Keep taking the tablets

Parliament, realising there is nothing they can actually do about anything as we are hit with successive crashing waves of EU legislation, uncontrollable immigration, debt, more debt and despair, have been discussing drugs. Does the punishment fit the crime and all that sort of thing. And as always when it comes to judicial efficacy they forget the one thing that everybody affected by drug-related crime knows: Higher penalties may not deter criminal activity, but locking them up and losing the keys at least keeps them off the street. When will those Class A cockwombles wise up?

Anyway, it all reminded me of how easy it is to be led rather than to take the lead, as illustrated by the story of the happy, hoppy rabbit…

A hoppy little rabbit is happily hopping through the forest one day when, coming to a clearing of thorn scrub he stumbles upon Gerry the giraffe rolling a big, fat joint. The happy, hoppy rabbit looks at him and says, “Giraffe, dude, think about what you're doing to yourself! Come with me, running through the forest and you'll feel so much better!' The giraffe looks at the rabbit, looks at the joint, thinks a moment, shrugs, then throws his joint away and goes off to run through the forest with his cheery, furry friend.

Eventually they come across Eric the elephant doing a big line of coke. “Eric!” says the rabbit, “Come on, dude, why do you do this? Think about the damage you’re doing to your brain, man. Come running with us through the beautiful forest and you'll see; you'll feel so good!' The elephant looks at them, looks at his razor, the mirror and the line of coke and thinks ‘what the hell!’, tips the powder onto the ground and breaks into a trot with a grin on his face.

They giggle like cubs as they gambol and hop and skip and jog through field and forest, hill and dale and they all feel so much better for the freedom and the feel of the wind in their hair. Soon, they discover Lenny the lion, cooking up and about to shoot some smack. Lenny, Lenny, Lenny…” says the happy hoppy rabbit, “Why do you do this to yourself? Come running through the forest with us and…”

The rabbit's spiel is cut short as the lion bounds over and lays him out, flat with a single, devastating blow from his powerful paw. The other two stop still, staring aghast at the sheer suddenness of it. “What?” demands the lion.

“But, but, but…” says the giraffe, “he was only trying to help cheer us all up!” The lion looks at the barely breathing rabbit on the forest floor, then in a low growl says, “Bollocks, he was. That little fucker has had me running around the forest like an idiot for hours every time he's on ecstasy!”

It’s Friday; take a chill pill, mon! 

Lock Down

So finally all the talk, from all the parties is about immigration. But the Tories and Labour, while saying they get it, obviously don’t because they are carrying on regardless and just playing the blame game. “You let them in in the first place!” squeal the blues. “Yes but it’s got worse since you lot have been in charge!” said Yvette Balls on PM. It’s not even argument and counter-argument it’s just the same old slanging match that has caused voters to leave them in droves. Now shut the fuck up, Westminster, because until you do you will never hear a thing the people you despise have been saying for half a century.

Quotas. Tighter border controls. Aggressive, black-shirt, UKBA uniforms. Welfare restrictions… It’s all just bollocks in the light of the knowledge that the 50,000 illegals we know have gone missing are only the tip of an iceberg; by some estimates, the UK population is some ten million more than appear on any census. There are parts of some major cities where dense populations of uncounted, utterly foreign, untouchables hide in plain sight from all officialdom, shielded by the sacred force-field of political correctness. The time for tolerance is over; our tolerance has not been met with the appropriate levels of gratitude and we need to get serious.

Close the borders tight. I mean really tight. The EU can shove itself up its own arsehole. Make it impossible to get in without a very good reason for being here. Being a sub-minimum wage slave isn’t one of those reasons. Being a relative of one isn’t either. All foreign nationals convicted of any serious crime should do their time in prison hulks moored offshore prior to being returned whence they came, if necessary in body bags. Oh and Britain already has a national religion, harmless and rightly ignored by the majority; we neither need nor want any others, but as long as you practise your primitive satanic observances in private then fair enough. But build another super-mosque and you can stand by for the bulldozers.

We need to become one of those countries where taking the piss can swiftly land you on the outside. Workforce: don’t import what you don’t need. Indigenous population: don’t breed what you can’t feed. Next year the NHS has a budget of £133Billion, with defence spending a miserly £45Billion. Let’s swap them, for a start and go on a massive recruitment drive to employ hundreds of thousands of UK-born youngsters in the task of becoming British again. A bit of healthy fresh air and exercise, a bit of backbone and pride and they won't need the health service. Those that don’t sign up can still be useful… as targets.

Palmerston's Folly? Think again

Britain could become great again – for the British. Anybody who fits in and contributes would be welcome but freeloaders can fuck off, no protracted appeals, no fanciful ‘human rights’. You have the right to work and pay tax and not be stabbed; beyond that it’s your lookout and if you don’t like it here we will happily hold the door open for you and watch as it slaps you on the arse as you leave. And that goes for every single card-carrying apologist for socialism in all its forms. If you love everything about immigrants so much maybe it’s time you became one?

Too many men in a boat

Immigration is a net benefit, they tell us. It enriches us, they say. It gives us cheap nannies, exotic cuisine and cleaners who will work for the scraps in our gold-plated kitchen waste bins. It reveals to us and allows some of us to share in exciting new ways of ordering society; for an example see how culturally enlightened the grateful inhabitants of Rotherham have been over the last couple of decades. Immigration is so good, the Mayor of Calais wants us to have all of hers and the Italian Navy just adores spending millions to rescue 150,000 Africans every year so they can carry on their migration and bring us their wonderful, murderous diversity.

One wealthy lefty’s enrichment is a whole civilised nation’s cultural erosion. The destruction of Britishness has been a deliberate project by the squeamish, liberal guilt-whores to punish us for our unlived past; to atone for the newly created crimes of unknown forefathers. How dare we bring light to the dark continent where now the natives so fervently seek the return of their beloved despair? In Britain and Europe We struggled for centuries to create a world worth living in and now the politically sensitive idiots in charge have, in a few short generations, undone all that was good about that world. Why should we rush to further hasten our demise?

A man I never knew commits suicide over losing his job, or having been diagnosed with cancer. Maybe his wife left him, or his deranged attempt at fame fell on an unmoved public – the X-Factor’s freak show baying sending him over the edge. What, I should take some of the blame? I should shoulder some of the responsibility? Why? I didn’t start any war in Eritrea, a famine in Sudan, an islamic uprising across the arab world. I never caused a single tsunami, a flood or a volcanic eruption. I haven’t warmed the planet by as much as quintillionth of a degree and I am certainly not responsible for every fuckwit, baby-eating, brutal African dictator.

So why does the government, who are supposed to work on my behalf and the behalf of the majority of my countrymen, feel that we must pay more taxes in order to right wrongs that are neither of our making nor our concern? Why would we want to pay to allow the importation of backward and genuinely inferior peoples to rape and destroy our comfy world? Because, as sure as weather, this is the true effect of mass immigration for those who do not benefit from it; that majority of working British people who have been told to say nothing about it by politicians and police for years.

The Calais Mayor is sick of trying to stem the tide and has demanded that the UK border be pushed back to UK. She’s wrong; free movement of people across the continent is the biggest part of the problem and currently the European border is where the war should be fought. Yes, war; what else do you call mass invasion by foreign forces intent on bringing us their societal diseases? Once into Europe they seem only to be stopped by water, so roll the border back beyond the EU’s shores.

That EU task force set to take over from the Italian Navy? To send the message that rescue may not be guaranteed? Sod rescue. Sod patrolling European territorial waters. Move that force south, off the North African coast and arm them. Sink those festering boatloads of trouble as fast they launch them. Now THAT might send the right message.

Able Bodies

What do you have to say to get noticed these days? Judging by the latest crop of Apprentice wannabes a load of bollocks ought to do it. Or you could just tell the truth. Lord Freud is in trouble because he did just that. Okay it may be a truth we don’t want to hear and he might have couched his utterance in less stark terms but it’s still true and for the avoidance of doubt I repeat it here. Some people, economically, are worth less than others. I know; what a heartless bastard I must be. I make no claim to be otherwise but nevertheless the market daily sets people's individual worth, based on their productivity, abilities, availability and yes, sometimes, their actual appearance.

Only one person in the world can be, say, Bruce Willis, while for all their efforts the majority of the world’s billions might be better utilised as furniture. Why should it be somehow inhumane to say that some people, for whatever reason, make a smaller contribution to a nation's wealth than others? Lord Freud is guilty of only one thing - being recorded giving an answer in a public forum, allowing Labour to wait for a PR opportunity to use it in faux-anger. The PC World we now inhabit peddles all sorts of misguided equal-opportunities garbage and woe-betide the public figure who forgets that the whole purpose of opposition is to prevent the government from running the country.

Thus a perfectly rational response to a valid - albeit fundamentally tricky - question about how to finagle the minimum wage rules, yet still make it possible to employ disabled people without bankrupting companies, whilst also protecting their feelings has become the latest demonstration of why lefties are unfit to run anything, ever. Their sensitive skins prickle at the merest mention of harsh reality, or more likely they are just in tune to anything from which they can  raise a stink of outrage.

I heard a spokesmanperson for DAM ('Disabilities are Marvellous’) or whatever on the PM programme insisting that, in effect, disabled people are just as abled as non-disabled persons. That far from 'dis' their ability was not only absolutely fabby, but that they may even possess super powers... just so long as they were assisted in some ways. Thus a limbless window cleaner could be just as productive as a fully-complemented one, were they only accompanied by, say, an actual window cleaner. She tied herself in knots trying to be politically on-message and deny the evidence that all disabled people have to face and overcome daily.

I could have been somebody; I could have been a contender. I could have been a millionaire, if only somebody would give me a million quid. I could be an international movie star; all I lack is the looks and the talent... and the luck. And sadly, luck is a very real and harsh aspect of all this. The cards are not dealt evenly, but to try and pretend otherwise is disingenuous. Plenty of disabled people put up with their unfair lot and want nothing other than acceptance by society, while others genuinely do need every bit of help we can provide. Lord Freud was actually mooting such help.

Not for political gain, Mr Miliband

I have no axe to grind about disabled rights; many people overcome what to the rest of us seem insurmountable challenges to do sterling work at all sorts of levels... sometimes around about waist height. Okay, bad taste (even I can see that) but you may be surprised to learn that disabled people have a sense of humour... yes, just like the rest of us; you prejudiced pre-judger you. And while they rightly hate being dismissed they also hate being treated with kid gloves. Or as if they weren't there. I heard no actual disabled voices raised in genuine, first-hand protest, merely those of disabled rights ‘activists’ and opportunist political knob-jockeys. So, do you want the truth? Or the lie that the grasping, manipulating left give any more of a fuck about you beyond your vote?

Doing the maths

You go to work for forty hours a week and earn, being over 21, £6.50 per hour. That’s £260 which, after tax earns you the princely take-home wage of £233.62, assuming you are paid 52 weeks of the year. As a lowly cleaner/shift-worker/shelf-stacker this is your lot in life and it doesn’t even cover your rent and basic services, so the state steps in and helps out with a few thousand quid to keep you in your sub-standard, cold and damp private let and you struggle gamely on, juggling work, kids and what home life you have (television) in this life you never asked for.

Next door, the family on £26k a year in benefits, the equivalent of a salary of £34k, carry on their life of relative ease and never see you as you leave for work each day because behind their curtains they are sleeping away last night’s revelry; any night can be a party night if you have nothing to get up for. But hey, you say, that’s okay because it’s some other idiot’s tax they are spending, you get back many times the paltry £1371.68 you pay in each year and you believe that people in glass houses shouldn’t throw stones.

“Mustn’t grumble” your grandfather said and after all, you’re not living on the street and starving, we have a mostly-free health service and a pretty decent societal moral compass. But, still, a pay rise wouldn’t go amiss, so you ask… and you are denied. Mr Miliband says he will increase the minimum wage, but it turns out that so, too, will the coalition and in the same timescale. In a misty memory of a long-forgotten maths lesson you dimly remember that if wages rise, so will prices, but you don’t get a chance to observe this in practice because soon your hours are reduced. A rival firm, employing only migrant labour on sub-minimum wage is taking work from your employers.

With a sigh and a stiffened upper lip you take yourself off to the Job Centre to discover that few locals are finding employment and much of the background chatter is foreign, but at least they have plenty of interpreters on hand and will also help you claim all that you are entitled to. You worry a bit about that ‘entitled’ but, as you’ve worked pretty much since you left school you accept the assistance, promising yourself that it is only until you can find a decent job for reasonable pay. That day doesn’t come, of course and as you settle into a life on benefits you do the sums and realise you will never make a better living than this; you have joined the ranks of the forgotten.

If you observe that all the shop workers are eastern European and you suspect they are being exploited you are called racist. When you draw attention to the uneasy feeling you get when you see private hire cars parked up in a cul-de-sac with a gaggle of school-age girls making familiar with the drivers you are called a racist. Proffer any opinion that our society is becoming fractured into ethnic enclaves which do not mix and you are labelled a racist. Your memory of the Britain you grew up in is challenged; you are wrong – it’s always been this way, they tell you. Besides, Britain has for too long paid too high wages by comparison with the global labour market; you are lucky the immigrants are here to pay for your benefits.

In the balance

You do the maths again and can't make that last statement add up at all. And as for being a mere commodity on the global market, when did you ask for that? So what options do you have? Vote for change? You already tried that… and nothing changed. Now what? You express your frustration by flirting with Ukip… and they call you a fruitcake. But what else is there? You ask around and discover that you are not alone; many are abandoning the old order and tentatively grasping at the Ukip straw. It’s a cry for help – Ukip don't necessarily have any more of an answer than anybody else, but at least they seem to understand you and you want your problems to be recognised by somebody... anybody. So what do the Westminster elites do? They call you a loony. Everywhere you see the establishment flying the flag for anything but Britain, anybody but the British and denigrating all who object as 'closet racists'. 

Is it any wonder you are coming out of the closet?

They never learn...

Einstein, or somebody else clever, is supposed to have said that forever repeating the same actions, with the same undesired outcomes, is a sure sign of madness; much as banging your head against a wall will only exacerbate the pain of the first time. As they say, it ain’t rocket science, although Einstein may beg to differ. What it is though is plain old common sense. And by common I refer to the innate sense of justice of order, of right and wrong, primitive though it may be, of the common man.

Which is why it is almost painful to watch the old guard, both Labour and Conservative demonstrate their inability to think themselves outside the box against whose walls they are attempting to crack their skulls. Almost painful… with a side helping of glee and a hefty dose of incredulous fascination with just how ready they are to repeat the mistakes of the past. UKIP are racist fruitcakes, they said, as a result of which the racist fruitcakes – or as I like to call them, ordinary working class voters – switched their allegiance to the new kid on the block.

UKIP are nasty, they said; cue the further swelling of the ranks. Earnest thinkers pressed their heads together and came up with a new strategy…  Ukip are against immigration, which we all know is unremittingly ‘a good thing’, they announced. Meanwhile, the indigenous dispossessed, seeing the rising tide of mass, unskilled immigration overwhelm their local infrastructure came to different conclusions. And while Labour and Tory alike sought to paint those objections as bigotry, the parents of teenage girls abused by systematic imported sexual abuse on a massive scale sought out somebody, anybody, who would listen to them and make the right noises.

All along, the establishment parties have fought, not for the people who elect them but simply to retain their seats. And in that world of pure politics, where actions are the work of a lesser breed of ‘doer’ the solution is to keep on banging that head against the wall on which it is written that to maintain the illusion all is well is just as good as it being so. But down there in the common herd, where that repetitive denial of the truth and the refusal to examine the evidence causes real harm, what is obvious is that voters are despised by the political classes.

Even herds eventually learn from their mistakes and after a couple of generations of seeing the causal links between voting for Westminster and getting fuck all except castigation for their fears, the herd’s own head banging is stopping. All of a sudden the hated little people are banging instead the drum of support for a party of people much like themselves. Yes, the big boys are still claiming that Nigel Farage and Douglas Carswell are merely expellees from the same posh schools as Cameron and Miliband, but those hollow taunts are falling on ears wilfully deaf to anything the old mainstream parties have to say.

Stitched up like a 'Kipper!

It may turn out to be a complete waste of time… and energy and hope and finger-crossing, but the same old solution holds little appeal for those who live with the consequences of traditional government. And if they are turning to Ukip in uncertainty, being castigated as stupid for doing so is a sure fire way of convincing them they are making the right choice. So, go on, Labour, go on Conservative, go on, Lib Dems, you carry on bashing and watch as your minions lift their heads up from your walls and simply walk away.

None so blind

A spitty little twitter spat the other night, between me and an out-and-proud lefty shouting about her credentials of ‘having spent 25 years of higher education in politics’ got me thinking. As usual, the clash was brought about by the failure, once again, of a self-proclaimed political expert to grasp what is bleeding obvious to anybody with a proper job and both feet on the ground.

Irony blinkers firmly fixed and utterly incapable of seeing those all around them making ‘the sign of the wanker’ in their direction, your lefty political theorist merrily ploughs straight ahead and tells you what’s good for you. How you should behave, what you should earn, who you should positively discriminate in favour of and what kind of weather is in your best interests; all blind to the realities of what drives humans to make it from one day to the next.

It’s as if Karl-never-had-a-job-in-his-life-Marx himself invented politics; virtually all concerted political movements are leftist in nature and on go the theorists, dreaming up ways of convincing themselves there will genuinely be a utopian future where we all put nurture before nature; if only they could stop the little people from indulging in original thought and individual action. Meanwhile, those on what is disparagingly referred to as ‘the far right’ are too busy making a living and fending for themselves to have the luxury of envy of what others possess; and as a result they tend to have far clearer understanding of the hopes and fears of ordinary workers.

John Humphrys said on the Today programme that the problem of immigration is a right wing issue, when in fact it is the very large, low-paid, unskilled sector of the work force who are most exercised and most disadvantaged by it. Those who welcome mass immigration are those who gain from it – a small and privileged minority of British society – or those who are blind to its downsides. Behind the heavy blinds of the lofty ivory towers, Ed Miliband’s policy unit no more understands the masses it believes it fights for than a sheep understands the workings of the ticks living off its blood.

Time after time the left-wing ‘thinkers’ do their thinking on behalf of the hoi polloi without ever actually consulting those same beleaguered legions, whose most likely reaction, post incomprehension, would be to tell them to do one. Today, Clacton’s forgotten denizens will, for good or ill, reject the traditional parties, just t see if there might be a better way. Will they also roar in Heywood and Middleton. Interesting times, folks…

A message for Vince

I hear Vince Cable reckons that, if the Lib Dems have anything to do with it, a future government must both increase taxes and borrow more. Why? So they can engage in more of the fiscally intemperate nonsense that caused us to be in the shit we’re in already. Lib Dems; Labour in lambs' clothing and just as dangerous - never forget the Fabians' famous emblem. 

Remember Gordon Brown’s “Are you claiming all you’re ‘entitled’ to?” public service announcements a decade ago? I do; I remember being utterly astounded that any government could be so blatant as to offer such a transparent bribe in return for power. And all paid for by those who could never bring themselves to vote Labour; that’s practically genius in political terms. Or is it? Short term electoral popularity at the cost of the whole ship; free drinks and canapés as cruise liner Great Britain turns turtle and sinks without trace.

It’s called freeloading, living off the efforts of others. ‘Tax Credits’? That sounds like getting some of your tax back, but many people get tax credits far in excess of what they earnestly believe they pay in. Add to that Child Benefit and Housing Benefit and a per-capita share of the cost of the state and it turns out the majority – yes the VAST majority – of working families are net recipients. I’ll say that again – the majority of working people will NEVER pay into the system more than a fraction of what they take out.

So who does pay? Who would Vince punish more for the crime of being a net contributor? Last year I worked out you’d have to earn at least £30k as a single individual, claim no benefits and pay every penny due in tax to just make up your ‘share’. You’d also have to have no kids and never get ill, pay top-whack road tax and never use any public services, otherwise the balance tips back into debit. I think I was way out; it’s got to be more like £50k before you owe the state nothing and start to make a net contribution. (And this does not include a single state worker - the tax-take from public service employees is a fiction as every penny paid to them has already been taken from others.) 

£50k per annum does not make you rich in the UK, but you can live like a king in many parts of the world on that sort of money. Anybody with the wherewithal to earn a half-decent level of salary will pretty soon begin to feel aggrieved when Vince’s sheriff’s men come a-knocking. Those at the top of the earnings league already have the choice and will only pay what they are comfortable with. Some have already chosen to depart these shores; those lower down the scale, the fifty-kickers will pretty soon realise the price for patriotism is too high to pay.

But still Vince would speed them in making that decision. Soak the rich? Eat the rich? Why not just send them into exile? But before you adopt that jaw-jutting, heroic, 'man of the people' pose, Vince, just remember a few little, inconsequential things. Without the rich there would be no welfare. There would be no NHS. There would be no state. Make the rich pay more? The rich pay your salary and that of the Queen; the rich already pay for everything.

Vote Whores.

While the Tories have given up on Clacton, with Douglas Carswell almost certain to become Ukip’s first MP, their activists gather ready to descend en masse on Mark Reckless’s constituency of Rochester and Strood just as soon as a date is set. If Labour thought they had a ghost of a chance in either ward they would be there too, knocking on doors, canvassing opinion and promulgating their own brand of lies and deceit in pursuit of the precious vote. We needn’t worry too much about the Lib Dems…

But here’s the thing; the vote – your vote, my vote, anybody’s vote – belongs to us, not to them. There is a presumption that our votes are the spoils of electoral war, won by wearing down the voters and ‘persuading’ them into casting their ballot in the correct direction. By a combination of cajoling, pleading, promising and downright bullying, you WILL see reason and vote for them. Them. Not us, but them. Politicians are always them, aren’t they? They rarely appear to be on our side yet come election time they think we want to hear their hollow promises all over again.

The party mobsters will tell the people of Rochester and Strood that a vote for Ukip is a wasted vote, that a vote for Ukip is a vote for Labour, that a vote for Ukip is stupid, infantile, and yes, reckless. In fact a vote for Ukip makes you, the voter, all of those things – a waste, stupid, infantile, reckless… and very likely racist, for good measure. Is it any wonder that ordinary citizens find this barracking insulting and patronising and the very reason many have turned to Ukip in the first place?

And still the message is not Tory-positive but Ukip-negative, Mark Reckless being variously branded a traitor, a liar and an insignificant fool. Even the most bone-headed, politically illiterate, working voter who just wants a home and a job and as little government interference as necessary can see that the only time Westminster gives a flying fuck about them is when an election is due and even then all the politicos want to do is to browbeat you into voting their way.

Where are all these activists when the residents – the voters, remember? – need help? They want some potholes filled, or some traffic calming, or help with school crossing patrols, or fighting planning issues, or jobs or healthcare or, heaven forfend, fighting off muslim grooming gangs and culturally embedded local authority corruption. Where are they when something needs actually doing and not just talking about?

You can’t say you trust the electorate and then treat them like children, unable to form reliable opinions and cast their ballot accordingly. You can’t just flood a place with rosettes and badger and scaremonger its residents into submission. Treating the vote as not within the purview of the voter is a gross disregard for personal and public opinion and flies in the face of the principles of democracy.

Meanwhile, in Westminster

I’m not a big fan of democracy, by the way; I believe few of us, including myself, are reliably well informed enough to contribute to governance in a balanced and sensible way, but it’s what we purport to have. So, I hope Ukip take both seats and many more come the general election. I hope that they also take enough Labour seats to ensure another hung parliament and I sit and wait patiently for the day the penny drops in those hallowed halls. Ukip holding the balance of power is a bit mental and there are sure to be all sorts of fuckwitted attempts to integrate grass roots naïveté with the sophisticated Westminster machine. There will certainly be blood, but there will also be great entertainment and there is just a tiny chance that the voice of the electorate may be heard, faintly, for the first time in years. If you support democracy then this – however bizarre it promises to be – is what you should secretly wish for too.

Cliché Watch

From starting every spoken sentence with ‘So’ to the now obligatory ‘boots on the ground’ whenever the Middle East is discussed, or the ubiquitous and thoughtless over-use of ’implode’ instead of more apposite words such as ex-plode, or the less dramatic and more accurate, collapse, decay or ‘fade away’, the language of these lands is daily degraded by those who should defend it. We live in an age of lazy journalism, churning out cliché-ridden column inches devoured by lazy readers and soundbites lapped up by lazier listeners. What are words worth?

Cookie-cutter, easy-on-the-ears aphorisms abound, picked up and passed on by the witless in an attempt to capture the zeitgeist by endless repetition; lexicographic fashion parades with everybody displaying their originality by using the exact same phrases; wearing out words with overuse to the point where they cease to hold meaning. “I’m passionate about” and “It is my dream” pervade the speak-and-spell, word-weary world of wannabe media Messiahs, while the supposed intelligentsia purvey trite phrases such as “speaks to” and “it is what it is”… and the redundant ‘going forward’.

Overarching visions abound, as do narratives and road maps and various ways of saying “we don’t really know what we’re doing”. We bob around on a sea of maladroit, muddled verbiage, where, without irony, even the British now say “I could care less” when they mean the opposite. Instead of having a plan we discuss formulating a strategy, which is one way of admitting we don’t actually have a plan. We replace actions with words and imagine they are the same thing; thinking that sending out hundreds of CVs is the same as looking for a job. Or that having 3000+ Twitter followers is synonymous with having a social life.

And talking of life, how is it that the eternal cry of the teenager spurned is now taken up with such credulous alacrity at any perceived slight? Quite how being the butt of a practical joke or a voluntary Aunt Sally through your own awkward participation in social media now constitutes ‘ruining’ or ‘destroying’ your life is beyond me. The stilted language of entitlement prevents the ‘me-me-me’ generation from ever giving voice to original thoughts, their mouths simply opening and closing to perform the ‘feed me’ song of hatchlings in the national nest.

It’s just one of those occasional thoughts that pop, unbidden, into my febrile consciousness during my morning commutes, but maybe standards are at the root of many of our social ills. It is impossible to avoid clichés altogether but it would be nice to stand out from the herd occasionally. The last remnants of the born-in-the-war, dress-like-your-dad, do-as-you’re-told  generation are dying out and soon it will be rare to encounter the once common, smartly dressed, polite pensioner, rather than the upcoming legions of track-suited geriatric slackers who can communicate only in grunts. Maybe, going forward, we could all buck our ideas up a bit? ‘Going forward’? That can fuck off.

Wasted Votes...

This country is fucked, isn’t it? Really, when you stop to think about it, whatever was left of The British after the war has been steadily eroded to the point of extinction, a process which is accelerating, if anything, as we stumble from one existential crisis to another. Our sovereignty sold to Brussels, our culture derided and marginalised and in the last twenty years deliberately swamped by the experiment of multiculturalism; a project so misguided that only wholly detached, politically ridiculous, illiberal, ‘progressive’ thinkers swimming in Westminster think-tanks could possibly continue to believe in it.

Trojan Horse II, the continuing saga of the Rotherham sex abuses, endemic vote rigging in Tower Hamlets and elsewhere… then many other shining examples of kow-towing to disgusting imported practices and the apparent indifference of the ruling classes to a situations they have helped create and continue to allow.

But it’s not all the fault of multicultibollockry; all by ourselves we have allowed insidious weaknesses to invade the UK body corporate – our national mission statement is riddled with the sort of inept and pointless results of blue-sky brain storms that came up with ‘consignia’ to replace a well-established and ancient brand recognised worldwide. Why do they have to fuck about with everything that once made Britain what it was but is now perverted beyond reason? We are diseased and incapable of taking the cure.

The welfare state which keeps people in relative poverty. Working age benefits which drive even the diligent into dependence on handed-back tax credits; the fiction of being rewarded, instead of being robbed less. Social policies which have, for years, offered the utterly worthless underclass sufficient incentive to carry on claiming; a refusal to condemn obviously aberrant behaviour.  Slowly but steadily a once more evenly balanced society has split into the two extremes that ‘social justice’ sought to end; the increasingly small number of movers and shakers on the one end of a seesaw and everybody else on the other. If a thousand of ‘us’ were to disappear from our end the heavyweights at the other would hardly notice, but if one of ‘them’ stepped off the whole sorry mass at the shallow end would plunge still further towards destitution.

And neither Labour nor Conservative seems to understand that the people they claim to represent asked for none of it. Even ‘white Dee’ was on the Today programme saying as much. For all the worthy rhetoric of the Owen Joneses, the formerly working classes are not remotely interested in Marxist eulogising about their sturdy worth. At the arse end of the social scale, for all that they tend to vote Labour, their sentiment is wholly of the right.

Working class people reject multiculturalism, gay marriage and much of the rest of the stuff the metropolitan elite believe is good for them. Equality, yes, but not at the expense of common sense. They also don’t like the EU, which, if Cameron (the lesser of two evils) is returned, they will be bullied and threatened into remaining in. It is little wonder that not one of the party conferences has had anything to say to encourage participation in the universal suffrage which has seemingly done fuck-all to empower those who have it.

What do ordinary people really care about? They care passionately about their families and would kill – yes kill – at the drop of a hat anybody who so much as laid a finger on a hair on their heads. Pakistani rapists? They would lynch them in a heartbeat were it not for the vanishingly thin veneer of civilisation that keeps them, still, believing there may yet be a legal remedy. There won’t be; their concerns and hopes and fears will once again be ignored. 

Boris Johnson’s anti-UKIP stand-up routine is just one more example of the derision and contempt in which ordinary voters' opinions are held. And so we take another step towards a lethargic anarchy that will allow our last shreds of national dignity to be disposed of as worthless. We are not 'sleepwalking' into anything - we can see it full well. Democracy? It’s just a hollow sham.