Normal Service Resumed

I’ve had a week off. ... ... What do you mean, you didn’t notice? Anyway, it turned out that my blog is not the only thing keeping the world spinning, which is frankly a relief as I’m not sure how to cope with that kind of pressure. What am I saying, pressure? Pur-lease, that’s for the whiny inhabitants of All-about-me-Land, or as I have decided to call them, Menstrual Millennials – and lest you berate me for implied sexism, I include certain males in this description; how some of them haven’t grown clitorises through their desperate efforts to empathise defeats me.

In the meantime the fires of anguish have been stoked by the French Burkini Ban and the hilariously butthurt reaction to the #MakeAMovieIslamic hashtag on Twitter, which inventive productivity showed once again that when a community can’t take a joke, it has yet to earn respect in a civilised society. And Nigel Farage has managed to get Hillary Clinton to do the impossible and up her crying game after his very favourable reception at a Trump rally. It really doesn’t take a lot to get them going, does it?

Common sense seems to trigger spasms of shrieking, garment-rending misery in the growing proportion of the population that believes everybody should be shielded from all harm, from all directions. It’s as if decades of child-centred education and individual-focused social engineering has produced a generation of helpless, supposedly ‘empowered’, yet unemployable people who nevertheless believe that it is up to them to shape society in their image.

But what image are they going for? Once we had coopers and clockmakers, blacksmiths and bakers; people whose job title actually told you what they did; people whose purpose was clear, defined and necessary. Now, however, we harbour a growing army of nebulously monickered entitlement enablers. It is your human right to never be offended, to which end we have spawned an entire industry engaged in the antithesis of productivity. Arrived at the apotheosis of understandable enterprise? Then aim for the unintelligible...

If somebody can define what you do they can strive to it better, cheaper, faster. But if instead of leading the mob you are the distant voice which yells from the back “string him up!” and eggs on the dim to believe they are worthy you can name your price. There are, particularly, rich and easy pickings to be had by fanning the smouldering embers of the always easily combustible race issues and as we suffer the stabbing season also known as the Notting Hill Carnival (5 stabbings at the time of writing) I await with curious anticipation the cries of racism which inevitably accompany any attempt to suggest that ‘communities’ curb their more violent tendencies.

Vibrant Britain - business as usual

Amidst these bubbling pots of discontent, these spinning plates of neediness, somebody has to keep their head while everybody else is being taken in by the prestidigitator’s sleight of hand life goes on. When agitators are crying out for resources to tackle the ever-growing list of imaginary race and sex and inequality crimes somebody is needed to keep pointing out that the emperor’s bollocks are still fully visible and swaying in the wind. I’m back... and you’re welcome.