It's All Gone

News of the 504,000 net migration figure comes along with a host of excuses. Oh, that’s post Covid re-entry; it’s overseas students; it’s genuine refugees and entitled visa holders from Afghanistan, Ukraine and Hong Kong… and anyway, it’s good for the economy. But wait just a goddamned minute there; how can it be ‘good’ to employ overseas visitors (who will almost certainly become permanent residents) when we have record numbers of British born people economically inactive? (There are currently over 5 million people on out-of work benefits. Yes, really!)

Amid a decades-long housing crisis, how can it be good to need to provide a brand new mid-sized city’s worth of housing every year, especially when we are not building at anywhere near such a scale? When the economy is already tanked how can we afford to pay for perfectly able people to remain idle out of the taxes of incomers on minimum wage? In fact, a minimum wage employee is a net recipient of welfare and only those paying over at least £6000 a year in taxes can be said to break even, so where are all these £30,000+ cleaners, delivery drivers and ethnic restaurant staff?

Communities tend to look after their own, and the more family oriented the ethnic origin, the more solidly stands that principle. In the UK we have, for many years been doing our collective damnedest to break up the nuclear family and replace it with a moral equivalence framework in which however you wish to live your life has exactly the same value. So if you sit on your arse and breed indiscriminately you are just as valued a member of society as somebody who lives within his means and remains faithful to his brood.

I am beginning to think that maybe Jack Straw was right and that the English (and the Scots, the Welsh, and Northern Irish) are finished as a race; it certainly looks that way. Pay a visit to any of our mass-market stores and watch the human dregs schlepp around in baggy sportswear that has never seen a track or a gym. And what is it with the current trend for flip-flops and socks? Once, if you were to be seen in public you would make an effort; now it has become acceptable to wear your sloth on your sleeves.

And just what is the current population, anyway? A decade ago we were told it was 68 million, today it remains the same despite annual net incoming figures at around a third of a million. Can nobody in the government do the maths any more, or – which is more likely – have they just given up? Because that’s what it feels like. We have given up on immigration, law and order, education and society in general. Nobody has the will to carry on.

Britain today, in one picture...

When the government itself won’t recognise, or can’t see, the problems it is little wonder that they don’t act. When every move they make is opposed by forces entirely antipathetic to the survival of Britishness you can see why they are nervous. It really feels that this is now very much an existential crisis, and I fear for the good citizens of the UK whose rights to self-determination are being stripped away in front of their eyes. I am no Little Englander, I have long been critical of the worst of our own, but for pity’s sake will nobody speak up for our island race?

Tolerating Fools Badly

I’m not a particularly angry person. Yes, I get exercised when the stupid are given platforms from which to demonstrate just exactly how very stupid they are, but that’s more despair than anger. In the main, I sail on through my unremarkable life trying really hard to not be a burden on others. I expect nothing, so I rarely get disappointed when nothing turns out to be exactly what the world dishes out. When all the big promises turn out to be empty these days, why do so many set such great store by them? Why is everybody [else] so helpless?

So, not angry, nor hateful, although I will put my hand up to being a bit of a curmudgeon. I’ve been trying to place my finger on quite when that happened. When did this optimistic young lad of the mid-twentieth century, setting out to explore a world of exciting possibilities turn into an old duffer, harbouring a low, seething antipathy towards almost everything that identifies the Britain I feel less and less connected to each day?

I watched the first part of the BBC documentary ‘Cold War, Hot Jets’ the other night; a fascinating celebration of the world I was born into. Stirring stuff, straight from the pages of Boy’s Own Paper and that curious homonym (Boyzone) made me wonder: do today’s young lads want to grow into men, explore the world, fly fast jets and serve their country, or do they just want to be groomed by manipulative Cowells and garner instant fame and fortune for five minutes? Go out in a blaze of guts and glory shooting for the stars, or have your own star snuffed out by the fickle flame of celebrity?

A Royal Air Force ten times the size of today’s. An actual fleet of huge, ocean-going warships. An army still capable of taking on anybody, anywhere. And we’d not long emerged from the last world war. As small boys we would parade round the school yard, arms over each other’s shoulders, proudly singing “We won the war, in nineteen forty-four!” over and over again. It was close enough; it rhymed and we were kids… and schools had yet to commence the re-positioning of impressionable heads with regard to ante bellum politics. Goodies and baddies: it worked well enough to instil a morality seemingly absent today.

I think that’s where it started to end. The Empire was already gone, of course; there was still pride in what we had achieved over the previous two-hundred years, but the new, progressive generation wanted none of it. As they sought to distance themselves from the horrors of a war they had no hand in fighting, a new rhetoric was developed and national pride was rebadged as ‘nationalism’ and deemed reprehensible. Most of my life, therefore, I have felt out of step, with one foot in the majesty of the past and one in the mediocrity of the here and now.

Predicated on lies around the concepts of equality and collectivism, the touchy-feely world of caring by diktat has allowed people to abrogate their personal responsibilities towards one another and rely not on this band of brothers but on an increasingly all-powerful state to bind society together. And it hasn’t worked, has it? Next year will be the one hundredth anniversary of the outbreak of The Great War, but whoever put the cult in multiculturalism will gleefully point out that what was never achieved by war in a thousand years has been done by stealth as the zealots applaud the smothering of our own culture and the minoritisation of our own ethnicity in our own major cities.

We WILL remember.

But on Remembrance Sunday and today, the Eleventh Day, days on which I can scarcely breathe for the catch in my throat that every word, every note of the last post and every second of the two-minute silence brings, I am proud to be an Englishman and damned proud of our long and yes, noble past. And part of that hard-won British character is the tolerance of fools who would see us condemned to the backwaters of history. I’m talking to the likes of you, Anjem Choudary. Today, this one day of the year when Britons dare to celebrate being British, I have only one thing to say to those who come here, drink deep from our generosity then reward it with hatred. If you don’t like it, just fuck off.

Nothing to see here

So, once again the phenomenon of Muslim ‘street grooming’gangs is in the news, this time in Oxford.

Victims repeatedly reported rape or other sexual abuse but not until their abusers were convicted at the Old Bailey did police and social services apologise for failing to respond to their repeated cries for help. More than 50 girls were groomed, tortured, raped and sold to other men for sex around the country. I expect the girls are over the moon at the apologies, don’t you? As I write, they are still mealy-mouthing their cringing words on Radio 4.

The usual public handwringing and empty talk of ‘failure to listen’ and ‘missing opportunities’ and ‘learning lessons’ are offered in place of the action that should have been taken long ago. Abused by their tormentors, neglected by their carers, then let down by their supposed defenders, this is an all-too familiar story. Cue the authorities bending over backwards to pull the usual sleight of hand by refusing to emphasise the cultural origins of the gangs, instead spreading the blame to all men everywhere – anything to avoid being labelled racist. Not good enough, society, not good enough at all.

As I’ve observed before I can handle being called racist by the wilfully ignorant grievance industry; that accusation is fired off so regularly it’s become a devalued term of abuse and even a joke insult now, but change one letter of that descriptor and you can ruin a life. As if to distract from the Islamic flavour, the Met Police were anxious we should know that white men do it too – these white men just happen to be from Eastern Europe.

But there’s a much wider point and one that is obvious to everybody who lives outside the cloistered world of Westminster, university campuses and gated estates. Rampant drug use, rape, assault, sex trafficking, knife crime, torture, begging, theft, vandalism, wilful casual violence - as the population gets larger and more diverse, so does the malignant criminality diversify and increase in frequency. There’s a minor civil war going on out there.

The well-known and applauded British sense of fair play and tolerance was always based on the principle of live and let live. Well, many incoming communities don’t play by those rules. The sex gangs obviously see a fresh crop of naïve, groomable ‘stock’ in which to trade. The beggars, thieves and cheats see rich pickings in our crowded cities. And yet another example of an entire community who doesn't wish to play by our rules is the group euphemistically called ‘travellers’.

We’ve always had Gypsies in the land, but they used to be few in number and although never trusted they did make a habit of, you know, travelling and thus spreading their impact and visibility thinly. Rupert the Bear even had a colourful gypsy family as an exotic and rare group of occasional friends. That much Gypsy we could cope with. But news came in last night that residents’ concerns over the granting of a new permanent ‘travellers’ site in York have been ridden roughshod over and the site is to go ahead.

Don’t say you weren’t warned. Modern day Gypsies have become another form of protected species, yet they don’t return the favour; they don’t live and let live. Even on permanent maintained sites they spread squalor and criminality and impose fear and misery on the communities they blight.

What all these examples have in common is quite simply, in comparison to long-held British standards and ethics, an overwhelming ‘otherness’. They don’t belong, they don’t and won’t fit in and yet those who need never endure their often quite devastating impact insist there is no problem. The Communist determination to disrupt and destroy (yes destroy) our society is almost complete. The kids are indoctrinated to accept any form of subjugation to the will of government and they don’t even see it. In a generation the last of the true British people will die out. I don’t see that as an improvement to the world, but it seems our ‘rulers’ do.

Our leaders - always on the fiddle

Yes, we have always had immigration. Yes we are enriched (don’t you hate that word) by integration and yes, to mix is undoubtedly a good thing, but that’s not what this is. This is an invasion. It is not racist, or xenophobic or any other form of bigotry to set out what is or isn't acceptable behaviour. It is not wrong to seek to restore Britishness to Britain. And it is not wrong to utterly reject the formation and growth of destructive sub-cultures within our shores. Only if we can wrest back control from the appeasement-monkeys in Westminster will we ever have a chance to bring Britain back from the brink.