Tuesday, 30 September 2008

The One That Says 'About Bloody Time Too. . .'

Sometimes, just somtimes, the establishment gets things right. Too often I moan that the courts uphold the 'rights' of the scummiest little turds in direct opposition to the Rights (note capital letter) and interests of the majority.

Today however, they got it right.

A group of retired Gurkhas have won their test case to earn the right to live in the UK.

There are nine living holders of the VC, and three of them are Gurkhas. Does anything more need to be said about the calibre of these people? Of course I will say a little more, the fact that they have fought this battle, as they fight all battles, with dignity, honour and not a peep of a whinge just goes to reinforce this. For them to serve this country, to be one of the finest body of men in the world and then to be ignored by this country is nothing short of a disgrace. I hope the Home Office is suitably shame-faced and will not appeal the case.

They will appeal it, of course, because senior civil servants and politicians hate nothing more than a loss of face. So they'll drag it out in the hope that a few more pop their clogs during the wait.

Meanwhile British passports will be handed out like golf sale flyers to any Albanian gangster who cares to extort, murder and pimp his way around our green and pleasant land.
The Refuser makes some interesting comments on a not unrelated point.

Saturday, 27 September 2008

The One That Wants His Bloody Money Back . . .

Having heaved my sweaty carcass off the sofa after Final Score this evening, I was astonished to see a programme of the worst. . . shitness. . . broadcast on BBC1 whilst I was doing the washing up.

Absolute toss.

'Hole In The Wall' has to rate as perhaps the worst half hour's TV I have watched since. . . well, ever. It consists of Dale Winton and some 'celebrities' (Darren Gough, Vic Reeves, Vanessa Feltz and some others who I don't know) in skin tight silver cat suits and crash hats attempt to stand in a pose appropritate to a hole cut out in a quickly advancing wall. They will then pass through said hole, or not. Resulting in a dunking in a tank of water as the momentum of said approaching wall will carry them from their perch if their pose does not allow them to pass through the hole.

Absolute toss.

Even worse than 'Pets Win Prizes' which previously held the title of being the 'Shittest Way to Pass Half an Hour - (not involving ameobic dysentry)' also, and probably without coincedence, hosted by Dale Winton.

Absolute toss.

And they want to put the licence fee up? The BBC are lucky I'm not marching on TV centre with an assualt rifle and an RPG.

It was, in case I haven't made it clear, absolute toss.

The One That Thinks He's Almost Right. . .

Just because someone has been wrong in the past, doesn't mean they can't ever be right again, and Dominic Greive fits that mould quite nicely. I believe that it was he who recently said that local authorities weren't using their RIPA/snooping powers enough. I will temporarily forgive him that ridiculous point of view.

He has today been quoted as saying that the mania for multi-culturalism in the UK has left a terrible legacy that has allowed extremism to flourish. That is a statement that is difficult to disagree with, however the article is more about the squeezing of Christianity than anything else. It does raise some interesting points though.

He tells the Groan that a type of "cultural despair" has led "long-term inhabitants" and newer arrivals to feel alienated and unsure of UK values.

It is unfortunate that our political masters are so desperate for the majority to change their lifestyle to suit the incoming minority, this dilutes the 'UK values' which the newcomers are expected to adhere to. It is perhaps slightly less objectionable to the French model where anyone is welcome in France as long as they are a white catholic. How can we expect people to understand UK values when we will shortly see stories in the MSM about Christmas being banned, (no doubt there have also been stories about over anxious managers removing references to pigs from the office environment during the current Ramadan period) and so on?

These newcomers must be scratching their heads in disbelief thinking 'What on Earth is going on here?' My other half used to work for an organisation with a very high proportion of Muslim members of staff, and those members who were not Islamic would always be invited for the chow down at sunset during Ramadan. Who do you think were most involved in the organisation of, and most excited about the prospect of the office Xmas party? Yes, that's right, the Muslim staff members. They would bury the office in Xmas cards, very sincerely wishing the native population a happy Xmas and containing essays enquiring as to the health and fortune of the recipient's family.

It is peverse that newcomers to these islands, with a different faith, language, value system and culture should be so willing, if not desperate, to embrace this new culture and include the established population in their own festivals. Indeed they would alter their festivals to include others. My other half attended a Kurdish-Muslim wedding where all the cultural formalities were observed and the bar was opened for the non Muslim guests.

What is sadder is that this country has a most enviable track record in the absorption of incoming cultures and this can be traced back as far the Romans, Saxons, Normans and Vikings. There is still a French chapel in Canterbury Cathedral which has been operating since the Huguenot came over. The Irish have been absorbed completely, Jews and Afro-Caribbeans with little trouble these days, the Bangladeshi, Indian and Pakistani are well on the way and are now no longer the new kids on the block. The new wave of Somali, Iranian, Afghan and Iraqis are experiencing culture shock and difficulty, as all new arrivals do, but the current regime of enforced integration does nothing to help either side.

Forget the first generation, they will not integrate, our ways are too different, the second generation will be more comfortable, but still of the 'other'. By the third generation the process will be almost complete. It is what the British do best, just look at our new national dish - Chicken Tikka Massala, a dish with its roots thousands of miles away but unmistakably British, made in Britain and adopted with great gusto. Could you see the French altering their gastronomic tastes like that?

Look at the English language, its very popularity and enduring success is the language's ability to asorb, its thirst for, new words from other languages to come in and join the party. English has a vocabulary that is stuffed with Latin, French, Norse, Germanic and Indian words, plus a whole host of strange words that have snuck in. It is the British speakers that do this.

We have demonstrated, time and time again that we do not need cajoling into accepting new cultures into our midst, we've always done it, and will continue to do so. There is initial resistance as people are naturally wary of the new and strange, but that soon passes. By constantly pointing out the differences and saying 'Ooooh, you can't do/say/think that' all you do is spread mistrust and make the process of acceptance and bedding in longer. Of course people should be protected from discrimination, and it is there in law. We all know this, so stop banging on about it, won't you?

Another example of superfluous interference in how people live their lives. We are British, we will accept newcomers, we will embrace the best of their language and culture, and make them our own. In a few years you won't even see the join. Why not just let us get on with it? Multi-culturalism is a pup, it doesn't exist, there is only one culture in this country, the British culture, and it encompasses so many strings from so many places, that it means we have a race-relations and tolerance record that is envied by the rest of the world. This isn't down to the righteous holding our hands and talking down to us, it is inspite of them, it is our national psyche.

Thursday, 25 September 2008

The One That Feels Sorry For Ruth Kelly's Family. . .

I mean, fancy having her hanging around the house, speaking in that voice that makes her sound like a growth hormone ridden East German shot-putter.

Needing to spend more time with your family? I don't know which is more disturbing, the fact that one of these ZNL fucktards has admitted that they can't get the job done and needs to step down, or that they think they've completed the task and are now settling down for a well earned rest.

Probably neither, the most likely explanation is that at least one of these delusional idiotarians has got their head of their backside for long enough to realise that their majority is nowhere near as big as they thought it was and they'd best get some job hunting done pronto.

Isn't it weird that only the day before you dropped your bombshell (the shot that was heard around the . . . room?) you were telling the media they were all idiotic ninnies for daring to suggest you were about to bail out? But that lie is OK, is it? Apparently you told Gordon you were off in May, so why, when pressed on the subject did you stand there and tell a bold faced lie? If you lie about that, how do you expect anyone to believe anything you and your disgusting little clan ever say again?

Election night when it comes promises to be an elephant hunt with a good deal of political 'heavyweights' seeking alternate employment. What is even more bizarre is the fact that I have absolutely no doubt that they'll jog into a position that is heavy on wages and light on work inspite of a track-record of not listening to anything anyone has said, crass stupidity and miserable and complete failure.

Just in case they haven't got the message yet: It's done. Over. Finished. You've had it. You now have the life expectancy of a Brazilian entering a tube station.

The only decision you have left is whether you peel the sticking plaster off slowly, or rip it off. Whichever way, I shall sit back and watch your pain and discomfort with great enjoyment. The only problem is that the bunch who will replace you will quickly prove to be as odious and objectionable as you.

Monday, 22 September 2008

The One That Says 'You Are Beneath Contempt. Be Silent'. . .

Interesting to see today that Unite and Amicus, two enormous trade unions, alluding to the fact that Labour have seemingly abandoned their constituency.

Here's a newsflash, Labour no more represent your members interests than the organising committee of the Eurovision Song Contest. Labour must be incredulous that you persist in giving them money. Jesus, they've even started taking money from big business in case you cotton on to this fact. What's going to happen when one body that donates to the party demands a return on their cash that is diametrically opposed to the wishes of the other? It is a disaster waiting to happen.

When Brown bangs on about 'hard working British families' (a phrase that Al-Beeb seems to regurgitate with sickening glee) he doesn't actually give a damn. Labour don't want hard working families. People that tend to work hard, especially if they do it with any thought, tend to succeed and better themselves. That is the last thing that Labour want.

This government want you to be beholden to them for everything. Because if you rely on them to keep you in housing, food, education, healthcare, anything, you are unlikely to act as a turkey voting for Xmas and putting an 'X' against anybody else's name. If you work hard and succeed, you will be penalised for it.

How dare you? How fucking dare you decide to do something for yourself? These people know what is best for you, you ungrateful snivelling little irrelevance, you are beneath contempt. Be silent.

I'm not a huge lover of the unions. I think they do have an important role to play in ensuring that employers do the right thing by their staff. Unfortunately just as much effort is wasted on the protection of the feckless, lazy, something for nothings as is spent on looking out for those who are decent employees and have been shat upon. All this calling of delegates 'Brothers and Sisters'. Give me a break. It is one step away from linking arms and marching on, hammers and sickles brandished in a display of workers' unity. You're being played old chum, ask the bloody workers how much power they had in the USSR and their associated satelites.

Anyhow, I digress, the glorious irony of Labour's policy of making people reliant upon them, is that the class of people who are most reliant couldn't give a toss about politics and don't turn out to vote. The people you are milking dry do turn out to vote, and boy have you pissed them off.

I am enjoying enormously watching this house built on a foundation of self-righteous hubris come tumbling down. Do keep it up. I could do with a laugh.

The One That Is Apologising For His Absence. . .

I've been kind of quiet recently, this has been down to two main reasons; firstly, when you factor out financial meltdown and the governing party ripping themselves apart whilst not ripping themselves apart, not much has been going on to comment about, secondly, I've been very, very busy and have just been elected Chair of an organisation which I hold very dear to my heart. In an interesting experiment with a democratic organisation, I've set my stall out to run it on Libertarian lines.

So busy have I been that I've even forgotten the starting XI for my Juventus team in Football Manager, it's been that long since I played it, and this is a diversion I spend an indecent amount of time in.

Anyhow, back to business. . .

Saturday, 13 September 2008

The One That Is Applauding Noel Tinybeard. . .

I never thought I'd see the day when I'd be saying 'Good on you, Edmonds.' But this story (oddly enought taken from Al-Beeb) has had me nodding in agreement.

You see the funny little man has decided to stop paying his licence fee because of the Beeb's idea that 'it's OK to badger, hector and threaten people.'

And that's a fine reason to stop paying. The other fine reason is that most of the output is utter, utter crap, news with a political agenda, screwy phone ins and competitions and a management who are incapable of communicating with their staff and who waste cash at a rate which would raise eyebrows in the Home Office.

Bollocks to them, bring in Pay-Per-View, I'd certainly not spend much on watching Celebrity Jumble Sale Auction Room Chefs Sell Houses, At A Boot Fair.

They take our money and are as close to being completely unaccountable as makes no difference. 'Aaah, but they are the national broadcaster' people say. Well, yes. But supposing we nationalised Land Rover, how many would say 'Aaah, but they're the national car company' when they found out that their road tax was being pumped into the 'Drovers to the exclusion of all other car manufacturers?

What a bunch of bastards, and it is a shame, because as I've pointed out before, the BBC is capable of brilliance - but fuck me, those flashes few and far between these days.

Thursday, 11 September 2008

The One That Is Saying 'Yes, I Bet They Bloody Do'. . .

Interesting news from France:

La Coordination française pour le droit d’asile (CFDA) published a report recently on the situation of migrants on the Channel and
North Sea coasts. The report, claims that “since the closure of Sangatte, Paris behaves as if the migrants have disappeared, and then when there’s a news item, a rape, they notice that there are still hundreds”. The report alleges that there are currently 450 or 500 migrants in the area. Céline Dallery a volunteer nurse with PASS says that the new UMP mayor’s migrant council must ask for temporary accommodation because “we can’t go on like this."

CDFA is an umbrella organisation speaking on behalf of 20 member organisations
(Amnesty International, Ligue des droits de l’homme, France Terre Asile, CIMADE and Secours Catholique et al) and other associate members. This is the charity adopted in 2008 by the British Embassy in Paris and in whose favour fundraising efforts are being directed.

Between January and August of this year, OFPRA, the French government department that deal with asylum claims, took in 27,000 applications. New(ish) Immigration Minister Hortefeux made his first visit to OFPRA on Tuesday. He said that not only did he consider asylum a "legal requirement" but also a "moral imperative". Le Figaro understands that the main thrust of this meeting is to create the asylum "support office" to which the 27 EU countries have already given their support. At first this institution will only provide an exchange of information with no operational role, but
Le Figaro goes on to say that this is considered a victory by Paris (because the Germans had earlier rejected the move) whose long term objective is to harmonise the conditions for granting asylum status.

A French government sponsored report has 12 recommendations some of which are very similar to a document (which is in French) entitled “10 basic requirements for a proper asylum law” which CFDA has been pushing since October 2001. The major ones are the abolition of The
Dublin Convention and the right of asylum seekers to choose where they lodge their claim.

Now, scrapping the Dublin Convention is a fine and dandy idea, to my mind it is one the reasons why UK Passport Control and freight searching operations (watch UK Border Force, Sky One on a Tuesday night) have moved to northern France for the south east Channel ports. You'd have thought that being found in a HGV or coming off a bus that can only have come from France would mean that an individual could be returned there. 'Oh no', say the French, 'there must be documentary evidence that they have been in France.' So if they make it across the channel, we're stuck with them. Remove the requirement for documentary evidence and we can bounce them back on the next boat very easily. What it amounts to is this, the 1951 Geneva Convention says that anyone seeking refugee status must seek asylum in the first safe country they come to. There's even a list. All EU states are safe, so anyone who turns up from a safe third country and claims can, in theory, be returned to have their asylum claim considered there. Dublin makes it difficult unless the asylum seeker is carrying a passport, (unlikely in a HGV, or forged our counterfeit if they've decided to use a more traditional method of transport), is carrying official paperwork from that third country, or has been fingerprinted in a third country and is listed on EURODAC. So it's not as easy as you would think.

As for giving the asylum seekers the right to nominate the country that will hear their claim, well, who do you think they'll pick? Mind you it is our own fault, if we didn't make the UK so attractive, or perhaps more accurately, our courts didn't make judgements that penalise the majority, law-abiding population and make the UK such an attractive prospect, we wouldn't be in the shit that we now find ourselves.

Now the French have the EU presidency, we can expect a lot more of this. Ain't the EU great?

Well, no. Not really.

Tuesday, 9 September 2008

The One That Is Bored, Bored, Bored . . .

I've come to a startling revelation now, I am becoming that which I fear most.

You see, when I left uni, journalism degree in hand, the world was a wonderful place, full of promise and potential. Of course, it wasn't. It didn't take long for me to realise that unless your uncle is editor of this, or your Godfather is friends with that chap, the chances of getting a proper journo staff post are next to nil. As a stop-gap I took a job in the civil service.

Fast forward eight years. Here I am sat a desk at ten to two in the morning in a government office in Kent with absolutely fuck all to do. Nothing, nada, zip, etc, etc. And YOU are paying for me to be here.

I don't want to be here. I want to do a job where I can go home at the end of the working day and feel I have accomplished something beyond moving some papers from one tray to another.

No problem, Wolfers, I hear you say, you seem to be a fairly erudite chap with his head screwed firmly on, this shouldn't present a problem. But here's the rub; after eight years my skills have gone. I have nothing, nothing, to offer private industry, my work history and skills are either irrelevant, obsolete or so job-specific that the only place to which they can apply is where I am sitting writing this. I have sent off numerous job applications all of which are ignored or attract the standard 'thanks but no thanks' reply.

So it seems I am doomed to become one of the useless, slapdash, lazy, grey, unambitious, obstructive, officious and parochial civil servants that are so rightly lambasted in the Libertarian blogosphere.

It gets better. It is now almost impossible to transfer out of my civil service department, such are the pressures on staff figures. It's not that we don't have enough, there's hundreds of us in this department's office in Kent alone, it's just that our management are so feckless and stupid that they are incapable of deploying the staff effectively. Of course our equipment doesn't work properly, our annual reports are politicised, our accommodation is laughable and our management hostile, such is their desire to clamber and shit over everybody else to get noticed and perhaps (gasp) get a job up in the smoke. But that's all OK, as we have a bloody great big list of diversity courses, management questionnaires and staff surveys to take. Let's tick another fucking box, it doesn't actually mean that anyone wants to DO anything. We used to want to do things, but they make it so bloody difficult it just isn't worth the hassle. Minute the file, stick it in the pending tray for the next person to decide it just isn't worth the hassle, who can then minute the file and stick it in the pending tray for the next person to deci . . . well, you get the idea.

The most sickening thing is, I can't afford to leave. The wages in Kent are shit. I live in the most populous county in England, certainly one of the most expensive, and yet the wages are a pittance. I'm mortgaged to these buggers, and they know it. I am earning above the national average by some considerable distance, not stellar cash, but a decent whack. Nothing in the area comes close to matching this, I simply can't afford to drop down.

I could work in London, but I'd only be earning the same as I am here, and would have to factor the cost of travel up to town (damn expensive) and the time it takes the train to cover the 60 mile distance to town - almost two hours. Even then, the application process is a bloody joke. If you want promotion, you have to 'evidence' (I didn't realise it was a verb) the skills and experience needed. Of course you don't have them, so they have an assessment centre where you jump through hoops labelled 'diversity champion', 'synergies', 'change agent', 'cock-gobbler' and the like, there's no actual assessment of your ability to do the job. I'm afraid that I am just not politically acceptable to those making the judgements at these centres, I don't get their language, it's all Emperor's New Clothes stuff.

I work shifts, they are quite flexible, but it is impossible to commit to any outside training, because you just can't be sure that you'll be able to attend classes or courses due to their random nature.

Once again, I point out that YOU are paying for this. Actually, thanks, you've enabled me to do what I went to university for. I'm getting paid to write this.

Seriously, any suggestions most welcome. I am terrified of being sat here in five, ten, fifteen years time - a bitter old dinosaur who delights in frustrating proper and constructive change, ideas or work.

Monday, 8 September 2008

The One That Isn't Dead. . .

Having spent the weekend attending a wedding in Cornwall and getting soaked to the very marrow, I am now back in gloriously overcast Kent. No missive from me today, as having checked the old intermanet this morning I don't feel that I can contribute anything that will ever come close to this fantastic passage from Old Holborn.

I reproduce it here in an unedited and unabridged format, and not only tip my hat to OH, but put up the bunting, hire a marching band and find some elephants, dwarves and majorettes to join the parade.


Dear Labour Voters

We meet at last. It’s been 11 years and you’ve enjoyed every moment, haven’t you?

You had fuck all but weren’t happy watching others get on, so you voted for the grinning slimeball who offered you something for nothing, didn’t you? Guess who got rich? You or him?

I digress. Let’s get back to you lot. All 9 million of you. How are things? Still smiling? You’ve had 11 years to make the best of it. So let’s look at what you have achieved. All 9 million of you.

Whilst you’ve been enjoying cheap credit, the rest of us have noticed that we don’t actually own our country anymore. Whilst you’ve been enjoying hot tubs, 4x4’s, gas fired BBQ’s, nail studios, the hairdressers and trying to keep up with the Beckhams, the Magna Carta has been torn to shreds and thrown away. Whilst little Tyson has been riding around on his Argos 27.9% APR financed BMX, 900 years of British History has been shat on.

Ever wondered why you don’t have a villa in Tuscany? Ever wondered why everyone else takes holidays in the Caribbean whilst you go to Menorca?

It’s because you are thick and lazy. And along came a Party that told you being thick and lazy was no good reason for you NOT to have what they had.

You stupid, stupid cunts. Guess where Tony Blair is now? Do you think he is drawing the curtains on his two bed terraced house, full with M&S trinkets, to hide from the postman? Like you are? Do you think he wakes at 5am, shitting it that the bailiffs will be there at 11 to take away his new Nissan?

Cut to the chase. You’re up to your fucking eyes in it. £20K, £30K on the plastic? Tax credits aren’t going to help pay that are they? Overtime’s going to be cut because there’s a recession coming. Oooppps. That’s what been paying the minimum due every month, isn’t it? Whilst you’ve been buying sovereign rings, Tag Heuers and Tescos Finest to impress your parents, the party that promised you a shot at being loaded without doing anything has fucked it all up. And guess who is going to pay?

I know your parents were hard up. I know you grew up with fuck all. I know your parents couldn’t give a shit about getting you through school properly. They were too busy wife swapping or down the bingo or social. I know you laughed at your teachers.

Guess what?

You’re FUCKED. Totally, properly FUCKED. You are going to lose your houses, cars, plasmas, koi carp and Nikes. Think your parents were hard up? Just fucking wait six months. You will KNOW what a diet of pasta and ketchup tastes like. No more Dominoes Pizza in front of the Simpsons on Sky, no more Tandooris. Get your fat, lazy arses in the kitchen and fucking cook something. Your kids will hate you as their PS3’s head over to Cash Converters, your wife will hate you as you trade in her Louis Vuitton handbag and you will hate yourself when you take a carrier bag out to the car to clear the glove compartment as the bailiff waits.

I hate all 9 million of you. I wish you all the plagues of hell. I want to see the four horsemen of the apocalypse in your Next furnished living room.

In your greedy, petty little pursuit of free “stuff” you allowed MY country, MY rights and MY life to be turned over by a bunch of fucking snake oil salesman.

I hope it costs you everything, you shites. I can handle 9 million suicides, and frankly with no major wars, there’s no other way we’ll get rid of you cunts.

Fuck off and die.

Wednesday, 3 September 2008

The One That Isn't Stab Happy. . .

I see that a poem (Education for Leisure, a copy of which can be found here) by Carol Ann Duffy has been removed from an anthology used for GCSE English as it would appear to promote knife crime.

Give me strength. If we follow the same logic, the following tracts should be banned for promoting inappropriate concepts:

MacBeth - Regicide.
Antony and Cleopatra - Infidelity.
Death of a Salesman - Suicide.
The Caretaker - Racism, the exploitation of the homeless.
The Canterbury Tales - Well, take your pick.

I'm no poetry expert, I have always preferred the directness of prose. If you've something to say, then say it, is how I've always felt. This doesn't strike me as a particularly good example of the poet's art, but there you go, what do I know?

Look, banning obsessed people, just give it a bloody rest will you? Are you going to remove all references to knives from Home Economics, or Woodwork? When I read this poem, I don't see any promotion or glorification of going around and stabbing people. I see a sad, disturbed and lonely person unable to cope with his position in life.

Perhaps I should read the poem backwards in a Judas Priest style. . .