The Theory of Conspiracy

Of course there’s been only one news story this week and one which will keep running for the foreseeable future. Already the conspiracy theorists are doing what they do best; constructing imaginary pasts to support their fictitious forecast futures. I gather plagues of boils and worldwide financial meltdowns are still on the cards, as are the invisible hands of the Illuminati, the Rothschilds and George Soros. Oh what a tangled web and all that. How many conspiracy theorists does it take to screw in a light bulb? We may never know the truth...

Weird theories abound. Did you hear, for instance, that rocks are actually soft and squishy, but they tense up when we touch them? Or that The Rapture actually happened as foretold, but there were so few good people that no one noticed when they’d gone? Or maybe the world really did end at the millennium, but we haven't realized it yet because of some sneaky government cover up. I heard that the Village People were a covert operation by the US government to cheer everyone up during the recessions and oil crises of the 1970s. So what if you lost your job and have to stay at the YMCA? It's fun to stay at the YMCA!

Of course, when it comes to the history of the EU, conspiracy theories abound and Occam’s marvellous razor is tossed side as one after another competing explanation for every decision is ushered to centre stage, minutely examined, dissected then reassembled in a patchwork quilt of underhand deals, shady doings and downright madness. The Coudenhove-Kalergi Plan makes regular appearances, as do frequent references to the New World Order and the Bilderberg Group.

It’s enough to turn the heads of the impressionable and who doesn’t love a good, juicy plot to entertain the crowds? It’s as if a sizeable chunk of the population, eschewing religion – itself, distinctly dodgy under cross-examination – would rather live in a nationwide soap opera than admit to the dull mundanity that characterises most people’s lives and most real events. But, if you live by the sword there’s a chance you’ll die by the sword and same applies to conspiracy theorists. There’s always going to be a reckoning and one day, they say, you will have to meet your maker.

Two conspiracy theorists died and went to heaven. As they wait at the Pearly Gates they discuss the big conspiracies of their days on Earth. God beckons them to enter and bids them sit at his feet whereupon he explains: “Yes, Lee Harvey Oswald really did shoot Jack Kennedy, acting alone. And yes, in 1969 Neil Armstrong became the first human to walk on the moon. And it’s true; the World Trade Center’s twin towers were destroyed by a small group of muslim terrorists.” The conspiracy theorists looked at each other. One tapped his nose and said “I told you it goes all the way to the top.”

Cliff!

Well, I trust you all had a happy Brexit Day: 'Joyeux Brexite', as I like to say, full irony intended. Of course the day was never going to pass peacefully, a tactic that may have had more impact than the twitterwauling I came home to; sometimes it’s best to keep schtum. If you were attending a noisy street party in Brexit’s honour, or loudly toasting Good ol’ Nige down the pub then you did well to avoid the emergency water cannon action of the eternal party poopers of Remain.

But it would not be fair to let yesterday’s celebrations recede into folklore without taking a moment to thank all the people who brought it about and who are still doing their level best to make sure we don’t backtrack on the deal. The dedicated souls who have put themselves up for scrutiny with scarcely a thought for their safety or sanity. The brave soldiers for justice who openly declared their position in spite of the constant sniping from the opposition; who stood and continue to stand up for what they genuinely believe, despite the constant ridicule.

Yes, I’m talking about the bitter remoaners and their selfless dedication to reminding us just what it was we were really voting against. I’d like to say it was nothing personal but you know that isn’t true; as far as you lot are concerned it was highly personal – you made it that way: Telling me I was too stupid to vote. Saying I had insufficient information to cast a meaningful ballot. Insisting that to vote to leave, as I did, was unpatriotic, in direct defiance of the definition of patriotism.

But that wasn’t enough, was it? You wished me harm. You promised me harm. Daily, you spat threats in the direction of me and my family and every last person who has spent 40+ years under the yoke of your rabid devotion to the ‘progressive’ politics of Euroland. All dissent was quashed by the use of Newspeak, whereby the mildest objection to any imposition was met with accusations of racism and xenophobia. You claimed the minds of the young and moulded them to mimic your warped ideology and turned them against their parents and grandparents.

Not content with impugning our ability to come to sane conclusions you upped the threat level with your cliff edges and your abysses and your hyperbolic prophecies of doom. Look you said, look what you’re doing. Stop hitting yourselves, you bullied. And we stood there and took it all. But with every last blast of vituperation we hardened our resolve. Despite all that the massed, indoctrinated armies of the pro-EU camp still lost. So, thanks, remoaners, for daily reminding us exactly what it was that we voted against. Thanks for that, suckers.

Bye-eee!

If you think we Brexiteers are going to gloat for the rest of the week then rest assured, your wish is our command. But only that one wish, mind. Once we’ve got our breath back from laughing so hard we will be back on our guard, ready to resist as you mount yet more failed campaigns to subvert the process, until the scales fall from the eyes of even those who voted to remain. Was there any other news yesterday? *thinks* Nope. I can’t think of a single thing as broad as that 17.4 million-man grin. As for that cliff edge – look at all the Remain lemmings hurtling towards it.

Noodle Soup

It’s here! Happy Article 50 Day! So many days to celebrate: June 23^rd, June 24^th when we woke up to smell a distant scent of freedom on the breeze and now March 29^th, oh happy days! But wait, it’s only the start. Every day of the next couple of years, every step of the way, is going to be fought by the logical absurdity, the alphabet noodle soup, which is the left wing of politics.

I’ve been thinking about this for a while, studying the history, taking odd – very odd – detours down various conspiracy streets and I’ve come to the conclusion, not surprisingly, that I’m right. Not just about everything, which is taken as read, but on the nominal right of that nominal dividing line... where the best of us live. Everybody knows what a lefty is, pretty much – we’ll get to that – but it gets rather difficult to define the right except insofar as you know one when you see one. With few exceptions ‘the right’ doesn’t really have factions as such but more atomises towards individual rights and responsibilities, with clusters based on the family molecule.

You pretty much know where you are when you are in the company of people who generally advocate a live and let live approach, tempered with a bit of common sense when it comes to how people live their lives. Don’t hurt others, don’t expect a free ride and if you fuck up, don’t expect others to always be there to dig you out, especially when it comes to money. The right is the broth, the clear uncomplicated matrix which supports all the elements of the soup. Which makes the left the noodles, the pearl barley, the lentils; all the diverse bits which don’t easily blend in but nevertheless provide texture and intrigue.

I’m not playing the tired old racist, sexist, ageist, homoislamophobic bigot, etc when I ponder the make-up of the anti-Brexit crowd. If we were to examine the represented interests among the visible remain campaigners I’m betting there would be a far greater than ‘normal’ representation of the following groups of strange bedfellows:

·         ‘Humanists’

·         The homeless

·         Superannuated hippies

·         The mentally challenged

·         Pissed-up students

·         NHS Party apparatchiks

·         NUT-affiliated teachers

·         ‘Philosophers’

·         The workshy (see above)

·         White people with dreadlocks...

Plus, of course, the assorted flotsam and jetsam of the LGBTQI++double-plus-plus-double-good  community; a minority actually made up of minorities. Clumps of coagulating oddness occasionally coalescing into sticky masses of less than flavoursome clag, refusing to meld into the whole soup and ruining the dish.

They talk of division, but the division is of their own making; splitting society into ever more nuanced special-interest groups; slicing the community cake thinner and thinner. And the thing that separates the world of standards and order and mutual respect and actual equal rights from the world of the left? They want the world they despise to pay for the world they imagine they want; a world of free-for-all and damn the expense, somebody else will pick up the tab.

Really? You're not helping...

But you know, from today they have the perfect opportunity to make amends for all the trouble they have caused, all the hurt they have engendered. If they want to participate in a world fit to bring their children into they could, instead of trying to sabotage Brexit, get behind it. Instead of being the gritty irritants that lodge between your teeth to irritate, they could do their bit to try and mix with the rest of the UK house soup. Think of Brexit as the dental floss that clears away all the crap.

Madness

Well the male feminists in EU-blue pussy hats were out in what they saw as a show of force in a pointless march on the capital at the weekend. And a lovely weekend it was for it. What were they marching for and did they achieve it? Don’t know and nope are the obvious answers, but one thing is for sure, it’s the same tired old turnout they get for anti-war marches, save the NHS marches and don’t you go blaming islam marches. While some are genuinely moved enough to demonstrate their opposition to the issue of the day, the hard-left core is made up of a resolute bunch of malcontents who could find fault with oxygen.

The natural age for pratting about with placards is late teens through to early twenties – the students are revolting we’d josh - and although there are some crusties out there, singing the slogans and re-living their similarly pointless CND heydays the thing that ties them all together is another preserve of youthful folly; trusting gullibility. Trusting in a narrative being fed to them by that same hard core of activists who are so convinced of their own righteousness they can actually ignore outright the self-evident realities of the world.

Realities such as who pays for all this freedom you enjoy? Who protects you when the exercise of your free speech forces on society pressures it didn’t ask for? And when it all comes down to it, what, really, are you protesting about? How many of the marchers were super-informed, high-intellect voters, in contrast to the ignorant racists you insist were the only people to vote to leave? I ask because from odd snippets of reportage I saw and heard, the arguments to remain in the EU seem to revolve around unrealistic (and unrealised) bounty within and hyped-up fears of what lies beyond.

Without irony the same old platitudes were trotted out about better together and how the EU, not NATO and national military expertise has kept peace. (Oh, except for Bosnia and now the skirmishes breaking out all over the battle-unready union.) For over forty years we have been a thorn in the side of the EU due to our uneasy aversion to being ruled over from afar; touché you may well reply. But on that basis the marchers ought to welcome Brexit; it will let the EU get on with arriving at its end goal all the sooner. Oh, except with one major net contributor down and an ever accelerating immigration-centred population crisis to fund that is unlikely to happen. So, what, they want to keep us shackled to the doomed hulk?

The truth is they don’t know what they want. And ironically, having accused we merry band of Brexiteers of being in thrall to a global conspiracy to lessen the significance of this island that they deem to be so insignificant already as to have no influence anyway it is nevertheless our departure that is causing the remainers on both sides of the Channel to lose their collective minds. As well as Juncker, Tusk, Verhofstadt and co doing their best pre-fight trash talk we had the unedifying spectacle of Alastair Campbell close to a full on breakdown on air on Good Morning Britain yesterday. It was joyous to behold.

You talkin' to me? I'm the only one here...

And Gina Miller’s veil has slipped as she revealed, as we all really knew, that blocking Brexit is her true motive. Add to this the collective wailings of Tim Farron, Anna Soubry, Michael Heseltine and the demented A C Grayling and it’s hard not to class them all as swivel-eyed loons. Not since the Tony Blackburn/Tessa Wyatt debacle have I witnessed such a public display of self-harm. But look out for tomorrow. We are in the throes of a mental health crisis according to, well, everybody on the radio this morning. Expect that crisis to deepen; if anything is going over a cliff it is the sanity of the Remoaners.

The Old Ones

Well, as expected, yesterday’s social media was a full-on anti-nazi fest with apologists shouting down the natural fears expressed by non-muslims everywhere. Celebrate the glories of multiculturalism, why, even the victims were diverse! Yes, get used to female genital mutilation, sharia, shitting in curries, slaughtering animals the Stone Age way and talking of stones... While we’re about it, say hi to the Notting Hill Stabbing Festival and end outmoded practices which identify as being English, such as rubbing along and making do and not randomly killing innocent bystanders. Welcome diversity and fuck you, the English.

We must come together, goes the rallying cry, apparently utterly unaware that the thin skin of ‘vibrancy’ hides a seething mass of incompatibility. But where do we start; is this the slippery slope to a, monocultural uniformity? You’d think the socialists would love all that though, wouldn’t you? Identical economic units in Mao suits with an even, grey pallor to match, breeding from an extra shallow gene pool. But we couldn’t turn the clock back even if we tried. We won’t rise up and expel the ‘other’ because, well, it just wouldn’t be British, would it.

Mind you, the concept of nationhood, despite its recent resurgence, is firmly in the cross hairs of the global socialist project and the flock of frisky spring lambs know that those flying the flags have only limited years left. Memories of former glories fade with each passing year and soon enough those horrible old people will die out and take their 'divisive' beliefs in fair play, winners and losers and accountability for their actions with them. But while there’s still breath in the body, we old gits struggle on.

To that end, it’s important to keep fit and two old fellas I know were out in the park the other day. The eighty-year old was resting on a bench, half way through his morning stroll when his 87-year old friend sat beside him. He’d just finished a two-mile run. The younger man said “How do you do that? I’m out of breath just tying my shoelaces these days. It makes me tired just watching you!” The 87-year old said, "Well, I start out with stretches and breathing exercise, but I also have a secret weapon... I eat Jewish rye bread every day.”

The younger man was intrigued and listened intently as his friend carried on. “It keeps your energy levels high and you'll have great stamina with the ladies, if you see know what I mean. I’m telling you, you'll feel like 40 again!” So, on the way home the 80-year-old stopped at the bakery. As he was looking around, the assistant asked if he needed any help. "Do you have any Jewish rye bread?” he enquired.

She indicated below the counter and said “Yes, we have a new batch in, freshly baked. Would you like some?” He smiled and said, “Could I have five loaves, please.” The shop assistant looked surprised and replied “My goodness, five loaves! By the time you get to the third one, it will be hard.” The old man looked at her and blinked in astonishment. He exclaimed, “I can't believe it. Everybody knows about this shit but me!”