and smiled, and nodded, and passed by.

One of the truly terrifying things about modern politics is the manner in which our present breed latches on to something which sounds absolutely great (in theory) but don’t wish to say anything when the true ramifications of the loony-tunes policy are realised and explored in the cold light of reality.

When the 2008 Climate Change Act was rolled out, very few Parliamentary people had read it, even fewer understood it, and when it was passed by an overwhelming majority, fewer still actually knew the disastrous impact it would have upon Britain’s economy. Written by a Friends of the Earth lobbyist, pushed by David Cameron, adopted by David Milliband and placed on the statute books by his bloody useless brother Ed; this single Act of industrial suicide will end up, if it is not repealed by a Tory government with at least one brain cell working; costing us our entire Industrial base, as well as costing us some £18 billion every year until 2030.

The question surely should be, to what end? Climate Change is a lie, a farce, and an illusion. The climate may well be changing, but Man, along with the dreaded Carbon Dioxide, has nothing to do with it. The (alleged) science has been rubbished, the methods, the algorhythms and the computer projections have been comprehensively rebutted; but still no-one dares to state that the ‘effing emperor not only has no clothes on, he never owned any in the first place!

For a prime example of the true stupidity of Government, they are pushing for‘District heat networks, with local councils (!!!!!) utilising ‘waste to heat’ stations which consume and burn  waste rather than bung it into a big hole, and then piping the resultant steam into everyone’s house to connect to a ‘heat transfer’ boiler which would then heat the central heating pipes, and hot water. Just imagine the sheer stupidity of taking gas boilers out of every British home presently heated by gas: and planning to replace them with superheated steam-pipes laden with steam at 200 C. lying in trenches dug by a British labour force in villages, towns and cities all across the United Kingdom? Has anyone ever stood back and actually looked at the sheer stupidity of a project, which would need the conversion of 20,000 homes every week, and every week for the next twenty years? As a bonus, just remember that all these ‘Waste-to-Heat’ stations which are so blithely discussed are going to be pumping excess CARBON ‘EFFING DIOXIDE into the atmosphere all that time as well, thus eliminating any bloody saving brought about by removing all the ‘effing gas boilers in the first place!

No wonder the Gods up on Olympus are laughing and slowly shaking their collective heads together!

Don’t give them a dime!

I have learnt, over the many years of my life, to be deeply cynical about the motives of those who claim that ‘they want to help’; especially in areas where the only ones to walk freely carry at least an AK-47.  I wrote some time back on the sheer stupidity of those such as Kayla Mueller, who, if you can recall ‘wanted to help’ by climbing into the Syrian cauldron, and after getting captured, raped and ‘married’ to one of the guys she so trusted as to behave like civilised beings; instead of the scrapings of the gutter that they really are, was murdered.

Seems as though the Medecin sans Frontieres mob, yet another bunch of do-gooders, only slightly better-funded; was actually in contact with the crew which was holding Mueller, as well as several MSF hostages. The ISIL bunch actually gave the MSF bunch an e-mail address, so negotiations for a Mueller deal could begin, but MSF seemingly withheld the address on ‘security’ grounds. Mueller’s parents claimed that, if the e-mail had been activated, their daughter might have been saved. MSF, like a good corporate ‘buddy’ is saying very little, except “they don’t understand what its like to deal with these people”.

Now far be it from a complete outsider such as I to comment upon the activities of yet another bunch of do-gooders’ even if they come with a fancy name as MSF does; but would it not be smarter just to leave the field to those literally insane enough to risk their lives for a whole heap of cash; e.g. a Mercenary: rather than placing ordinary members of their medical teams in easy reach of getting their bloody heads chopped off? The Merc. assesses the risks, does his sums, and if the cash is good enough, and he knows or understands the bloodthirsty bandits well enough to take a chance: well, why not? But MSF does not operate that way, it takes its own crews of presumably trained medics, and gets them inserted, on the grounds that ‘we are well known not to take sides; and therefore we can be trusted’: which is a complete load of foreign bollocks!

Kayla Mueller, a simpleton of the first rank, drove into Syria with her Syrian boyfriend to supposedly help fix some equipment at an MSF hospital. Mueller was disguised with a hijab and veil; but left it off once at the the hospital, which was run by Spanish staff, as she felt safe and borrowed translators to interview patients, Alkhani said. “She asked about their life, how they managed to survive, and thought she could make a big story in her blog, and maybe bring donations.” So she was betrayed, the goose was sat in the Syrian pot, and eighteen months later, she was killed: and we are supposed to feel sorry for her? Bollocks!

If you really, really wish to waste five minutes, locate her foundation web-page, and read her sayings, or thoughts, or indeed simpleton-type ramblings. They remind me of one thing only; the screen utterances of the film idiot ‘Forrest Gump’. they really are as bad as that! The Mueller family believe that Prez. Obama should keep his promise, and hand out some cash: but in one of the very few Obama decisions which gained universal approval, they haven’t yet coughed up a dollar.

And silence for what; exactly?

We are told that the Italian government has imposed a ‘National Day of Mourning’ for the dead of the Amatrice earthquake. I simply ask ‘what is the purpose’ of that alleged mourning? Will it bring back the dead, will it salve the injuries of those who lie in hospital? Will it do anything else apart from an alleged ‘touchy-feely’ sensation that ‘we feel their pain’ or some other like-minded garbage? What will the flags flying at half-mast all across Italy actually do? To my own certain knowledge; not a lot!

memorialI have written before of remembrance, of a loss so personal that, even after the passage of fifty years, I still remember the day my beloved sister was buried. There is a small North-Eastern town in England which I used to call home, despite working far away so long ago. In that town there sits a small Catholic church, with cemetery adjacent. Within the confines of that Cemetery lie the mortal remains of my beloved sister, who died at the age of sixteen from leukaemia. Her death shattered my Dad, who never completely recovered from her loss, and my Mum wasn’t much better in her grief. There is just a green sward where she lies; no stone, no winged angel, no border resplendent with flowers; because her face is before me as I write these lines. We three remaining brothers need no chiselled granite to remind us of our sister, and so it is. We three are now just two, with my eldest brother’s death some two-odd years ago. My brother died without my reconciling with him; we argued over politics, but I do so wish we had patched together a family bond which had been shattered, mainly because we were both too bloody stiff-necked to apologise. But that is my point; it was my sister, or latterly my brother, they were family; the sadness was real: it was personal. In my sister’s case, her school friends lining the route from the church were tearful, because they knew my sister.

The Italians who will no doubt stand silent in remembrance; what are they remembering? Strangers who passed by within a headline? One of the larger funeral services which was held some years ago in Durham City at the crematorium was not organised, there was no ‘order of service’, there was indeed very little ‘formal’ organisation, apart from the actual operations in the building itself. We all came to honour the service and the friendship, the fact; that a simple unassuming man had touched a great many lives with a simple honesty, a clarity of purpose, and an acceptance that his life was shared amongst many; and we filled the crematorium area to a capacity rarely seen. The presiding vicar literally blinked at the sight of the crowded hall, as he had never seen anything like it. There was no breast-beating, no wailing, no hysteria, no fuss; for this was an English farewell to an English gentleman in the truest sense of the word. His was a life of commitment, and this was shown by the number of representatives of all callings who came to give and pay their last respects at the funeral of one who would probably have blanched at the sheer numbers who sat and stood in silence. As for my dead friend, whose funeral was quiet and dignified, there were no adverse comments, because he lived his life by the standards which used to rule us all.

The disaster which struck the communities of Indonesia, Thailand and Ceylon when the tsunami hit was incomparable in human history, in terms of peacetime. Well over 250,000 died, many thousands injured, and whole communities literally wiped off the map. Nature has a ferocity all of its own; but what was the response of the European Union? They organised and required a Three Minute Silence in ‘solidarity’ with the stricken nations so far away. Yes, a whole sixty seconds more than the millions of the dead of two World Wars. I am happy to report that I did not stay still, nor silent, as I was shopping with my wife.

Death, tragedy, loss: they are always with us, but remembrance, that is surely best held within a heart, and should not be paraded as a sign of ‘solidarity’ for some distant tragedy!

Restricted; you may enter Paradise; but slowly!

I lived, worked and brought my family up in South Africa. After visiting that wonderful country twice during my sea-going years, after marrying, we decided that we should move to South Africa. I had eighteen years of living in a super, safe, well-run country. We had a good life, albeit with some problems within our own family life; but, as for a place to live and grow a young family, few places better. Then things began to change, the allegedly-terrible sin which was Apartheid was challenged, and the beginnings of the long, slow decline of South Africa commenced. The black population was promised many things by the African National Congress, whose leader was the terror-planner and murder-sympathiser Nelson Mandela; and now, some twenty-five-odd years later, let us see what is truly on the minds of Black South Africans.

  • Is it the ever-increasing murder toll, on Black, Coloured, Indian or White sectors of the population, where the Police Minister has forbidden the compilation of murder statistics because the reality may be ‘spun’ by South Africa’s enemies; both internal and external?
  • Is it the truth that, after twenty-five years of Black-majority rule by the Communists of the African National Congress, very few Black people have even seen a rise in their living standards?
  • Is it not the ever-increasing unemployment figures, as European business people, fed up with the confiscatory attitudes of the Black Empowerment Act, as well as the Employment Equity Act, either leave; or close down their threatened businesses? Taken together, the State forces business owners to divest themselves of equity in their own companies by selling that equity at fire-sale rates, to blacks who have no clue about the business, but because their skins are black, are qualified.
  • Is it the crippling rates of corruption, in all areas of life, that rot the very sinews of the once-good life which was available to all?
  • Is it the overwhelming sense of futility felt by a majority, that the top men of the ANC will not listen to the anger of the black voters, never mind anyone else?
  • Is it the sky-high rates of disinvestment, in all sectors of the economy of a Country which was, literally, the breadbasket of Africa?


Sorry, folks, but the top search, certainly in the Free State, is ‘how to achieve and retain a tight Vagina’


Says it all, really! Bunch of Big Cnuts!

The slow but inevitable death of the Royal Navy

From the long gone days of Edward the Confessor, England has always had an interest in protecting her trade at sea. Onwards through the reigns of the first Richard, Edward the Third, Henry’s 5, 7 and 8, the importance of the Navee was ever increased. After the return of Charles the Second, the British Navy became the Royal Navy, and the long list of naval heroes was established. Anson, Drake, Nelson, Hawke, Frobisher, Fisher; the roll-call lasts as long as the evenings pass by. We always were a fighting nation, and our virtual DNA was best expressed in the Napoleonic Wars, where we fought, almost alone some of the time, against a tyrant who bestrode the continent of Europe, but where he was triumphant on land, at sea; the British were masters. It was the Navy who brought the armies, and yes, the Navy was there when retreat was forced, but whenever the Navy was called upon; as at Trafalgar, they prevailed. It was the Navy’s ships, manned by hard, disciplined seamen who fought the French and Spanish fleets whatever the cost. Without trade and treasure from overseas, Napoleon could only fulminate, and as long as the Royal Navy’s sails lifted above the horizon; he could not quash his only enemy.

The Royal Navy dominated the seas in World War One; but nearly went to defeat against the German submarines who were threatening to starve Great Britain in the last year of the War. It was only the introduction of convoys, together with better depth-charge systems and Royal Naval Air Service aircraft flying and spotting submarines, which defeated the U-boat threat.

In the years between the Wars, the Navy was again partly run-down, due to budget cuts and plain lack of interest from Isolationist Governments who believed that Hitler was simply a loud-mouthed ex-corporal who would soon shut up. They ignored the march into the Saar, the move to militarise the Rhineland was regarded as ‘normalising German Statehood; the annexation of Austria was reported as ‘proper’ because Hitler was Austrian, and the debacle with the Czechs, and of course the smartest (irony alert) politician in Westminster, complete with ‘piece of paper’ was looked upon as inevitable. The Royal Navy was partly modernised in the second half of the 1930’s, but the upgrade missed HMS Hood (sunk with a single shell from Bismarck), HMS Barham (torpedoed despite alleged anti-torpedo upgrade) and HMS Repulse (sunk by the Japs after sailing without any air cover whatsoever). We managed to win through, partly because the Krauts made more mistakes than we did; but mainly because the Japs attacked Pearl Harbour, and America came into the war, and saved the West for the second time in twenty years.

After the War was over, the inevitable rush to demobilise, to ‘save’ money by not building ships that worked and mattered, grew ever stronger. From one of the mightiest Navies this world has ever seen, the Royal Navy has slowly deteriorated into a pale shadow of the Service which, literally, saved our bacon. The bloody politicians, and the weaselling civil service of the Ministry of Defence who follow their masters’ call, have slowly but surely disembowelled the Service upon which Britain’s fate depends. When Putin sends a modern guided-missile cruiser into the seas around the north of Scotland, it took 24 hours before the ONLY Destroyer available could sail up from Devonport dockyard and ask the ‘effing Russians to kindly turn around and piss off! We don’t have any ‘effing ships to spare!

When you stand up in Parliament and praise your Navy, but forget that you have slashed billions off the budget for both ships and crew because you want to look ‘good’ by giving billions away in overseas aid; its time you faced reality.

The first purpose of Government is to be certain that they have made sure that their Nation can be defended. Politicians, of any colour or hue, hate the very idea of Defence; because Defence, in terms of modern equipment and manpower, costs shed-loads of cash, and must be planned for over many years. Politicians detest the idea of a valid Defence, because very little about an efficient Army, Navy or Air Force can be ‘spun’ to make them look good. There is nothing a leading politician, again of any hue, likes more than to be photographed surrounded by uniformed soldiers, sailors or airmen whilst celebrating a ‘Job Well Done’: but they hate paying the bills which come due. ( We have to acknowledge that not all politicians like being photographed adjacent to tanks or big guns, such as Emily Thornberry ‘Shadow Defence’). The pronouncements of certain politicians are famous for their double-dealing lies, saying ‘Whatever you want, you can have,’ to the generals, whilst stating exactly the opposite the their Ministry servants.

For a discussion case, let us examine the Type 45 destroyer, built by BAE systems, using British-built gear for power and weaponry. On paper, they look a formidable item, with their ‘world-class’ missiles, and ‘world-class radar systems’, they would seem to be capable of defending a fleet carrier, for example, which is their prime role. The Americans have ten active super-carriers, and each one never goes to see without a defensive screen of at least four Arleigh-Burke destroyers, two frigates, a guided-missile cruiser, and they usually throw in a nuclear-powered submarine just because they can. The new British carriers, which are supposed to carry 45 attack jets, need protection of a similar calibre, and with six Type 45 destroyers in the Fleet, one would presume that, once commissioned, the British carrier would be well served.Type-45-

Fact…It takes seven-ten years to design and build an American Arleigh-Burke class Destroyer; but they work! Fact…It takes ten-plus years to design and build a British Type 45 Destroyer, and they end up tied to the quayside, because they ‘effing break down half the ‘effing time; because when the seawater gets warm, the intercooler breaks down!

The plain, simple truth is that we are badly served by both the political body, as well as the so-called Ministry of Defence. The insane idea that everything major in terms of defence spending must be British-built has landed us directly in the greedy hands of BAE Systems, because of take-overs, and buy-outs, and share swaps; they are the only game in town when it comes to Defence capability, it is either BAE, or nowt. We are building two aircraft carriers; but they take time to build, and we scrapped our only remaining small carrier. Why? To save some more ‘effing money; thats why! We also built six naval air reconnaissance jets, at huge expense, and then tore them apart because we couldn’t afford to fix the design faults which placed super-heated air right alongside fuel lines, and no-one cared until one blew up over Afghanistan; killing fourteen valuable people. We withdrew our only large warship from the Falklands, because we didn’t have any ships to send elsewhere, so the defence of the Falklands is down to a squadron of Typhoons, and a thousand squaddies with rifles!

We have no ships, we have no sailors to man them, because George Osborne and his mate Hammond sliced the budget, sacked the sailors; and when the recruiters come looking, who is going to trust them again? We are nearly screwed, and yet we managed to give away £36 Billion in Foreign aid over a four year period.

Men of Asian appearance learning to swim.

Five dead fully-clothed ‘young’ men drowned in sea off English beauty spot. Scene is twenty-five miles from Calais. BBC refuses to even contemplate that they may be ‘illegal migrants’.

Witnesses said the first three dead men – who were reported as black or Asian – were all fully clothed and did not appear to have any family or friends with them.

It led to speculation that the victims could be illegal immigrants – but a police source said that the investigation is at an early stage and ‘there is currently nothing to suggest the men were migrants’.

Suggestion is that they were forming part of the first proposed new sport for the 2020 Olympics, namely ‘Swimming Twenty-five Miles in open water at Night without assistance or aid.’. The handicap system will be based upon how much they are carrying in their backpacks (compulsory for all swimmers).
The EU refused to comment on the fact that Camber Sands beach has been rated ‘Good’ for swimmers.


and don’t forget to scrub your elbows!

In France, public displays of religious observance by public employees are banned.The burqa and niqab, or full-face veil are specifically outlawed. I personally have issues with this practice, as Christians may be caught up by over-zealous apparatchiks for wearing crucifixes, but one supposes eggs, omelettes, etc.

The religious symbol which I would like to see disappear, in Gt. Britain at least, is the Muslim practice of wearing full sleeved garments when working in our NHS hospitals, and thus deliberately going against NHS ‘good practice’ by not having bare arms; and thus being able to wash their arms to ensure they are bacteria-free. A Christian nurse was banned from wearing her crucifix, because it was suggested someone might be injured by it, which was just plain ridiculous. But a long-sleeved top, which will harbour deadly bacteria such as MRSA, is allowed, because, well, they’re Muslim, and conscientious, and its their belief; and well, we don’t want to upset them, because that would be discrimination!

And the question was….

Are we all as thick as she (the Baroness in the wheelchair) thinks we are?

‘Lady’ Grey-Thompson reckons that ‘richer’ or ‘wealthier’ or ‘more better-off’ countries can stick their hands into their thick wallets; and cough up for countries who just don’t have that sort of cash, to get their poor, worried (and possibly even traumatised) paralympic athletes to travel to the Games in Rio. Baroness Tanni Grey-Thompson, who has won 11 Paralympic gold medals, is calling on wealthier countries to help ensure athletes from poorer nations can attend after promised grants have not been paid to them. The same woman who achieved this status of a Peer of the Realm, this ability to influence the very Law by which we are governed; solely and simply because she pushed a sawn-off supermarket trolley faster around a circuit than the other competitors.

Ignore the fact that less than 12% of the tickets have been sold for the Rio events. Ignore the fact that the Latin Americans don’t seem to be that bothered about the bloody Paralympic Games in the first place. Ignore the slightly-unwelcome fact that not many people other than the alleged athletes are really interested in this farrago of non-competition. Ignore the even more unwelcome truth that the vast majority if events are rigged to appear if all participants are ‘equal’. Not having observed any of these so-called athletic events for those less-than-able-bodied does not disqualify one such as myself from commenting; after all; we all have free will, and somewhat free speech.

The whole idea of the Games is based upon a single statement that all athletes, able-bodied or not, should be able to participate. Well, here’s at least one which does not agree. The National Lottery has funded both types of sports with a view towards competing in both types of Games. But has anyone been asked if they, individually, agree with such largesse being handed out on the basis of ‘It’s great to watch him/her jerk/waddle/lurch/twitch as he/she makes their way towards the finishing line’? It’s wonderful to see what he/she can do when he/she tries!’ Personally, I believe that the very idea of paying to watch a bunch of disabled people who cannot compete in any meaningful way against other able-bodied athletes, competing against those who are disabled themselves is nothing else than perverted voyeurism of the worst, twisted kind.

If the good Lady wishes to see all the ‘athletes’ who face not being able to travel to ‘their’ Games achieve their goals, let her place her hands into her own presumably deep pockets, and see how many people join her in this particular act of generosity. To watch relays of men or women pushing sawn-off Sainsbury’s supermarket trolleys around a track might appeal to some, and to help the participants arrive at a distant venue may stir more, but Lottery funds, or even Taxpayers’ cash, should not be used to further the ambitions of a very select group of individuals.

Civis Romanus Sum

When Roman generals returned home after conquering ‘furrin parts’ with their armies, they were awarded a victory parade. Carried in a wreath-garlanded chariot, the author of the massacre which ended the war is moved along  a pre-ordained route towards the Temple of Jupiter on the Capitoline Hill. Standing alongside the victorious general by his side, holding a golden crown over his head, is a slave; whose only other job is to murmur into the general’s ear that ‘he is mortal, and human, and all these things are fleeting, and ephemeral; and will soon pass’.

Preceding the victor are the Senate, the magistrates, along with musicians and jesters. The streets are thronged with adoring citizens, waving olive branches and singing as they welcome the latest son of Rome to return, successfully, from a foreign campaign. Following the victor’s chariot are the captured animals, the slaves, the pillaged treasures to help pay for an Empire which stretched beyond the charts. A chosen selection of the men from the victorious legions marched behind at the base of the column, all of whom did not wear their usual campaign armour, nor did they carry their full weaponry; as the Senate knew full well the problems which might occur when a general got ideas above his station.

At the end of the parade, the victor, having received his ‘Triumph’ sat down to a night of debauchery, all the soldiers got drunk, all the slaves were slaughtered, and the Roman Empire’s accountants began to write down exactly who got what according to the usual ‘spoils of war’ ratios applicable at the time.

That being the case, what the f*** are we doing organising a bloody triumphal parade for the ‘heroes of the Olympics’ up in bloody Manchester.

“it means just what I choose it to mean—neither more nor less”

The target for today’s diatribe is Terrorism, but not the garden variety, which of course wants to turn us all into muslim slaves of the Caliphate; or alternatively dead. No, the version of the terrorism which I wish to discuss today is one which was quite popular in the 1990’s (to the deliverers of that particular terror, that is) which was the Animal Rights grouping; in the news just today. When I state ‘in the news today’, this must be explained in the context of the actions of this particular rabid bunch who decided that all animals should be freed, none held or bred in captivity for the (in their opinion) vile purpose of supplying skins to the fur market, or battery hens for egg production, or caged animals bred specifically for scientific or medical research; and that all direct action was good.

But, I hear you ask, how or when was the Animal Rights terrorists’ actions or activities talked about, or discussed this morning? The reader might well state that he or she was listening to the radio for the full three hours of the Today Programme, and nary a word about Animal Rights was spoken, and they would be correct, for it was not what was said, but that which remained unspoken which was so important. The news item under watervole1discussion was the return or reintroduction of one hundred water voles to a lake in Yorkshire. These tiny animals had been bred in captivity, and were to be set free in the area where once thousands had in fact roamed free, because they had very few natural predators to fear. The interviewer asked the National Trust ranger for Malham Tarn Estate what had happened to the original vole population, and she stated, without any inflection whatsoever, that the vole population had been decimated by American Minks which had ‘escaped’ from farms in the vicinity. Now the Mink is well known to be a vicious predator in its native homelands, and when the ‘animal rights’ set of clowns decided that they knew best, raided fur farms all over Great Britain, and loosed these vicious predators upon the native species, the worst affected was the water vole, as they were nearly wiped out by the rabid attack of American minks.

So, the furry, funny story of how the ‘conservationists’ were saving yet another species was true, but the whole truth of how that tiny rodent was very nearly wiped out was not fully explained; probably because both the National Trust and the BBC really like the whole idea of the rancid mob behind the ‘animal rights and protection brigade’, and respect their views, and quietly hope that people will just forget about the type of clowns similar to the bunch who stole a body from a grave, and held the family to ransom; all because they ran a guinea-pig farm. The BBC called these vicious bastards ‘activists’, because you can sympathise with an ‘activist’, but not with a ‘terrorist’!

Thick as Pig S***, but dangerous with it!

I have commented previously on the clinical stupidity which seems to be the sole drive inhabiting the disease-infected mind and body of Pauline Cafferkey; that’s the terminally-moronic woman who flew back on a commercial flight from Sierra Leone, and onwards to Glasgow after ‘doing good’ in amongst the Ebola-spattered residents of Freetown. As you may recall, she swanned around the tv and radio studios, doing the ‘I’m a heroine, but modest with it’ routine, but felt ‘really poorly’ before being flown down to London courtesy of the RAF in a mobile isolation bed, as the silly cow had in fact contracted Ebola. She was held in the London Free Hospital at no doubt enormous cost, before being discharged and sent home. She was returned to hospital twice more, and now is suffering from the effects of meningitis, contracted as a result of the Ebola. In amongst the hospitalisation, this bloody disgrace visited schools around Scotland, telling how she was so brave, and caring, and all the other bullshit!

We now learn that she was not only terminally-stupid; she lied when she arrived back on the plane from Sierra Leone, as she did not tell the Heathrow Arrivals Health Screening staff that she had taken paracetamol, which subdued or masked her actual temperature, thus lying and evading the protection steps which had been introduced by a worried British Government. She then skipped aboard the bloody BA jet, and flew up to Glasgow, with the ever-increasing chance of infecting everyone she came in contact with, BECAUSE SHE KNEW BETTER THAN THE ‘EFFING EXPERTS!

She is now facing a fitness to practise hearing with a date set for next month in Edinburgh; held by The Nursing and Midwifery Council. Unfortunately, they only have the power to strike her off the Nursing Register; they are unable to administer the death sentence: pity, that.

and the seat is padded with shaven pubic hair….

I posted a couple of days ago on the frustrations of buying a chair online, and, as my mate James so rightly pointed out, with expectations falling so much short in reality. However, I returned that chair, and eventually received a refund, so continue my search. I am constrained, partly by budgetary considerations, and still looking for value for money. I am not so silly as to do more than browse past the ludicrously priced items found here, which presumably sell upon a known ‘name’, but, with the wide expanse of business on t’Internet from which to choose; I hope to buy a decent chair to replace the old, more-than-slightly-worn chair upon which I am now seated. But as I gazed at web-page after page, I remembered a construction site at which I worked, after retirement, as a relief Clerk-of-Works for about four-odd weeks. There were two buildings where I had to supervise all the mechanical and electrical installations, and, although both buildings were only three/four stories high, they were fairly complex in terms of air-conditioning, lighting and electronic equipment. One building was dedicated to the dark arts of digital electronic engineering, inclusive of coding, the other was more entertainment, film and business-oriented, but both were aimed at the education of youngsters in this, our digital world.

As you may understand, because I needed to look and check every aspect of the works, I was able to go everywhere, including areas which were ‘locked-off’ after completion; mainly to see the finished item. I gained access to the ground floor classrooms, all of which were full, and I do mean ‘full’ of boxes all containing chairs for the students to use. Now I understand that, when you expect to spend seven-eight hours per day seated before a computer screen, you need to be comfortable; but when I saw that the Digital College had purchased 745 off Herman Miller Aeron Office Chairs, I did remember blinking, at least three times, which is an outward sign, for me anyway, of extreme annoyance. Some ten years ago, each Aeron Office Chair; which in the world of chairs comes across as the ‘Rolls-Royce’ of the seating market, cost £700.00 exc. vat; so the total purchase cost of seating for the Digital College was £521,500.00.

Nice work, as long as you are spending other people’s money!

There is more than one way of ‘playing the game’…

Examine, if you would, the three photos I have placed on the page. These three images represent, to my mind the best, the worst, and the unspeakable; of the modern Olympic movements, and of those who compete.

olympics1The first photo depicts the ultimate in militaristic boastfulness, when Hitler’s Nazi Germany presented the 1936 Olympics as a salute to the Aryan Ideal, with the marching German athletes perfectly in step, last into the Arena as the Host Nation. Hitler was positive that his ‘Master Race’ would sweep the board; but, unfortunately, the Americans had their own ‘secret’ weapon; namely Black American athletes, who wiped the Master Race off the arena floor with their triumphs, when eighteen black men literally ruled the ‘track and field’ events. But Hitler and his Nazi friends were at least honest to their way of thinking, when they depicted the black Americans as ‘Auxiliaries’; but perhaps the Nazis would have made a better run at a meaningful propaganda statement by retailing what happened to those same Black athletes upon their return to segregated America. Jesse Owens was the first black captain of the Ohio State University athletics team, but he had to live off campus, shower separately, eat at designated black-only restaurants and stay in black-only hotels while travelling. He was never invited to meet the President, as most white Olympic athletes were; when Owens attended a non-presidential reception in his honour with his mother at the Waldorf Astoria, they had to use the goods lift; because the hotel lifts were for whites only.


The second photo is for a similar event, but a vastly different world within which it was staged. This is the ‘opening ceremony’ of the 1948 Olympic Games, hosted by London and Great Britain because nobody else wanted it. London was little better than a partially-cleaned-up bombsite, but with clearly marked streets and roads. We had no infrastructure; hell, we didn’t have any money; fighting a World War costs money; and we were broke. The Canadians provided the redwood trees for the diving boards, the Swiss gave us the gymnastic equipment, and Finland gave us the special timber for the basketball court. Our own athletes were attempting to compete whilst everyone was still on rationed food, and the Americans organised daily transatlantic flights of steak for their athletes, because they knew if their guys had to subsist as the locals did, they would collapse from hunger. The entire Games was organised from a rented Catholic Church Hall with three blackboards signed ‘Today’, ‘Tomorrow’ and ‘The Day after Tomorrow’. But it was a cleaner Games, the 1948 London Games was defiantly amateur; it was closer to the dream of Baron De Coubertin than anything which went before, and most, if not all, of what happened in the decades to come. Fanny Blankers-Coen and Emil Zatopek were hailed as heroine and hero, because they were of the people; not manufactured, not groomed and glossed: but just Honest.

Olympics - Opening Ceremony

BEIJING – AUGUST 08: Fireworks explode from the stadium roof during the Opening Ceremony for the 2008 Beijing Summer Olympics at the National Stadium on August 8, 2008 in Beijing, China. (Photo by Adam Pretty/Getty Images)

The third photo is of the one Olympics which should not have been. It was manufactured, sold and marketed because the sponsors wanted to sell, and Beijing was ready to be that shopfront. A large cadre of ageing apologists for mass-murder hired an American marketing group, sold the story and gained the Olympics. They said that the Internet would be free of censorship, and unencumbered by blocking; they also said that pigs would fly! The gross hypocrisy of a bloodthirsty dictatorship hosting a World-class sporting Event, and the only protests were muted, and ignored. The Games were held, the drug-soaked clowns ran, and jumped, and splashed; and for all I cared farted as well. The Communist Party was well pleased, and the slave-labour factories, owned by PLA generals, did enormous business selling garbage to the Gwailos who flocked to China’s very own blood-soaked Games!

…and of course I bought it online….

Working at that Wuhan factory, a small squad picked out the sections of the Office Computer Chair complete with Reclining Mechanism, Swivel and High Back: located the upholstered base complete with cable-operated recliner mechanism, padded backrest, cast aluminium armrests, swivel and height gas pillar mechanism: all of which had previously been manufactured to specification either within the sprawling factory, or by sub-contract; slapped them in a box together with the five castor wheels and all the screws to allow easy assembly. Then the box was taped up, marked and carried by a fork-lift truck to the tenth of that day’s containers waiting at the loading bay; and as the tired Chinese crews queued at the gate to clock off and go home, the last of the trucks; containers firmly in place, left the loading dock in Wuhan, and headed for the marine terminal at Shanghai’s YangShangGang, the busiest port in the world.

That container probably got loaded onto a Maersk Triple-E containership, locked down by a vigilant deck crew, as they prepared to leave the frantically-busy dockside; and headed down the pathway towards the open sea, turning away from the course towards Panama, as the Triple-E was too big even for the huge new Canal locks: and heading towards Singapore for a further batch of containers laden with goods bound for Europe; then the steady 22 knots towards the Arabian Peninsula, the Red Sea, Suez and then a straight path past Gibraltar, rudder to starboard as they effortlessly rode the sea miles past Portugal, into the Bay of Biscay, taking special care as they entered the Channel, the busiest waterway in Europe, and eventually slowed as they picked up the pilot who would take them towards the new docks and shiny overhead cranes of London Gateway Port set on the Thames estuary. That last container, loaded with the office chair parts, was lifted off, slapped onto a trailer, and driven towards a warehouse complex in Essex, where everything was unloaded from the container, marked up and listed on the computer, ready for a customer.

A 75 year-old, silver-haired and silver-bearded, and, if the truth be faced; slightly-balding ex-engineer surveyed his old leather computer desk chair, saw the breaks in the leather-faced upholstery, checked the worn armrests, and decided that he needed ‘New’: not necessarily top line, but comfort, ease of use, and the updated term, ergonomically designed, were foremost in his mind. He had to choose from a fantastically complicated selection with hundreds of models on the website he was scrutinising, but eventually selected the ‘one’; which strangely enough had been put in that box so many miles away in that scrubby city in China. So, he input his choice on the screen, selected his credit card from the array available, and hit ‘Buy Now’: receiving an email within seconds confirming his purchase, and the advice that delivery would take place two days after purchase.

The carrier’s van duly arrived, the box was off-loaded, pulled into the living room, and the various sections were extracted and unwrapped. As the buyer had been building things all his life, he saw no difficulty in arranging everything, so proceeded to set the base firm, attaching the gas pillar and swivel in place; then bolting the seat base in place. The cast aluminium armrests were fitted in minutes; then the difficult time arrived when the backrest had to be fitted to the armrests and recline mechanism. That problem was solved by laying the whole seat on its side, and bolting the backrest to the right-hand armrest; but when the superbly-designed reclining, swivelling and height-adjustable chair was turned over to allow the other bolt to be fitted, that elderly man gazed at the threaded insert, welded to the backrest frame; which was turned thirty degrees away from the armrest hole which was supposed to hold it all together!



He may have been:-

-a warm, loving individual whose unbounded passion and enthusiasm for life and all things related to trains of any kind –’

-‘sorely missed not only by his partner, his family and his friends but also by his many colleagues throughout the rail industry.’

-‘a great friend of ours and a real light in the railway world. He was always smiling, cheerful and would bend over backwards to help anyone.’

But all that happened proves without doubt that he was as thick as pig-shit when it comes to deciding whether to shove your head out of a moving train without the knowledge that 500 tons@70m.p.h  (in momentum terms) of another train is heading in the opposite direction.

Talking, as we were, of outsiders…..

Let’s take a look at the most outspoken woman ever to enter the roughest, toughest, dirtiest, most bigoted, nastiest and troubled political system known to man, which of course is that of Australian Politics. I talk of course of Pauline Hanson, the lady who, single-handedly, changed Aussie politics forever. She commenced her public life branded as a ‘Racist’ because she stated that the Government should treat all Australians equally. She had campaigned on a platform which called for Aboriginals to receive exactly the same benefits as ordinary Australians. How that evolves into her being ‘racist’ is perhaps opaque, but that’s Aussie politics, in a nutshell.

She was targeted by the big Parties, mainly because her words resonated with ordinary Aussies, and eventually was convicted on trumped-up charges, and spent eleven weeks in a maximum security jail; before having all charges reversed on appeal. Her Party splintered, fell apart, she had to return to her own ‘fish and chip shop’, but; and it is a large and vital ‘But’, she never gave in; she never gave up, she reformed her Party, learned the lessons delivered by a vicious Government and Opposition, and, having learned those lessons, amongst which was to send out cards asking voters to vote in a certain manner, thus defeating the preferential system. Pauline Hanson’s One Nation Party proceeded to win no less than 4 Senate seats in the 45th Australian Parliament.

She is strongly Right-wing, but sensible with it; she sounds as she lives; she doesn’t take any prisoners; cackles with laughter when speaking of the ‘Climate Change Scam’; and I do wish that we had someone, anyone, of a similar character to Pauline Hanson amongst the pygmies shuffling around Westminster.


THEY are already watching you!

Am I an alarmist? Do I exude worry? Do I overstate or otherwise exaggerate the problem? Consider the following scenario:-

You sit holding your tablet computer, or in front of your desktop machine. You search for an item for your home, whether it be cutlery, duvets or a new tv. You want to see what is available, either on t’Internet, or at a store convenient to your home. You locate the item desired, and decide to go shopping the next day. But you WILL notice a strange phenomenon within a few hours of your original search on many if not most websites: you will see targeted adverts, centred around the item searched for previously, and they will continue to show, blink and irritate you; because they are relentless. You can get rid of the ‘cookies’ which allow these pernicious invasions of your privacy, but it is time-consuming, picky and you also stand a fair chance of deleting the very items which ease your path towards a faster search for the pages you desire.

But there is a comparatively new threat to your privacy, your living and buying habits, and possibly even your family’s health; with the roll-out of the next generation Smart Meters. Anyone seen the profuse ads splattered all over the tv, websites and newsies for these super-duper Smart Meters? Remember watching as you are told how wonderful life will be once you allow your Energy Provider to install one of the super-slim and -smart gadgets? Remember how you were told that the ‘Smart Meter’ installation would be completely free? Remember how you were told that, once you were able to ‘monitor’ your energy usage, you will be saving money all the time? Folks, that is sheer, unadulterated, premium-grade bullshit!

The meters will not save you money, any money ‘saved’ will be by frightened homeowners switching off their central heating, or their lights, because for the first time they will be able to see how much it will be costing them. Any money ‘saved’ will be by pensioners doing without heating all together, worried beyond belief because they see the relentless digits clicking over the pounds and the pence, and; because they dislike ‘debt’, because they dislike owing anything over the odds, prefer to switch off, bundle up, and risk hypothermia rather than pay the truly exorbitant bills from the oh-so-caring Energy giants! These so-called ‘Smart’ meters are smart in one area alone, and that is getting an up-to-the second meter reading so that your bill can be slammed out in the speediest possible time. The bills are so high because we are paying huge amounts to the Wind Industry, we are paying for huge acres of solar panels which operate at somewhere around twenty % efficiency because we are at a latitude of 54 degrees North, and the sun is never that powerful; and we are paying huge amounts of cash for our Carbon Trading system, meaning that all that cash goes to huge corporations for doing absolutely nothing.

Your ‘Free’ smart meter is, in fact, anything but free, as the costs of this fantastic Government-backed boondoggle are estimated to cost around £11 Billion, and all that cash will be added to individual bills, at so much every year, so the Energy Companies will not pay a single penny towards the costs of these bits of technological foolery which exist so that more control over Your energy use, more control over how and when you use any aspect of electrical or electronic equipment within your home. Every piece of modern electrical equipment comes complete with a tiny RFID chip integrated into the control system; and The Energy Company will, once they get the bloody system working; be able to detect and decide which of your bits of gear is actually switched off. They will be able to isolate washing machines, tumble dryers, even hot water storage systems, so that if they face a huge problem with literally not enough spinning and connected generators, due to the Governments’ crazy idea of depending upon foreigners, such as the bloody French and the Chinese to build our power stations; they can switch whole suburbs, or even whole cities, off the supply lines, at the touch of a mouse!

But just think back a couple of years, and find out who was pushing this enormous cost onto the British public? It was of course the serial liar, thief and speeding-fine-dodger Chris Huhne. With a backer like that, is there any wonder it will end up costing the very earth; with not a single pound sterling saved. It is typical of this sort of thieving idiot to conveniently forget some of the reasons why our energy bills are so high, and then tell us it will be easier to just pay the bills when due. With the passing of the Climate Change Act, the British Government accepted a Green Agenda which will lead to the de-industrialisation of Great Britain within thirty years. So when the last coal-fired boiler goes cold, and the nuclear ones are still just a wet dream, we shall be running on a mix of gas, wind and sun. The wind sometimes does not blow, the sun goes down in the evening, the gas is okay, but there’s way too much Global Warming; but hey; we’ll get our inflated bills on time, and if we don’t pay up on the spot, we’ll be cut off at the ‘click’ of a mouse. Happy Daze!

Their names are written in blood

In amongst the ‘We’re all together now’ bullshit emanating from the sewage farms of Copacabana Beach and other ‘sporting venues’ of the Olympics; let us turn away from the sunshine, sweat and drugs; and gaze once more at reality, even at a distance of some forty-odd years.

John Bryans, Robert Chambers, Reginald Chapman, Walter Chapman, Robert Freeburn, Joseph Lemmon, John McConville, James McWhirter, Robert Samuel Walker and Kenneth Worton.


Those names belonged to ten perfectly ordinary British workmen who died because of one terrible truth: they were all Protestants. They died because a bunch of psychopathic criminals, who headed the sinister IRA/SinnFein band ordered the murderous scum who actually carried the weaponry to kill someone, anyone; it did not matter who; in retaliation for the deaths of some unknown people who had died because they were either IRA, or just Catholic. A total of 11 weapons were used at Kingsmill. Nine of them have been linked to 37 murders, 22 attempted murders and 19 non-fatal shootings. Those ten ordinary guys fell in a veritable hail of bullets because of one common ideal; their religion. They died because one group of psychopaths wished to impose their will upon the State, and since all Protestants supported the State, they were chosen. One Catholic man identified himself as such, and so he lived, when all the others died!

A single man has been arrested, but not yet charged, with this atrocity; but the aftermath is with us today; although, from the viewpoint of any who live on the Mainland, with the Queen’s Peace only disturbed by the screams of the girls being raped by the various Muslim gangs in the Yorkshire and Lancashire Mill towns; the equally loud screams of the odd American tourist being stabbed by a teen-aged ‘bullied loner’ whose origins are described as Norwegian-Somalian and definitely not a terrorist, although it has yet to be established how such descriptions were arrived at; and some clowns who think that ‘BlackLivesMatter’ is something which should echo in England as well as it seems to do in America, the reality which is Northern Ireland is but a distant, if only slightly annoying murmur.

The “Peace Accord’, the  Agreement, named either ‘Good Friday’ or the ‘Belfast’ by the various factions who accepted the weird and contorted provisions which assured a ‘voice’ for both bunches of criminals in a Province Parliament had some immediate benefits, as well as some better hidden for decades. The IRA claimed its weaponry were decommissioned and ’beyond use’,; never actually witnessed, but strangely enough, their word was taken as gospel. That same ‘decommissioned weaponry’ pops up every so often even today, when the odd Belfast Prison Officer is blown sky-high by a Semtex bomb under his car; but hey, he’s just one guy, and no-one else was hurt, and we just can’t suspend the Assembly because of a ‘dissident action’. Funny thing, that these ‘dissidents’ all seem to have exceedingly good intelligence, as well as access to sophisticated explosive technology. Same degree of incredulity spread around the death of Robert McCartney, where seventy-odd witnesses all claimed to be in the toilets at the same time, which led to the toilets being rechristened the TARDIS toilets, after Dr. Who.

So we have the Stormont Assembly, peopled by a bunch of thugs in pinstripe suits seated under the banner of the Democratic Unionists in the tiny majority over the other bunch of thugs and murderers, all equally-smartly suited, who call themselves SinnFein, led by the grinning criminal Martin McGuinness; and you have to remember that ordinary people voted for these monsters, gave them democratic cover, and they say that the age of comedy is over! This collection of thugs in suits govern the whole of the Province of Northern Ireland, take the cash and spread it far and wide, and; folks, just remember that it is your cash; British taxpayers’ cash, which fills the wallets of the bunch of killers who ordered the deaths at Kingsmill! 

But we really need to pass on, to Rio, and the gold medals up for grabs by our wonderful athletes! Stop living in the past, and concentrate on the glorious Future: even if that Future does reek with the victims blood!

All hail, the great Gods of the Silicon Chip

I was faced with switching off my tv for the next seventeen-odd days, as the whole segment of broadcasting, apart that is, from the channels which do nothing but broadcast repeats, all day, every day; is doing seemingly nothing but Olympics garbage. If its not boxing, or cycling; its either bloody swimming, women’s football or some muslim druggie running faster than other drugged-up clowns. Yes, its the four yearly cycle of Olympic Crap.

But, I have to confess, I am saved. Access to Amazon Prime, and the series therein; along with a vast library of recorded films courtesy of a Blu-Ray DVD system; and the possibility of access for a full month to the joys of Netflix (House of Cards, here I come), together with my own huge stash of Classical music, which I use for purely medicinal purposes, naturally: and I never need go near a terrestrial tv channel for over two weeks.

All thanks to the great and generous Gods of the Glorious Intel Chip, before whose throne we all bow down (or at least slouch) in gratitude!


Hey: Let’s all go down to Rio! (or Not)

Welcome to the quadrennial exhibition of more drug-induced heart attacks than ever, massive financial kick-backs, huge displays of false modesty by the winners; along of course with massed gritting of teeth by the losers; and of course the four-yearly cycle of critics of Caster Semenya trying to prove that she/he ain’t what she/he claims to be, and they have the testosterone tests to prove it! I am, naturally, referring to the ongoing National-Bankruptcy Petition otherwise know as the Brazilian Olympic Games.

There have been many, many articles written about the Games in general, and of various Nations’ participation in particular. When writing about happenings which stand out in one’s memory about the Games, I am somewhat limited; mainly because of the fact that watching just about all sports gives me a fervent wish to be somewhere else; anywhere else! But the sight of the stockmen’s horses galloping around the Sydney arena, galloping to the majestic notes from The Man from Snowy River; really did it for me. If the organisers had left it like that, and marched the athletes on, and declared the Games open: great! Unfortunately, the next two hours were wasted showing their Idea of Australia, ending with the massed march of lawnmowers: need I say more?

But a better view of the Rio Games can be gained by a good scan of The Onion’s review, which says it all about this complete waste of borrowed money which, seemingly, is about Global Politics as much as drug-fuelled athletic endeavour. The most apposite statement is given with the comment:-

Maracanã Stadium

Number six on future Forbes article titled “10 Contributing Factors To Brazilian Bankruptcy”

Says it all: really!

N.B. For further reading, and certain explanations about how the London Olympic story unfolded, read Forman’s Games, by Lance Forman, the owner of one of the 350 local businesses which were ruthlessly removed from their premises, under false and oppressive laws and ruling; and possibly one of the few if not the ONLY one to remain a viable business today, because he would not bend to the likes of Sebastian Coe and all the Labour slimeballs who were intent on ruining his business!

Olive oil futures grow by 300%.

The High Court has stated that the NHS is able to fund the ‘prep’ anti-hiv drug. Now I, and probably many more, strongly object to the taxpayer funding a drug which has been termed a ‘get-out-of-HIV-lifestyle’ drug. I object because the drug is taken as a routine prophylactic by homosexuals who have sex with other homosexuals on a promiscuous basis without any condom protection.

I object in the strongest possible fashion to taxpayers’ cash being used to fund a hedonistic lifestyle in the allegedly ‘gay’ scene; and I am also strongly opposed to the massive costs of antiretroviral drugs being handed out ‘on the hoof’ to homosexuals who have been infected by this disease; infected primarily and principally because of their ‘lifestyle’ choices.

If men wish to engage in anal sex, which is against nature itself, that is their choice, but they should engage in these totally risky activities outside of the protections afforded them by the Health Services of this Country. They can indulge in as many ‘friendships’ as they wish, but if they wish to do so without the protection of condoms; they should be told, quite firmly, that the risk is all theirs.

Those who have routinely called for this drug to be available on the NHS dismiss the approach that condoms should always be used for homosexual activities on the basis that such use is not always available on the grounds that it denies ‘spontaneity’ and deadens the thrill, are just, in my view; supporting routine promiscuity which was so evident in the San Francisco bath-houses which stemmed the rise of HIV and AIDs in the first place. Not for nothing were HIV and AIDs first described as the ‘gay plague’.

If that manner of sexual conduct is what you wish and desire; good luck: but don’t ask the British taxpayer to fund your ‘lifestyles’.

A Farage: or a mirage?

The dramatic resignation of the leader of UKIP, coming, as it did; immediately after the Referendum result had been announced, has thrown the Party into a turmoil which has been  near fatal. Instead of biding his time, savouring the moment and organising a measured timetable for a Leadership contest, Farage decided that he has had enough of the Left-wing bully-boys from Labour, the death threats against himself and his family, the need to be escorted at all times by a bunch of heavies because he had already been ambushed at least twice by a threatening mob, the constant sniping from a fractured and undisciplined Party inclusive of a simperingly-disloyal single MP: and we can almost understand the indecent haste with which he ran for the exit.

Consider the following facts:-

  • From a one-man Protest group, always talking and using nothing but words, he built a Party which collected 4 million votes at the last General Election. Over a period of eighteen years, he managed to bring about the most decisive about-turn in British political history, and saw the ‘Leave’ camp win the decision by a healthy 4% majority. He did this by reminding voters how they had been deceived by their former leaders about the stretch and grasp of the monster which the European Union had become. By splitting votes from both the Tories and their ‘Project Fear’ campaign, but more strongly from the Labour pack, which split was emboldened by the lack-lustre campaign run by Corbyn and his jackals; and the Labour vote, being unusually prescient, knew that Corbyn had always detested the EU idea, and voted accordingly. Readers should either ignore, or laugh derisively, at the claims from the ‘official Leave camp’ that it was them what won it, as their campaign, such as it was, was virtually silent and ill-prepared! Farage was the name on the minds of British voters, and it is Farage whom should get all the credit!
  • Nigel Farage was singularly detested within the corridors of Brussels, mainly because he used the worst weapon in the world of Politics: he laughed at them. He was amusingly brutal, and they took it because he always did his homework, and he laughed at the  things, the projects which the Brussels elite adored, and they hated him for being right. Farage had the gift, the amazing faculty for projecting his image, which he had fashioned over the years, of being and speaking as a man of the people; for that was, at his heart, what he was.
  • A man who was close to death on more than one occasion, with him being dragged from a plane crash as one instance, and a bout with testicular cancer as another, he  embraced the idea which he pushed for above all else, that the one thing which would set Great Britain back on track would be to remove itself, lock, stock and voters; from the rule of the ruthless cabal which masqueraded under the velvet-gloved hands of the bureaucrats with their padded structures gathered together under the title of  ‘European Union’.
  • When Cameron viewed the results of polls which told him one thing, and one thing only, that Europe and UKIP was more of a threat to his Government, he reacted as only an arrogant man could do, he promised a Referendum. Offering a chance for ‘ordinary people’, the voiceless horde whose only job was to hold him and his own bunch in power, the ‘plebs’ who featured, if at all, in their rightful place at the very base of the totem pole of power, to have a ‘say’ in how their Nation would and could be governed: was not, in Cameron’s mind, even a gamble. The British would do as they were told, he reasoned; the British just would never walk away from the European Union. They might routinely moan when Parliamentary Law was routinely overruled by either case-law under the UK Human Rights Act, or by a decision from the European Courts of either Human Rights, or of Justice: but rebel? Never in a million years. So this arrogant man, secure in his spider’s web of Eton Wall Game enthusiasts who told the ‘Emperor’ that his clothes fitted perfectly, secure in the absolute knowledge that the Labour-voting rabble would do as they were told, equally secure that the Turnip Taliban were no threat at all; equally content that the minor irritant which was ‘Grassroots Conservatives’ were just an annoyance and nothing more; content that when he silenced his annoyingly liberal wife with his successful attack on civilised society with his institution of Homosexual Marriage, decided that he would promise the ‘plebs’ a Referendum: because there was no way on this good earth that he could lose!
  • But this arrogant, specious, lying clown forgot one thing, and one thing only. He forgot that the world had moved on from the absolute knowledge that the Tory Party would rule for a thousand years, and had access to the new ‘News’; which of course items like YouTube, Facebook, Instagram and all the ‘Applications’ which means that when a pair of ‘professional entertainers’ ‘marries’, and then one of these perverted ‘Queens’ ‘ decides to crap all over those once-sacred vows by involving a third party ‘swinger’, anal sex without any form of protection, fifty gallons of olive oil and a sunken bath, the whole world wants to know about it, despite a complaisant and compliant High Court Judge and an injunction which isn’t even valid across the Border at Berwick! He forgot that Nigel Farage’s face and words featured on every Youtube video which lacerated the workings of this monstrous bureaucratic outfit; an outfit whose bureaucracy is so lax that they do not even know how much cash has been spent on the bloody enormous scientific boondoggle known as CERN.
  • Farage told his audience how useless the Parliament really was, something no-one had revealed before, and his followers adored him because of his frankness. His favourite perch was in a pub, clutching a pint, a cigarette in the other. Educated at a top school, he eschewed University, and went straight into business, ending up as a metals trader.
  • Farage will be a great loss to the British political scene if he remains outside of UKIP, and as we presently see from the utter horlicks they are stirring just for the leadership election, it is quite obvious that, collectively, they haven’t got a clue. If Theresa May has an ounce of political savvy, she will co-opt Farage to a seat at the Brexit negotiations. The Tories might dislike him, but the Euro bunch detest him, because he knows where most of the bodies are buried, and equally knows how to exhume them under the correct circumstances!