Which project?

Anthony Charles Lynton Crosby Stills Nash Young and Blair. Whatever else he wanted for his legacy the gurning glove puppet mouthpiece of Mandelson’s New Labour will most be remembered for the asset-stripping of what was left of the Labour Party. He started off by abandoning  Clause Four, continued through the systematic rejection of all the values that originally made Labour a party of the ordinary working man, turned the comedy ‘champagne socialist’ into the mainstay of his club of cronies and finally killed Keir Hardie’s dream with his three increasingly desperate attempts to persuade the voters to reject Jeremy Corbyn.

So far at odds with Labour’s core principles were New Labour that David Cameron once referred to himself as ‘heir to Blair’. Yikes. It takes an especially thick kind of skin to handle that kind of abuse but dear old ‘Tone’ rose to the challenge with aplomb. He was disliked by Conservatives who clearly saw through his blatant attempt to turn Labour into Tory-lite but were powerless to prevent it. He was reviled by ordinary rank-and-file Labour members for doing the same thing. And hated by the unions for not taking their shilling he became the most successful and most popular Prime Minister that nobody, apart from his trendy new media and luvvie friends, admitted to ever liking.

The devil eyes of the Tory election campaign; the evil upside down mouth of his cackling spouse; the bitter venom of his communist father-in-law and the barely veiled sneers of his partner in crime Gordon Brown... above all else the thing that people appeared to hate the most about Blair was how malleable he was as he chameleonically changed his stance to fit the views of his audience – oh, except for the famous savaging he got from the Women’s Institute; as mothers they were uniquely equipped to see through his psychopathic manipulations and view the nasty, greedy little boy beneath.

My god... what have I done?

But finally he has come good. Even going so far as to admit that he understands his interventions may well lead to an increase in Corbyn-mania - bizarrely it is many of the same luvvie set who are now supporting JC in his ascendency – Blair’s last act for Labour may be to hammer in the nails on its coffin lid. Some have suggested this is a deliberate act to complete the sabotage he started but I suspect he is trying to atone for the damage he caused. Either way, intentional or not, we may have him to thank for keeping Labour’s hands off the levers of power for a generation. It would not surprise me if, when Blair accepts a chair in the upper chamber, he is ennobled as a Tory Peer. 

Blairey Superstitious...

That Tony Blair has come out for Ed Miliband shows how desperate Labour are for votes at any cost in the coming election because, surely, it is all or nothing for them now. After all the distance Ed has tried to put between himself and the Tory-Lite facsimile of New Labour the party faithful clearly have no faith in the old way that Ed represents. Big gamble, because Blair is as hated by almost as many Labour supporters as he is by the centre-right, whose garb he adopted as a Fabian wolf in the sheep’s clothing of woolly-soft faux conservatism before allowing his chancellor to do his worst.

His worst? To plunge us further into the welfare mire from which the coalition has tried to extract us, one sticky welly at a time. Because Labour is nothing if it isn’t spending other people’s money and then demanding more. A great deal that is wrong with our country can be summed up with a few of JFK’s famous words: “Ask not what your country can do for you…” If people did more for themselves then there would be fewer Marys in the world.

Mary is a hobby alcoholic; it’s an occupation of sorts. To ring the changes she also dabbles in other mood-altering substances when the opportunity arises but times are hard and there is only so much cash to go around. To this end she is grateful for her several children, who give her unchallenged access to the benefit bounty of free money for kids, rent and Council Tax. These, of course, are well-known gateway benefits, leading users to seek ever more exotic handout-highs.

 The children, as is natural when you have no aspiration, rarely attend school regularly and they are in and out of the courts and state care as often as Mary is in and out of rehab and treatment programmes. Between them they cost the country many hundreds of thousands of pounds in failed education initiatives, court costs and frequent unnecessary visits by the emergency services, called in by concerned neighbours because of the violent stand-up rows, which replace normal functional communication.

It’s likely the kids will never work and will inherit many of Mary’s troubles, going on to reproduce for recreation and soaking up ever more healthcare and social services resources. The brood will spread and in a few generations will fill a small sink estate and its attendant state-provided army of people whose miserable job it is to contain their worst excesses and limit the damage they can do to others. Multiply the problems by the number of Marys and it is clear that public spending could be vastly reduced were they simply not there.

It's our country now...

Draconian measures would be needed to expunge the blight though, and any party attempting it is automatically damned as monstrous, but it is clear to most that it can’t continue. If the country isn’t allowed to do for Mary, then Mary must do the right thing and exercise restraint. Fat chance. The rot started long ago but it accelerated wildly under the ‘caring’ and ever watchful evil eyes of Blair’s administration. New Labour solved nothing, they just took your money and concealed the crap under the carpet. The money is still all gone – where do you think Labour will look for more?

The Blair Essentials

Tony Blair. Anthony Charles Lynton Blair. What a nasty, treacherous, mendacious, evil little puppet he is. Statesman for sale to the highest bidder. Start a war, become peace envoy. Deliberately adulterate a tolerant population, then decry those among it who find tolerance a one-way street. Declaim “education, education, education” then preside over a sustained and quite deliberate erosion of the same. Cast aside that same deluded, under-educated generation in favour of your cheaper, imported wage-slaves then label racist all who speak up for them.

The New Labour project marked a deliberate separation of the British people from its democracy and ushered in a new politics, practised by and for an entirely political class. The last few dinosaurs – politicians who had previously worked in ordinary jobs for a living – are rapidly becoming extinct; those currently in office who can claim non-political work experience come largely from the law, the newspapers or, bizarrely, the world of entertainment. Soon, however, only the direct political entrant will have a chance of being nominated.

Politics, national, corporate or familial was always a game based on power before principle, office before efficacy, but at least it ultimately had to serve, albeit imperfectly, the greater good of those who gave it power. But the gradual shift away from dependency on the electorate seemed to enter a new phase under Blair. Under his imperious reign politicians no longer asked what the people wanted but smugly told them what they were going to get… and what they would get if they didn’t like it. The old joke “It doesn’t matter who you vote for, the government always gets in” became a joke no more.

Political parties no longer engage the public who just feel that that wherever you place your ‘X’ it makes little difference. They don’t get the local man or woman who knows them and will represent their concerns. If it’s a safe seat they get a quota-filler, or a spotty-faced political dynasty product in the form of a mini-Blair/Straw/Prescott who will contemptuously hoover up their tribal loyalty then ignore them until the next election. If it’s a vital marginal they will witness a bout between rising Westminster superstars, none of whom will give a fuck once the voting’s done.

And even in the face of the current ‘interesting times’ their only concerns are how to counter the appeal of other parties, how to play the political game, but never how best to serve those whose votes they crave. Once upon a time the electorate turned out in force and had the power to unseat the ineffective but more often than not today people neither know nor care who their MP is; it makes no difference so they just don’t bother. Elections are decided on a dwindling turnout of the politically motivated and nobody else matters.

Which Blair project?

Then, once they are in post their sights are set on higher goals – European commission positions where votes simply don’t matter; all they have to do is follow the bidding of their new political masters and the little people, those countless millions who have to live with the disastrous consequences of shallow political whimsy, are powerless. Remember all this as you watch Tony Blair, who is once again on manoeuvres for such a position. And when Anthony Charles Lynton Blair finally ascends, god-like, to the Euro-throne, say a prayer for the soul of our dear, departed democracy.

If Only

Well, who would have thought that Tony Blair would keep on cropping up in the news? Wendi Deng Murdoch, indeed? And that damned Chilcot Inquiry just keeps on keeping on. What's to be made of it all - surely we can accept the words of  senior politician? If only.

With my sincere apologies to Rudyard Kipling:

IF you can keep your lies when all about you 

Are changing theirs and blaming it on you,

If you can trust your vote when all men doubt you,

But make allowance for their voting too;

If you can spend and not be tired by spending,

Or being lied about, spread still more lies,

Or being hated, don't give way to hating,

And yet don't look too good, nor talk too wise:

If you can spin - and not make spin your master;

If you can promise - and not make deeds your aim;

If you can meet with Nissan and Mercedes

And treat those different trade blocks just the same;

If you can bear to hear the crap you've spoken

Twisted by knaves to make more crap for fools,

Or watch the things you gave your life to, broken,

And stoop and sell 'em up to worn-out fools: 

If you can make one heap of your expenses 

And risk it on one turn of bribe-and-graft,

And lose, and start again at your beginnings

And never breathe a word about your craft;

If you can force your heart and nerve and sinew

To serve your turn long after honour’s gone,

And so hold on when there is nothing in you

Except the lie which says to them: 'Hold on!'

If you can talk with crowds and keep your secrets,

Or oligarchs - nor lose the common touch,

If neither foes nor loving friends can fleece you,

If all men count with you, but none too much;

If you can fill the unforgiving minute

With sixty seconds' worth of falsehood spun,

Yours is the Earth and everything that's in it,

And - which is more - you'll be a politician, my son!

Don't be late!

Sorry I’m a bit late today, but it’s not my fault. I have a medical condition that makes it literally impossible for me to meet deadlines. Yes it was diagnosed by a doctor. At least I assume it was a doctor; I was twenty minutes late for the appointment. What’s the condition called, you ask? Hang on while I find the paperwork… Yes, here it is, it’s just called ‘Chronic Lateness’. I know, you couldn’t make it up… although my ‘doctor’ appears to have done just that

Reported in the Daily Mail today is the strange case of Jim Dunbar, who has been late for everything in his life; work, holidays, first-dates, funerals – you name it, he’s been late for it. His chronic tardiness has been diagnosed as a medical condition, related to that other well-known imaginary ailment, ADHD, which is, of course, brilliant news. At last I know that my poor result in that crucial exam was simply because I was late to finish the paper; it wasn't my fault I ran out of time. It was medical, see? Not my fault at all.

In this world where we routinely refuse to condemn and correct what was formerly seen as aberrant behaviour this should come as no surprise at all. Thus a steady decline in rigorous educational outcomes can be dismissed by a whole series of lengthy, acronymic disorders and treated with suitable drugs, relegating teachers to junior nurses in the national lunatic asylums we used to refer to as ‘schools’.

Thus parental failings, antisocial behaviour, repeated offending, drug addiction, welfare dependency, wrath, greed, sloth, pride, lust, envy and gluttony can all be chalked up not to individual or collective failings, but regarded as the inevitable outcome of some sort of syndrome. And the list of such crippling diseases is ever added-to by an army of selfless practitioners, ready to diagnose yet another acronym on, if necessary, an individual basis.

Thus my chronic idleness is different from your chronic idleness because it has different letters in it and pity the poor worker with no label because he or she will have no excuse come the day they dare to throw a sickie because of some piffling excuse, such as a broken leg. Who wouldn't want to have a prescription that says they stay at home watching Jeremy Kyle and drinking White Ace cider not because they are worthless but because they are a bit poorly?

This explains so much. It explains New Labour’s inability to recognise the unaffordability of the welfare state and its failure to prevent major failings in some NHS Trusts. It explains why it took so long for Ed Miliband to grudgingly confess that its open door immigration policy had been incompletely thought through. Maybe the labels, inter alia of racist, sexist, Europhobe, homophobe, bigot and misogynist are actually not meant to be pejorative at all, but are simply the collective medical terms for an inability to recognise when a politician is right and you, little person, are wrong?

Tony Blair displays his horrific injuries

So relax, fellow sufferers, it really is not your fault. It’s a disease, plain and simple and such diseases affect not just the masses, but the great and the good. When Tony Blair says, from a billionaire’s yacht, that we should intervene in Syria, he is not being a war monger. Neither is he protecting his own not inconsiderable financial interest out of any form of greed. No, not at all. You see, dear Tony suffers from a terrible affliction which makes it impossible for him not to recommend the annihilation of thousands of foreigners on a regular and predictable basis. His syndrome is called Middle East Peace Envoy.

Diversify or die?

The phrase ‘diversify or die’ used to be a watchword for many a businesses in the nineteen-eighties. For the United Kingdom of the two-thousand-and-teens maybe it should be rewritten as diversify AND die? Because the latest census shows us what many have been seeing for years, that if you live in certain areas you already feel you are not only a minority but an oppressed minority. 

An acquaintance of mine was recently offered, in return for a favour, a reduction in his business rates on a tap of the nose because of a 'contact in the council'. I need not tell you that those involved in the scam would not exactly describe themselves as White British on the census forms. In fact the number who do so has declined steadily and with that decline goes much of the decency and fairness for which Britain used to be known.

If you had left these shores in, say, 1955 and arrived back here today you would imagine you’d ended up in a different country and you would be correct. A very different country. In 1961 the estimated population was 45 ½  million. The notion of breaking this down by ethnicity was obviously ludicrous as non-white British accounted for around 200,000 or less than half a per cent and virtually all of them were from the Commonwealth – in other words we knew who they were; friends and allies.

You welcome friends and allies, but you keep at arms length those you mistrust, misunderstand, fear or despise. Once upon a time you had to go to North Wales for the language to change as soon as you entered an establishment. Now it's an everyday occurrence and sometimes no concession at all is given to the Lingua Franca. In fact there is no longer a common language; You might just as easily encounter Bengali,  Silheti, Panjabi, Gujerati Hindi, Turkish, Arabic, Nigerian, Somali, Greek, Portuguese, Tamil, Kurdish or Albanian. (Descending order of number of speakers in London)

Meanwhile those involved in the race industry speak a combination of Pidgin, Double Dutch and Gobbledygook to justify their actions and quell any objections and you have to hate me now for writing this, because in that language of the brainwashed I am a foul, despicable and deluded racist. That's how far the progressive agenda has brought us. Any dissent is expressed as unreasonable resistance to rational change, anything more than a muted shrug is called racism and so heinous a crime is it that telling the truth can land you in jail. Thank you Tony Blair.

It is said that over 250 languages are spoken in London, making the capital the most linguistically diverse city in the world. Not one of those is the language of common sense that speaks up for the displaced and reveals unchecked immigration for the folly it is. Our current circumstances are down to an act of sheer treachery by the former government to engineer the political makeup of the country and “rub the Right’s nose in diversity”.

A few statistics from the latest census tell us a story of simple invasion:

• Nearly 3 million people in England and Wales live in households where no adults speak English as their main language.
• In London, one in three people was born outside the UK.
• White British people are now in a minority in London.

Traditional British celebration of 

ethnic and cultural diversity

The problem, for problem it is, has been long recognised by those who have to live with it and it is time for the truth to be told and valued. We can’t reverse the damage done but we can surely see as a falsehood the former multicultural mantra of diversity and integration and recognise the reality as Diversity and Disintegration?

Meanwhile David Cameron's party is in uproar over gay marriage.

Witch Project

Somebody today asked me, "Who the hell does Tony Blair think he is?" Bloody good question; clearly he doesn't regard himself as a mere fallible mortal, having fallen for the conceit of many a leader - believing his own PR. Untouchable.  Now I'm no bible basher but Matthew 7:16 appears to be apposite: "By their fruits ye shall know them." let's have a look at this particular Blairite bunch of grapes...

An unapologetic enthusiast for an enlarged, engorged European super state, who opened up the borders to unrestricted immigration and the subsequent displacement of hundreds of thousands of youngsters from entry-level jobs and thus from any chance of fulfillment? Reciting the mantra "education, education, education" who presided over a sustained erosion of education such that few of today's teachers would be worthy of the mere five O Levels they would have needed forty years ago, yet have qualifications they call degrees that are nothing more than socialist dogma disguised as erudition?

In the name of that same edu-dumbination, during whose term of office did the systematic downgrading of state education create over three thousand alternative subjects of study masquerading as qualifications to persuade young illiterates that they were worthy of a pointless university education and that remaining in school for a third of your life was a good thing?

Under whose watch did the noble aim of health and safety at work become a by-word for interfering non-job creation, instilling a fear of common sense and creating an entire industry founded on the premise that Big Brother knows best how you should take every working step? Much of the same thing happened to turn the largely crackpot green energy enthusiasts into iconoclastic world experts predicting the end of the planet and promoting the new religion of "do as you're told or we'll make you the enemy"? Has anybody noticed how much cheaper your energy is now that so much of it is produced by German wind turbines?

Who deregulated the licensing of alcohols sales so that twenty-four-hour, pissed-up party people have rendered the police barely capable of containing Friday night, let alone the rest of the week?  Who presided over the systematic criminalisation of society such that every action, every utterance, every opinion expressed is a potentially actionable offence? Who turned thought-crime into a real crime?

Who proposed that we compound the idle sickness of sloth with ready access to free money and round-the-clock gambling and who was more concerned with the prospect of legacy than of history? Some legacy; mountains of personal debt, fatherless children, state-owned lives, the culture of entitlement, the loss of individual responsibility, free speech, free press and any worthwhile prospects. Doublethink, thought crime, newspeak... Orwell was writing a warning, not an instruction manual. Double plus ungood.

And now, after lining his nest with mink and gold he has the audacity to say that withdrawal from the increasingly monolithic Soviet Socialist EU Republic would be disastrous. Yes it would be a setback in his bid for the presidency, wouldn't, it? Or do you still believe that nice Mr Blair has your interests at heart. Remember this poster? Doesn't look so far-fetched now, does it?

In January 1997, the Conservative Party tried to warn you. During his term in office the press repeatedly tried to warn you. More recently David Icke tried to warn you - and if David Icke is starting to look sane what does that say about the state of the world of politics? Too late to say it now... but I told you so.

You Little Beauty

I had half a mind to write about the cabinet reshuffle but decided against on two counts. One; that I’m not really all that interested. Two; neither are you. Finally, everybody else has talked about nothing else for the last twenty-four hours on every form of media known to UKind. (Yes, I know that’s three reasons, but there’s British education in a nutshell.) Instead I’m going to talk about perverts. Are you sitting comfortably? Let’s see if I can’t change all that for you.

On the car radio yesterday I heard Jeremy Vine discussing the phenomenon of US-style, child beauty pageants coming to a fucked-up chav town near you any day soon. Surely nobody, this side of sanity could imagine for one minute that dressing up your three-year-old as a twenty-buck-a-trick hooker and sticking her on a stage will end in anything but disaster? Did we learn nothing from Bonny Langford?

Not surprisingly it was the girls’ pimps – their mothers – who were the ringleaders of this sinister flesh-trafficking industry. Also it will come as no surprise to hear that the greatest detractors were those voicing concerns of predatory male interest. Paedophiles get such a bad press, don’t they?

Who decides who’s a pervert? What’s the cut-off point? A fifteen-year-old girl can easily look twenty, so is ‘not legal’ the same as unnatural? Given that a thirteen-year-old is perfectly (and demonstrably) capable of becoming pregnant, it would seem natural, in the literal sense that they are ready for procreation. How low can you go before stretching a point becomes altogether unnatural? Is it a relative thing? (And when I say ‘relative’ the evidence usually points to a tradition of keeping it in the family.)

At what point on the scale of admiration does a leg man become a foot fetishist? Beyond which boundary does binding become bondage? How safe is your safe word? Where does one man’s auto-asphyxiation lead to a two-man, two-hand stranglehold? And it’s not just the men; according to E. L. James there’s fifty shades of fetish going down out there, as it were.

Until 1967, male homosexual acts were illegal in England and Wales and it took until 1980 for such enlightenment to reach Caledonia. Even heterosexual titillation was still seen as sordid and it took a new century and the Internet to reveal the full gamut of sexual predilection (or depravity, depending on your tastes) open to humanity. You can not only do it today, you are encouraged to flaunt it - dress-down-Friday becomes cross-dress everyday. 

Not everybody suits a Tutu - ask Tony Blair!

The world is agog, nay, Google-eyed at the sheer number of deviations in delight and nothing appears to be out of bounds… except the kiddy thing.

But there’s good news for pageant organisers. Not everybody is against the bump and grind baby parade circuit. The police heartily welcome the circus coming to town and they encourage the widespread advertising of show times – it takes their mind off the grim prospect of a Prescott police commissioner and it’s so much easier to catch the paedos when you know where they all are.

Mind how you go now.