New Readers!



Readers of the online version of the Wall Street Journal, led here earlier by a link placed on one of the pages which featured comments upon the Dalits, who also appeared in a post I made earlier, are indeed welcome to my own little pages!



How to be British!

Following from the announcement that Salman Rushdie is to be awarded a knighthood ‘for services to literature’ and the ensuing rush by the Islamic Rabble to shout out that he should be burnt/beheaded/sliced-and-diced; I liked the response of Jack Straw, a Labour politician whose own politics, incidentally, I cannot stand!

However, when asked for a comment upon the crazed, wild-eyed jerks who were threatening everything from ‘jihad’ onwards towards the inoffensive Rushdie, he stated that, while he deplored the comments from the Idiots of Islam, he’s never actually managed to finish any of Rushdie’s works, because of his ‘impenetrable style of writing!’

Like it, Jack !!!

……only an Englishman will truly understand!

An Englishman, an Irishman, a Welshman and a Scotsman were captured while fighting in Iraq.

The leader of their captors said: “We’re going to line you up in front of a firing squad and shoot you all in turn. But first, you each can make a final wish.”

The Scotsman says: “I’d like to hear Flower of Scotland just one more time to remind me of the auld country, played on bagpipes in the style of the Royal Scots Dragoon Guards.”

The Irishman says: “I’d like to hear Danny Boy just one more time to remind me of the Emerald Isle, sung in the style of Daniel O’Donnell, with Riverdance dancers skipping gaily to the tune.”

The Welshman says: “I’d like to hear Men Of Harlech just one more time to remind me of the Land of my Fathers, sung as if by the Aberavon Male Voice Choir.”

The Englishman said: “I’d like to be shot first…”



Silence is somewhat golden!

Noticed the distinct and troubling silence regarding the ‘Cash for Honours’ scandal, where Tony Blair was allegedly selling House of Lords seats at around half-a-million a pop?

Noticed how quiet it is around the headliners and commentary sites?

 Wait until the day after Our Tone resign!

 My ‘Deep Throated’ source tells me that Yates is panting at the bit!


Can’t wait!!! 

A quarter of a billion outcasts!

An outline of how discrimination is practiced in India.

India is one of the world’s most heavily-populated countries, being second only to China in numbers, but apart from the well-known political and public figures, there is little awareness amongst the wider public in how India governs itself, both in terms of religion, politics and social structure. The main religion in India is Hinduism, and the social structure which has emerged from this belief structure is the “Caste” system, whereby a religion is allowed to dictate that people are only allowed to do certain jobs, marry certain women, and even are dictated how they are treated after their deaths. For the upper circles, who are known as ‘Brahmin’, the professions are religious priests, political and military leaders; land owners are from the ‘Kshatriya’ caste, the vast majority of laborers, artisans and technicians are ‘Shudra’; but the one “Caste” which is not well publicised or even acknowledged are the “Harijan”, otherwise known as the Dalits, or “Untouchables”. These people, sentenced by, and at birth, to be sewage workers, cleaners of filth and human refuse, number some twenty percent of the population, and in a country which prides itself upon it’s democratic roots and government, it is indeed a strange commentary that one-fifth of it’s population is barred from rising out of the sewers and into everyday life!

Although the actual discriminatory process against the ‘Dalits’ was outlawed by the first Independent Indian parliament, in practice this abuse of their ordinary rights as human beings has persisted, and in many areas grown stronger, as the ruling Hindu parties, whether in or out of power, all subscribe to the casual barring of some 220 million Indians from just about all state higher education, all technical education, most jobs which are not akin to the allegedly “unclean” tasks such as sewage workers or latrine cleaners. In many cafes or restaurants, separate glasses are kept for the Dalits, just in case a ‘higher caste’ person is defiled by contact with a “Dirty Dalit”. One Dalit who managed to attain a higher education was severely beaten by his classmates for daring to achieve a higher marks than they did. A practice for certain ‘higher-caste’ people in earlier times was to actually send servants down a road to ensure that they would bot be contaminated by a Dalit’s gaze, never mind his presence.

One of the two most famous ‘Untouchables’ was Dr. Babasaheb Ambedkar, a mild-mannered but strong opponent of all discrimination, who was elected to the Constituent Assembly by the Bombay Legislature Congress Party. Dr Ambedkar joined Nehru’s Cabinet. He became the First Law Minister of Independent India and helped write India’s Constitution. His one regret was that he did not persuade Ghandi to support stronger anti-discrimination legislation, but his attempts were blocked by strong Hindu opposition. In his later years, he saw that opposition to the emancipation of his fellow ‘Dalits’ become further entrenched, despite the supposed end of discrimination.

The other political firebrand was one Kanshi Ram, who attempted to build his own political power base within the ‘Dalit’ community, and in fact managed to engineer the election of a Dalit woman, Mayawati, as chief minister in Uttar Pradesh, but has since accepted before his death that no one “Untouchable” organization is capable of coming to terms with the aspirations of a quarter-billion people!

So the next tactic of hundreds of thousands of Dalits is to convert to Buddhism; the thinking being that if they are no longer ‘Dalit’ in practice, they cannot be discriminated against, and it would be seen as doubly illegal for any to discriminate against a separate religion. They seem to have struck a nerve, because Hindi political parties in several Indian states are preparing legislation which would prevent any Hindu departing from their religion and accepting another God. Rajahstan and Madyha Pradesh have already introduced civil laws which would prevent any Dalit from leaving Hinduism without registering first with the state government, and Gujarat, a hardline Hindu state, is considering introducing a law which states that Buddhism is a version of Hinduism, so desperate are the traditional Hindu people to keep in servitude millions of their fellow countrymen.

So here we stand, in the second most populous country on earth, with the prospect of ‘affirmative action’ as one political solution proposed for all commerce in India, where any factory, office or workshop would have to employ a percentage of ‘Dalits’ in order to comply with the law, when it is almost universally accepted that ’Quotas’ never have, and never will, work. Why ‘affirmative action’? Because it’s a politician’s dream, to lay the burden for their stupidity and cupidity on someone else’s shoulders, because they couldn’t or wouldn’t grasp the thorny problem of stating, “No discrimination based on birth, color, belief or way of life is lawful, and thus shall not be allowed!” That is the solution, but it will be many years before the wider world sees an Indian “Untouchable” as a possible Prime Minister, if ever!

First offered for publication in OHMYNews, but since a couple of Indians didn’t like the tone, it was turned down!

“Fortune does indeed favour the Brave!”

Some twenty-five years ago this week, British troops completed the task of defeating the Argentine invaders of the British Falkland Islands set some three hundred east of Argentina. The British Prime Minister of the time, Baroness Margaret Thatcher, had sent a naval, aerial and military task-force some eight thousand miles because of one overwhelming consideration; the Islanders wanted to be British! The Falklanders wanted nothing to do with the claims of the corrupt Argentinian dictatorship regarding the sovereignty of the Islands, which they had named ‘Las Malvinas’.

The history of those few dangerous weeks, commencing with the sudden and unexpected invasion of the Falkland Islands by a massive Argentinian military and naval armada has been retold in books, in newspapers and on television. There were many attempts to impose diplomatic settlements upon Great Britain, in which the Falkland Islands would be ceded to Argentina in one form or another, but the sticking point, upon which the British strongly objected, was that the Falkland population’s desires and wishes would be disregarded. Mrs. Thatcher, as she then was, determined that the invaders should be kicked off British soil, and demanded of her military advisers a plan for doing just that. The objections, especially from the weaklings of the Foreign Office, poured in, as the liberal left-wing intelligentsia who only preached surrender attempted to change the mind of the finest mind seen in British political life; but fortunately for both Britain and the Falklands, Thatcher was forged from stainless steel, never mind iron.

One of the more amazing actions undertaken by the Royal Air Force” was the attack by bombs on the main airfield just outside the capital, Port Stanley. Operating from Ascension, a British island base 4,000 miles to the North, a single Vulcan bomber, supported by no less than fourteen Valiant jet bombers acting as mobile re-fueling bases, dropped a single row of bombs across the runway, one of which impacted in the center of the runway, thus removing all fast-jet capability from the Argentine Air Force in their efforts to provide a defensive arm on the islands. This attack was the single longest operating bomber sortie in the history of the Royal Air Force.

The Royal Navy was tasked with the transportation and protection of the largest armada to set sail “in harms way” since the Korean War, and although the British Admirals had to pull naval ships out of either overhaul or mothball status, they managed to set sail with a convoy which, as it later transpired, ” was just enough to ensure victory. “ The two available British carriers were deployed south, along with helicopter carriers, five nuclear Fleet submarines, eight destroyers and fifteen frigates. They convoyed two large passenger liners crammed with troops, the Atlantic Conveyor which carried extra helicopters and Harrier jets, along with some three ferries, transport, ammunition and oil tankers, together with minesweepers, tugs, more smaller ferries and a hospital ship.

One of the two “aces in the pack” was the presence of the nuclear submarines, which became the driving force in the Argentinian’s naval presence, as they were extremely reluctant to allow their precious surface ships to penetrate the British-imposed exclusion zone, inside which the British had declared that unrestricted warfare rules would apply. That the Argentinian heavy cruiser ‘General Belgrano’, armed with fifteen six-inch guns had penetrated that same exclusion zone and then turned away, was sufficient cause for the British to give the all-clear to a lurking submarine, HMS Conqueror, and “the Belgrano was sunk with heavy loss of life. “ The Argentine Navy ships never left port again!

However, the lack of naval power on the Argentinian side was more than balanced “by their brave and well-trained Air Force jet pilots ” , as they flew and fought their Skyhawks and Super-Etendard bombers against the British fleet. The Argentinian bomb and missile attack sank two frigates, two destroyers and damaged some five other naval vessels, as well as the Atlantic Conveyor merchant vessel. More ships would have been either lost or badly damaged, but the fact that the bomb fuses were incorrectly set saved over four Navy ships from destruction. The Task force’s mission was in peril, but they were rescued by the actions of the Harrier GR-3 vertical take-off jet fighter fleet, operating from the two carriers. Armed with the superb American-made Sidewinder missile and operating within their own protective envelope, the Harriers slashed the Skyhawks and the slower Mirages and propeller aircraft from the Falklands’ skies.

The military landings at San Carlos Sound on West Falkland were carried out under attack from the Argentinians, but in the main were completed without serious loss. The destroyer Coventry and the massive container ship Atlantic Conveyor were both sunk by Exocet missiles carried by the French Super-Etendard bombers, with the nearly crippling loss of all the remaining helicopters, thousands of tonnes of ammunition, tents, spares etc.

Despite the loss of the big container ship, the British land forces pressed ahead with the military build-up, and broke out of the defensive perimeter, fighting and capturing ground as they advanced. In the actions around Goose Green, the famed British Paratroopers fought and some died during this fierce battle, with a Victoria Cross, the supreme award for gallantry in action, being awarded posthumously to the paratroop colonel, H. Jones.

More and more reinforcements, plus artillery and mobile battle groups were continuously advancing and contacting the Argentine enemy, and, in the end, there was almost an undignified scramble to be the first into the Falklands capital, Port Stanley. The Argentine Army, which consisted mainly of badly-trained conscripts, were no match for the professional British soldiers who performed with their expected enthusiasm.

The Argentine forces “surrendered on the fourteenth of June, 1982, “ after a conflict which cost the lives of 258 British and 649 Argentine dead. Prime Minister Thatcher, who had sent out her soldiers, sailors and airmen to fight against a dictatorship’s dreams of glory, said very recently “In the struggle against evil… we can all today draw hope and strength from the Falklands victory. Fortune does, in the end, favor the brave… and none are braver than our armed forces,” she added.

Originally submitted to OHMyNews.

They don’t understand what ‘Democracy’ means!

Listening and watching the latest trauma happening as we watch in the Gaza Strip, and of course coming soon to a West Bank town near you, I sometimes wonder if the Americans ever regret pushing the unlikely idea of democratic elections for the Palestinians. The two opposing Parties, if they can be termed such, both espouse extreme violence, with Hamas being the slightly more bloodthirsty of the pair. Fatah is the more corrupt, monetarily speaking of course, as the millions of dollar which were contributed by the other Arab states, and which disappeared into the Swiss banking network of the late AIDS-riddled Yasser Arafat and his blood-sucking wife could testify, if they were ever traced. Hamas, being an Islamist Party, is opposed to any corruption, apart, that is, from the endemic corruption of receiving millions of dollars from Iran to aid them in their terror campaign against Israel.

So the allegedly-informed Palestinian electorate had a choice between two entities.  A Party which whispered that, when the moon was in the correct quarter, and the chicken entrails had been correctly read, they were prepared to talk with Israel about, well, everything; including cash, water and survival! Or the second alternative, a Party whose founding philosophy was the utter destruction of the State of Israel; a Party whose rockets slammed into Tel Aviv and the towns and villages of Northern Galilee. A party whose very ethic is death, terror and destruction!

 So the elections were held, and the sheep voted for the slaughtermen; and we look at the results on our t.v. screens today as the Hamas gunmen  dominate Gaza, and the Fatah gunmen round up the West Bank Hamas people before the same happens to Fatah in places like Ramallah.

Condeleeza Rice must be weeping into her martini as she surveys the chaos in the Palestinian areas. When offered the choice between chaos with Hamas, and the faint possibility of civilized behaviour with Fatah; they plump for the Party of Blood!

Mixed Signals, and Mistaken Identity!

A couple of items on the radio about anti-social behaviour, which in politico-speak goes for any practices which the observer does not approve of, and has of course been around for a long time. When I was a young man, we did exactly the same, only we did it with beer and whisky, instead of the modern trends towards ready-mixed booze and lager, but it all boiled down to the same thing, we went out on the town, got smashed, tried to tap up a few birds, and when we got shot down, we went to a ‘Chinese’ and had a meal before heading back to the ship.

Fair enough! My mind is drawn inexorably to a single city, and two different men. One was Ian, an Engineer Officer, the other Gordon, a Deck Officer, and the city was Istanbul, which was one of the scheduled stops on our run through the Med. and up into the Black Sea. The engineer in question was, strangely for sea-going men, a deeply religious man, whose one purpose in life was to save up enough money to go to Missionary College, and join his mother and father, who were both in the same line, which of course made what happened all the better! He went ashore into Istanbul, armed with a camera, intent on getting to grips with this ancient city, but after about two hours, really felt the urge to find a toilet, or as the usage went, ‘find a bog’. In keeping with the fine old British tradition of not speaking anything but English, he asked a few people on the main drag where the public toilets were, emphasising this by pointing at his flies, and after a stunned pause, the locals obliged by pointing him towards this large gate set back into the sidewalk, he went through the small door inset into the gate, and found he had been directed straight towards the largest brothel area in the city! He described the area in detail when he returned to the ship,

Gordon was a man cast of different metal altogether, he had plenty of money in his pocket, keen to get a buzz on, and equally keen to make the acquaintance of one of the ladies which Ian had so conveniently found! We started off in the Bar London, sinking five or six bottles each; I remember this establishment because of the waiter’s insistent demand for a tip! “Tip, tip, tip!” he repeated! So I replied, “Plant your spring corn early, it’s gonna be cold this winter!”  Funny, that! Didn’t seem to satisfy him at all! But I digress again! We made our way towards the newly-discovered red-light district, keen to view the local sights, and I can inform the readers that there were several sights around, but Gordon became enamoured of this little bird with dyed blonde hair, wearing, if that be the term, a very small bra and panties. Her room was in No. 29, (The Turks being well-organised at this sort of thing) He kept on saying, “Right, we’re gonna go up and have a few more ‘bevvies’ (Gordon was of Scottish roots), and when I come back, you an’ I will get stuck together (his words, true as I breathe!). So we wandered up the road, had the customary ten or so beers more, and by that time Gordon was on fire for the little bird in black! So we shoved off down towards the brothel area, with Gordon a little ahead of the rest, and as we rounded the second corner, here he saw, or thought he saw, the light of his drunken life, standing with her back to the street at the top of a short row of steps. So he shot up the steps, not hearing the calls from his friends, “Gordon, come back, that’s number 31!” He wrapped both his arms around her from behind, and squeezed her assets, and then the vision turned around, and it was a different woman, and very different, because this one had features which would have stopped a tank dead in it’s tracks! She was just plain ugly, but thought she had made an instant conquest! It took three policemen, and a great deal of talking, to explain to the locals that it was a case of mistaken identity. We made it back to the ship, but we had to take a taxi because we were laughing so much!

A very short story.

Second Time Around

The best negotiator ever to work for the American oil giant stumbled as he slowly walked across the boardroom carpet. He swallowed nervously as he prepared to deliver the extraordinary news about the latest prospect which had been given him as his target. Waiting impatiently for the good news from their feared financial hit-man were the assembled heavyweights of the largest of the global multi-national energy corporations, and they did not expect any bad news this morning. But they waited, and waited, as their employee seemed to be tongue-tied.

Finally the Chief Executive Officer, Gordon R. Strachan, could wait no more; “Grant, how did your negotiations go? Do we have a deal? Did you come in under budget, or do we have to pay a premium? Speak up, man, every one is waiting on your every syllable!”

The voice which finally emerged from Grant Tallant’s throat was not the same as that which everyone knew from before. It was distant, hedged with doubt, and it began with the simple words, “He didn’t, he wouldn’t; it was awful! He didn’t know how to negotiate, there were no lawyers on his side of the table; we could have walked all over his company, and he wouldn’t have stood a chance! Don’t get me wrong, sir, we got the deal, we now have the rights to operate, on all our gas stations throughout the United States, at least four pumps under the brand name ‘Sought and Found’ using the technology which has become so famous throughout the British Isles. All we have to do is build and install the fresh water tanks, pumps, pipework exactly as specified under the franchise, and the deal is done.” The negotiator’s voice faltered, then rallied again,”it was when we started talking about the money that it all started to, well, not exactly fall apart, but descended into a sort of parallel universe! Before our team managed to open their lap-top computers, even before we put our documentation down for the Sought-and-Found team to examine, their boss, this JayC guy, just simply smiled this wide beaming smile and said, “I know that whatever cost you propose will be suitable, as we trust you! Honest, Mr. Strachan, I must have bent the desk with my jaw; we could have named our own price; we could have taken the name, and the option, and walked out having paid absolutely nothing, and this guy just stood there, with this big trusting grin on his face!”

The room grew very still, as Strachan levered himself to his feet, “What did you do, Tallant? Did we get the best deal for the corporation which pays your salary? Did we screw this guy into the dust? Does he still trust us? What happened?”

“Mr. Strachan, directors of the board of Supreme Energy, I am happy to announce that we came in at a total cost, in royalty payments, of fifteen billion dollars, which sum, if you check your costing sheets, was exactly at the lowest end of our predicted range of payments. All we have to do, in order to comply with the franchise requirements, is to put up the pricing signs, exactly as the British guys have done it for over two years now. All the price signs are to be the same, and have the identical wording: ‘Just pay what you feel is just!’ The forecourt pumps have to have J. 2:1-11 painted prominently on both sides”. The negotiator felt every pair of eyes zero onto his face simultaneously, “I know it sounds absolutely crazy, but it seems to work for the Brits. Their main company profits, posted online some five weeks ago even though they aren’t compelled to do so, placed them in the top ten most profitable companies in the world, and this from a private, family-based and -owned outfit, is just plain incredible! Their employees all earn top dollar, their loss through in-house theft rate is zero, and all the gas station people have been with the company from the word ‘go’ On ordinary gas, both petrol and diesel, sales have of course slumped to around five per cent of their previous record totals, there appears to have been the normal numbers of thefts, with drivers just speeding away from the pump line without paying. But here’s the crazy thing, on all, not most but all of the pump sales which get loaded with the treated water, there hasn’t been one instance of some asshole driving away without paying something! Nada! Nix! Obviously, the Sought-and-Found guys have kept real shctum on the technology transfer which happens before, after or during the pumping into the gas tanks, which is what we expected. Hell, every molecular chemist, bio-scientist and engineer on this planet has tried, and failed, to discover how they do it; so you really shouldn’t expect early news from that quarter, and it is the opinion of this negotiating team that maybe we should stop trying, as maybe they might get uptight, and review the agreement terms! Gentlemen and ladies, we appear to have a deal!”

As the assembled financial heavyweights of Supreme Energy Corporation applauded, and Gordon R. came around the table to hug his best sales negotiator in an exuberant bear-hug, the only thoughts which revolved around Tallant’s mind was the memories of a smile which seemed to pass right through him, and a knowledge that he had treated the British company fairly, and no-one had got screwed!

As the Iranian Minister and petroleum executive passed through the Heathrow jetway on to the big 747 aircraft, and without thinking turned to his left to head towards his accustomed first-class seat, he remembered the fierce eyes of his religious leader as they bade him farewell before his mission began. “Remember, my friend, you deal with an infidel, an unbeliever. He cannot be allowed to further his undermining of the Islamic stranglehold on oil! We depend upon the cash from oil to finance the terror groups, the fundamentalists in the West Bank and Gaza, we need the oil money to further the spread of Islam through preaching to the foolish believers who would grasp the sting of a bomb wrapped close to their chests because Allah demands it!” He had nodded in acceptance of the statement, as it was rather foolish for any to disagree with the most powerful cleric in Tehran.

His journey to that very strange office, set in one corner of what was a rather large house in a tiny Dorset village, had been without incident, although he had felt, more than once, the keen scrutiny of British Intelligence operatives who had never attempted concealment, but openly followed his steps from the time he walked through the Immigration desks at Heathrow. As the Iranian sat back into the cosseting comfort of the first-class seat, he remembered his welcome from the middle-aged lady who had arisen as he stepped across the threshold. He had blinked in surprise to find she had covered her hair, although quite obviously not of the Faith, but discovered that she was only showing good manners to her son’s guest. She sat him down at a side table, swiftly arranged thick, welcome arabic-style coffee plus cups and a selection of deliciously-crumbly biscuits, all of which the visitor had swallowed as though he had been fasting for a fortnight. A slight smile crossed the woman’s lips as she spoke, “If your Excellency would wait perhaps two minutes, my son will be with you. He has just returned from completing a small job on a piece of farm machinery, and is busy washing his hands. Please forgive him for his tardiness!”

He had nodded acceptance of the apology, but no sooner had his gaze moved from the door than it was pushed open to reveal a tall, heavily-tanned individual, broad-shouldered and rangy in build, with big hands which looked as though they were best set around some fractious farm animal. Wearing a white shirt and blue jeans, together with white trainers, he definitely did not look as though he controlled one of the largest private fortunes in the western world, more likely to be a driver or perhaps a builder. The one thing which the Iranian noticed immediately was the striking eyes of the man who approached him, hands held out in a gesture of welcome. “Your Excellency, my apologies for keeping you waiting, I have a very unfortunate habit of wanting to repair everything which breaks down on the farm, instead of leaving it to the people who are supposed to look after the machines. However, as my mother has given you coffee, I hope that you will forgive the wait!” The fierce nature of the Iranian, used to having opponents cower at any meeting, was disarmed by the frank friendliness of his host, and relaxed as the two casually talked of the burdens of travel, of business trends and of the nature of the weather. Finally, after some five minutes of inconsequential talk, the tall Westerner took the wind straight out of the Iranian’s sails by bluntly asking, “Why is Iran so dead set against my company’s progress in America, in Europe and in the Far East, your Excellency? Why are your friends in Tehran and in Qom preaching so virulently against an energy company whose very existence is based upon an ethical foundation?” The blue eyes of his host bore straight into the mind of the Iranian, as he went on; “My guess is that you are upset because your revenues have been badly hit by the take-up of ‘Sought and Found’ power and energy products, and as a result, your backing for the militarists and fighters has had to be curtailed. Has it not occurred to any of the minds which control your Islamic Republic that maybe they are mistaken, and the true path to the increase in Islam’s reach is by preaching and good works alone?”

The shaken Iranian, unused to hearing a western man stating exactly what he had considered many times inside his own mind, commenced arguing that his country, and the revolution which it espoused, would not be bankrupted by a corrupt western company, and would continue to preach all over against the very existence of ‘Sought-and-Found’ anywhere within the Middle-East. But once more he was silenced as JayC, as the man was called by all, simply handed him a single page, upon which was written a franchise agreement which would allow Iran to build and equip, all over the country, the fresh water tanks and pumps which would carry the “Sought-and-Found” fuel to the millions of vehicles which travelled the streets and highways of Iran. The space which detailed the royalty cost had been left blank. The oil executive pointed at the omission, and JayC smiled a wonderful smile, and replied, “We know that we can trust you to make a suitable royalty payment arrangement, so we would prefer to leave the sum entirely up to you and your Government!” The tall westerner once more took his guest completely by surprise as he made a full arab gesture with his hands, saying at the same time, “Salaam aleikum!”

The Iranian managed an automatic “Aleikum Salaam!” in reply, as he considered the fabulous gift which had been bestowed upon his country. The oil which would have literally gone up in smoke could now be used to transform his nation’s industries, make plastics, electronics and much more. He would have to alter the mindset of an entire ruling class to achieve this, but with the munificent gift from this Englishman as his own armour, he found that the way forward towards a peaceful expansion of Islam became possible! As the jet’s engines boosted the huge aircraft towards the taxiways of the second-busiest airport in the world, Hakim Allahdi gazed out at the country which had given birth to such a strange un-worldly and supremely devious businessman such as this JayC obviously was. Then shrugged as he determined to set his own country on a course of change which would challenge it’s very existence!

Back in the Dorset village headquarters office, the man known as JayC nodded appreciatively as he drew the plate of casserole towards him, and then looked up as his father, an equally tall man whose hands and fingers showed the many small cuts of a carpenter joined the family table for the evening meal. His father also commenced his meal, then slowed and asked “How did your meeting go with the Iranian?”

His son replied, through a mouthful of steak, “I reckon things will work out nicely, especially since I gave him and his friends the choice of how much to pay us in royalties. I really would like to be a fly on that particular wall; watching as they twist and turn, arguing that if the sum is too low, we’ll just send word out on the grapevine that they’re really stingy, and the others arguing against paying too much because they’ll be trying to portray us as greedy, grasping and un-Islamic, and everyone knows that just isn’t true! I liked that young American, he came prepared, with a good business plan and a fair idea of the correct size of royalty payment. Okay, he chose a low figure, but since it was agreed with his own board, I thought it was a good choice. Good for us, and good for them because it won’t push them towards cutting any corners with the service. No, I’m happy with our progress so far, and once we get a full corner on all fuel, we’ll be going after weather modification techniques, slowly at first, and increasing gently, to blank out the famines and the hunger.”

Joseph, his father smiled over the table at his mother, and quietly asked, “Did you ever foresee our only son doing quite so well in business, Mary?” , waiting for her wonderful smile as she replied.

Meanwhile, a sleepy American oil executive had just finished keying in the letter/number combination which was now to be a feature of all his company’s new gas pumps. He had repeatedly hit the combination J 2:1-11 into the search engine, but every time received the same reply, which was “The Wedding Feast at Cana”.

A ‘correct’ response!


I hear that the bloke in charge of the peadophile squads and child protection is mumbling on about how all perverts who use the internet to view child pornography need not be jailed for a very long time, and how they would be ‘encouraged’ to contact the authorities if they knew they were giving way to these urges, and they could then be helped before actually carrying out their sick dreams. He’s called Jim Gamble, and apart from allegedly once being a hard-nosed ex-R.U.C man, also seems to be another who’ve joined the chorus of “Let’s not be beastly to these misunderstood men”, whilst of course wringing his hands and trying to look saintly!


Doesn’t this fool know that by the very act of viewing this sewage, they are prolonging the perversions enacted upon the innocent!

Dear God, where do these people get their ideas from? It’s no good saying, “Oh, well, he’s just looking!” The only time when a pervert should not be placed in the slammer for a very long time is when the bastard’s dead, and there are many who would like to shorten that time available to most of the scum!