Saturday, 23 September 2017

Florence and the Machine

I always had doubts over Brexit. Never a doubt that we should leave; in that I have never wavered since 1975. I also still believe what my teenage self thought - that this was a betrayal of British history and a craven admission of weakness. And right from the start I felt vindicated in my views when, year after year, corruption and incompetence went unaddressed, even rewarded. Wine lakes, butter mountains and perverse funding allocations are, unfortunately, inevitable consequences of complexity.

Running a sole trader business can be tricky enough, especially in a competitive market; being responsible for employing others far more so. As you scale up an enterprise it becomes impossible to keep a realistic overview of the whole organisation and when you get to national level, roles become so speciated that it is impossible for them to interact in a meaningful way. (This is one reason why Communism can never work; you have to let natural economics have its way if you want to avoid both oversupply of un-needed goods and rationing of essentials.)

Thus sensible western governments evolved a useful model of governance without too much overt regulation and a laissez-faire approach to the economy as a whole, intervening only where sensible coordination and national interest were required. If this meant that the French thought differently from the Dutch, so be it; variety being the spice of life and all that.

But with the advent of the EU that all changed. When the common market we were persuaded to join morphed, almost without a murmur, into a supranational behemoth of complex control over every aspect of our lives we began the process which has taken us to where we are now. Anti-Brexiteers demand to know our destination – where will Brexit take us? Well here we are at the destination to which EU membership has brought us all. Like the view?

Across Europe we appear to be powerless to confront a migrant flood which will have a devastating and impoverishing effect on us all, because having submitted to the rule of an unimpeachable junta we seem unwilling or unable to protect ourselves. We are afraid to say anything for fear of causing offence to persons unknown. We accept edict after edict and do as we are told and defer to others when we should be determining for ourselves how we function as a society.

The rise of the EU and its inevitable collapse has us all in its thrall - and collapse it will, as have all other administrations before it. The world is always changing but so many fault lines seem to be converging at the moment as to make this implosion potentially catastrophic. That we were prepared to man the lifeboats before we struck the iceberg should have been a signal to others to look to their own survival.


But no; the Prime Minister who for party purposes granted a referendum he assumed he would win abandoned ship immediately after the result. The shuffling about for a replacement was only the start of delaying the execution of the people’s wish. His replacement was always, at best, a placeholder until a new, decisive leader could be found, but we agreed to give her a chance. I always had doubts over Brexit and yesterday those doubts were realised. Theresa May’s olive branch offering in Florence was a simple betrayal of the hopes of millions. Brexit may not be dead, but the cancer of British party politics will do its damnedest to kill it off.

Sunday, 17 September 2017

Killer Cable

Vince Cable has written a thriller, apparently... two can play at that game:

Agent Cable tensed. He was in a dark place and no help was at hand. He considered his options; call for assistance, or keep clenching and trust in his sturdy tena. Being licensed to kill was one thing; focussing on the target was entirely another. He adjusted his varifocals, turned up the volume on his hearing aid and concentrated once again on the mission. Only, he realised, he’d forgotten, again, what his mission was.

What seemed like only moments later, he was gently shaken awake. “Sir, it’s time.” Vince was helped to his feet by the two carers and his blanket was gently folded to await his return. A cup of lukewarm cocoa was thrust into his hand and he took a sip. As the sugar took effect his blood surged; he felt invigorated and set out to meet his fate. The Liberal Democrats needed him; he alone could unit them.

Waiting briefly in the wings, agent Cable contained his nervousness; only the merest twitch and tremble of his hands betrayed any frailty. Here he was, the conference keynote speech and the fate of the whole party lay in his veiny hands. Dismissing his nurses he squared his shoulders, put away his notes and strode out, to tumultuous applause, to take up his position at the lectern.

Lend me your ears... mine are fucked

The spotlights captured him in their harsh glare. He held up his hand and the thunderous hand-clapping died to an expectant silence; only the occasional cough and rustle of papers could be heard. He gazed out at the crowd, shielding his eyes against the light. Then he purposefully cleared his throat and leaned in to the microphone. He paused for one meaningful moment then declared “Have you seen my slippers?”

Monday, 4 September 2017

An open letter to industry


Dear Employers,

You have a choice between two systems.

System A allows you to hire whoever you wish without fear of censure; those you believe are best able to work productively and who will, during working hours, devote their energies to the furtherance of the company’s business priorities. You may negotiate directly with them over matters of pay and conditions, disciplinary issues, holiday entitlement and employ them only for so long as you find the arrangement mutually beneficial.

Under System B, which is a kinder, gentler way of doing business, you will still be able to employ the best of the applicants, but those applicants must include mandatory quotas of various diverse groups such as: those who identify as non-binary gender, women of child-bearing age, the differently-abled (both mentally and physically), persons of colour (ideally a good mix of all shades), vibrant religions (Christians need not apply), refugees and any other ‘persecuted minorities’, as decided by outside agencies.

System B companies will employ workers under arrangements largely determined by a wide range of external interested parties who will treat the company entity as a hostile enterprise and make secondary the creation of profit. For kinder, gentler policies to work the rights of the work force must be held supreme at all times and the means of production must, necessarily, function at the convenience of said workers.

Under System A, a company will have to openly compete with other companies; the one which produces the better product at the right price will occupy the market-leading position and force its competitors to match its efficiencies. The demand for product will determine how much is supplied and price will be settled by these natural market forces acting in concert. Companies may also compete for talent and pay whatever is needed to recruit the best managers and directors.

System B entities will produce what central planning determines and sell it at a price set by a workers’ committee. To keep prices affordable for all, wages will also be controlled by the same central planning authorities, which will also monitor work force wellbeing and determine whether and if the company needs to spend more on such welfare. Fairness will be at the very heart of this system and no boss – recruited internally from the general worker population - will earn more than twice the wage of the average employee.

The population under System A will have to budget and make its own decisions about how it spends its income. You will have to cut your cloth to suit and although there will be an abundance of a huge variety of produce of all kinds you won’t be able to afford all you desire. Instead you will be free to set your own spending priorities and be full liable for all costs and debts incurred. This will mean that the profligate may suffer by their own recklessness.

On the other hands, in System B, you will be absolutely free to select from the far more limited variety of products available. The choices will have been decided for you by various experts, who have only your best interests at heart, but be aware that there may be gluts and shortages at times. Rationing may be introduced to ensure that everybody gets their fair share, but the price of such measures will be borne by the companies responsible. Be assured, however, that everybody will get what they deserve in the end.


So, there you are; a simple choice. Do you want the free agency of the open market, with all the risks and rewards it brings? A world in which nothing is certain but where fortunes may be made and lost and an infinite variety of possibilities exists? Or would you prefer the kinder, gentler certainties of a predictable, planned economy; a world in which everybody has a place and knows it. Choose wisely.

Friday, 1 September 2017

Britain, BC

Yesterday was the twentieth anniversary of the death of Diana, Princess of Wales; the People’s Patsy. Tony Bair must have thought all his birthdays had come at once; she was the talisman that allowed people to fall under the New Labour spell of introspection, the cult of the individual and the new age of careless platitude replacing wisdom. Okay, so maybe the epoch wasn’t conjured into being at that precise moment but I remember watching with some embarrassment as the British became, well, foreign.

Open grieving in the street, mass hysterical weeping, hugging complete strangers and ululating for the cameras; these were things we had formerly watched more emotional nationals doing. We British just didn’t do open displays of emotion; especially not over people we had never met. No, we were hard-bitten, cynical and renowned for the stiffness of our upper lips. Crying was for women and babies and grief was an intensely private, personal and internalised affair.

Maybe it wasn’t so, but it seems to me that Britain BC (Before Car-crash) was a more civilised, more orderly and generally better mannered nation. People generally got on pretty well and we didn’t have the sort of societal strife we now see after two decades AD (After Diana) and the Blair Witch Project. In these last twenty years we seem to have descended into a hell in which every possible minority form of existence is accorded parity with, if not supremacy over, the far greater and largely innocent majority, under threat of force of law. And while the government is strapped for cash, no expense is spared in policing dissent.

We have become weaker as a people, our identity has been fractured and continues to split along every more finely defined fault lines. Black against white, straight against gay, left against further left and islam against the lot. We have become so infantilised, our offence-seeking so legitimised that even the kind of idiocy flaunted openly by people like Dinah Mulholland is not only not ridiculed, but taken seriously and investigated as a hate crime. Think about that; having fun is now a hate crime. Thanks, Lady Di.

It is little wonder that the Brexit negotiations are at an apparent stalemate when so many have been taken in by the illusion propagated by the EU that every move we make, every thought we think is only permissible by the grace of the rights they have given us. AD Britain can conjure tears and protest at the drop of a hat. AD Britain willingly rejects independence, preferring to be nannied and coerced into submission. Submission, eh? No wonder islam gets such reverent assistance; it is the coming religion of the EU.

Britain, AD...

They say we won’t mark the 30th or the 40th anniversary of Diana’s death, but I say maybe we should. Future generations need to reminded how easily whole populations can be persuaded to act incoherently over insignificant events. No assault was launched, no Stormtroopers landed, but we were invaded by thoughts of inadequacy and interdependence as surely as if we had been brainwashed at gunpoint. We should always remember what Britain was like BC... and how it was eventually lost forever.

Tuesday, 29 August 2017

New policies for old?

Jeremy Corbyn’s new kinder, gentler politics are unravelling. It’ a shame, however, that as most people have the political memory of a goldfish and the concentration span of – ooh, look, squirrel! – he will be forgiven, as befits the son of god on earth. He has been spending his summer holiday doing what he does best: mingling with crowds of the confused, promising them that they will inherit the Earth, just as soon as he can persuade enough of the gullible to put him into office.

A man of principle, is his billing. And indeed he does have, it seems, many principles, all of them apparently worked out on the back of a fag packet and initiated by the merest hint that there may be votes in it. Like every other demagogue in history he seeks but one thing, to have his grubby paws on the levers of power, from which position he will proceed to pull those levers every which way... with the inevitable train crash as a result.

Don’t be fooled, chldren. That Werther’s Original stained beard and that jaunty communist cap; those baggy trainers and the engaging way he tells his little porky pies about how ‘Joan, the care assistant’ or ‘Harry, the police pensioner’ have written to ask him to ask Mrs May an embarrassing question every Wednesday are all smoke and mirrors. Behind the beguiling grandpa figure is a calculating, vote-hungry, still-angry, old-school commie, desperate to prove that real socialism – which, incidentally, has never been tried anywhere, ever, especially after it has failed – will surely work, given a chance.

Don’t give him that chance. Kids, remember the unaffordable tuition fee scrapping promise, which has now vanished into thin air along with its £100billion cost? How about his hard-Brexit, soft-Brexit, ever flexible policy which changes like a straw in the wind with every poll outcome; which one is it, Jeremy? What exactly IS Labour policy on enacting the outcome of the democratic vote of last year? How about the four new Bank Holidays he’s just pledged, at a price to you, the taxpayers of a mere £2billion-plus per day; how will they be paid for?

And just yesterday he appears to have said that we mustn’t blame islamists for supporting ISIS, an islamist organisation, hell bent on imposing sharia by violence. It’s merely a political view, as is his support of Hezbollah. I do hope – but don’t anticipate – he will express the same understanding of those who express views contrary to his left-wing fanaticism; oh, wait, of course, they are all neo-Nazis now, aren’t they? I forgot, mea culpa, my bad.

There isn’t a single tangible, workable thing about any of Labours populist policies that you can point to and say ‘that’ll do it’. I thought populism was a nasty, right-wing thing, you’re thinking, but no; think again. Rent caps, price freezes, hiking minimum wages, ending zero-hour contracts that even Labour and their supporters themselves use. Fixing education, transport, defence and the glorious socialist republican people’s monolith the NHS [peace be upon it] - all will be well if you just vote Steptoe.

Choose life...

If you think we currently have an actual Conservative Party in power, you’re an idiot. If you think that life in the UK is just peachy for everybody, you are an idiot. If you think that you can make people richer by legislating to increase wages you are an idiot. If you think that diversity is more important than competence you are an idiot. If you profit by working in the burgeoning offence-seeking industry without a sense of guilt, you are an idiot. And if you think that Jeremy Corbyn is the answer to your dumb, dumb existence, you are just one more Leninist useful idiot in a country being swamped by them.

Saturday, 26 August 2017

How does this help?

Dig coal out of the ground, likewise iron ore and use the two to make steel with which to build our world. Till the soil, cultivate crops and turn the produce into sustenance for the workers. Design things, erect factories, make those things and distribute them to where they are in demand. Teach young people what they need to know to be able to participate in the myriad activities that generate wealth. Also teach them how society works, and teach them their duties and responsibilities towards others.

Make, build, fix, deliver... and repeat. Busy hands, encouraged by the prospect of better lives, create riches, tangible riches that can be used to provide the less easily auditable services that are often a loss on the balance sheet. Hospitals to treat those who need it. A justice system that can be used to protect us all from the minority who can’t be persuaded to eschew their destructive urges. And a safety net of welfare and social care to look after those who simply cannot look after themselves.

Isn’t this the basis for a civilised society? Every piece of the jigsaw should contribute to the finished picture; you can’t just tip in the contents of half-finished jigsaws of a completely different image. The only way you can fit the alien pieces into the national canvas is by removing or deforming what was there before. Or by insisting that the corrupted and unpleasant mish-mash that results was what the box lid promised all along.

The picture may be continually evolving, but if it doesn’t improve it, it shouldn’t be in the box. The meddlesome imposition of ever more perverse ways of disposing of the wealth we create and of distorting the society we want to live in is destructive. The separation of rights from responsibilities by the ever more bizarre outcomes of the human rights industry is simply irresponsible. The insistence on enforcing some nebulous notion of ‘equality and diversity and inclusion’ is costly and destructive.

A society is not the same as a company and maybe profit and wealth aren’t the only metrics, but surely, like any successful enterprise, a nation should keep on asking, ‘how does this help’? How does it help that one ‘community’ is protected from criticism? How does it help that police forces seem determined to create and prosecute imaginary crimes under the label of hate? How does it help to insist that perceptions of gender identity that border on mental illness are not only normal, but should be promoted relentlessly among impressionable children?

We can't just keep on doing this.

If we are navigating choppy waters surely steadying the ship is what is required; not loading it up with ever more unstable elements. There is a highly visible and apparently growing segment of our society whose aims are unclear, but who relentlessly demonstrate, sometimes with menaces, for conflicting changes they can neither define nor safely bring about. Instead of indulging them we should be clinically examining their negative contributions to our national efforts and asking, quite firmly, how does this help? Because, if it doesn’t, it doesn’t belong. 

Wednesday, 23 August 2017

The Last

Today was a landmark day. The struggle is over and ahead we can clearly see the glorious future we have fought for; all equal under law, all equally cherished in humanity. Our horizons are limitless and as we join hands in a giant circle embracing the world you can feel the love, now that the Nazis have finally, finally, been defeated. This day will go down in history; this is the start of a new epoch. And yet it all started out so... ordinary.

In truth, life has been getting more and more difficult lately. The trains just don’t run any more and buses are hard to come by, although we managed to locally ‘nationalise’ a fleet as they were abandoned. The drivers, cowards to a man, just parked and fled when they encountered our daily protests, but that’s the extreme, far, ultra-right for you; no guts, no fight left in them. But still evil enough to salt the earth as they went, leaving factories unmanned and fields unharvested; only they knew how to work those things.

We helped ourselves of course, as is our creed; all for one and grab what you can. We knew that the evil fascists would bring the country to its knees and so it proved. Before the rise of the right we were one of the richest countries in the world, but it was all built on the back of slavery and colonialism; a price we knew we would have to repay one day. The capitalists just didn’t understand, but we began to put in place the mechanism to defeat them; to tear down their gilded walls and bring them to their knees.

What did they do? They took their gold and their white supremacist sentiments and set out to bankrupt the country. Bankers, scientists, engineers, builders... all the running dogs of the so called free market, who could not stomach our beautiful egalitarianism, left these islands of ours forever. But thankfully the teachers, the human resources and diversity experts, our trades union brothers and sisters and all the greens and vegans in the land stayed behind. And the precious jewel in our crown? The wonder that is the perilously underfunded NHS.

But still, even from beyond our shores, the evil Tories continued to wreck our cherished society, by forcing us to borrow ever more to keep us enslaved and further depress our standards of living. As the squeeze began to take effect we knew we had to keep on fighting for our freedoms. Together we, the Antifa and all our allies in the war against hate, pressurised what was left of government to enshrine in sacred law a definition of hate that could be weaponised on a whim.

All those years of getting our people into place; Common Purpose, the muslim brotherhood, committed Marxists and feminists, the rainbow people of the LGBT coalition... and Liberal Democrats. Finally, it paid off. There was no way back for the fascists. Not that there was anything much for them to come back to; they took it all.

But what of today, you ask? Today was wonderful beyond all expectation. It began as usual with the daily assembly in Trafalgar Square, where the toppled wreckage of Nelson’s column sat in silent testimony to the power we now hold. From there the march along the usual route to Westminster, via The Mall, the burned-down barracks of Horse Guards Parade, the rubble of Downing Street and the ransacked wasteland of the Imperial War Museum. And then we saw him...

No more fighting...

At first it was with disbelief but then, as one, the crowd recognised the man we had all been looking for. Rumours had spread that he was in hiding, wearing a mask, trying to find a way out of the country. But with all ports shut down and airports at a standstill, it was only a matter of time. And now we had him. Against our numbers and our righteous belief he had no defence and we hunted him down, like the animal he was. And now, as our brave band of brothers and sisters disperse to begin our foraging, our victory is complete. From the scaffold on the last plinth in Parliament Square, where the fat man used to stand, swings the wretched body of the last white man on Earth.

Friday, 18 August 2017

Statues

Trump is what you get when you offer people no alternative. Things may not have been perfect back in the good old days when we grew up (this is a moveable phenomenon; one’s childhood was invariably a happier time, when we were blissfully ignorant of reality) but at least we perceived a sort of balance. Most people had jobs, raised their families, had ambitions and pursued them, and the left and right were a relative minority of crackpots who believed the world was out to get them unless they struck first

But, conspiracy or not, planned or otherwise, deliberate or by sheer happenstance, the centre ground drifted inexorably to the left. Disguised as peace, equality, diversity, inclusion, multiculturalism, vibrancy or one of the hundreds of epithets used to entice new followers to the socialist big-state dream, the left-bound limp continued. Oh, the left? They’re harmless enough; just a bunch of old hippies and young student revolutionaries. They’ll grow out of it... or die off.

But they didn’t, did they? Emboldened by their acceptance in the upper circles of governments worldwide, as society became softer and weaker, they took advantage and began to shape the developed world in their own image. Live-and-let-live gave way to live as we tell you to live and without the necessity to strive for survival, our relative prosperity enabled alternative lifestyles, suckling from the teat of state, yet without gratitude; in fact with an attitude of entitlement. Then they began to bite the hand that fed.

White supremacy? That’s the latest attack line is it? How desperate is that? Look, we already accepted that in your eyes we are, all of us who pay the actual taxes, ‘literally’ Hitler. We have taken on the chin your repeated accusations of racism, sexism, homophobia and gender bigotry. But the fact remains that via groups like Antifa, Hope-not-Hate, Unite Against Fascism, BLM, et al, it is whites who have borne the brunt of a sustained ideological attack in all western societies, simply for being white.

And now they are tearing down the statues, erasing history, fomenting yet more antipathy. The fear of being on the wrong side of the argument even cowed Theresa May into saying she saw ‘no equivalence between those who propound fascist views and those who oppose them’. Really? How about an equivalence between, say, muslim murderers mowing down people in Barcelona and fascism? No? Of course not, because the left will never condemn a cause they have espoused as their own. White supremacy? How about brown supremacy?

"Britain has a problem with British Pakistani men raping and exploiting white girls" said Sarah Champion, for which she was forced to ‘resign’. David Lammy and his morose band of useful idiots sign a letter condemning an article addressing the muslim problem. And then, Barcelona. The now regular diet of islamic violence has been horrific, unrelenting and has brought with it an endless stream of condemnation... not of islam, the faith that all of the terrorists hold, but of  islamophobia.

Statues did this?

Daily, the left and all its factions rally round their unpatriotic flags and tell each other that they aren’t worthy and all whites should be shot. They form mobs whenever a noticeably different opinion rears its fragile head and use violence to suppress dissent. Is it just possible that sympathy for a right-of-centre viewpoint is far bigger than they had anticipated and bubbles just below the surface? The backlash is coming - people voted for Trump because they didn't want to vote for the alternative. Because, against the real enemies of justice and peace, there IS no alternative.

Thursday, 10 August 2017

Monkeys? What has this to do with monkeys?

If we evolved from monkeys, how come there are still monkeys? If the Conservatives are so economically competent, how come they’ve had to borrow so much money? Yeah, well if monopolies are so bad, how come there is only one Monopolies Commission? Answer me that! These and many more are the afterthought clinchers, the killer responses that you thought of just after the debate ended. They are also – like so many of these killer retorts – mostly as insubstantial as the rest of the preceding argument. Oft as not you later realise they were as fallacious as all that went before.

Thus has the Brexit war proceeded; from who is going to staff our NHS and who is going to pick our fruit, as one trite objection has surfaced and become mundane by repetition, another has sprung up to nudge it off the headlines. Damn you, employment figures, damn you, financial Armageddon and your insistence on not showing up to the party we held in your honour. Why can’t we get Brexiteers to admit that they were wrong? So very, very wrong; can’t they see how insignificant, ignorant, xenophobic, small-minded and... and... just wrong, they are?

In the face of all this we have offered up a wry smile, pointed to the Brexit scoreboard (52:48, by the way, in case you’d forgotten) and got on with our lives. Because, while the overall demeanour of the average ardent EU-phile has been one of gloom, despondency and downright, fist-balled, pessimistic fury, the average Outer has largely carried on regardless with a spring in his step and  jaunty little whistle. Like watching a tantrum-fuelled toddler thrashing about, we find the whole situation hilarious. While we might express some concern for those who are merely confused, when it comes to seeing those who had assumed ultimate authority over all our lives suddenly losing their grip, what’s not to like?

They’ve put their oh-so-clever heads together, they who have long peddled Project Fear and launched their latest afterthought clincher, to wit: “If Brexit is such a good idea, give me one tangible, practical example of the benefits.” It’s everywhere right now, that challenge. But Just as they misread the mood of the people on whom were imposed illiberal thought policing, multicultural mayhem and the idiocy of diversity above all, they have misread the battlefield they are playing on. They are going to be so cross when they find out.

‘Studies’ show how low-information voters defy the carefully constructed machinations of those who know so much better... But (and this especially includes all who make a living from trying to understand how people work ) those same studies often backfire and demonstrate nothing so much as how a closed mind – the very thing they accuse us of – is incapable of understanding how people work. Philosophers, ‘humanists’, economists, politicians, psychologists, ‘thought leaders’... the list goes on; the experts are revealed to be charlatans and self-interested frauds.

Brexit isn’t a tangible, practical thing; it doesn’t come with a list of ‘benefits’. Brexit has revealed itself to be more of an emotional tool and it has shone a light on much that we long suspected. On completion of the ‘divorce’ process there will be no miracle new way; nobody expects that. But there won’t be a cliff-edge disaster either because life will go on and opportunistic humans will make the most of it and yes, that includes even the remainers who seem so desperate right now for it to fail.


We are sanguine in the face of your ceaseless insults because what Brexit has shown is that the power can be prised from the grasp of the elites and that while democracy may be far from perfect it still gives us the freedom to exercise our will. And more, the reaction against Brexit has revealed just how much contempt those elites – academic, political, sociological, etc – hold for we ‘little people’. We now know, if we hadn’t known before, that you can’t trust a disinterested third party with the personal freedoms you hold so precious. You wanted a tangible benefit of voting for Brexit? That alone is priceless.

Friday, 4 August 2017

It’s not you, it’s me

We’ve been together a long time, you and I and I still love you, I really do, only... Only, it’s different now. When I look at my life now I see I have lost myself; I no longer know where I fit in and I seem to exist only to keep you in the manner to which you have – all too doggedly – become accustomed. No matter what the issue, it’s always about what you want and frankly it’s just been easier to give in and let you have your way.

But it’s more than that. When we first married our fortunes together, when we first tied that knot, I was the dashing young beau, headstrong and fearless and you let me lead the way. But over the years our union has soured and more often than not I feel like the hired help, the junior partner, a mere possession. Or maybe even your slave? You spend my money without ever consulting me. You decide the when, what, where and how of our relationship while I, like a faithful but very tired old gun dog, creakily pull myself together and go out to work.

Once, we laughed and cried together, we stood together, we were as one, but I was unhappy inside almost all of the time. I had my reservations from the start, but I threw in my hand because you made promises. You kept all your other friends while I abandoned mine to stay close to you. And anyway, you never liked my crowd, did you? After a while it was just easier for me to let my old life go and become the butt of your jokes. Oh yes, don’t think I was never hurt when you made me dance to your tune and then mocked me to entertain your cabal of intimates.

And there’s that as well, intimacy. The last time we moved together was so long ago, but still I endured your increasingly open contempt; I became the whipping boy for all of your own inadequacies. I became a hollow shell in comparison to what I once was. So it is time to go our own ways; it is time to part. I wanted a simple, straight down the middle, no blame divorce, but even that isn’t good enough, is it? You want to take everything, including what I brought to the relationship.

You say you want the house, the business... the lot. You say I’m nothing without you. And you know what? I don’t care any more. All I need is the clothes I stand up in and to have a clean break. You can’t take what I know, you can’t take my abilities. I can stand on my own two feet; after all, I did it for years before you tried to break me. And that’s another thing - you can’t take my spirit; whatever you believe, we are better off apart.


I know your new best friend, Mark Carney, is still trying to blame me, but it’s not my fault and the sooner you let me go, the happier we all will be. So in words you will understand I bid you adieu, addio, despedida, farväl, afscheid, αποχαιρετισμός, сбогом, búcsú, pożegnanie and auf wiedersehen, pet. So long and farewell, EU; don’t stay in touch. 

Friday, 28 July 2017

Mistaken Identity

Identity politics; it’s barmy, isn’t it? I mean, it’s hard enough some days to get through the day without having to worry about whether you’re using the correct pronouns when addressing others. And will you unintentionally offend strangers by appropriating their culture, whatever form that takes? Do Americans get miffed when they see people of other nations wearing tee-shirts and baseball caps?

And what about what’s written on that tee-shirt? Dressing your five-year old in a pink tee with ‘Princess’ in sparkly sequins might upset a minor royal; you never know. It will certainly enrage a feminazi, but then pretty much anything does. Mind you, this is fine because it is always hilarious to see a grown woman having a rant about somebody else’s innocent child and being utterly serious about it.

Talking of funny, one of the ironically wry things about identity issues is how ridiculous you look and sound sometimes when you both assume your identity and defend it. Whatever happened to ‘anything goes’? I mean, nowadays, in some societies a glimpse of stocking is looked on as something shocking; heaven knows! But some identities are more equal than others and one of those seems to be to have no recognisable individual identity at all.

There is a big debate in the west about the wearing of the burka; something that seems to be far less popular in many all-out muslim countries. Quite apart from the alien nature of this practice, which is seen as a deliberate provocation to many, hiding your face is not something we are comfortable with, here in the civilised world; although there are a fair few prominent feminists who we could bear to see a lot less of.

When you hide your identity, especially as a means of asserting it, it can arouse passionate opposition. What are you hiding? Why? And who are you, behind the veil, anyway? On one occasion recently, matters got a little out of hand. A man walked out of a city centre pub after a long, liquid lunch and on hitting the fresh air became a little dazed and confused. When he noticed a burka-clad figure walking ahead of him he rushed up and grabbed the figure in a bear hug.


As the burkee struggled the drunk clung on all the harder and started to laugh. Underneath the burka, legs were kicking and the head was jerking from side to side as the captive struggled, ineffectually, to break free. Eventually the man let go, still laughing and the burka-clad figure stumbled to the ground, gasping for breath. The man looked down and said “Not so tough now, are we, Batman?”

Thursday, 27 July 2017

Electrickery

So, the future is bright; the future is electric? The government announcement that by 2040 the petrolhead will be dead has garnered much comment over the last 24 hours, much of it based, quite rightly, on who is going to pay for it all. Well, who do you think? The government has no money of its own so this is yet another pesky green scheme whose targets will quietly be pushed further into the future and whose benefits may turn out to be minimal.

Nebulously linking that long-ago discredited 40,000 premature deaths to the use of fossil fuels for transport is just another project fear tactic. If you really want people to switch you need to pay them, not punish them. Introducing punitive taxation to now reverse previous government policy is showing too much of the stick and far too little carrot. With oil and gas more plentiful and thus cheaper than it has been for a long time, surely the shorter term answer is to continue to develop emission control.

But research into making safer oil-fuelled engines will stall if there is no future in it; the new gold rush will be battery technology and all the eggs will go into the single precarious basket of an all-electric world. I have no objection to electricity; indeed, I make my living from it. What bothers me is how ready those who lead us are to purchase new clothes for the emperor, without regard for the crowds who have to watch him parade in them.

Where, for a start, is all the ‘leccy’ going to come from? What if I don’t have a driveway and have to park my car on the roadside a hundred metres from where I live; how do I charge up? I can fill my tank in five minutes; what will the queues be like at the charging stations of the future? And will fast-charging affect battery life? Talking of battery life, there are studies that suggest the lifetime environmental cost of battery power may actually be more harmful than doing what we currently do. Has this been properly investigated before policies have been formulated? I very much doubt it.

Nobody knows the future, but we have survived the past; the devil we know. The taxes raised by selling petrol and diesel and by levying a road fund licence will vanish, so how will the government recoup lost revenues? Charging for road use, via traffic-strangling toll collection? Or by mileage, in which case how will this be monitored; trackers in every vehicle? Will our cars become part of the Internet of Things and if so with what consequences for individual liberty?

And sooner or later, you can guarantee it, somebody is going to claim that electric cars give you cancer. With more electricity around there will be more electromagnetic radiation. With more use of rare elements in batteries, more people will come into contact with materials never normally encountered before. What of those who make the batteries; what of those who dispose of them? Has anybody even thought of this?


No doubt all these obstacles and more will arise and be surmounted, but in just 23 years? That seems like a lifetime – in fact it is - if you are in the 18-24 group who will uncritically applaud this apparently planet-saving move. But in infrastructure spending terms this could put HS2 in the shade and that’s been hovering about for decades already and still nobody knows what, if any, real economic benefits it may bring. Are you sure you are ready to pay for all this, kids? Until I can see a saving, I’m sticking to diesel.

Wednesday, 26 July 2017

Plodding along

You would like to think that the police, with their much-vaunted initiatives to keep a finger on the pulse would know better. You would think that the police, who are supposed to both represent us and understand us, would think twice before they publicised the extent to which they have become tools; tools not for law and order, but for the furtherance of political agenda, criminalising all dissenters from the new orthodoxy.

No doubt Wiltshire Plod thought that getting their twitter intern to post, un-proof-read, an antagonistic tweet was a good idea. And that the use of a couple of iPhone emojis would impart an air of being down with the zeitgeist. But ‘your’ for ‘you are’ and ‘boys & gals’? Who else wonders whether they were paying attention during their gender sensitivity re-programming session? Here’s the ‘offending’ tweet, suggesting a reach way beyond even their Thought Police competence and budget.


Naturally, Twitter went to town; if there is one tradition that runs strong in this country it is pricking the pomposity of those who seek to bully and clumsily impose authority from afar. The police have long been accused of detachment from the front line and disengagement from the policed; this could have been an opportunity for them to admit their mistakes and play along.

But no, lessons have not been learned. After a day of light-hearted mild abuse and the odd more strongly worded criticism they got what they thought was a grown-up to write a response. Talk about putting out the fire with petrol. This sinister warning shows a grave misreading of the public mood and an utter lack of understanding about who or what controls and operates social media.


If the threatening language was intended to make us feel like criminals it worked. I now understand that anybody who dares to criticise the official line is as bad as a murderer or a rapist; not a muslim rape-gang rapist, of course, they are off limits to the long arm of the stupid. Quite apart from the sheer idiocy of pushing back against an online presence many times their size and geographically spread worldwide, the police seem to have forgotten that they police by our consent.

When they left the beat they began to lose our trust and respect. When they began to strut about like paramilitaries they put themselves apart from the public they used to be a part of. When they start to openly threaten potentially large numbers of ordinary people just having a laugh, they have exceeded their remit. The crowd turns on the slightest of whims; those size ten boots could so easily be on other feet.

Tuesday, 25 July 2017

Flip!

There is a healthy living to be made by selling out the human race for a bag of magic beans labelled 'Social Justice'. The latest burgeoning sector of the industry, drumming up trade for human rights activists and their camp followers is the gender-bending world of the non-binary brigade. Justine Greening has aided their crusade for the massive majority of the population to pay compensatory homage to their demands to be accepted as an utterly normal manifestation of human variety.

But, you see, ‘normal’ implies conformation to some model which occurs more frequently than others. Synonyms for normal are: usual, standard, typical, common and so on, but as gender dysphoria genuinely affects a minuscule proportion, then by a simple mathematical reality it is far from normal. This doesn’t mean that those with genuine issues shouldn’t be treated fairly and equitably by society, but giving people licence to declare a change of gender at whim is going to open the floodgates, just as defining hurt feelings as hateful has fuelled an imagined surge in hate crimes.

Nobody knows how many people are affected; some medical estimates put it as 0.01% but as transactivism has risen and the young are being persuaded, as with sexual preference, to give-it-a-go, try-before-you-buy, there are claims of it reaching 1%, a hundred times higher. Given that for flu an occurrence of 400 cases in a population of 100,000 (that’s 0.4 %) would be labelled an epidemic what are we standard models to make of a sudden massive increase in instances of trans-gender claimants? One thing is for sure; public money is bound to be involved somewhere.

I’m sure all of this is occurring organically, at least I’d like to be sure. I’d like to think this is simple a more open society allowing people to express themselves, explore their identity and find their place in the world, but is it? Some may use the phrase ‘cultural Marxism’ but that’s way too conspiracy-theory for me; I don’t credit human beings with the ability to maintain conspiracies beyond a tiny number of people. But it’s definitely a strain of leftism and fuelled by the notion that everybody should be allowed to be who or whatever they wish to be and if there is no profit in it, the rest of us should pay.

One thing is for sure and that is political interference is unlikely to improve things for anybody, gender-fluid or otherwise. A modernising Tory party loses its core support over this sort of thing and anyway, Labour does this stuff so much better, appealing as it does to a constituency all too ready to throw away what has worked for the many in favour of what might gain the votes of the few. But were does it all end?


When we made it easier for people to go soft-bankrupt more defaulted on their credit card bills. When uncontested divorce was made easier the divorce rate increased. When we made it acceptable to live on welfare forever we created an underclass of state dependents. Let people buy their own homes and we end up with a housing shortage. There is a clear direction of travel here; increase apparent freedoms and we shackle ourselves to runaway trains leading to unknown destinations. Will gender-flipping one day become compulsory? It's not going to end well.

Monday, 24 July 2017

Scared? Damn right we’re scared

There is something sinister going on with islam and the authorities’ refusal to tak hat is perceived as a threat to our way of life seriously. Say that there are non-muslim no-go areas and you are shouted down with screeches of ‘racist!’  Point to the evidence and if they can’t ignore you, you hear guff about payback for colonialism, the fatuous mantra that ‘immigration is a net benefit’ and of course, diversity. How about this 2016 piece about the new diversity of SavileTown in West Yorkshire?

Yes, I know the Daily Mail is regarded as a banned publication by the bastions of free speech at the Ministry of Truth – the Guardian/BBC Axis – but this isn’t a hate piece. This is what millions of ordinary people see while they are hearing about our wonderful inclusive multiculturality. It’s the sort of cognitive onslaught that might be endured while undergoing brainwashing in a 1960s-style psychological thriller. No wonder people are afraid.

Yes afraid; not because of any imagined, hyped-up, far-right propaganda but through direct experience. We see barbaric acts of terror our screens daily. We have been subjected to relentless images of slaughter of the most brutal kind. And we hear daily how an enormous proportion of the ‘muslim community’ simply refuses to condemn any of it. For every reformist muslim paraded on television in refutation of our suspicions, there are thousands who nod in silent approval and thousands more who are happy to take to street praying in an insensitive and open act of defiance.

But we are the bad guys. The Metropolitan police published a report on hate crime against London’s muslim communities (I don’t recall seeing anything similar on hate crime against all of civilisation) in which they spell out what they regard as islamophobia (page 6).According to the definition they use, there are 8 components of islamophobia to wit:
  1. Islam is seen as a monolithic bloc, static and unresponsive to change.
  2. Islam is seen as separate and 'other'. It does not have values in common with other cultures, is not affected by them and does not influence them.
  3. Islam is seen as inferior to the West. It is seen as barbaric, irrational, primitive and sexist.
  4. Islam is seen as violent, aggressive, threatening, supportive of terrorism and engaged in a 'clash of civilisations'.
  5. Islam is seen as a political ideology and is used for political or military advantage.
  6. Criticisms made of the West by Islam are rejected out of hand.
  7. Hostility towards Islam is used to justify discriminatory practices towards Muslims and exclusion of Muslims from mainstream society.
  8. Anti-Muslim hostility is seen as natural or normal.

Well, the first six seem to be the entirely normal observations of what islam actually is in the west and the last two appear to be the almost justifiable reactions of some in seeking to protect themselves from further assaults on our own culture. As a small, but typical, example, take the case of the woman suing a school for banning full face coverings. This is nothing to do with religion and everything to do with an invading ideology imposing its will on the kuffar. If they can ban the burka in Morocco why should such consideration be deemed oppressive in Britain? But what do we do? We attempt to place more and more muslims in positions of power over us; the police are also guilty of this.


It is as if the police force, who once it was once assumed used to defend without prejudice the law of the land now seems determined to thwart those aims. Bandits wear face masks; bank robbers, rapists; villains of all persuasions. In our culture (and how come there are no white British ‘community leaders’?) hiding the face is a mark of shame. Maybe the police should wear masks now? Fight back? We aren’t done fighting among ourselves.

Friday, 21 July 2017

Always look on the bright side

David Davis is in bullish mood, as befits his Brexit Bulldog persona portrayed on Radio 4’s Dead Ringers. Meanwhile the malcontents of Remain spin yarns of endless protracted ‘transition deals’ which sound like nothing so much as the case of Jarndyce v Jarndyce in Bleak House, whereby the lawyers effectively spend all there was to be inherited. It’s as if some would prefer to see the country punished; brought to its knees in chains before the high and mighty EU and becoming a burden, rather than running free and becoming richer, to the benefit of all.

But this is the great human dichotomy, the contrast between optimism and pessimism played out every day on both the national stage and at the kitchen sink. Glass half full, glass half empty – for every positive outlook there is a Newtonian opposite reaction to dampen the mood. In every cloud, some find the silver lining; and while the optimist proclaims we live in the best of all possible worlds, the pessimist fears this is true.

Take the climate debate, for instance: None can know the future but just as preachers prophecy the end of days and the heavenly hereafter, the climatists claim to see the fireball of hell that awaits us – global warming – and set to appeasing Gaia by using yet more of her resources to build massive altars on which to sacrifice the nation’s wealth. Christopher Brooker’s excellent article is a must-read for those who see the futility at the heart of every shame-driven green project.

Where are the cheery bright-side observers? We need more men like Joe; the eternal optimist. At every bad situation he would always say “It could have been worse.”. The Somerset Levels floods? According to Joe it was a mere blip. The great financial crash? A simple correction. “It could have been worse” he blithely recited, with a grin, “It didn’t affect me at all, because I had no investments and nothing to lose.”


His three best friends hated this cheery acceptance of every ill wind as bringing sub-optimal gloom, so they came up with a story they thought not even Joe could find a worse scenario for. The next Saturday, only two of his friends showed up for their regular tee time. When Joe arrived’ slightly late, he looked at his watch and asked “Where's Geoff?”

One of the others said ”Didn't you hear? Yesterday, Geoff found his wife in bed with another man, shot them both, and then turned the gun on himself.” Joe looked shocked, but then shook his head and declared “That’s terrible... but it could have been worse.” His friends were aghast and one asked, “How the hell could it have been worse? Your best friend just killed himself, his wife and her lover!” And Joe replied, “Yes, but if it had happened two days ago, it would have been me!”

Thursday, 20 July 2017

Go Juggle!

Bread and circuses, as the satirical poet Juvenal wrote, was a metaphor for the practice of governments, rather than accomplishing worthwhile reform, of appeasing a selfish population and distracting them from harsh reality. Nowadays it is more akin to cake and condemnation, as developed world populations have more than ever before, yet are still not satisfied. And who better to condemn than those who appear to have even more still? To this end the publishing of the BBC ‘Rich List’ is a master stroke.

I feel sorry for each and every one of them – yes, even Gary Lineker – their reward for years of achievement being to taste the bitter wrath of the envious. Next stop will be publishing their tax returns so that the aggrieved can ignore the massive contributions they make to state coffers and instead focus on every penny they have managed, perfectly legally, to avoid. And why stop at the BBC stable: next up, leaders, administrators, moguls and magi will all be in the spotlight of public derision, purely for having slithered up that greasy pole.

On top of the basic malcontent, the media has cleverly contrived to make the BBC affair all about some imaginary gender/race/diversity pay gap, but it’s really about nothing so much as putting a group in the stocks for entertainment while absolutely nothing is done to change a single thing. Hot on the heels of Lineker-gate comes the revelation that some workers – who have yet to even contemplate retirement seriously - will only have twenty years to plan to keep working until the age of 68 before becoming a welfare waif. Outrage!

But nobody does angry injustice quite so well as the daily-multiplying ex-residents of Grenfell Tower. Not content with surviving the fire, by proxy in some cases, they are now determined to talk themselves into disability through post-traumatic-somebody-else’s-stress-disorder and demand that official after official sent to help them is sacked, dismissed or otherwise shamed. In this way they can prolong the perceived hurt and turn their salvation into madness; the kind of madness only lots of money and lots of attention can assuage.

But look, I mean really, take a good long hard look at yourself. If you are today raging against the BBC, the Kensington councillors, the hateful, hateful future government who might not give you a pittance until you work another few months, then you are where the fault lies. If you look at others earning more and think that they are the problem, treat yourself to this Spectator illustration, wherein a couple earning £70k pay tax enough to subsidise a couple on £17k to have pretty much the same lifestyle.


When life gives you lemons; lemonade. When you are schooled at Hard Knock High; knock back. One day you may discover that while reality sucks it’s going to suck a whole lot harder if you give the job of sucking to somebody else. Suck it up, snowflake, you get one life and it is nobody else’s responsibility to make it a good one. You want your daily bread? Bake it yourself. You want your circus? Go juggle.

Wednesday, 19 July 2017

Mad Men

Picture the scene: A child awakes to the sound of a running engine. From the window she sees her drunk father, slumped over the front steps, a bottle clutched in his hand. Behind him the door of his pickup truck is open and the engine idles. The girl goes to her mother’s bedroom where her mother, surrounded by what the newspapers like to call ‘drug paraphernalia’ is in a stupor and unresponsive to her child’s entreaties. She wakes her younger brother and while he is dressing she dials a number on the house phone. Cut to the girl and her brother sitting on the sofa. The doorbell rings, she answers and a large clown fills the doorway. The theme music swells “I’m loving it!” sings the familiar voice while a narrator describes MacDonald’s new home delivery service. Boom!

I like it; it’s no worse than the sort of stereotypes used by advertisers everywhere. Unfit parents? No problem; Maccy D’s got this. Or how about this funny comercial for Audi in China? (Go on, watch it) What’s wrong? It’s funny. Ah, maybe that is what’s wrong. Humour, almost by necessity, has a human subject; the errant husband, the idle child, the nagging wife, the intemperate vicar and there is no end to the chuckles to be had at the strange ways of ‘foreigners’, if that word is still legal. But the holy scriptures of the powers of PC decree that nobody must ever again be offended, thus all laughter must cease.

The Advertising Standards Authority is going to get tough on stereotyping. In other words they are going to reach into your televisual world and suck the joy out of it. No more mocking, joshing, ribbing, poking, or tickling of ribs. All future portrayals of persons of whatever shape, size, gender or origin must henceforth avoid inaccurately labelling human characteristics as remotely amusing. Don’t these virtue-signalling morons at the ASA have real jobs to do? I thought their remit was to ensure advertising was legal, decent honest and truthful; not wholesome, sterile, inoffensive and utterly dull.

Stereotypes exist for a reason, the reason being that most of us, inadvertently or otherwise, conform to them. But advertising stereotypes are not intended to portray anybody in any particular light, rather to cynically use pre-existing conceptions and – especially with humour – appeal to a bit of the brain that says ‘drink me’, or preferably ‘buy me, then drink me’. The Alice in Wonderland realm of the Mad Men is a bustling hive of subversive humour, cynical manipulation and appeals to the psyche; their sole purpose is to sell. And if efforts like this second Chinese example (go on!) do the trick, where’s the harm?

Good clean fun!

Racist, you say? Well, try making an interesting, re-watchable, memorable, commercial that is politically and factually correct in every detail, offends nobody, doesn’t schmaltz up the screen and doesn’t make you want to stab yourself in the eye. I’ll be waiting over here, chuckling at feckless dads, overworked multi-tasking mums and overbearing bosses... and not believing for one moment that they are meant to represent real life. 

Tuesday, 18 July 2017

On Track

Some stuff has been agreed about HS2, but unless you are directly affected you won’t really care. Obviously if you have recently bought a new house in Sheffield, or you have spent forty-plus years farming a certain acreage of land, the effects of the declared route will be potentially devastating but hey, people survive earthquakes, floods, overwhelming forest fires and so on, so you are expected to take it on the chin, relocate and carry on.

But apart from the relatively few, sitting where the tracks may one day be, the only cost is the headline capital expenditure. Of course the projected £55billion might be better spent elsewhere; it could pay off the laughable Brexit ‘divorce bill’, or it could quiet the public service unions for a couple of weeks, or it could even help to mollify Nicola Spudgun’s incessant whining, although that is entirely debateable; she seems to exist to complain.

But of course it won’t be; that is the project won’t, as it were, be derailed over current spending concerns because this is ‘investment’ and therefore good spending. At least it is touted that way. It will bring inestimable benefits, they say. But to whom? Yes, there will be employment, but how much of that will go to foreign contractors, or taken on by migrant workers? How much of the huge sum of wages will find itself not invested locally but sent abroad?

It is scarcely creditable that a golden opportunity to train up our own will be missed – over the course of the project a whole generation of new civil engineers, project managers, construction workers and on and on, could be built up – but missed it will be. Too hard, they will say, to try and convert the recalcitrant, idle British from welfare to work. Too easy, they will discover, to go for the short-term cheaper option. And this is the great tragedy of the British state.

Is it a lack of confidence in our own? Is it kow-towing to Brussels and free movement? Is it, genuinely, a bizarre commitment to diversity at any cost? This apparent abandonment of all the things we used to be good at is part of the despair that my generation feels when they look at how our country is turning out. And in part it might explain some of the attraction of Jeremy Corbyn, who talks the talk of Britishness while at the same time condoning an economic ideology that would prove ruinous.

The tangible direct benefits of a finished HS2 are nebulous. In the decades it will take to complete, the aims set out some decades ago will be half a century out of date by the time they come to fruition. Nobody with any experience of human caprice claims that degree of prescience. But the potential benefits of putting the British first during the period of investment will be lost in our inability to discriminate in their favour. If we don’t start to right the wrongs of the last twenty years, very soon there will be no point.


HS2 - what it definitely WON'T look like

That £55billion (but of course it will really be many times that amount) could go to buy 350 of the new £150million-a-pop fighters, or half that number and the platforms to carry them. Or it could be used to build hospitals, schools, or reintroduce actual policing. It could even be put towards reversing the sudden declining life expectancy... or curing cancer. But it won’t be, will it? Like every other national ‘investment’ opportunity, it will be misspent, misappropriated and basically pissed up the wall until the day they abandon it, unfinished, five times over budget and twenty years too late.

Monday, 17 July 2017

If she could turn back time...

Well, they’re back. Tony Blair, Stephen Kinnock and their moribund troupe of Remoaners are popping up everywhere, determined to thoroughly piss on the chips of all who wish to release us from the deadly chokehold of the EU. Project Fear, despite several charges on many fronts did little to dampen our ardour and if anything strengthened the resolve to leave; especially when George Osborne’s dire predictions failed to come true.

When economic Armageddon didn’t materialise and the drip, drip, drip of bad business news items was regularly cancelled out by prominent figures breaking ranks and declaring bonanzas a different tack was required. So they waded in with charges of racism. Shame on you, they cried, tish and fie and away with your xenophobia. Surely, they reasoned, if we malign their desires for sovereignty as little more than open hatred for other nationalities, they will cease to clamour for independence.

It didn’t work. So they said: ah, but we can already control our borders anyway; we just choose not to. And think of the farmers, they alarumed – with no easterners to pull their carrots the crops will rot in the fields and a pestilence will stalk the land. Bollocks, we said. But, but they sound-bit back: ‘nobody voted to become poorer’. But, but, we said, we don’t care. Bummer, they said, we need to find another chink in their armour of indifference to our pro-supranational zeal.

So, with a stirring Teutonic chorus of Ode to Joy – for let us not be fooled that the EU is anything other than the Fourth Reich – on came the spear carriers and assorted supporting cast, with their handy one-liners to pour scorn on the very notion that the UK could even survive in any civilised fashion outside the work camps of greater Germany. Barnier, Verhofstadt, Juncker, Merkel and Uncle Tom Macron and all, merrily singing – for once – to the same tune.

Then came the disparaging claims on social media that, ‘funny, you don’t hear many leavers these days, do you?’ Accusations of buyers’ remorse flew thick and thicker as they challenged Brexiteers to prove they knew exactly why they had voted leave; we told them what we’d always told them and poll after poll showed a majority in the country was heartily sick of the whole debate and just wanted to get on with departure. ‘But how shall we leave?’ they asked, ‘hard or soft’. We just leave, we said.

And so, finally, slowly, some toe-dipping into the murky water of negotiation began, at which the EU team scoffed; whatever you want, we’re not letting it happen. We’ll walk, said the team; you can’t said the enemy. Well, offer us something, said we; nope, said they. Then Tony Blair began hearing the voices again; the messianic mania is strong in this one. Look, he opined, but nobody was listening.


They were too busy deploying Project Pity. The Tory Party is in disarray; they are briefing against each other; there are leadership challenges... the latest attempt to pour scorn is to go around telling any news outlet that will listen, that they feel sorry for Theresa May. Poor Tess, they say, she has no feeling but despair, no empathy save that for a faded old flag, no allies, no friends; beset by a sea of troubles. I bet she wishes she could turn the clock back; what a shame the new Doctor Who has already been cast.

Thursday, 13 July 2017

In da hood

The latest employment statistics are being bandied about; lowest unemployment for 42 years, apparently. But of course, the Labour Party doesn’t like it – it’s the wrong kind of full employment, they say and then cite falling living standards, portray more state funding for everything than at any time in the past as ‘cuts’ and generally whip up the fervour of discontent. How the memories fade, eh? Anybody remember the last time a left-wing Labour government was in power?

Compared to the late seventies, the 21st century is a cornucopia of riches beyond avarice. Walk down any supermarket aisle; the biggest problem today must be which of twenty identical products at food prices cheaper than at any time in history do you want to complain about. And the internet! My god, for some of us a hoop and a stick was once the height of technology and we had just two television channels, which broadcast for about six hours a night tops.

Today’s kids have instant and largely free access to all the world’s wonders and still they are not satisfied, using it to organise demonstrations about their meagre and cruelly shrivelled potentials; children pay for nothing today, not even music, which used to cost us a week’s paper round money for one lousy single. The closest we had to streaming was ‘dial-a-disc’. But none of this is good enough and the spirit of revolt still beats in revolutionary breasts stirred by the great tenets of the age: “Equality! Diversity! More free stuff!” They cry, as they don the mantle of victimhood.

Over the last day or so I have been gently joshing with a no doubt charming, caring, intelligent young lady who – possibly because she has yet to accrue the self-critical hindsight which comes with age – cannot grasp that there are very good reasons why some people would prefer to work with people more like themselves. Many immigrants to foreign lands tend to  congregate and work together and certain parts of the muslim community are almost exclusively monocultural, but when it comes to whitey we must diversify or be crucified.

Confident in the certainties of the doctrines of multiculturalism – a system that has failed throughout Europe – she has been insisting that even small firms must have diversity at the forefront of their thinking to the point that employing somebody you feel you can get on with is practically racism and that you should instead hire the one with the shiniest CV, the blacker the better, even if he despises you and your white privilege. I am, of course, reading between the lines.


But she was having none of it and instead of quietly accepting that to prefer the company of your own is not bigotry, merely preference, she then moved on to the sexism segment of the leftist war manual: ‘ways to defeat the patriarchy’. Honestly, shop stewards were bad enough when they were merely jumped-up little Napoleons, but who would willingly employ one with a race and gender agenda to cleave to? No wonder we have the wrong kind of employment – our poor productivity figures are certainly impacted by the cost of policing work policies which seem to do nothing so much as churn out yet more unemployable victims.

Wednesday, 12 July 2017

Equality? Why set your sights so low?

I got into a war of words yesterday about ‘nigger’ and its connotations. Actually, it was more of a skirmish with no blood drawn and despite the antagonist wanting to paint ‘anti-racist’ slogans on every available wall and talk about slavery and black history and all the grievances that the clumsily-monickered BAME community spend their lives dreaming up, it is, after all, just a word. It is in common currency among certain groups and used in much the same way as I am greeted most morning at work with the cheery “’Allo, you cunt” and “Morning, fuckface.”

But those who chip away at the lexicon of difference in the name of celebrating diversity merely do the Left’s Marxist work, which is to sell grievance as an unalloyed good, attack tolerance of this whole charade as indifference and tout an agenda of race hate in the name of the furtherance of humanity. When it comes to words the left far surpasses the right who generally believe that a thing should be called what it is. The strange and uneasy alliance that constitutes most of the political and social activism practices the Orwellian craft of doublespeak - deliberately euphemistic, ambiguous, or obscure language – and seek to deny their detractors the words to respond.

Thrift is denounced as ‘Tory cuts’, increased public spending, year-on-year is similarly branded ‘Tory cuts’ and any Conservative politician who seeks to get a better deal out of this public spending, an increase in performance, say, is a ‘Tory cunt’. Of course the left has always been adept at selling bad things as good – unchecked immigration is celebrated as multiculturalism; an alarming rise in knife crime is merely the small price we pay for ‘vibrant’ communities. And a threat to bankrupt the country in order to buy votes is simply a bid to create a kinder, gentler, more equal society.

Which brings us, once more, to the Holy Grail of leftist dogma; equality. How dare the boss earn more? Why shouldn’t the lumpen proletariat share in the nation’s wealth to the degree they feel they deserve? Why shouldn’t my finger painting and mindfulness diploma hold parity with a degree in mechanical engineering when it comes to work? And how dare you insist that I put my actual name on my job application, so that racists can prejudge me and deny me my right to equality in everything?

Why? Because equality is a crock. Equality is sold as the acme of social achievement when it is in fact the opposite. Chains, of command, hierarchies, and leadership; promotion up these ladders  is how we - humans and other animals - measure progress. I don't want to be your equal; I want to be your boss. If the customer is always right, does that not imply that the balance is in favour of him and against the equality rights of the salesman? We measure ourselves against others all the time and we judge our accomplishments not by how many crossed the finishing line simultaneously but by who came first.


And it's no good talking about equality of opportunity; human nature will skew that every time. All that counts is coming out on top; doing the best you can in the present circumstances, not spending all your efforts in a futile game of victimhood, bleating that somebody else, whom you don’t respect, has judged you and declared you wanting. Maybe you can't get to where you want to be in one lifetime, but don't you owe it to your children to give them the best possible head start when they pick up the baton? Forget equality; you can do better than that.

Tuesday, 11 July 2017

Dark Days

There is a convoluted provenance to the saying “the fascists of the future will be the anti-fascists” and it involves today’s so-called ‘Antifa’ convincing themselves that it predates Winston Churchill, to whom it is often credited and that it was in fact referring to patriotic movements, not to those who ‘oppose fascism’. Thus they feel justified in behaving as a violent mob to take down anybody who disagrees with them. Vandalism, Molotov cocktails, darts thrown at police, cars torched, paviours torn up and used as missiles; all essential weapons in the holy fight against the people who create all the jobs, pay all the taxes and generally allow society to function.

Jeremy Corbyn likes to talk about equality. He also likes to talk about kinder, gentler politics; for the many, not the few. So it was somewhat disappointing to see the mob mentality of his kinder, gentler comrades demanding the sack – and much worse - for Tory MP Anne Marie Morris for using a phrase that still has currency and was once very common indeed. Of course, it was downright stupid to have said ‘nigger in the woodpile’ but if you start sanctioning people for ‘offensive language’, where do you stop? Most of the rhetoric of the Momentum Mafia is pretty offensive, not to say downright ignorant.

The thing we should be getting alarmed about is how ready our political and media classes are to string somebody up for a hasty choice of words; as if nobody ever blurted out an anachronism before. When it comes to tolerance we really should play the white man. Yes, that’s what I wrote; let’s be more white about it all and let people get on and do their job as best they can. But, of course, we can’t do that, can we? That genie is long out of the bottle and civilised behaviour along with it; the slightest offence perceived, even by proxy, must receive the same censure as an outright and deliberate attack on an individual.

Of course, labelling all Tories as baby-eating, white supremacist, cancerous, society-destroying malcontents is fine, so by that standard Anne Marie Morris has got off lightly with only the ruination of her immediate career prospects, but how the left get away with industrial strength hypocrisy like this is still quite something to behold. And it was hilarious, as always, to see wee Owen Jones being triggered; honestly I pity the poor sod who dares to order a black coffee in his presence in the next few days.


Kiwi? That downright derogatory!

In the meantime, I have stuff to be doing – I work like a black, you know. So I’m going to polish my nigger-brown shoes, hop in a black cab and get to slaving away, balls out, down on the old plantation befo’ Massa gets in one of his black moods and sends one of his dogs out to give me a whipping. He’s not  racist though, he just doesn’t like darkies!