British sewage exported world-wide

saudiembassy

The building pictured above is the Embassy of Saudi Arabia in London. Inside those walls, everything is subject to the domestic law of the Kingdom of Saudi Arabia, and is also the official home of His Highness Prince Mohammed bin Nawaf bin Abdul Aziz – Ambassador of the Custodian of the Two Holy Mosques. In terms of International Diplomatic Protection, if the Ambassador was to advance on a Saudi citizen, detained inside that Embassy; he would and could be able to swing one of those jewel-hilted but razor-sharp swords which the fuzzy-wuzzies so prize, and lift the head of that same Saudi citizen clean off his shoulders, and there is not a single thing that the British Government could do about it, because Saudi Law operates inside those expensive gates and walls, and that is it. The Brits could request the Ambassador’s removal, and declare him ‘Persona Non Grata’. But they would be obliged to let him travel in his armour-plated limousine to Heathrow, with only a peremptory check on his Diplomatic Passport, and he would then be able to fly away to freedom, a killer who had literally walked away free.

But all the foregoing words are mere supposition, because the Ambassador, for all I know, is totally against the use of force, and the very sight of blood might even make him faint. But the theory, the philosophy, of the Saudi Rule of Law is correct. The reason why I write these words, and the use of such an outrageous suggestion in illustrating them, is simply to express my own personal outrage at the actions of the British High Commission in Canberra, and Consulates around Australia, in furthering and promoting homosexual ‘marriage’ in a country which does not itself allow such perversions to be legalised. This is, to my mind, the outcome of the Cameron era, and the Foreign Office, itself a veritable hot-bed (to use an apt phrase) of homosexual connivance. But, because these celebrations of perversion are  behind the walls of British Consulates or the Commission, with their oh-so-careful observance of Diplomatic Protocols, the Aussies cannot literally do anything about the sewage which is being washed up in the midst of their cities.

Britain’s favourite flower comes a’callin’

My gardening techniques are, in my wider family, legendary. My late brother, himself a green-fingered fanatic, described them best as ‘Benign Neglect’. I accept that, every few weeks, I have to cut the weeds back to a semi-desert basis, and the moss thrives during the summer and autumn. I liberally spray all sorts of deadly poisons to keep the weeds down on my drive- and path-ways. When various bushes and other growing things intrude into my sight-line, obscuring my view of the roadside and of who approaches my front door, I bring out the hedge-trimmer and slash-and-hack until a respectable pile is dumped into the garden waste bin. I have absolutely no interest in planting, or trimming, or indeed watering.
So imagine my amazement when, over the past week, a glorious bunch of bluebells began to blossom next my very front door. I certainly did not plant them, but once again, Nature brings a gentle sense of order to the waste ground which is my front garden. Ain’t life wonderful, especially when random chance brings such transient beauty into my world!

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