Keeping up Appearances

When Hyacinth Bucket answers the phone she pronounces her name ‘Bouquet’ and assumes the cut glass accent of a high-born lady of the manor. When Hugh Laurie accepted an award some years ago for playing the title role in the US television show House, audiences gasped to discover that he wasn’t actually American. It’s called acting and when kids adopt airs and graces above their upbringing it is often called acting up, even when its intention is not so much to deceive as to impress.

We’ve all done it at some time; carefully enunciated when meeting the prospective in-laws, reverted back to our childhood accent when visiting the olds, adopting new speech patterns when living abroad. It’s a pretty normal thing to switch accents, manners and mannerisms when you routinely mix and move in different circles. I have mingled with royalty, the wealthy, lords, ladies and gentlemen in my time, as well as rough-as-arseholes riggers and builders. I automatically adjust my communication to match the circumstances.  I just didn’t have a name for it until now.

The BAME community does though; they call it code switching and you have seen and heard them do it. Omid Djalili used to open his stand-up set with 20 minutes of Iranian patois before switching to his native Chelsea twang. A colleague where I work is a Sikh but wears no regalia and is often approached by the ummah to help out a muslim brother; he can become ‘Citizen Khan’ in a heartbeat, but just as quickly he is a typical West London geeza.

But calling it ‘code switching’, as with all things grievance related, turns a commonplace phenomenon into something more sinister. This is what happens when you study something long enough and deeply enough. In the search for something to be offended about, once you give something a name you can exploit it as a harm. The BBC is currently airing a programme about the practice, portraying it as a necessary evil that certain communities have to confront. 

But flip the coin and ask yourselves, you ethnic warriors, how much offence you cause the indigenous white British when even after three generations you speak English in openly foreign accents. What does it say about you when you both play up your difference and complain about how you are perceived? Don’t pretend you are put upon and must ‘play the white man’; if you don’t like it here, feel free to seek new pastures.

But if you really do want to fit in, just speak like everybody else does. If you are ashamed of being black then get some elocution lessons, take up received pronunciation and crack on. If you are proud of being black then stick with your Jafaican and leave the rest of us to make assumptions about how you earn your living. It really is up to you, but moaning about code switching will earn you no friends.

Iz it coz I iz blak?

Better yet, why not make the best of both worlds? Visiting my brother in Wakefield some years ago we went to his local Chinese takeaway. On the other side of the counter a young Hong Konger was mangling his words as he took an order. In his best Benny Hill Canton-English he dutifully mispronounced his Ls and Rs “You wan’ fly-lice?” On completing the order he put the phone down and said, in perfect Yorkshire. “Now then lads, what’ll thee ‘ave?” Code switching? Get over yourselves.

Crossing Continents

I’m not sure there is an actual word in the English language to express how little I care that a potential illegal entrant into Britain has died as a result of his attempt. So, you broke through a perimeter fence, strode past all the warnings signs and deliberately jumped off a dangerous, signposted cliff and died? This is the stuff of farce, not tragedy and I owe you not one single thing. No, not even your life, and certainly not the rest of your life on benefits.

A French MP for Calais was interviewed on the PM programme and blamed Britain. It was our fault that we spoke English, the second language of some of the contestants in the new reality show: “France? Get Me Out of Here!” It was easier, he said, to find black market employment in Britain, and with armies of human rights lawyers, far harder to deport. Despite crossing all of Europe in their quest for an easier life, the countries of the EU owed the UK nothing, as far as stemming the tide was concerned.

We are on our own, then, as it should be. And if this is the case we need to take a more aggressive stance towards countries, unions even, which actively work against our interests. It isn’t beyond comprehension that migrants will soon be picked up on the beaches of Greece and bussed all the way across the continent to Calais. Hell, they’ll be flown there in chartered splendour, to await the French-sponsored ferry crossing which will bring 2000 at a time, twice a day, 365 days of the year, thus fulfilling our regular mandated intake with ease.

There is something wrong in the heads of everybody who would cheer such an endeavour, seriously wrong. These are not people who can enhance our island in any way. So why does no political party address the real concerns of the great majority of the British about the dissolution of their identity? Why does no party even properly acknowledge that legal mass immigration, let alone illegal invasion, has already done great harm and now poses an existential threat?

Our message to migrants (they are not ‘refugees’; most are not even legitimate ‘asylum seekers’; their mission is venal, pure and simple.) should be clear and simple. We don’t want you, we won’t take you, we won’t protect you, and we will use deadly force to repel you if we have no other recourse. You will find no welcome here. And if you do manage to enter our country you will do so as a criminal and we will hunt you down and remove you.

Your life here will be one of fear and squalor and you will be exploited by criminal gangs made up of your own countrymen. You will never be British and you will know no respite from vilification. We will treat you with contempt and every person you encounter could be the one who reports you to the authorities. All that awaits you in Britain is misery and harm and when we return you to the shithole you came from you can pass on that message.

Border Farce

We may never recover what we have lost, but we should at least attempt to limit the further damage coming our way. And if ridding ourselves of this human garbage, this effluence of human waste from wasted lands makes us a pariah state in the eyes of the oh-so-uncorrupted United Nations and European Union then we should embrace that status with both arms. Man up, Britain, and rid ourselves of this vermin.

Building on sand

The Pharaohs were probably the first to actually build their kingdoms on sand. And look where they are now. The history of civilisations has a recurring theme of genesis, growth, power and decline. And the decline, where it is not brought about by conquest, is usually accompanied by decadence, a phase which can extend over many scores of years. There can be little doubt that European culture is in decadent decline right now with little sight of resurgence on the horizon.

There is much talk afoot about rebuilding the economy, but on what? ‘Eat out to help out’ is just a form of welfare, as are many make-work schemes tried in the past. An economy must surely be founded, first and foremost, on solid, tangible things that people need, closely followed by things that people want. Only after those requirements are fulfilled should there be room for frippery.

According to Tweeter Harry Wilkinson 62,544 students sat A-Level Psychology this year, and if his information is correct this well outnumbers those taking subjects which might get them a job doing something useful. Psychology and all of its disreputable offshoots is an example of an industry founded on sand; on the shifting sands of people’s susceptibility to fashionable maladies.  

Haute couture, lifestyle, art, etc. all become worthless when you are starving. In times of sanity those who graft should first get to put food on their tables, yet it is those same workers, whose value is measured by the production of real things, who are always closest to the breadline, while those who eschew usefulness for idle distraction dressed up as necessity get well paid by the grafters for producing nothing of substance. The emperor's seamstresses.

Fine art, fashion, film, literature, theatre, etc. yes, of course, these things do improve people’s lives. Man, after all, does not live by bread alone, but eyebrows, tattoos, 'reality' TV and coffee to go; are you shitting me? But it’s worse than that, for these are the distractions of the dull and as such are pretty harmless and do involve an economy of some substance. What is not harmless, however, is the creation of an economy based on blame.

Daddy issues, race relations, gender discontent, class warfare and the whole panoply of LGBTQIP+++ delectations and miseries (and I apologise if I have unwittingly missed out your favourite self-flagellating, minority-of-one peculiarity) create nothing of any worth, yet are often rewarded handsomely. We used to scoff at the American fascination with therapy and the prescribing of medication to ward off the stresses of simply being alive, but we are in serious danger of succumbing to the same moribund non-solutions to simply living.

As we try and drag ourselves out of quarantine, as the lockdown eases, the media is awash with all kinds of experts offering handy excuses, disguised as diagnoses of all manner of syndrome. Children being interviewed about their exam grades readily employ the lexicon of amateur psychoanalysis as they refer to the deteriorating state of their own mental health. They are, quite literally, talking themselves into the talking cure. We should not be indulging this decadent assumption of lasting harm; what they need is a good dose of pull-your-socks-up and be told to stop wallowing in their misery. And the last thing we need right now are more bloody psychologists.

You say you want a revolution?

For years the discussion of what is clearly an existential issue among white British people has been suppressed. The white working class has been frowned upon by the liberal intelligentsia, for whom all cultures are equal except our own and especially by the leftist ideologues who have assumed positions of power throughout the state. Even the Conservative Party has succumbed to a soft left-of-centre stance on a great many issues, and the prickly subject of immigration heads up the ‘do not properly discuss’ list.

The fascist fantasists, Hope Not Hate, (aka the muslim brotherhood and surely the most ironically named outfit since the thuggish black-shirted Antifa) have dreamed up a report on Patriotic Alternative and spun the narrative, yet again, of a far-right resurgence. In support, our supposed security forces are still claiming victories over unseen ‘far-right terrorist plots’ further bolstering the fear in those same soft, left politicians.

The contrary opinion of Britain as a whole, as given by Katharine Birbalsingh will, of course not be given due regard, in much the same way as her stand against progressive education has fallen on deaf ears among those in the education sector who desperately need to listen. So riven through with concern about upsetting the minority is our governance, from local authority to the Palace of Westminster, that the wishes of the majority always appear to go unheeded. This is not only no way to run a country, it is to all intents, the very opposite of democracy.

Paralysed by doubt and uncertainty and terrified of appearing authoritarian, successive governments have sat on their hands on issue over issue, presumably in the hope that the problem will go away. Don’t expect a serious conversation about race, immigration, welfare, the running and role of the NHS, defence, law and order or the extent to which our institutions have been overrun by ideologies which could have come straight from the Kremlin. Instead of debate we get soundbites; instead of action we get photo opportunities.

If it isn’t abundantly clear, western liberal democracies have become moribund, useless exercises in appeasement, when what is needed is clear direction, certain rules and unmistakeable purpose. All this confused business of various agencies deciding they need to ‘hold the government to account’ should not even warrant a thought. If we could only trust our elected politicians to do our bidding, that accounting would only need come at election time.

Instead of leadership by an elected cabinet of engaged, dedicated and forceful characters we end up, instead, with people who have gained their positions by carefully managing not to upset the rabble of competing minority attention-seekers. With an 80-seat majority the current government ought to be able to do what it damn well likes, but it is looking increasingly as if it is constantly seeking approval to tentatively meander in ever less ambitious directions. What, exactly, are the government’s policies?

Rudderless

And it is no use looking to the opposition for an alternative. Following Blair’s rule by carefully selected focus group, Labour is determined to alienate and ignore its former core vote by introducing all BAME shortlists. They don’t even seem to see that they are part of the problem. As was always the case, if you want anything doing right, do it yourself. Individualism is the first recourse of the disaffected. The second may need to be revolution. Do you hear it coming?

Grave Expectations

 It’s der gubmint, stoopid! Conversely, it’s the stupid government, but either way the current garment-rending, impotent anger directed at imperfect human beings in suits reminds me of something somebody once told me: “Over the age of 30 you can no longer blame your parents.” Didn’t get that pay rise, promotion, leg over? Don’t go bitching about your upbringing; it’s all down to you now.

In the last half of my life so far (all of that over 30) I have seen a real slide back into dependence. From the glorious decade of Margaret Thatcher’s real people’s revolution of self-reliance, aspiration and hope, we are almost back to suckling greedily from the nation’s teat. Or at least some of you are – I have never included myself in that group of people who expect the government to always show them the way.

Whether it is legal constraints, formal instructions or mere guidance it seems that as a nation we are incapable of providing for ourselves. Recommendation? Are you kidding? TELL me what I must do and fine me if I don’t! SELF-isolate, seriously? I have the willpower and breaking strain of a dunked digestive; how do you expect me to exercise restraint? Shackle, me, weld me into my home, for otherwise I cannot be held responsible for what I do.

For far too many, the country really does owe them a living. After all, their parents had to have somewhere to exist, in order to bring them into the world. Therefore, by a curious contortion of logic, that place itself now must assume a legal duty to succour them from birth even though the ‘accident’ may have been engineered via the medium of Nigeria Air and Manchester Airport. Or, these days, by a rubber dinghy and a Kentish beach.

Once on state benefits, who is going voluntarily give them up; I mean, who is going to turn down free money, actual money? The generosity of western states is no doubt born of philanthropic ideals but it all has to be paid for and it is no good forever demanding more taxation from those who already pay half of what they earn to the treasury so that others may live for free. (And no matter what you think governments can do about high earning tax-avoiders, at that level of income, if they choose, they can take their wealth wherever they are allowed to keep it. They still pay more tax than you and I, anyway.)

Be careful what you wish for

Of course, some genuinely do need the safety net of state, but beyond the material needs why have we gone down this route of insisting the government tell us what to think, which words we may use, who we are allowed to interact openly with and who we must handle with kid gloves? It is weak and it is a shameful betrayal of centuries of national development. One day this era will end – and it may end quite badly – and basic human instincts will once more come to the fore. I wouldn’t fancy being a snowflake when the big thaw sets in.

Grade A Thundercunts

It’s that time of year again; for a few days the air is rent by the wailing and gnashing of teeth by the parents, teachers and the kids who are on the receiving end of ‘the wrong grades’. Only this year they have somebody else to blame, which is brilliant because this is what socialism teaches you, after all. And of course, it is the government in the frame. Not the teachers, not the exam boards, not the university admissions system and definitely not the kids, many of whom have sat firmly on their arses for the last six months.

The principle awkward paradigm at the heart of socialism is that the state must be worshipped at all times, but it if fails to provide it must be attacked and its figureheads replaced, to then perpetuate the same failed ideology all over again. Marxist education is a spiral of dumbocracy, labelling ever-lower achievements as ever-increasing successes. Grade inflation is not a fiction, it is a fact and it benefits nobody, yet still it goes on. (You pretend to study, we pretend to grade you.)

But why this fixation on grades anyway? Once, only a gifted few waited through the summer months to find out whether their application to the pinnacles of education would be successful. For everybody else, the actual grades rarely mattered. You left school, you got on with the next phase of your development – a job for most – and pretty soon you learned that exam success did not matter one jot once you had moved on.

But the ridiculous notion of university for all provides a wonderful opportunity for everybody to own their own little slice of misery. Woe is me, I didn’t get the three Ds that Shithouse Uni wanted for the MA in Finger Painting and I’ll have to settle for Mediocre Studies instead. Given that you are probably going to end up in McDonalds anyway, why not get a head start on your future colleagues and go straight from school to job? Oh, wait, serving chips now requires a degree... probably.

Children – and as anybody over 50 knows, anybody under 30 is still a child - are past masters at creating dramas from the most petty of events. Having been told by their influencers that their mental health is at risk from the lockdown, many are looking up the symptoms of a variety of psychiatric disorders so they can feign frailty and garner sympathy. Some will do it so well that they will actually manage to convince a trick-cyclist of their pain, thus earning a diagnosis which will curtail their life chances forever.

It’s bollocks on a bus. People escaped gas chambers and went on to lead full, productive lives, create wealth from nothing and dynasties from their loins. Victims of disasters manage to put the past behind them and pursue new futures. Amputees even learn to live without the lost appendages and some achieve feats beyond the comprehension of the idle full-bodied. In short, life’s hard, then you die; nobody gives a fuck about your pretend ‘advanced’ level grades.

So, kids, gender is not fluid, human cultures are not equal, diversity is – of itself – divisive and unnatural and nobody owes you a living. How well you do in school is rarely a predictor of how well you will do in life and if you are going to learn anything from the pandemic it should be that shit happens. Into every life a little rain must fall, but tomorrow the sun will shine. So, you didn’t get the grades you think you deserve? Seriously, nobody cares.

The British People

 The late, great, member of Parliament once said “It is like watching a nation busily engaged in heaping up its own funeral pyre” and they all mocked him. Foretelling a time when Britain would no longer look like Britain and the British would be marginalised, sent to the back of the queue and reviled, despite their outstanding contribution to the world, he has been vindicated. In the last few decades all he predicted has come to pass.

The whip is firmly in the grip of those who would tear down institutions and customs and destroy an entire culture without even a hint of the compassion shown towards them. The invading army of immigrants, fifth columnists and home-grown malcontents, with scarcely a backwards glance, wish to raze to the ground every reminder of the people who invented and built the modern world.

Britain was not ‘built by immigrants’, rather it assimilated talent from the world, having first laid the foundations. As the ancient world declined it was Britain and, yes, England in particular who forged the new. The English were first among nations and as the United Kingdom we were formidable not just for our might, but for many less demonstrative, but admirable qualities. Stoic, bearing hardship in silence. Just, standing up for the oppressed. Inventive, yet modest about our greatness. Philanthropic, asking little in return.

And unlike the bombastic Americans, the emotional southern Europeans, the authoritarian Germans, or the impenetrably secretive Soviets, we bore our burdens in silence and our triumphs with an equal lack of fanfare. Had The UK been the first to land on the moon our Neil Armstrong would have probably just had a quiet cup of tea and toasted the Queen, later to retire to the countryside dismissing the Herculean feat as merely a spot of good luck, actually.

So why, having ruled the waves for so many years have we now lost control of the greatest asset we ever had? Whatever happened to “This royal throne of kings, this sceptered isle, This earth of majesty, this seat of Mars, This other Eden, demi-paradise, This fortress built by Nature for herself Against infection and the hand of war, This happy breed of men, this little world, This precious stone set in the silver sea, Which serves it in the office of a wall Or as a moat defensive to a house, Against the envy of less happier lands. This blessed plot, this earth, this realm, this England.”?

This precious stone set in a silver sea

Where is our dominion over our own borders? Who filled in the moat? And why are the savages of those envious, unhappy lands conquering us with barely a finger raised against them? Where is our backbone, our fierce but quiet determination to remain a free people? Having freed the world why must we now be enslaved, and by our own rulers, too? Why must we allow our demi-paradise to become a living hell?

The boat migrants are our mortal enemies. Even much Commonwealth immigration has been bad for us. We have allowed foreign people to set up camp then proliferate unrestrained until whole towns have become alien to ‘the British people’. We have even allowed some among us to say that using that very phrase ‘the British people’ is somehow divisive ,unhelpful and part of the problem.

But wasn’t it the British people who cheered them when they did well? Didn’t we slap them on the back and sing their praises when they won medals for the country they were proud to belong to? We voted them into positions of power and influence and we even ennobled them.

The British people are not the problem here. We welcomed those who wanted to become British, but why should we welcome those who simply want what we have? We owe the false asylum seekers nothing, not even their lives. And if, as many would point out, it is as a result of British involvement in geo-politics, we should point out in turn that The British People have never been consulted about that, just as we have never been consulted about importing millions of uncivilised, potential criminals into our midst.

For all their words, I don’t believe there is a single soul left on these islands who believes that the government – any government – has the will or the means to do what is necessary. They dare not even say it. These incomers must be repulsed with deadly force. Not a single one should be landed on our shores and if the only deterrent is their demise, then let that be their fate. Making the route ‘unviable’ sounds to me like ‘find another route’. No, we must make all routes hopeless.