat pump systems at a cost of around £6k per house. Some homes have solar photovoltaic generators to further reduce the energy costs to the household. This is on top of thermal insulation, rewires, brand new fitted kitchens, new bathrooms and new windows as a matter of course.

Naturally one wants to see wise investment in public housing stock, especially in terms of on-going savings in maintenance and energy costs, but isn’t this taking the piss ever so slightly? Where is the help for the couple on average incomes who have bought their homes and invested every spare penny into making them just liveable? Hands up who wouldn't want lower energy bills for life? How many homeowners in negative equity would love a new kitchen, a new bathroom… or some heat this winter?

Well tough. You can only have that level of decency by right if you live in a council house. Sod you, striving Britain with your penny-pinching thrifty ways. You deserve all the misery you go through with your wondering if you’ll have a job to go to next week and your wondering if you’ll ever be able to afford to retire. You chose to make your own way in the world, contrary to the great Marxist plan, you can bloody well starve out there, damn you.

Well, why not a government scheme to improve the stock of social housing tenants. A Decent Citizen Programme, if you will. Only a decent citizen should be allowed access to a decent council house – I think that’s only fair. A decent citizen would have to meet several criteria:

1. Demonstrate a reasonable standard of behaviour in public as well as in private.

2. Have a reasonable attitude towards the state which generously subsidises their accommodation.

3. Make a reasonable contribution to maintaining a civilised and decent society.

4. Have the decency to recognise when they no longer need to rely on the state to house them and move out to give a chance to another decent household.

Comrade Crow - decent citizen?

 In other news, a series of rail strikes are planned over the Christmas period. Bob Crow lives in a council house; I wonder if he’d pass the Decent Citizen test?

Monday, 17 December 2012

See SPOTY run...

SPOTY? Yup, like HIGNFY and TOWIE the annual BBC Let's-pretend-they-have-a-personality ceremony is reduced to an acronym and what an apt one it is. From callow youths, whose pubescent personality oozes from every follicle to er.. wannabe callow youth and Paul Weller hair-a-like, Bradley Wiggins, who lifted the trophy at the end of what I imagine was a tortuous ninety minutes of self-congratulatory claptrap posing as humility and sacrifice. (Of course I didn't watch it - there's an hour and a half I'd never get back.)

I've always been intrigued and mildly amused by all of this. Work hard at school, get a demanding job, allow it to take over your life at the expense of family and friends, graft away, pay more than your fair share of taxes and eventually retire after four or five decades of busy industry into a comfortable old age and you're likely to be derided as a parasite, taxed all the more and booed by all flavours of government as an example of rampaging avarice, ripe for the pickings and ready to have your savings plundered.

Discover early that, by an accident of genes and encouragement, you can run a bit faster than the other kids, work at it because you enjoy it, with the full support of friends and family, win medals, get sponsorship, retire in your thirties and spend the rest of your life living off your youthful accomplishments and we not only give you yet more invented accolades, you may even be ennobled as well. Arise Sir Whole Olympic Team and enjoy the freedom of the realm.

I suppose in that sense 'celebrity' is the right word, in that we celebrate athletic achievement in the same way we celebrate being a face 'off of' the telly. And it is entirely fitting that we cheer on our teams to greater glory, after all, humans are a competitive species and sporting achievement is good for Britain. It attracts attention and where there's attention money is to be made. But I wonder how many young lives are actually derailed by the pursuit of sporting glory. After all, like life itself there can be only one winner in a field of gallant losers.

The winners go on the pedestal, the losers end up picking up the litter in the stadium. I think it's about time the equality and diversity industry got a grip on this whole thing. They should have a Runners-Up and Diversity Excellence Year award - the RUDEYs or a Sports Personality Under Nineteen Challenge (SPUNC) where everybody gets to win. That would be truly representative of modern Britain.

Judges applaud prizewinners at the Annual SPUNC awards

Of course the medals will have to be of the cheapest material available and the TV coverage necessarily derisory to get them all in, but it's what the politburo are aiming for because, after all, we are all equal.

Friday, 14 December 2012

Driving Reform

A young woman has been jailed for three and a half years for causing a fatal accident by texting while driving. So wedded (or should that be 'welded'?) to her phone is she that she arrived at court clutching at it as if it were a lifeline; a shame such a thing was denied her elderly victim. After a five-year ban (Will that ban run concurrently with her incarceration?) she will be required to take an extended driving test before regaining her licence.

This isn't isolated news; accidents are caused every day by people imagining the law doesn't apply to them and general standards of driving are as diabolical as ever. Many delude themselves into believing they can multi-task, without factoring in that driving is already a multi-tasking operation. It requires physical coordination, good observation, mental acuity, judgement and a wee bit of second-sight.

I'm constantly dismayed by drivers under official driving school instruction failing to indicate, creeping over the white line at lights, speeding and more than once - yes! - using a handset while in motion. Mind you, I see lone Police drivers committing all the same offences far too frequently. And as for the general road use, I like to play guess what happens next as I watch meandering drivers finally select a lane, or watch a vehicle drift onto a slip road and then belatedly apply indicators as if to say "Look what I just did!"

You can play the same game with pedestrians too, albeit on a longer time scale: That middle-aged bloke waddling along in trackie bottoms and untied trainers is going to visit a Gregg's any time in the next half hour. The scruffy kid in the school sweatshirt will be a smoker by the time he's twelve. That wiry youth? Soon-to-be smackhead. And his mate? ASBO Ranger. The plumpish, barely teenage girl 'wiv a a'ichood'? Mother within two years.

Last night, one of my Twitter followers (Hi Jacqui!) made much the same sweeping generalisation about Tories as I do about those on the left. Fair enough, but all my examples in the last paragraph would probably swing to Labour who have successfully managed to portray themselves as the caring party despite years of their policies contributing to many of our modern-day failings. You see, lots of poorly educated people are incapable of making good long-term life choices without guidance. New Labour's persistence in trying to pretend otherwise and please everybody, has created an unprecedented reliance on state help.

Is it fair that fat people are allowed to be labelled disabled? Is it fair that naughty kids are regularly diagnosed with ADHD? Is it fair that we are expected to bow down to bizarre notions of equality, respect and diversity when some undeserving recipients of that social largesse will use it to plunder our dwindling reserves of human kindness? Misguided social policies have worsened the divides and I believe it's time to firmly redress the balance.

Jacqui said that the only thing Tories care about is money; that's what Labour have preached for years. But Conservatives actually believe in fairness and decency and above all, independence from state handouts. If they believe in money it's in allowing you to keep as much of what you earn as possible and do with it what you wish, not robbing you of it to pay for social engineering. It's people who lust for money, as cross-party expenses fiddling and fraudulent activities throughout the social spectrum shows on a daily basis. Tax avoidance, banks miss-selling insurance, counterfeiting and smuggling, benefit scams; these are not partisan, they're human.

So, here's my plan for both driving and social reform. You fuck up, you pay the penalty. Then you take a test to re-enter society as either a driver, a worker, a parent, etc...

For instance. ASBO? Work camp; cleaning up your shit, righting your wrongs and at the end of it you have to be assessed as fit by a panel of all those whose lives you made a misery. Second offence, bollocks off. Third offence, exiled to Rockall. (I want the death penalty but some of you are too weak to go with me on this.)

Pregnant at fourteen? Two-year forced internship on after-school hospital ward work at the end of which if you can pass a written and practical assessment you can have your sprog back if you still want it. At least you''ll know both how to care for it and the medical consequences of ill-considered actions. You'll also have an insight into the shit other people wade through to keep you on your feet.

Accidents cause people

Accidents are always caused by people but we should consider how many people are caused by accidents. Practice safe texts and don't use your mobile when you're mobile. Have a happy and safe weekend, people. I'll be watching you. Always watching you...

Thursday, 13 December 2012

More reasons to hate Morrissey?


With both Keith Vaz and Morrissey on your side you know you're in trouble. And whatever your attitude to royalty, Mozzer's latest incoherent rant does little to endear him to well, anybody with a pulse, really. The phrase 'much maligned' is often applied in the defence of somebody who means well but who has issued a rash statement, or been caught in an ill-considered action, but Morrissey is much maligned simply because he's a malignant little shit.

He’s a jumped up pantry boy, with conflicting attitudes toward everything from race to religion to even his own apparent sexuality, which opinions are nevertheless pure gold in his eyes, so I thought I’d immortalise him in a 'pome'. Obviously the form of poetry that best suits the undertaking has to be a Limerick... of sorts... to be sung to the tune of 'This Charming Man' because it scans just as well as the original.

There once was a knobhead called Morrissey
Who might be an old friend of Dorothy
His songs are as bad
As the rhymes in this ode
And he’s a fat bitter twat what’s more, y’see?

(Pam Ayres eat your heart out!)


I still get him confused with that supermarket.


Wednesday, 12 December 2012

Diversify or die?


The phrase ‘diversify or die’ used to be a watchword for many a businesses in the nineteen-eighties. For the United Kingdom of the two-thousand-and-teens maybe it should be rewritten as diversify AND die? Because the latest census shows us what many have been seeing for years, that if you live in certain areas you already feel you are not only a minority but an oppressed minority. 

An acquaintance of mine was recently offered, in return for a favour, a reduction in his business rates on a tap of the nose because of a 'contact in the council'. I need not tell you that those involved in the scam would not exactly describe themselves as White British on the census forms. In fact the number who do so has declined steadily and with that decline goes much of the decency and fairness for which Britain used to be known.

If you had left these shores in, say, 1955 and arrived back here today you would imagine you’d ended up in a different country and you would be correct. A very different country. In 1961 the estimated population was 45 ½  million. The notion of breaking this down by ethnicity was obviously ludicrous as non-white British accounted for around 200,000 or less than half a per cent and virtually all of them were from the Commonwealth – in other words we knew who they were; friends and allies.

You welcome friends and allies, but you keep at arms length those you mistrust, misunderstand, fear or despise. Once upon a time you had to go to North Wales for the language to change as soon as you entered an establishment. Now it's an everyday occurrence and sometimes no concession at all is given to the Lingua Franca. In fact there is no longer a common language; You might just as easily encounter Bengali,  Silheti, Panjabi, Gujerati Hindi, Turkish, Arabic, Nigerian, Somali, Greek, Portuguese, Tamil, Kurdish or Albanian. (Descending order of number of speakers in London)

Meanwhile those involved in the race industry speak a combination of Pidgin, Double Dutch and Gobbledygook to justify their actions and quell any objections and you have to hate me now for writing this, because in that language of the brainwashed I am a foul, despicable and deluded racist. That's how far the progressive agenda has brought us. Any dissent is expressed as unreasonable resistance to rational change, anything more than a muted shrug is called racism and so heinous a crime is it that telling the truth can land you in jail. Thank you Tony Blair.

It is said that over 250 languages are spoken in London, making the capital the most linguistically diverse city in the world. Not one of those is the language of common sense that speaks up for the displaced and reveals unchecked immigration for the folly it is. Our current circumstances are down to an act of sheer treachery by the former government to engineer the political makeup of the country and “rub the Right’s nose in diversity”.

A few statistics from the latest census tell us a story of simple invasion:
  • Nearly 3 million people in England and Wales live in households where no adults speak English as their main language.
  • In London, one in three people was born outside the UK.
  • White British people are now in a minority in London.

Traditional British celebration of 
ethnic and cultural diversity

The problem, for problem it is, has been long recognised by those who have to live with it and it is time for the truth to be told and valued. We can’t reverse the damage done but we can surely see as a falsehood the former multicultural mantra of diversity and integration and recognise the reality as Diversity and Disintegration?

Meanwhile David Cameron's party is in uproar over gay marriage.

Tuesday, 11 December 2012

Peace on Earth


So, yesterday, the hated beloved Eurocracy picked up the Nobel prize for tyranny, I mean peace. Can that actually be true? What is going on? Are we playing Opposites Year? So, Animal Farm style, it’s now democracy bad, tyranny good, eh? I think I’m beginning to get the hang of this.

Hitler was nominated for the Nobel Peace Prize in 1939, as a satirical joke some say, but then Stalin had two nominations, in 1945 & 1948, so who was kidding who? It would appear that some forms of submission to government control of absolutely everything are okay, just not Adolf’s version; and he worked hard on that bloody book.

In its contribution to “peace and reconciliation, democracy and human rights” in Europe the EU has stood by to allow the free expression of dissent in the form of anti-governmental riots across many member states. You don't like your government? Then all is well, because the EU will remove it altogether. The display of Nazi insignia to greet Angela Merkel in Greece was a wonderful way to remind the proles just how much peace they've had for so long. And that peace doesn't come cheap.

In the name of peace entire nations have been ‘requested’ to vote again on referendum outcomes that were not conducive to the European Project. These words have passed into notoriety; Europe's nations should be guided towards the super-state without their people understanding what is happening.“ (Jean Monnet, founding father of the EU, April 1952) They are said not to be Monnet's direct words, but an accurate interpretation of his clear intentions; a voice from a troubled past maybe, but the current troika fully intend to apply more of the same.

To be fair, when the subject of a referendum arises it must be very difficult to phrase the questions just so, in order to get the correct answer. I mean, how ridiculous to ask simply IN or OUT? Some voters might be terribly silly and vote OUT just because they don’t understand the question. And anyway, that is far too simplistic.

No, far better to employ a team of experts to devise a series of questions, a mini-manifesto if you will, to gently lead the plebs electorate to the correct conclusion.  Having made a longitudinal study of these experts – I’m an expert on experts – I've had a stab at creating an EU approved Referendum for European. Answer Yes or No to the following questions (translations provided)

1. Do you want peace on earth and goodwill to all men? (Vote Yes or we’ll send in the army.)

2. Do you want to support local farmers? (Of course you do – we’ll price out of the market anybody offering a better product cheaper. 232% Tax onChinese garlic?)

3. Do you wish for an end to starvation? (Excellent. We’ll strip the shops of all that expensive choice and set up commission-approved food banks for all.)

4. Do you believe that everybody should have equal access to jobs? (Following Greece and Spain’s excellent examples we will enslave you all forever on welfare – that’s equal.).

5. Do you think everybody should have equal pay? (We will drive out the capitalists that pay for everything and drive down wages until all are equal.)

6. Should your children get the same education opportunities as others? (We already did this – it’s called the comprehensive system, where everybody leaves equally uneducated.)

7. Do you wish Tony Blair was out of British politics? (That's easy; there will be no more 'British' politics once TB becomes EU Emperor)

8. Do you support free speech and the right to be unmolested?  (We will legislate to prevent anybody causing you offence. If that involves curtailing the use of your language, so be it – you asked for it.)

9. Do you want people to be happy? (You do? Good. Legislation for enforced jollity is on the way.)

10. Do you want democracy? (Yes? I don’t think you fully understood the question.)


So, how did you do? Answer YES ten times and you really haven't been listening, but even a single yes would be enough to declare you IN under EU referendum rules. Listen now as the distant rumble of malcontents with vested interests grows into a roar of approval for full integration. Marvel as formerly disenchanted politicians suddenly get onside with the project. See for yourself how much money and energy will be poured into persuading you that you can't think for yourselves. Vote for slavery, vote for collectivism... or grow a set and vote for yourselves.

Monday, 10 December 2012

What the frack?

We all do our bit for the environment, don’t we? Well, sod the environment; good citizens all, we should moderate our reliance on imported fuel use, if not for the planet then for the simple common sense of it. Has nobody been listening these past few years? Are you not aware that the country is broke? According to the Express, one in three will be too poor to buy sufficient heating for winter within the next two years.

While I don’t buy their scaremongering figures for one moment, I certainly agree something needs to be done. And it won’t be the Green Deal, which will turn out to be yet another well-intentioned government scheme that ends up benefitting large businesses with access to capital before being consigned to history when the money runs out, like all the others. 

It’s just tinkering at the margins in pursuit of political ambitions instead of getting a grip on the real issues. And for the few who genuinely benefit it always costs the tax payer dear while keeping them potless.(That will make it all the easier for the rampaging Muslim marauders to finally gain the majority hand – George Galloway’s is a patient, long-term treachery, be warned.) 

As a nation what we need is to make or save money and whatever god you don’t believe in, Nigel Lawson reckons shale gas and oil is a gift from him. To become self-sufficient in, nay a net exporter of fuel, would be all that we need to be back in the game. And if that is good news then reports that the Blackpool shale deposits in the Bowland Basin could be fifty percent larger than first thought has to be even greater news. 

We could kick out the unwelcome ‘economic migrants’, get our own industries working and our idle off their arses and off welfare. We could fuck off the German wind farms and say so-long to pointless solar PV and get Britain back on its feet again. And as for the fears of the Green-Meanies, do they not realise that an earthquake in the area would cause millions of pounds-worth of improvements to Blackpool?

Even Environment Minister, Owen Patterson, says the same. “invest in shale gas, which doesn't require public subsidy, unlike wind farms.” The coalition must, as a matter of utmost urgency, pursue what could be the saving of our once independent nation from the threats that currently threaten to overwhelm it. Social politics, white flight, brain drain, the deficit and the disastrous involvement with the EU. But it may already be too late. Those greedy burghers at the Stasi are already seeing power slip from their grasp and are demanding a slice of the action. 


What am I saying, a slice? No, like all the other European gangsters flooding the country, they intend to take control altogether. Well I say we tell em’ to frack off.

And so does Boris Johnson.

Friday, 7 December 2012

Cliff Edge

So, the latest to take a tumble off the PR cliff edge that is the widening "Jim'll Really Fix You" sex abuse case is the publicist Max Clifford; now more famous than many of his former clients. An arch proponent of the 'kiss-and-tell' news story - and how apt is that description now? - Clifford first sprang into the national consciousness with the lurid but untrue, "Freddie Starr Ate My Hamster" headline. (Freddie Starr, oh dear...)

Since then he has launched, re-launched or buried careers and been involved in spinning or concealing the activities of such well-loved and reputable public figures as Pamella Bordes, Mohammed Al-Fayed, David Mellor, Derek Hatton, Rebecca Loos, Jade Goody, Doctor Gillian McKeith (or, as Ben Goldacre said, "to give her full title, Gillian McKeith") and John Prescott's secretary, Tracey Temple.

Through a combination of publicity stunts, cover-ups, smoke, mirrors, distractions and outright lies he has made a highly lucrative living as the person you would least like to share a secret with. So it makes you wonder where this latest outing in front of the press cameras is leading.


Given his calling and his track record, if I was the police I wouldn't believe a word of it.

Thursday, 6 December 2012

Praise Be!

Well the Autumn Statement, as expected, brought news of yet more financial doom and gloom. The weather has taken a sharp turn for the wintry, pushing up petrol bills and making the roads even more treacherous than a Marxist Europhile. And the charging of Stuart Hall for sex offences is a knockout blow for Ho-ho-ho, prompting @davidtristram to deliver the brilliant "It's a Cockout" punchline on Twitter.

What else have we here? Pressure on the UK's AAA credit rating, the loss of the great jazz genius Dave Brubeck, albeit for a magnificent innings of 91, and yet more leaked plans for EU supremacy over national budgets... because the Eurozone is doing so well for all its internees, isn't it? Insane Green levies are going to put further pressure on winter heating bills, we are going to give away yet more billions to countries which don't need it, who squander it on government instead of aid and our deficit is yet to be reined in, without which our debt can only continue to grow.

All of which means it is even more likely that the turkeys will vote for a short-lived Christmas-future by electing back into power the very cause of our indebtedness in two year's time. Ed Balls may have looked a twat yesterday in Parliament, but the good old left-wing press will back his disastrous stances all the way to meltdown and enslavement by the state for all who remain. (Two years to pack your bags, workers.)

It's not all bad news though. A Russian oligarch's Polish builders have bulldozed to the ground a chateau in France, which is internationally hilarious, those cheeky Aussies raised a grin by posing as The Queen and Prince Phil on the telephone all the way from 'dairn-anda' and the grin has been wiped off the face of smug tech giants Apple to the tune of $35bn. We love a bit of schadenfreude, innit?

But I save the best news until last. A bid by a hideous, medieval, ignorant hate machine posing as a pseudo-religious authoritarian sect has had its plans for an enormous Jihadi training centre in the heart of Londonistan turned down by the planning authorities. It's only a matter of time of, course, before appeals based on their ethnic sensitivities mounted by human-wrongs lawyers sensing a fast buck will overturn the ruling and facilitate one more step along the way to an entirely Islamic Britain.

America shows the way...

But - silver lining time - at least the rabid Mussies might just have the balls to tell Europe to go and fuck itself up a camels' backside... after they've robbed it blind, of course.

Wednesday, 5 December 2012

Going Dutch

The famously tolerant Dutch are discussing the creation of scum villages. Just as I proposed the walling up of illegal travellers' settlements (if they don't want to travel they can bloody well forcibly stay on site forever) they are suggesting the removal and incarceration of nuisance neighbours in makeshift 'punishment housing camps'.

Before you leap to the conclusion that this is the fiendish scheme of some far-right lunatic, it is Amsterdam's Labour mayor who has complained that the long-term harassment of law abiding council tenants needs to be aggressively curtailed. He is quoted as saying, "This is the world turned upside down," and "Repeat offenders should be forcibly removed from their neighbourhood and sent to a village for scum... Put all the trash together."

For too long our system of law and social justice has appeared to serve the criminal rather than the victim. Far from Owen Jones' imagined 'demonisation' of working people, this is a very real problem and the chav scum at the heart of every sink estate need to be taken on, or taken out. Instead we provide them with incentive after incentive to piss all over everybody's chips and they laugh in the face of authority while picking its pockets.

The problem is going to get worse too, because very soon we will face an unquantified and apparently unstoppable invasion by Romanian and Bulgarian immigrants intent on sucking the public purse drier than ten-year old Bombay duck hung out on the south side of a pyramid. They are coming and they'll need to be housed... if we build the chav camps at least we'll have 'ethnically appropriate' accommodation all ready for them.

And snipers, of course. The cornerstone of my proposals for tackling the population and social problems, we could deploy watchtowers and snipers, for what else is a foreign invasion than war by another name? And if there's one thing we're good at in Britain it's war. We've taken them all on in the past and emerged victorious but this European sham has made us drop our guard and many British towns are already under siege from hordes of foreign marauders.

But we're missing  trick here, surely? Why wait until they land and then deal with the bothersome business of food and shelter? Why not pluck them from the high seas and pack them all into prison hulks offshore? Or even better, deploy Lord Palmerston's Follies once again in the service of defending our borders.

Fortress Britain

Or sod it. Why not open the borders completely and let them all in while we fuck off and take over somebody else's land? I hear Gaza's very nice this time of year...


Tuesday, 4 December 2012

Dying Breed

I'm not having a baby, royal or otherwise and I'm not famous for anything else, nor do I want to be on the telly embarrassing myself as a talentless wannabe or a Jeremy Kyle freak show exhibit. I'm not black, yellow, ginger or pikey. I've never been diagnosed with ADHD, dyslexia, dyscalculia, colour-blindness, laziness or any other 'special' need. I've never required extra tuition, classroom assistance or help with my homework, neither have I ever been taken to a safari park on public funds.

I've worked all my life, paid my taxes, never seen a tax credit or a 'benefit' and I don't need legislation to make me behave decently towards others. If my car fails to start, I set off for work early enough that I can walk or catch a bus. If I'm ever late it is always my own fault (I'm never late) and I always meet deadlines.

If I am carrying a spare tyre it is because I eat too much and only I can reverse that. I don't incapacitate myself with illegal substances and I make my own decisions about whether or not to drink coffee at Starbucks or eat at any restaurant. (What is it with paying a small fortune for coffee anyway?) I can also cook, clean, make and mend all by myself, not because I can't afford to pay somebody else to do it, although I can't, but because being dependent really doesn't suit me.

I get no winter fuel payments, mobility allowances or child benefit, I don't need to be reminded to vote and I have yet to be taken in by a Ponzi scheme or other such scam. (I recognise that I have also missed some good investment opportunities by exercising the same caution.) My house isn't in negative equity because I bought what I could afford and my current credit card balance is £136, a charge I incurred just seven days ago. If I lose my current employment it will either be my fault or else nobody's fault and it will be entirely my responsibility to find another way of making a living.

I read several newspapers to get a balanced view and I rarely take any reportage at face value. I regard any stories involving statistics with suspicion and I am knowledgeable enough to realise that few journalists ever fully understand some of the technical issues they write about. I know that the job of a newspaper is to sell copy, so the hard facts are usually secondary to intriguing headlines and I occasionally bother to dig deeper, which is why I know that the truth behind much political news is so much blander than the partisan press versions.

When I was a lad that's how I was taught to be. When I was a lad, I believe that was what most of us aspired to. When I was a lad it was understood that we could all aspire to be whatever we wanted to be, but that raw ability, hard work and perseverance would be needed to actually rise above the herd and we valued little that which was handed out on a plate.When I was a lad we cared for those who couldn't but thought despicable those who merely couldn't be bothered.


Now, however, I appear to be in the minority. As a white, working male I am the antithesis of the new world order. I'm a dying breed, facing extinction. I should be the purpose of a preservation charity, fighting for my survival... or at least be able to apply for a grant.

Monday, 3 December 2012

Work not fair?

So, an interesting evening's fun on The Twitter last night as I was gently gummed by a pair of caring lefty-types eager to berate me for being a Fascist monster intent on eating babies. It's a fair point that I'm not a fan of mewling, puking  rug rats, but I've never eaten a whole one.

It all started out as one of my playmates complained about having been to Tesco and encountering what she saw as the jaw-dropping hypocrisy of their support for food banks. Maybe they should have considered this before participating in the heinous practice of Workfare, went her wail, to which I responded that the two were entirely unrelated.

I was called several unpleasant names and my entire reason and right to existence were questioned but, to be fair I did respond in hysterically ranty terms by suggesting she had a naive grasp of the situation as may befit, say, a socialist. This grossly unfair slur on my part was taken in poor humour as another joined the fray and I became a eugenecist and an unfit human, yada, yada, yada...

But here's the thing. Far from being slave labour, workfare involves companies in all sorts of financial risks from the deployment of untrained staff. Resentful, surly youths are unappealing in a visible, front-of-house role, while teenage lads trundling trains of trolleys into parked cars are hardly a great advert for your enterprise. The unreliability of those with no work ethic can cause logistical headaches and the lack of gratitude for the opportunities afforded can be astonishing.

In my business - electrics - the taking on of an apprentice is fraught with uncertainty. Many youngsters these days have no idea how to behave with customers and see the imposition of work into their formerly fully-catered lives as some form of punishment for having been born. Taking on an unskilled worker is a risky business expense with any prospective returns occurring only a long way in the future; I have met many small business owners who have forgone the practice after seeing what a thankless task it can be.

Not so many generations ago the apprentice's father paid the master for the privilege of learning a trade, not least because an apprentice slows you down while simultaneously foisting his cack-handedness on your innocent customers, who may not thank you for it. Now, not only is a business expected to pay a wage, but you also somehow believe them to have an ethical role in society.

What do we want? Not too much work!

So, listen; the only ethical concern a business has is to its owners. If you don't like the way Tesco plays then don't shop there, but at least recognise that in taking on your idle, worthless spawn without charging you for the training, they are actually doing us all a favour. Now, excuse me, I have to go to work to pay taxes so that you can sit on your sofa and be outraged at my horrific right-wing stances.