Satisfaction?

When the Stones first rolled onto the stage, fifty years ago, Britain was in an age of crumbling optimism. We didn’t know how we were going to survive in our post-war, post-empire world, but we were somehow sure we would. We used to actually, say, out loud, “It’s a free country” Admittedly it was often a rude response when asked to stop doing something the grown-ups didn’t approve of, but it was said with the confidence of certainty; it was a free country.

On Saturday, while Mick Jagger was busy with a photo call outside his Glastonbury yurt, Tommy Robinson and Kevin Carroll were using Armed Forces Day to drum up support for the English Defence League by attempting to walk to Woolwich and lay tributes to slaughtered soldier, Lee Rigby. Their walk was an intentionally provocative act of defiance against islamic aggression but was nevertheless in the spirit of the freedoms supposedly won by allied forces in two world wars.

Don’t stop reading at this point, I’m not coming out and declaring any affiliation or affinity for the EDL, but to ignore what’s happening in this country is just foolish and a great many people are highly concerned about it. Posted online was a short video which must have been watched by thousands. The two walkers were deliberately obstructed, provoked and then attacked - an action their police escort seemed to tacitly allow to happen - and then they were detained, arrested and held for the rest of the day.

Watching the video I was struck by the appearance of the aggressors. They didn’t look like the usual tattooed freaks and Arab-scarved nutters that normally turn out to taunt an EDL event. If anything they looked much as the UAF and Hope-Not-Hate fanatics might portray a typical EDL supporter. At first they even appeared to blend in with the peaceful walk. But if many bloggers are to be believed, they may have been police stooges, planted to facilitate an arrest. Whatever the truth of the matter a wholly different set of policing tactics seems to apply to groups on either side.

Rather than confront and contain the islamist preachers, police generally appear to be there to protect them, or run from their angry mobs when tempers get hot. Gob for hire, Anjem ‘Andy’ Choudary is apparently untouchable even as he openly supports violent jihad and backs groups such as the provocative IED. Other ironically-named groups such as Unite Against Fascism, Hope-not-Hate and Tell Mama have openly hostile agendas and a record of violent confrontation, yet arrests are few and rarely reported openly.  Such differential treatment is increasing the alienation of many working class white Britons, how could it do otherwise?

So what is going on? Is the government deliberately allowing the fomenting of anti-islamic emotion and promoting nationalism? Every day, parts of the mainstream media carry stories of invasion by breeding, by benefit fraud and by openly threatening behaviour and affray, from flag burning, disrupting white protest groups, shouting pure hatred and vowing to wreak another holocaust. White no-go areas are not only tolerated, but protected – it seems – by the authorities. Given that the most typical EDL member is from displaced white working-class men – former Labour voters – it’s hard not to be cynical of official policy which seems to be fanning the flames.

Freedom of speech should not be confused with freedom to do as you please, but words are just words, aren’t they? However, say a word against the favoured ones – anybody NOT white British, it seems – and you are treading on the delicate breaking ice floes of our newly frigid and polarised society.

 As the old troubadour strutted the pyramid stage on Saturday night he was living proof of what you can achieve in a free world - fifty years of only rock and roll, passion and fire.I wonder if Mumford and Sons will be around in fifty years’ time? And whether Glastonbury will even be possible by then?

Comic-Con

Scotland is to rig the vote, sorry, lower the voting age, to allow young pups to distort participate in next year’s independence ballot. If that smacks of Scottish Nationalist desperation then how do you feel about the European Union spending taxpayers’ money to indoctrinate the very young indeed? Yes, the EU is sending multilingual propaganda colouring-in books to infants everywhere. Don’t come bleating to me when your ten-year old dobs you in to the authorities and you spend five years in a gulag learning to love Big Brother.

Well, two can play at that game. I hereby present my own version of the Euro Comic translated into just one language – the correct one – and invite you to disseminate it far and wide. We may yet wake up one day in a green and pleasant land, free to be British again, although I’m not holding my breath.

Page 1 and the story so far... Mr & Mrs MEP have to run the gamut of protesters bleating on about useless wind turbines. Do these people not understand that they have to register before 1830 on Monday evening to get their full day's allowance? It takes a good few hours sleep on the gravy train Eurostar to even get to Strasbourg, never mind all those demands on their time.

When they get there,there is much work to be done. For a start they have to book dinner at a swanky restaurant commensurate with their status, then have a relaxing evening before the challenging and ever-hectic Tuesday schedule begins... around midday. There are many palms to be greased and many favours to return.

Life is not all rosy; some of the expenses and allowances have to be tracked down. It's not like they hand them to you on a plate - it's more of a suitcase stashed with money. And suitcases can be hard to lug around Strasbourg all day, so once Mr & Mrs MEP have signed in they must take a free limousine ride back to their apartment where they have to count it all up and then account for every penny they are unable to hide. Those EU budgets don't audit themselves you know!

And then suddenly - almost as if they've done no work at all - it's Friday morning and time to go home. What a gruelling life Mr & Mrs MEP have, supervising the porters lugging their heavy suitcases through the open diplomatic channels and into a waiting Swiss bank account. But first they have an important mission to complete at the Parliament building.

I know what I want to be when I grow up! 

Spending our way out?

So, the spending review concluded that, in a nutshell, we need to review our spending. What else could it find?

Like an errant child extending a student loan to pay for frivolities, as any immature adult with new-found powers to borrow and spend naturally will, New Labour racked up the spending during its youth and now, struggling to find gainful employment, it gripes and moans as ‘the olds’ have to be parsimonious to avoid the bailiff. “No more boom and bust!” puffed their chancellor, while laying the ground for the biggest bust we ever did see.

You can jail all the bankers you like but it won’t bring the money back – it was recklessly lent to those who couldn’t repay it and fed fuel to an unsustainable boom. You can cut back on welfare, which expanded to ever more unaffordable and shameful levels under Labour, discouraging work and suppressing wages in an effort to buy voters by putting everybody on state life support. But you can’t just borrow your way out of debt. Nobody lends to a loser; see how this works yet, Labour?

The opposition’s rhetoric on borrowing to invest sounds attractive to the same infantile minds that always vote for them – those who struggle to cope with the simple realities of life and those who would eagerly exploit them. But it amounts to little more than a monetary perpetual motion machine, appearing to work just so long as somebody is injecting top-ups along the way. The goose can only lay the golden eggs if you feed it. Labour running the economy is a bit like relying on wind turbines to power a modern society – unproven, unreliable, ideologically driven, costly and ultimately doomed to failure and the scrap yard (probably a German one).

But they are right about one thing. It is human nature to hoard and those with the means to do so will naturally pass on their gains to their descendants, who will then get a start higher up the ladder and with less effort be able to increase their own wealth. Better education, established contacts, passed-on property, familial investment savvy, freedom from early debt; all of these are advantages conferred on the offspring of the successful and unavailable to those outside their circle.

While ‘the poor’ start with nothing and few are ever able to rise above that state, the rich undeniably get richer. Of course they do and they choose, in the main, to associate with those similarly blessed. But enviously and punitively removing their incentives to do so will only result in capital flight and then everybody gets poorer. Solve that conundrum without driving away talent or removing incentives for entrepreneurialism and you just may have a redistributive policy that works. Until that epiphany occurs The Eds simply cannot be trusted with the purse strings; it would be like letting your teenager run the household.

Labour's Economic Policy

The coalition might be struggling to put together the national omelette but at least they are honest about the difficulties and resolved enough to carry on. Labour would borrow, buy far more expensive, ready-made, powdered omelette mix and pretend to themselves that no eggs had been broken.

Going for a Tramp

I genuinely do not give a fig about the welfare of the sub-human pests who seek to invade our shores, despoil our towns and make large with our diminishing resources. I don’t care that they come from somewhere with less, where they lead hopeless lives in squalid conditions and resort to sub-human behaviour to survive. I am unmoved by the plight of children, who did not ask to be born, struggling to come to terms with a world that doesn’t want them. I want them gone and I really don’t care how that is achieved.

If all the world’s resources were spread equally amongst all the world’s human population then everybody would be significantly less well off than what is considered to be poor in the UK today. Give it a week, a month maybe and some would have more than others. Give it a year and we would have people living off landfill while others fortified the perimeters of their mansions. That is the way of our opportunistic, selfish species. It just is.

The kindest thing we could do for the vast majority of humans who live as little more than animals is leave them to it. Let their natural disasters control their populations and accept we can’t help everybody. Otherwise, as you see in the case of the Romanian gypsies cleared from Barnet today, like vermin they will colonise new ground and bring their breeding-for-survival lifestyles with them.

Looking at the pictures I don’t feel pity, I feel anger. Anger that they manage to get into the country at all. Anger that it takes seemingly forever to remove them. Anger that our supposed leaders plead impotence in the face of Brussels diktat. How much squalor, disease and crime is too much? Rather a lot, it would seem – we appear to have an insatiable appetite for imported misery.

There is still an offence of vagrancy, but we let our own population get out of control to the extent that it became largely unenforceable and unjust. There was once a workhouse system, seen as a last resort, but it was eventually deemed unusually cruel. We used to transport our undesirables. Now it seems, Europe is transporting its undesirables to us. Where does it stop?

Loveable Romany rascals!

Now, please excuse me, as I am off to do my bit, my patriotic duty. I’m going for a tramp in the woods. 

No Laughing Matter?

Like an annoying mosquito in a darkened room the first thing you notice is the annoying, persistent whine. You swat it away, but it comes back, an irritant with no other purpose than to pester. Eventually it goes away but not before it’s inflicted at least a modicum of self-satisfied corrective commentary. Twitter’s good like that.

My current annoying insect has been buzzing around, telling me off for daring to deploy sardonic humour against the pernicious evils of our world – socialism, the bloated welfare state, multiculturalism, islam (with a lower case ‘i’) “Why you so mean?” he say, “Why you no likey?” I made him Chinese... because it's funnier and easier to parody in a brutish, racist manner... because I am such a despicable person.

“Would you make fun of The Queen?” he asked, “Would you make fun of your Christian neighbours?” Of course, I replied (but not before I wondered how he knew my neighbours). I’m assuming he’s quite young – the national socialist experiment of the last few decades has mounted a concerted assault against one of the planks of our national character – but he could easily be one of the beardy-weirdy, lentil-knitting, bean-munching fart machines that started it all. “Go back to Russia!” we’d have said in the nineteen sixties, but he’s quite likely to be an entirely home-grown humourless malcontent; the product of the concerted battle against Albion.

The legendary British sense of humour has got us through all manner of strife and disaster and in the playgrounds of old (before they were sold off) you quickly learned that to be rattled was just asking for it. Sticks and stones, we learned and then learned that to say it out loud would attract more scorn. But the rules are all very easy. Nothing, but nothing, is off-limits, so long as you are first prepared to laugh at yourself. So, I’m a fat, balding, greying unreconstructed product of patriotism and toil – the sort of lumpen, working class stock that trots off to die in wars to protect people I will never know. I don’t expect the world to stay the same, but if we can’t deploy one of our most potent non-lethal weapons without recrimination then what was the point?

A typically despicable assault on islam.

Yet still funny - courtesy Daily Mail

 So yes, I reserve my right to take the piss, take the rise, make fun of, jeer at, heckle, name-call, mimic, goad, barrack and generally mock anything I bloody well like. And if it is too much for your delicate, politically correct, indoctrinated, mollycoddled sensibilities you can either grow a pair or fuck the fuck off. Or, you can sit there with your knees drawn up to your chest, rocking away and humming and wishing the whole nasty world would go away.