Warmer, or Cooler?

The favourite subject of died-in-the-wool liberal thought, of socialists who know that they alone are right, of politicians who are really capable of spending, or usually taking and spending, taxpayers cash; is of course the wonderful world which is known as Climate Change, or Global Warming, (although that phrase is going out of favour as they cannot state how there hasn’t been any real ‘Warming’ for almost two decades). The old adage, known to all scientists and researchers, which is ‘Follow the Money’ is the rule in all areas of the ‘Climate’ scam, and if anyone doesn’t follow the unwritten rule of ‘don’t rock the ‘Warming’ boat’ they are automatically excluded from the big cash which floats around, courtesy of the unwilling and, usually, unknowing, taxpayers who are funding the thousands of research, position and explanatory papers. Take the example of Bjorn Lomborg. Here is a man, an extremely well-qualified scientist, who agrees with the IPCC on just about all its findings, but disagrees with the social and economic outcomes of that Committee’s statements. The result, he is blasted from here to kingdom come, the agreed Lomborg Consensus Centre is barred from its rightful University place by ‘indignant students’, and the Australian Government agrees with the ‘students’. Note that, a single voice which dares to diverge from the planned pattern, and he is silenced from even access to a platform at a University.

So what, I wonder, will the massed ‘Carbon Climate’ choirs do now that a respected FRENCH Mathematical Society has published a damning critique of the methodologies used by all the IPCC Warming adherents when they produce their myriad research papers, on the terrible effects of Carbon Dioxide, a gas which is essential to life as we know it, upon the World and the people who live in it? The magic word, readers will appreciate, in that last sentence, is the word ‘FRENCH’. From the cradle of all who worship before the altars of ‘Carbon’ and ‘Warming’; comes a clear voice which is stating, calmly and carefully, to the IPCC and the World; ‘Friends, you have been had for a bunch of Suckers!’; with its heading statement: The battle against global warming: an absurd, costly and pointless crusade.

…when y’ gonna learn?

I like and admire America, I also admire and know Americans with whom I have worked with over many years. I honestly feel that the greatest mistake in our history we, as a Nation, ever made was to ignore the limited requests of the Colonial leaders. The blind stupidity of the British in their implementation of various punitive Acts, all of which were designed to favour the British and punish the American colonists, finally caused the spark which lit the fires of Independence, which culminated in the bruising War of Independence, the rise of a free United States, and the loss of all that lovely tax revenue heading back towards Westminster.

There is, however, one strand of American society which, thankfully, has not yet wholly reached these Island shores; and that, of course, is the ability of Americans to blindly embark on the craziest of ideas, and believe they will be unscathed at the end. I even believe that there is a group name for the indulgent loons who grab any excuse to make themselves either in urgent need of medical or financial assistance; namely ‘The Massed Battalions of Murphy’. We see a small instance of these clowns in the advance of people climbing into ‘tanning booths’ all over the British countryside; presumably in the belief that they know better than the massed opinions of doctors, scientists and medical professionals. I mean, the idea of showing or believing that you have a bronzed, tanned or burned and shrivelled skin as a virtue, leaves me somewhat puzzled; as the incidence of skin cancer statistics, along with the all too-accessible tales of a sudden and pretty agonising death caused by these lethal unshielded U/V tubes is readily available to those who can read. But the proles continue to pay their cash down, strip off and lie in close proximity to deadly ultraviolet rays. We should be able to state that they were at least warned; but since a fair proportion cannot even read, who can say who, if anyone, is responsible?

But there is hope for us here in these damp islands on the edge of Europe; at least there has not been a great take-up of ‘Cryotherapy Salons’ such as exist and spreading across America. The idea that the the human body can be rejuvenated, can burn calories, reduce pain, strengthen immune systems and halt aging by embedding them in freezing tanks for a few minutes at a time; is, to any thinking person, just plain insane. But still they go, spending huge amounts of cash in the hope and belief that they will be feeling better. Well folks, I presume  Ms. Ake-Salvacion, the manager of a Rejuvenice Spa in Henderson, Nevada, reckoned that she could do with a few minutes cooling after work: cooling, I might add, at -240 degrees Fahrenheit! She is a little cooler now, in fact she is stone cold dead, having been found frozen solid the morning after her shift ended. I hate to state or say anything derogatory of a dead person, but, it has to be said, ‘If you believe that crap, you deserve everything which comes your way!’

Its not the leaving of Liverpool that grieves me,

I visited museums when I was a schoolboy, but apart from digital visits courtesy of T’Internet, none since; but a review of an intriguingly-titled ‘On Their Own’, at the comparatively   unknown V&A’s Museum of Childhood made me pause. I have written in cold and blistering anger more than once about the modern-day slavers, hiding behind the names of Councils, care homes, Religions and of nationally-known charities such as Barnado’s, who fed the insatiable appetite of the Empire with young British children, amounting to some 150-200,000 youngsters; over a period of some sixty-odd years up to 1967. They were lied to, their parents were lied to, they were literally shovelled aboard ships by the hundred without any idea of where they were headed, all because a clutch of well-connected do-gooders, civil servants, so-called charity founders: believed that any child who was either in a Council’s care, in a charity, religious or foundling’s home, sent or taken away from their parents for a myriad reasons, was in need of a ‘good upbringing in a British Empire or Commonwealth country’ where they would learn a trade and become useful members of that society.

So, the NEW transportations began, to Canada, Australia, New Zealand, the old Rhodesia, and the colonies welcomed the brand new influx of children from ‘the Old Country’, and everything in that far-off garden was just too f@+_**!ng wonderful for words. The children were literally spirited away, their parents were told they had died; THEY were told their parents had either died, or had signed them away: IT WAS ALL SIMPLE, UNDISGUISED BULLSHIT! They were a forgotten generation; the parents remembered them, but those memories grew thinner every year, the educational achievements of those parents did not include fighting bureaucracy; the kids were usually too young to have any fixed idea of where they were born, or of whose face was attached to the magic name of ‘Daddy’ or ‘Mum’; and so the years progressed.

Unfortunately, the years progressed a little too slowly for those unfortunates who were taken on to the books of the likes of the Christian Brothers at the infamous Bindoon home, or the equally notorious Fairbridge Farm School at Pinjarra; where the kids were raped, brutalised, or used as slave labour; especially at Bindoon.

The stories began to emerge after Margaret Humphreys, a Nottingham social worker, received a was working in the field of post-adoption support. She received a letter from a woman in Australia who said that at a very young age she had been sent to Australia with no birth certificate and she was looking for family in Britain. This led Humphreys to eventually uncover a vast network of “Home Children” who through various “schemes” or plans initiatives by patronizing people in the UK and their counterparts in countries in the British Empire, to eventually send 150,000 children away from their homeland in the UK. About 70,000 children were sent to Australia. These schemes stopped in 1967.

A Royal Commission sat, and everyone was terribly sorry, and crocodile tears flowed by the f**”#’’ing gallon, and a scheme was put in place to allow these ‘deported people’ to return to the land of their birth. Out of approximately 150,000 kids sent away, some 700 have been given financial support to return and find their families.

Yep, Seven Hundred down, only One Hundred and Forty-Nine Thousand, Three Hundred to go.

F”’*+@ing Fantastic!!!!!!!!!!!!!

They were the very models of a modern Major-General

Just, 161 years ago, 156 cavalrymen, officers, serjeants and other ranks died, with a further 122 wounded; through a combination of arrogance, mistaken orders, a long feud between brothers-in-law who happened to be very senior British Army commanders, and the foolish behaviour of Captain Edward Nolan. Nolan could never be questioned about the tragic outcome of the Charge of the Light Brigade during the Battle of Balaclava; as he was killed by an enemy artillery shell in the first minutes of the abortive charge. The order, from Lord Lucan, stated that Lord Cardigan, the overall cavalry Commander, to use his cavalry to prevent captured naval guns being carried away; saying  “Lord Raglan wishes the cavalry to advance rapidly to the front, follow the enemy, and try to prevent the enemy carrying away the guns. Troop horse artillery may accompany. French cavalry is on your left. Immediate.” Unfortunately, Raglan omitted to state which guns were being threatened; Nolan delivered the message without explanation, and only tried to countermand the suicidal charge straight down the valley under the promised point-blank ranged Russian guns set on the valley sides. Nolan rode in front of Cardigan, presumably trying to get his arrogant leader to turn, but a blinkered, arrogant, ruthless Earl Cardigan took no notice of an upstart Captain trying to tell him how to fight a battle, and committed the Light Brigade to disaster, and into history!

Move your mind from Balaclava in the Crimea; transfer your attention to Helmand Province in Afghanistan, adjust the number of now British dead to 453, along with countless more lives destroyed through blast injury, amputation and psychiatric illness; bring into sharper focus the decisions to ‘build a democracy’ in a Country which does not even understand what Democracy means! The sheer lunacy of ignoring the recent history of the Russian bloody invasion and equally bloody retreat, never mind the memories of the ruinous British involvement and meddling within the past two centuries tells me just one thing; and one thing only:-

We just never, ever, learn to mind our own bloody business!

….truly is within the eye of the beholder!

I have written many times of my love of classical music, of opera, and of ballet. The impact of the music upon my senses cannot be totally described, as it also might be impossible to place in words the first view of a majestic mountain, a thunderous waterfall, a baby’s smile. Most of my readers will probably feel the same, as our thoughts do not run as those of a poet, or a gifted artist: but I always try. But occasionally I see a scene, or a landscape or indeed a video, which really warrants the descriptive talents of a Shakespeare in order to fully describe the impact upon the viewer. As some may already have noticed, I was trained in Engineering, I have spent my entire life either building, commissioning, fixing or maintaining machinery, so it could quite properly asked ‘what has beauty to do with building things?
Well, how about this as a demonstration of the whole process? If you can, go wide-screen to fully capture this amazing process, where industrial might, and disciplined endeavour, becomes as one in the assembly of this monster of the deep.

Once viewed, a few questions may well commence nagging at the base of your mind. Questions such as:-

  • How come we, the very inventors of many of the processes seen in this vast yard in South Korea, no longer have the capacity, the investment, the dedication and the will-power to do exactly the same as this shipyard possesses in abundance?
  • How is it that we, once the virtual rulers of the industrial waves, are forced to view such evidence of our own industrial decline from the Asian Tigers who have slipped into the true title of ‘Engineers to the World’?
  • Why do we obey the rules, when every other bugger within the European Union seemingly gets away with financial murder?
  • Was it only the impact of the Communist-dominated Trade Unions which wrecked our shipbuilding industry, or did the poisoned chalice of political choice have the bigger element of treachery in the decline and fall of a once massive industry?

The smile behind the Tiger

Please note that the ONLY person from the Communist Dictatorship who really deserves the Red Carpet, the Carriage Drive and the State Banquet is the man whose name dare not be spoken. His country has been invaded, his very culture has been despoiled and belittled; his picture has been banned from all of Communist China: but still they fear him so very very much.

Why? Because of the MORAL authority he bears, because behind that unassuming demeanour and that wonderful smile, he has a stainless steel backbone; and the knowledge that he is RIGHT!

Readers; I give you:-

His Holiness, The Dalai Lama.


For you are beautiful, I have loved you dearly

More dearly than the spoken word can tell,

She was built for one thing, and one thing only, to deliver a massive retribution on the atomic scale against a Soviet Empire which, at one time, threatened all of Western civilisation. Her engines were never fired up or used in that promised carnage; but they came in rather handy in a conflict twelve thousand miles south, when Vulcan 607 managed to drop one bomb out of a stick of eight slap-bang in the middle of the Port Stanley runway; thus ending the Argentinean plan to base fast jets on the Falklands. With typical British lack of any kind of pre-planning, 607 was rescued from a planned scrappage schedule, sent down to Ascension Island, and in the single longest flight in Royal Air Force History, along with no less than fourteen Victor tankers on a re-fueliing saga which enabled the ever-thirsty bomber to fly an astounding 8,000 miles round trip.

She was a symphony of  steel, aluminium and passion; her sound was so distinctive it became known as the Vulcan Howl; there will never be another, and I hate to see her go!

A cloud in version in Swaledale / Wensleydale as seen from the Buttertubs in the Yorkshire Dales National Park, North Yorkshire. Swaledale Canvas. Swaledale Canvases. Swaledale Prints. Swaledale Landscapes.

A cloud in version in Swaledale / Wensleydale as seen from the Buttertubs in the Yorkshire Dales National Park, North Yorkshire. Swaledale Canvas. Swaledale Canvases. Swaledale Prints. Swaledale Landscapes.