Trust in me?

2020 was the year in which you discovered how little you knew people from whom you might previously have sought counsel. It was a year of conflict, aggressive at times, and a year in which many revealed the reason why communism and fascism and religion has ensnared millions via the medium of repeating obvious lies until they become self-evident truths. And I have never known such a relentless onslaught of lies as waged by the Black Lives Matter ‘movement’ and its willing white slaves.

Eminent institutions which have never taken a political stance suddenly discovered slaver skeletons in their closets and prostrated themselves at the feet of the black militias. One influencer after another vied with each other to see who could abase themselves the most in a competition to signal their deep shame at having the wrong colour skin. The only lasting effect, however, will be to ingrain a deeper sense of mistrust of each other, a situation which will most deeply and negatively affect those it pretends to champion.

But another source of mistrust has overwhelmed the national discourse for three-quarters of this year and at least another quarter of the year to come. Ordinarily, people clamour for their governments to protect their health, but this particular pandemic has been seized upon by peddlers of the most outlandish portents of doom. Piecing together the parts of different jigsaws, some of them hundreds of years old, they have terrified people into believing they are to become the robotic slaves of an evil empire.

The disjointed logic of the Great Reset theorists and Covid-deniers is never doubted by the eager acolytes of global conspiracists, even when the stark contrasts of fact and fantasy are laid bare. Every effort of reason to allay fears is glibly subsumed into the evil plot – that’s just what they want you to think! It’s hard enough to keep a surprise party secret, let alone a half-century old plan to turn human beings into batteries for the matrix. Good grief, some of these people are going to need serious long-term care after the apocalypse fails to materialise.

It is impossible to summarise in one place all the threads that have been woven together in a dot-joining exercise worthy of Bletchley Park, or the decoding of the Rosetta Stone, but my god, it’s as if each conspiracy sect is determined to outdo all the others – and no side trusts any other side… with anything. For a species which relies so heavily on cooperation to achieve great things this is a major blow to our credibility. I only hope the aliens will still want to probe us after it’s all died down.

And talking of dying down, one would imagine that the opponents of Brexit, in the face of all the hostility shown towards the UK during the final countdown to our independence (and I still find it hard to believe that they don’t grasp the importance of self-determination) would finally be accepting reality. But no, they’ll have none of it. Here we are on the actual final day of Brexit and some of them are still refusing to accept their multiple losses and be gracious in defeat. Mistrust between Remain and Leave will last a generation.

So what great truth did 2020 reveal to us? That we can all pull together in a crisis to find a way through? That we can put aside our differences to find common cause? That the character of a person is more important than the colour of their skin? That the much admired Blitz Spirit is alive and well and living in London? Not a bit of it. If 2020 is going to be remembered for anything it will be the year when the ugly truth of humanity prevailed over the myths of our compassion, ingenuity and godlike omnipotence.

We all want our heads banging together. Here’s hoping for a better 2021 in every way.

Arise!

The Yanks – well some of them – do like to fawn over a Sir, or a Dame, a Duchess, or a Lord. Despite being decoupled from the British honours system for two and a half centuries and, as a republic, being avowedly anti-monarchy, a title conferred by royalty nevertheless holds a certain cachet. The Oscars ceremony alone attracts knights of their former realm like wasps round a jam sandwich and which hostess doesn’t glow when introducing a Sir of stage and screen at an exclusive gathering?

But that is them. Over here, where all the ermine is bestowed and the honours dubbed by Her Maj herself, or her direct delegates the honours system has become a joke of long standing. Fifty years ago, we scoffed as knighthoods were handed out like confetti in the New Year’s list; why, we would ask, would you confer what was once a recognition for a lifetime of fealty and honourable service to a kid who kicked a football, or a hoofer from the stage?

People who have earned great fame and wealth through their talents and good fortune could maybe earn such a slap on the back had they spent a great deal of their personal fortune and dedicated much of their life to helping others. But bitching about how hard it was making it in Formula One because you were black, when nobody had even noticed save for yourself, hardly qualifies. Does it, Lewis?

Similarly, using a public platform to pressure the government you don’t like into doing what your own preferred flavour of government had never even considered should be no basis for such an honour. Yes, an act of bravery in saving the monarch’s life in the face of grave danger, or giving your life in battle, defending the realm, would justify recognition for one so young. But kicking a football, having been generously sponsored from the age of 8 doesn’t come close to the test most people would deem appropriate, does it Marcus?

Treading the boards for half a century, supporting charities, generously giving of your personal time to carry out good deeds? Yes, absolutely. On retirement after a lifetime serving the royal household without ever giving an interview to the prying press? Why not. Honourably and honestly representing the country as an ambassador over several decades? Seems fair enough. Beginning as an infantryman and rising through the ranks to command a branch of the armed forces? Well, of course.

But many honours are conveyed through nothing other than cronyism. The House of Lords is stuffed by every serving Prime Minister with people who know where the bodies are buried. Minor celebrities whose entire oeuvre amounts to a couple of sitcoms and the regular turning up to the opening of envelopes are recognised, but lifelong philanthropists are side-lined. And far too many complete, impotent nonentities manage to get blinged up; dare I mention Adonis, here?

With all of this in mind it has been a source of considerable pleasure to note that the scheming, lying dirtbag Blair has been (aptly) honour free since he left office as Prime Minister in 2007. The rumour has always been that The Queen herself did not give her consent, but now an inside source is suggesting she will have to relent, in order that subsequent Prime Ministers and others can receive honours they may, or may not truly deserve.

Pretty clear, no?

But why? Why can she not simply pass him over and honour the others as she sees fit? She is Her Majesty, The Queen, after all. And if Blair really is blocking the conferring of knighthoods on others, who might some of these others be? Maybe it is time to democratise the honours system, perhaps by way of Twitter polls. If the example shown above, along with the inventive comments which accompanied it, is indicative, Blair may be waiting some time. And if he does eventually get to take the knee, please let it be a discredited worm like Harry who does the honours. 

On Greasy Poles

In a rare moment of collusion, several colleagues and I chatted this morning about the state of our industry. Structure, people, education and other resources came into play as we swiftly put the world to rights; standard Friday morning fare, really. Without needing to know which industry it is you will nevertheless recognise the symptoms:

Massive waste as projects are embarked on with no chance of success (everybody on the ground floor knows this.) A complete failure to consult the people who eventually must carry out these grand designs, which are inevitably abandoned at some late stage in proceedings. (Everybody on the ground floor could have told them this) Apprentice schemes that completely fail to meet the needs of the industry, which is more, and better quality people on the ground floor.

Enormous salaries are paid to consultants and industry bigwigs who have abandoned honour and contact with the grass roots to climb the greasy pole to self-aggrandisement. Theirs is a world of meetings and self-congratulatory conferences and award ceremonies as they slap each other on the back even as they burn £100 notes. Like most forms of governance the bureaucracy itself soon displaces the original purpose. Once that promotional ladder has been ascended, they live as if in the halls of Valhalla, glibly making pronouncements which affect the daily lives of millions.

A classic symptom of this kind of thinking is the new boss who wants the entire workforce to do things they have been doing for years, but differently. And I’m not talking about paradigm shifts in client-contractor relationships, or customer-facing skills. Nor am I talking about the introduction of new and better technologies, systems or approaches. It could be as simple and pointless as making everybody fill in a form which achieves nothing and is simply filed away forever, to be shredded at some far distant date. You’ve all been there.

Of course, nobody is suggesting that all industries become collectives, seeking shop-floor approval at every turn – we don’t want to go back to the sixties and seventies, now, do we? But at some tipping point the move away from consultation and cooperation will have dire consequences. It really can’t carry on like this forever; please say it can’t.

Globalised business operates on the Ponzi-like system that more and more lower-paid operatives, churning out more and more product achieves profits based solely on economies of scale. But the recipients of those slim pay packets can’t afford the product and the displaced workers the products are aimed at are no longer employed. Ultimately the companies are not valued at what they are worth in any material sense, but merely as what they – and their handful of grossly overpaid figureheads - are perceived to be worth. Today.

Tomorrow, the market sentiment changes and the whole lot crumbles. Market leaders disappear into financial statistics and the same old money men - the people selling blankets and shovels to the globalist gold rush - become that little bit richer. And those who used to be the bedrock of industry, the skilled workers, are back on their arses again. Little wonder then, that those who can, move into positions of influence, and away from positions of productivity. By those who can, I definitely do not mean the best of the workforce, because it seems a dreary predictability that those with the least amount of utility at the bench are destined for stardom on the board.

The old adage: those who can, do; those who can’t teach is all too often augmented nowadays by the knowing punchline “…and those who can’t teach, manage”. The world will not be shaped anew by the Elon Musks and the Jeff Bezoses, nor by the lofty forums involved in world economics. The answers aren’t with the demagogues but with those of us who do… and those of us who teach how to do. Most of us already see the greasy pole climbers for the vainglorious popinjays they are and reject their abstract indulgences. One day, maybe, we all will.

Tis the season to be generous

I have to say I am disappointed, but not surprised that people are making such a fuss over the Christmas precautions. Yes, there are families for whom this will be the absolute last Yuletide for some elders, but most individual households are not in this position. In any situation there will be exceptions deserving of more sensitive treatment, but surely people who have spent their year engaged in avoiding exposure to the virus cannot seriously have been planning Christmas as usual?

Is it really true that the majority of Britons cannot scale down their festive plans for this very abnormal time? The vox pops sound like the same people who railed against the foreign travel restrictions, as if they couldn’t just hold off until next year. I wonder how people who can’t afford holidays and have spent the last 20 Christmases alone must think. Because, although selfishness is a very human trait, it is also widely regarded as a weakness.

Human weakness is manna to the marketing industry; buy this because he’s got one; do you want to be the only one who hasn’t got this? Surely children are still taught the virtues of abstinence, and if not, why not? For my generation thrift was integral to managing expectations; save for a rainy day, look after the pennies and the pounds will look after themselves; don’t want what you can’t have. Are these simple, honest principles really beyond the ken of today’s people

Christmas is the very epitome of shallow, frivolous consumption and has been for many years; locked down in the middle of winter it was a welcome blowout as the nights began to slowly recede. As a child we put up decorations on Christmas Eve and took them down less than a fortnight later. Yes, for weeks beforehand there was excitement and anticipation, but it was contained. Those putting up lights in November were scorned, but come the twelve days peace and goodwill reigned, too much rich food was scoffed then, afterwards, life returned to parsimonious normality.

But these days Roy Wood’s dream has come true and for some people it really is as if it can be Christmas every day. Compared to 50 years ago, abundance is everywhere, thrift has been abandoned and although families do get together at this time of year, most people have the ability to do that whenever they wish, in ordinary years. You’ve still got the trees, the lights are up everywhere and almost everybody has access to Skype, Facetime, Zoom or any one of the dozens of apps that allow you safe face-to-face communication; you can still have Christmas, only smaller.

Just stop bitching about it and make the best of what you’re allowed. What, you made plans? People have their homes swept away in floods and mudslides. Lives are cancelled in the milliseconds it takes to reduce your car to a shredded mess on the hard shoulder. Shit happens. You don’t get to hug grandma? Boo hoo, you ignored her the rest of the year, you hypocrites. In the greater scheme of things what is one long weekend of indulgence that you could recreate at any time in the future when circumstances allow?

Look on the bright side!

You may not agree with the government’s attempts to tackle the crisis. You may not even believe there is a crisis, although you might want to discuss this with the bereaved. But isn’t this the time of year to pull together and work for the common good? I guarantee that the one thing the government really wants from Santa is for everything to go back to normal, and they will allow this as soon as possible. But that time is not yet here. Why would you want to be part of the problem? As the appeal slogan might have gone; This Christmas, whatever your personal misgivings, give the gift of life.

Fully Conscious

The government has come to its senses. Not about Covid measures, not about Brexit negotiations, but regarding so-called “unconscious bias training". In a most welcome move UBT is to be scrapped for civil servants in England; ministers quite rightly say it does not work, giving it black marks all round. With this reversal of policy it is to be hoped that many other employers heed the call and ditch this needlessly divisive practice.

Naturally, supporters of UBT, or bleeding-heart race warriors, as they may more correctly be called, are moaning on about how this is ‘throwing the baby out with the bathwater’ and blaming a failure to inculcate full white guilt in every workplace in the land as a backward step. They say that the total lack of evidence that every white Briton is a dyed-in-the-wool racist does not prove that every white Briton isn’t a dyed-in-the-wool racist. The indoctrination must be stepped up if we are to uncover racism in every crack of the pavement, every nook, every cranny and yes, deep in your guilty white hearts.

The ‘training’, whose stated aim is to tackle patterns of discrimination and prejudice, is used in many workplaces, but the government says there is no evidence it changes attitudes. I say otherwise; along with hate groups like Black Lives Matter and Tell Mama, such movements actively do change attitudes… for the worse. Millwall fans were not booing an anti-racist gesture; they were booing a black power gesture. The deeply woke may be offended, but let’s be fair, when are they not?

No thank you I need no black-ops kind of enterprise to bring me back from the dark side. Am I afraid that unconscious bias training will make me ashamed of my skin, my language, my culture? My thoughts? Far from it, I am quite conscious of my biases and so what if I prefer to make my home among people who look more like me than otherwise? Am I aware that casual racism is in the very air I breathe? Who cares; I mean, play the white man here.

Black looks, black books, being blackballed… look on the bright side, the white side of life. Just because we notice that some are dusky, tinted, other-hued with a touch of the tar brush why would that be a cause for shame? The black/white ciphers for good and evil have been around long before the dark continent was even known about. Night and day, folks, night and day; why is that conclusion never arrived at? Well, because there is no money where there is no grievance.

But I’ll do my bit for the black economy, which is pretty white of me, I know. Oh yes, I will keep on being most consciously biased and thus provide plenty of opportunities for whole new offshoots of the black misery industry to thrive. Misery does love company after all, so it would be selfish of me to simply surrender to the woke agenda and give them nothing to complain about. And of course, while they’re marching at least they’re not looting. Unconscious? Not in the slightest.