Resign? Bollocks; he’s done nowt wrong!

I do not, as a rule, write in support of either the Police in general, or senior Policemen in particular. It is accepted, outside of the fashionable Lefty-Liberal chattering classes circles where such thinking abounds, that the Police have been transformed, over the years, into a politically-correct virtual arm of a) the political elite of this Nation, and b) a tool for ever greater social change towards the Left. We see an apparent acceptance that some criminals are left alone because it is ‘too difficult’ to entrap and prosecute them; we see many situations where even mere children are virtually terrified into submission WITHIN THEIR SCHOOLS as headteachers involve the police in an attempt to punish what are mischievous children’s misdemeanours. We see Muslim gangs bent on mischief ignored; whilst their White opposition bands are routinely arrested and charged in what seems to be an attempt to subvert the Rule of Law.

Time after time, we see the results of injudicious promotions to senior Police positions when the headlines emerge of corruption, sexual licence, favouritism and even criminal behaviour. Just because a police officer has served for a certain length of time, or because he or she has a good university degree; should not be taken as licence for automatic promotion. We have all seen the results of behaviour such as that.

But I do write in total support of the chief constable of South Yorkshire, whose very livelihood is now at risk because of the whimsical behaviour of the local Police & Crime Commissioner. The statements made by the Chief Constable are public knowledge, and thus do not need repeating in these pages; but I for one believe that it needed to be said: because in my view, the whole Hillsborough Inquest saga has been nothing but a politically-inspired witch hunt, stoked by the alleged ‘Independent Inquiry’ fanned by the legal profession working for the allegedly-heart-broken families; with the flames lit by these same allegedly-broken-hearted families.

When a stacked jury states that “The jury also concluded that Liverpool fans were not to blame for what happened,” after evidence came out that, although the police actions contributed to the deaths, the main factor was the onrush of over one thousand Liverpool so-called fans into a section of the stand which was already hopelessly overcrowded. That was why those people died, and for no other cause. The Police & Crime Commissioner should be ashamed of himself, as he furthers the cause of scapegoating a senior policeman, instead of standing by his man as he knows he should. Bloody disgrace!

The Sound of Freedom

The Telegraph runs a snapshot of Aviation under the title of “The 18 most important aircraft of all time”, and shows photographs of its own choices which lead that list. I would, however, challenge that list on various grounds; the greatest one being the simple fact that they only show Civil and Passenger aircraft. I would contend that they missed a few off that list, but, presumably because the arbiter of the list is probably a Quaker, a ‘Peace-activist’, or even what used to be termed a ‘Pacifist’ before Jeremy Corbyn besmirched that possibly noble idea; no military aircraft made their short list.

My list is quite short.

Curtiss JN4H planes with Hispano-Suiza motors. These aircraft made the first scheduled Civil Air Mail runs in America, and indeed the World.

Hawker Hurricane. Although being a better fighter than the Spitfire, (better turning rate, better fighter ability than the Spitfire, the Spitfire got all the glory, and the Hurricane was relegated into the back-seat of history).

 Boeing 707  the first truly successful jet passenger aircraft, and the one which ushered in the fantastic expansion of air travel. The Comet was the first, but the design failures which saw four jets crash in quick succession ruled it, and Britain, out of the competition for ever.

Boeing B-17 bomber. The Sound of Freedom.

As I wrote, some ten years ago:-

 Yesterday afternoon a strange sound reverberated around the skies over Durham City. It was a sound which once comforted millions; a sound which gave the populations of Great Britain further assurance that the greatest arm of Democracy in the known world was resolutely on our side, and that ‘Right’ was linked with ‘Might’ against the sinister forces which sat malevolently across Western Europe! The sound was that of four twelve-hundred horsepower Wright Cyclone radial engines turning eleven foot seven-inch diameter three-blade propellors; which in turn thrust a Boeing B-17 Flying Fortress bomber across the skies of the United Kingdom. The hammering blast of noise, which of course would be denounced these days as totally objectionable in terms of ‘damage to the environment’ was never subject to any complaints from the British population in the dark days of 1943; but instead was proof that America was with us in body as well as in spirit, because without both the lifeline provided by the Atlantic convoys, which helped supply and feed an embattled nation, and the huge influx of American servicemen and war material such as the formidable B-17 bombers, we would not have survived as a nation against the onslaught from Nazi Germany!

The Strategic Air Command, the one organisation dedicated solely to the destruction of the Communist Empire of Soviet Russia, fielded many types of bomber in it’s long and illustrious history, from the Boeing B-29 through to the B-47, the B-58 Hustler and the legendary B-52 of longer service than many alive today which was also known as the B.U.F.F’S., (for translation of this acronym, refer to Frederick Forsyth’s magic novel entitled “The Fist of God” where these splendid heavy bombers are referred to as “BIG UGLY FAT F*****S”); but the first design brought out by Boeing was the B-17 ‘Flying Fortress’, whose superb build and legendary toughness brought crews safely back to our shores from their punishing daylight raids over Germany.

These days we can sit back in our cars, and watch as the modern jets swoop overhead, wheeling and whistling as they pound past in air-shows up and down our country, confident that apart from the mad fanatics of the fuzzy muslim rag-heads, and the politically correct who wish to stop us even smiling, we don’t have all that much to worry about; and as we bake in this slightly un-British sunshine, remember the THIRTY THOUSAND American flyers who gave their lives so we might watch in peace!


Image courtesy of Keith Ferris and the Smithsonian Museum

And silence rules once more

The house is once more silent. The toys stand, stacked haphazardly in boxes in the corner, The bowls, once filled with fruit-and-icecream, are stacked ready for the dishwasher tomorrow. The couch, which once rocked with the weight of three growing young bodies, sits deserted. The laughter which resounded through my living-room this afternoon has ceased.


All too soon, my son, his wife, my three grandsons and my daughter, are in their car, and move off back home. My youngest grandson, whose smiles light my life up, has gone home.


Until next time, Adieu!

I presume they called for volunteers.

The trial has just concluded for Leston Lawrence, accused of stealing $180,000 worth of gold, from his place of employment, the Royal Canadian Mint. (A verdict will be handed down sometime in November.)

The gold was supposedly removed from site in the form of pucks, cookie-sized, and weighing 7.4 ounces each. Now, mints, especially when they’re making gold coins, tend to be pretty secure places. And indeed, employees at the Royal Canadian Mint go through security screenings on their way out of the facility. Lawrence is accused of smuggling out these 7.4 ounce gold pucks, some 18 in total, in his rectum. (One at a time, I hope.) By using this, um, method, Lawrence was able to bypass a metal detector and subsequent pass with a wand.

I know. But it actually gets worse: The method sounds like a long-shot, so to ensure that the theory actually worked in practice, in preparation for the prosecution, someone actually tested it to see if it worked.

So yep, it could truly be stated that s**t happens.

Hey, at least now your job doesn’t look so bad, does it?

They’ll always walk alone

I was relaxing in a multi-tasking manner yesterday evening. I was listening to my music, all stored in presumably concentrically ranked classical digital files on my Macbook with iTunes, and broadcast seamlessly to my sound system; at the same time I was commencing to page through a great book named ‘Conclave’ by Robert Harris. I checked my watch, paused my music, and switched over to the BBC News at Six; but after watching/listening for about four/five minutes; I was suddenly galvanised into switching over to, well, anything, the first programme I found/the first recording which came up on my screen: anything to release my brain from the garbage literally thrown over the airwaves of the State broadcaster. We all know the Beeb has its own levels of favourites; anything anti-Tory, anything pro-Corbyn and his ranked outriders; anything pro-the lying rubbish of climate change, anything which advances the ‘progressive politics’ agenda; I should not need to list everything. You all know what I am writing about. But having accepted that, and still tuning to the Beeb’s news; what was the item which caused intense mental anguish, together with a desire to launch an armed assault upon the BBC headquarters?

Well, the automatic movement towards the ‘remote’ was actually triggered by the sight and sounds of the ‘Liverpool Losers’, as they solemnly gave the ‘freedom of the city’ to a bunch of dead people. I could almost write the ‘Order of Service’ for this crew: even without the trauma of actually watching the heaped scroungers which collectively are known as ‘Scousers’ as they pour out their hate against ‘the Police, the Government, the ground where the ‘fans’ died, other football supporters’ as a target of common grief whilst supposedly honouring those who died during a football match a long time ago. We know those people died, hell’s gates, we are never allowed to forget it; but; standing back as one should, we must examine the motives for all this exaggerated grief. We are British, with certain reserves almost built into our DNA; we don’t do the wailing, crying, gnashing of teeth which is almost standard behaviour in other climates and countries too numerous to collate. As is an accepted practice, British grief is private; grief is allowed, indeed necessary, but a certain measure of stoicism is taken for granted: but when grief is politicised, then that shows up so very, very distinctly as false, sham and totally artificial.

I would respect a  statement from any representative of those ‘grieving’ if they had ever stated the magic words, ‘We shall not expect or accept any compensation’; but, since the whole campaign, from the word ‘go’ has been about the Money; and that is all it has ever been about, they get no respect from me!

I’ll huff, and puff; but I dare not sue!

I note that Gerry Adams, the long term IRA leader, killer, murder planner and torture organiser who plainly gloated that ‘We haven’t gone away; y’know’ is a tad upset about the BBC.

The Sinn Féin president Gerry Adams has said he is considering legal action against the BBC for broadcasting claims that he sanctioned the killing of a former party colleague who turned out to be a British spy.

The allegations over the death of Denis Donaldson were made by an anonymous man, named only as Martin, who claimed he was also a paid state agent in the IRA, to BBC Northern Ireland’s Spotlight programme.

Donaldson, 55, a Sinn Féin official and close colleague of Adams, was shot dead at an isolated cottage near Glenties in Co Donegal in April 2006 following his exposure as a long-term British agent inside both the IRA and Sinn Féin.

“That the BBC would broadcast unsubstantiated allegations from an anonymous person, a self-confessed agent, about me, I think it very, very low journalism indeed,” Adams said.

I reckon that the BBC would be insisting, in fact begging, for a law suit, in order to actually get this scumbag onto a witness stand, where he would not have access to his tape-recording; you know the one, that’s where his voice keeps repeating. ‘NO Comment’.

Now you see me…..Now you still see me

Reading, as one does, the property pages of the weekend Times, and the Telegraph, one see the ultimate in luxury, or what is marketed as luxury, flats in London.

We are regaled with this:-


or this:-


or even this:-



by now you will be getting the idea; large picture windows, giving the proud owner the ability to look out over the glittering landscape of London.

But what happens when you buy here, at Neo-Bankside Apartments; when the Tate Switch buildings scaffolding comes down, and the flat owners and residents get this?:-


Nicholas Serota, the Tate’s director, airily says, Buy Net Curtains or Blinds‘  Just love the sign, right next to where some female berkess is scanning and picturing the neighbours, ‘as you do’!