A true panorama

Once in a while, when I view my world in a rosy light, and consider what my life and my world has given me, instead of what I have lost, I take the time to glance out my front door; and view the true glories which could not have been captured by a Constable, or a Canaletto, because those views last all too briefly.

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I balance the positives and the true treasures of my own life, which can be catalogued as three strong, intelligent, successful and vibrant adult family members, along with the added bonus of three noisy grandsons; against the negatives, of which I have written previously.

I hope, when the time comes for remembrance, and for long after, my sons and daughter will speak of me kindly, remembering my awful jokes in between reminiscence  of a man, and a father, who did his best.

Fluck knew; but Fluck was Fl*cking(TM) wrong

Way back in March this year, the Law Society, an outfit which should have known better, issued ‘guidance notes’ on certain ways of writing wills so as to ensure compliance both with the shithole Sharia Law ideals, as well as British Common Law. The uproar which was unleashed on this august body, and itssuper-diversity-oriented leader, Nicholas Fluck, was sudden, overwhelming, and well-orchestrated.

Mr Fluck, in an attempt to explain away the crazy idea that Sharia Law is compatible with English Law, issued the following:-

“Our practice note focuses on how to do that [distribute assets in accordance with Sharia], where it is allowed under English law. The law of England and Wales will give effect to wishes clearly expressed in a valid will in so far as those wishes are compliant with the law of England. The issue is no more complicated than that.”

A comment upon Mr. Fluck’s advice stated:- “I don’t think (please correct me if I’m wrong) that the LSS have denied the existence of freedom of disposition under English law. That is not the issue here. The issue is whether it is appropriate for a regulatory body in a supposedly secular society that respects diversity to issue guidance on how to comply with a body of rules/beliefs which many argue, and which at least objectively appear to be, fundamentally discriminatory.

Fast forward to today, and the Law Society withdrew all the guidelines which advised High Street solicitors on how to write Islamic wills in a way that would be recognised by courts in England and Wales; they also apologised.

So Fluck’s Law is now no more, and all those Flucking(TM) Muslim lawyers, whom were so grateful for the Law Society’s presumed acceptance of the totally-discriminatory and disgraceful Sharia Law, are so terribly disappointed. Sharia might be alright for the Ragheads, but is definitely not suitable for the English.

The perils of Emily

We read of the travails of Emily Thornberry, pilloried for speaking exactly how she felt, for writing, or rather ‘Tweeting’, of the world as she saw it on that rather boring street in Strood. But it is a fact that, far too often, we see or hear of someone who is either jailed, or dumped upon from a great height, for doing exactly the same. Emily Thornberry is also known as Lady Nugee, the wife of High Court judge Sir Christopher Nugee, and they are an extremely wealthy couple; having specialised in both politics and the Law, and in the legal affairs pertaining to lots of money hiding behind offshore trusts, Jersey tax-laws, and the like. Now there is absolutely nothing illegal, wrong or evil in what Lady Nugee has been doing for over twenty years, but it does mean that she has become somewhat separated from reality, from the reality of life as it is lived outside of Westminster, Islington, and of course Dartmouth Park. There aren’t many ‘crack-houses’ in Islington, apart from the ones licensed by the Met to exist so that the high-flyers can get easy access to the ‘nose candy’ which quite a few both like and need. But apart from the few necessary nasties, nothing much impedes the steady progress of the rich, the wealthy and the connected who live in those leafy suburbs.

I doubt very much if Emily Thorberry has ever come within close range of a ‘White Van’, especially from the back seat of her usual conveyance, not a bicycle, but a large limousine. Strangely enough, there aren’t many homes in those leafy suburbs who would fly one St. George’s flag, never mind three, in the vain hope that the English football team could win anything except a speedy return ticket to Heathrow. To ‘fly the flag’ would be to place yourself beyond the pale; to state that you have demeaned yourself by joining the ‘great unwashed’, the very ‘plebs’ spoken of so kindly by Andrew Mitchell.

The ‘great unwashed’, by the way, are the patient millions who have been conned into the belief that these politicians, the f**king elite who place themselves above the crowd because they are so very special, actually empathise with the aspirations of those many millions who gullibly file into the polling booths and place their vote against the name of one of those ‘very special people’. Politicians, they are a world apart from us all, we who live outside the strange and convoluted village bubbles of Westminster, Islington, Notting Hill and Dartmouth Park. They look down on us, they spurn our hopes, they laugh at our dreams, but they really, really want us to vote for them, once every five bloody years!

A most ingenious paradox.

Consider the facts.

A young woman claims she has been raped, and a jury finds her case proven, and the defendant guilty.

The defence argued firstly that the sex was consensual, as both participants were drunk, and then that the alleged victim, as she had no true recollection of the events, had not suffered. The accused still claims innocence, and refuses to apologise, even after he is released from prison after serving half his sentence.

The problem is compounded by the fact that the accused is a very well-known and prominent footballer; he claims that, even though he has always stated his innocence, he has done his time, and should be allowed to go on with his life.

His life seems to still revolve around football, and his club, Sheffield United, are allowing him to train with the club, but have not yet signed a contract.

Because of the Club’s stance in even considering allowing the rapist’s return, high-profile patrons of the club, such as Jessica Ennis-Hill of Olympic fame has asked that, if the rapist returns to the club, her name should be removed from the stand. Others have followed Jessica’s stance.

The Professional Footballers Association of Ireland have defended the club for their forgiving attitude, and further stated  “There was no violence and thankfully the victim has no recollection of it. This, I hasten to add, does not make it right, or anything close to it, but it is nonetheless a mitigating factor.”

So, should Jessica speak up or shut up; and should this fine, upstanding role-model go back to the pitch, and his extremely-large pay-packet, and bye-gones should be bye-gones; or should he be banned from all football, for life, for this crime of violence against an unresisting young woman?

For Jacqueline.

At the ripe age of 74, I honestly thought that there were no more surprises in my life, but there is, indeed; no fool like an old fool.

myjacquelineMy wife’s mother died a couple of weeks ago, and the wider family gathered for her cremation, without my presence: because my wife is ill, and she depends upon me for everything; but my eldest son and my daughter attended both the cremation service and the gathering afterwards.

One of the things produced to celebrate my mother-in-law’s life was a video compilation of photographs taken over her life-span, which was 94 years; and I received a copy. I played the whole show, and suddenly, I was taken back in time to the evening that I first met my future wife. One family photo, which I had never seen before, showed her in the midst of the photo, but she was wearing the very dress which she wore when we first met. We met in the Empire Ballroom in Leicester Square; we met, and I knew within ten seconds that this was, indeed, the girl for me. The smile on her face in the photo was the same as I remembered watching in fascination as we danced, and talked, and danced again. The video photo is unavailable at present, but I shall find it, and I shall hold it as close as the woman whose smile still reminds me why we married, all those years ago.

The ravages of illness have not been kind to my love, but, occasionally, very occasionally, I see the light in her eyes which attracted me to the woman who has borne my children and been my companion for over forty-seven years.

Down amongst the dead men

I note that the Telegraph Leader this morning praises the ‘returning jihadi prevention and detention’ law as proposed by David Cameron. This proposed Law will give the police yet more powers to grab the passports of people (mainly young men of ‘Asian’ appearance) who are suspected of heading towards Turkey and then on to Syria or Iraq to join the fanatical imbeciles of Islamic State. It also proposes to keep those who have been fighting, and of course killing, out of the UK for two years, unless they agree to ‘De-Radicalization’ at some secure facility; until they see the error of their ways.

I have an alternative suggestion as to how to welcome these returning killers; which is to bring them out of the airport, then gather a sufficient number together in a large container truck, and then detach that container at a suitable location, and tip it into deep water. Just think of it; no fuss, no muss, and a sure way of making damn certain that they will achieve their twisted dreams early; which is that of a sure and certain meeting with those alleged 72 virgins.

True, there must be a certain cost to pay, but, hell; we can afford to pay for the containers!

 

We have made a Covenant with Death;………..

…………………….. and with Hell we are at agreement.

Just a few days ago, we watched as the British Army sneaked quietly out of Camp Bastion, out of Helmand, and of course out of Afghanistan. We shall then see what we have bought with 453 British lives, along with some £30 billions in treasure. Will we see another ‘Peace in our time’, or will we see yet another sad truth that, having blown away the Taliban in double-quick time, we should have then said to the Warlords who have actually governed in that sad, sandy hell-hole, “Its yours now; you wanted it, you run it, because we are leaving now.’ But we didn’t.
We stayed, and we spent 453 lives, the flower of British youth, volunteers all, whether Regular or Reserve, in a veritable splurge of utter stupidity, much the same as the thinking which brought on the utter catastrophe of the Somme in 1916.
We have watched as the poppies were planted, ending just yesterday when the last of 888,246 ceramic memorials were planted in the grass of the Tower of London’s moat; but I still do not believe that most of this nation understands or even accepts the carnage which was the First World War. The Battle of the Somme, on the first day alone, cost some 58,000 British casualties. Some of the Pals’ Battalions, by the end of that Battle, had virtually disappeared; and for what, it may be asked? The trench line; established in the early days of the War, hardly changed. What was lost in one charge, was gained back in another. It was all a waste, of life, of treasure, of the very spirit which kept men fighting despite the loss of everything.
But what was perhaps the worst loss, out of all the casualties, all the change, of the revolutions and of the vast change resultant from the War to end all War, was the loss of the very spirit which may have kept an Austrian corporal from mesmerising an entire Nation into a belief that they could win that Second War, and wipe out the disgrace of the First.
I leave you with one final statistic; when the Taliban, evil and savage though they may be, were in power,another poppy; the Heroin Poppy was virually eradicated. Today, the Poppy fields have given the production of heroin a boost to eighty percent above the line when we went in!