... and a blatant plug.
A friend of the Wolfers Pack has hit cyberspace.
There's no politics, no swearing, just top drawer gastroporn.
Only a couple of items up at the moment, but go check it out, the parmesan lemon meatballs look especially tempting. . .
Showing posts with label food. Show all posts
Showing posts with label food. Show all posts
Wednesday, 13 April 2011
Thursday, 24 February 2011
For the people.
Twitter was alive last night with talk of events down at the council chamber where Lambeth council do their business. There have been a number of demonstrations against the cuts to public spending which are planned by the council and things came to a head last night when, well, I'll let 'uncutter' at Indymedia London take over:
This sort of thing chills me to the bone. I always get very uneasy when activists and politicians talk about 'the people'. I'm afraid that in a population of 272,000, a group of hundreds does not represent democracy, it does not even represent double figures of the population in terms of percentage. To try and pass it off as democracy is misleading.
I'm not going to get into the whole Keynsian discussion again, but I will state that I do support public spending cuts, because there is so much that goverment is involved in. that it has no business doing. I do not trust the politicians and civil servants to cut where the fat is, though. They will always protect their own empires and pet projects.
A 'people's council' (sic) does not represent the people. It never can, even the most representative, even handed and well regarded assembly cannot represent the people, it can only represent the majority. I am not convinced that a hastily convened peoples' council in Lambeth is representative of the majority. This is a term used to marginalise and stigmatise people. What we saw last night was a trailer of things to come, or things that have happened elsewhere. A group of people, through force and violence, establish themselves and then claim to speak for 'the people' as if the population is one homogenous mass with identical wishes, desires and aspirations.
This is always a mistake made by authoritarian (mainly left-wing) regimes, people are individuals. What you are doing is trying to project your view of what you think the people should be onto that population. You believe that your ideas and policies are right. Well, I think the same of mine, of course I do, otherwise I wouldn't hold them, the same holds true for you. The difference between us, is that I do not seek to impose my vision on others. What happens when people do not share you views, do not want your vision? We've seen it time and time again, Stalin, Hoxha, Pot, Mao, all ruled in the name of 'the people'. How many of them were the wrong sort of people? How many of them were imprisoned, executed and subjected to horrific treatment as a result? Kim Jong-Il rules in the name of the people. I didn't see any election, he was annointed. What do the people think of him? I'm sure his approval rates are through the roof, his population wouldn't dare express anything but satisfaction. What about Gaddafi? Ask him this morning, he'll still tell you he's ruling in the name of the people, it is the enemies of the people who are stirring up trouble, the real people love him. So much do they love him, he would submit, that they are happy that 10,000 lie dead on the streets of Libya. This is what rule in the name of the people looks like.
Let us not kid ourselves here. When you claim you are acting for the people, you are using it as a crutch to prop up your own crumbling credibility. Oh, you know that the majority follow you. You know you have the support of tens of thousands in your borough. You know that everyone is up in arms at the cuts.
Everyone? He asks with eyebrow raised in a questioning fashion.
Well, everyone that counts.
Ah, there we go. No. Not everyone, otherwise in the recent general election your lot would have found themselves with an increased majority. That, no matter how flawed, how un-representative, is the closest we have to democracy in this country. And when people stop counting, that is where the trouble begins.
I'm not suggesting that we're about to see RAF air strikes on the population of Brixton, but unelected, unaccountable people make odd decisions and have, what appears to me, a skewed view of the world. I'll give you an example.
I was watching the first episode of Heston's Mission Impossible on C4 the other night. (The link is to the 4od player) I like Heston, he is imaginative, passionate and practical. His series on the overhaul of the Little Chef menu was very good. In this, the first episode of his new series where he does the same to different sectors of the catering industry, he was working his magic at Alder Hey hospital. No hectoring and lecturing in the style of Jamie Wotsisname here, just getting on with the job.
Notes from a hospital bed is an established critique of the terrible food on offer in our hospitals, so head over there, and you'll see the form guide. Needless to say, the food given to the kids in the hospital was terrible. Without wanting to come over all lisping and mockney, surely, kids in hospital need decent scran to aid their recovery? Yet they were served dross and plates were returned, untouched. Parents, who have paid for this food, without the option to opt-out, in the form of their taxes, were having to bring in grub for their kids. It is a story reproduced throughout the NHS.
In the first portion of the show, Heston went to the kitchens to investigate and was shown a menu, it looked alright, it transpired it was for the staff canteen, public restaurant and (I really couldn't believe this) outside functions. The head of catering stated that 90% of food prepared in the hozzie kitchens was fresh, from scratch. The 10% excluded? Yes, the children. The group that is the hospital's enitre reason for being. Out of a cooking staff of 14, only two were making the childrens' food. 'Welcome to the NHS' was the response from the head of catering.
He would maintain that he is absolutely acting in the best interest of the children. However, there was no communication between the kids and the kitchens.
Gaddafi, Kim and the Lambeth Peoples' Council would maintain that they are absolutely acting in the best interest of the people. However, there is no communication between the people and the government.
Of course, those occupying Lambeth council chamber last night would say they were different, just as every unelected, unaccountable, dictatorial regime that has gone before is different. This time it will be different, this time we're not the same as all the others, we care, we know what is wrong, we know the answers. Every time the end result is the same.
When you invoke the name of the people, you are hiding behind a legend, in the same way that Westboro Baptist Church invoke the name of God when they indulge in their revolting homophobic activities. When the Islamic fundamentalists bomb innocent people, or beat, maim and execute people, they do it whilst hiding behind the shield of an unspeaking God, you would no doubt condemn their actions, yet from where I'm sitting, you don't look so different when you hide behind the shield of a silent supposed majority.
No, you'll get no support from this quarter.
Lambeth town hall in Brixton was taken over and occupied by protestors as the council met to vote through budget cuts of tens of millions of pounds. Hundreds of people gathered outside the town hall (as they'd done previously two weeks ago) and at around 7pm took over the chamber chanting "This is what democracy looks like" and "No ifs, no buts, no public services cuts!", before holding a people's assembly.
After withdrawing the council members met under a police guard to vote through the cuts. The occupation ended at around 9pm as people marched out after 2 hours of discussions and speeches at the 'people's council'.
This sort of thing chills me to the bone. I always get very uneasy when activists and politicians talk about 'the people'. I'm afraid that in a population of 272,000, a group of hundreds does not represent democracy, it does not even represent double figures of the population in terms of percentage. To try and pass it off as democracy is misleading.
I'm not going to get into the whole Keynsian discussion again, but I will state that I do support public spending cuts, because there is so much that goverment is involved in. that it has no business doing. I do not trust the politicians and civil servants to cut where the fat is, though. They will always protect their own empires and pet projects.
A 'people's council' (sic) does not represent the people. It never can, even the most representative, even handed and well regarded assembly cannot represent the people, it can only represent the majority. I am not convinced that a hastily convened peoples' council in Lambeth is representative of the majority. This is a term used to marginalise and stigmatise people. What we saw last night was a trailer of things to come, or things that have happened elsewhere. A group of people, through force and violence, establish themselves and then claim to speak for 'the people' as if the population is one homogenous mass with identical wishes, desires and aspirations.
This is always a mistake made by authoritarian (mainly left-wing) regimes, people are individuals. What you are doing is trying to project your view of what you think the people should be onto that population. You believe that your ideas and policies are right. Well, I think the same of mine, of course I do, otherwise I wouldn't hold them, the same holds true for you. The difference between us, is that I do not seek to impose my vision on others. What happens when people do not share you views, do not want your vision? We've seen it time and time again, Stalin, Hoxha, Pot, Mao, all ruled in the name of 'the people'. How many of them were the wrong sort of people? How many of them were imprisoned, executed and subjected to horrific treatment as a result? Kim Jong-Il rules in the name of the people. I didn't see any election, he was annointed. What do the people think of him? I'm sure his approval rates are through the roof, his population wouldn't dare express anything but satisfaction. What about Gaddafi? Ask him this morning, he'll still tell you he's ruling in the name of the people, it is the enemies of the people who are stirring up trouble, the real people love him. So much do they love him, he would submit, that they are happy that 10,000 lie dead on the streets of Libya. This is what rule in the name of the people looks like.
Let us not kid ourselves here. When you claim you are acting for the people, you are using it as a crutch to prop up your own crumbling credibility. Oh, you know that the majority follow you. You know you have the support of tens of thousands in your borough. You know that everyone is up in arms at the cuts.
Everyone? He asks with eyebrow raised in a questioning fashion.
Well, everyone that counts.
Ah, there we go. No. Not everyone, otherwise in the recent general election your lot would have found themselves with an increased majority. That, no matter how flawed, how un-representative, is the closest we have to democracy in this country. And when people stop counting, that is where the trouble begins.
I'm not suggesting that we're about to see RAF air strikes on the population of Brixton, but unelected, unaccountable people make odd decisions and have, what appears to me, a skewed view of the world. I'll give you an example.
I was watching the first episode of Heston's Mission Impossible on C4 the other night. (The link is to the 4od player) I like Heston, he is imaginative, passionate and practical. His series on the overhaul of the Little Chef menu was very good. In this, the first episode of his new series where he does the same to different sectors of the catering industry, he was working his magic at Alder Hey hospital. No hectoring and lecturing in the style of Jamie Wotsisname here, just getting on with the job.
Notes from a hospital bed is an established critique of the terrible food on offer in our hospitals, so head over there, and you'll see the form guide. Needless to say, the food given to the kids in the hospital was terrible. Without wanting to come over all lisping and mockney, surely, kids in hospital need decent scran to aid their recovery? Yet they were served dross and plates were returned, untouched. Parents, who have paid for this food, without the option to opt-out, in the form of their taxes, were having to bring in grub for their kids. It is a story reproduced throughout the NHS.
In the first portion of the show, Heston went to the kitchens to investigate and was shown a menu, it looked alright, it transpired it was for the staff canteen, public restaurant and (I really couldn't believe this) outside functions. The head of catering stated that 90% of food prepared in the hozzie kitchens was fresh, from scratch. The 10% excluded? Yes, the children. The group that is the hospital's enitre reason for being. Out of a cooking staff of 14, only two were making the childrens' food. 'Welcome to the NHS' was the response from the head of catering.
He would maintain that he is absolutely acting in the best interest of the children. However, there was no communication between the kids and the kitchens.
Gaddafi, Kim and the Lambeth Peoples' Council would maintain that they are absolutely acting in the best interest of the people. However, there is no communication between the people and the government.
Of course, those occupying Lambeth council chamber last night would say they were different, just as every unelected, unaccountable, dictatorial regime that has gone before is different. This time it will be different, this time we're not the same as all the others, we care, we know what is wrong, we know the answers. Every time the end result is the same.
When you invoke the name of the people, you are hiding behind a legend, in the same way that Westboro Baptist Church invoke the name of God when they indulge in their revolting homophobic activities. When the Islamic fundamentalists bomb innocent people, or beat, maim and execute people, they do it whilst hiding behind the shield of an unspeaking God, you would no doubt condemn their actions, yet from where I'm sitting, you don't look so different when you hide behind the shield of a silent supposed majority.
No, you'll get no support from this quarter.
Friday, 11 February 2011
Pay up! Pay up! And pay up again!
Just image the scene. It is Sunday morning and from your bed you hear the letterbox opening and then the floor cracking as the behemoth of a Sunday paper hits the ground and shakes the house to its very foundations. You take the publication upstairs and prepare to immerse yourself in the six colour magazines and countless niche supplements, or, if you're anything like Mrs. Snowolf, to half complete the crossword and sit the whole pile of papers on the shelf of the coffee table where in contravention of pretty much every physical law it will increase in mass and surface area for the next seven days.
I deviate. As you are about to sit down and enjoy your paper, the doorbell goes. It is the little scamp of a paperboy who has delivered the paper to you this morning (but not before 7am, see below), he is now explaining that the £1.20, £2.00, £2.50 or whatever you've paid is just for the delivery. As you have now chosen to read said paper, you have to pay again.
What would you do? Well, one of the first things you'd probably do would be to change your newspaper supplier.
But what if you couldn't change? What if you HAD to buy your newspaper from this shop? What would you do then? Oh, you'd be free to purchase another paper from another outlet, but that wouldn't absolve you of your obligation to buy your newspaper from this shop.
It would be an intolerable situation.
Yet. . .
My attention has been drawn to this old chestnut which is being wheeled out for the umpteenth time today:
But they already HAVE paid for the treatment. There is no such thing as free healthcare, these people are obliged to pay for the service. You want to charge them again?
'Ah, but Wolfers, these people are drunk', I hear you say.
Right then, define drunk.
What the patients' group wants to conjure up in your mind is an image of young men, Ben Sherman shirts, black slip on shoes, shaven headed or heavily gelled hair, brawling in the gutter. Let's just suppose you've been out for the evening with your friends to a nice restaurant. You're on foot, miss your step and break your ankle. You've had too much to drink to drive legally, but you're not drunk as you would see it. Are you drunk then? Whose definition of 'drunk' is important? What is the test? Incoherence? Evidential breath test? Blood test? Opinion of the triage nurse?
So, prosecute them for common assault then. If they break that little bit of law, which has served us well for, oooh, about a thousand years, then prosecute them. Give the magistrate the power to hand out a proper sentence, it doesn't have to be custodial, but it does have to teach that abusing those who are trying to help you is the act of a clot, and this is what happens to clots.
They HAVE!
They HAVE!
Oh for crying out loud, HELLO? HELLO? THEY ALREADY HAVE PAID.
Hang on. . .
At the weekend? Of course, the hardened drinker will out necking it every night, do they not end up in the hospital during the week, or are they members of some loyalty card club?
If you repeat a lie often enough, it becomes truth, it doesn't matter if it is based in fact or not. The fact seems to have been forgotten that we all pay for the NHS, it is not, and never has been free.
By perpetuating the myth that it is run on fairy dust and sunny mornings it makes it easy to demonise people, and drinkers and smokers and the fat are easy prey. What next? A pursed mouth saying 'Well, you chose to grow old'? An NHS that will offer treatment as long as you promise to never be ill?
Because people are told that the NHS is free they feel as if their health becomes the property of the state, or other 'well meaning' people (read: 'bloody nosy interfering busybodies'). It results in rubbish like this:
What? Eh? Why? How? *Boggle*
Oh, right. There's an old joke in catering about how do you know when a vegan enters your restaurant? Don't worry, he'll let everyone know, very loudly, every five minutes. It's a joke I like because it plays on the level of having a little crack at the self importance of the Righteous, whilst also working on the level of a fart gag.
Great, the Devizies Tree Hugging Display Team will also be giving a half time demonstration.
Oh, joy. Thank you very much, Dale.
I think you're about to learn a valuable lesson about market demand. Oh, there are those who will follow the club whoever is running it, this is how football survives, but you WILL lose supporters over this, and you will certainly lose revenue in the tea bar, revenue which no doubt helps bankroll the playing staff.
Can they? That's bloody good of you, old chap. No pat downs at the turnstiles for meat and dairy produce then? Does this mean you won't be coming around to inspect the contents of my fridge with a disapproving look on your puss?
Forest Green Rovers, enjoy the mocking from opposition fans. You deserve it.
Jeez, what is wrong with these people that they think they have the right to decide what your money is spent on, what access you are permitted to have to services the money you provided paid for and what you should and shouldn't be eating?
I deviate. As you are about to sit down and enjoy your paper, the doorbell goes. It is the little scamp of a paperboy who has delivered the paper to you this morning (but not before 7am, see below), he is now explaining that the £1.20, £2.00, £2.50 or whatever you've paid is just for the delivery. As you have now chosen to read said paper, you have to pay again.
What would you do? Well, one of the first things you'd probably do would be to change your newspaper supplier.
But what if you couldn't change? What if you HAD to buy your newspaper from this shop? What would you do then? Oh, you'd be free to purchase another paper from another outlet, but that wouldn't absolve you of your obligation to buy your newspaper from this shop.
It would be an intolerable situation.
Yet. . .
My attention has been drawn to this old chestnut which is being wheeled out for the umpteenth time today:
Drunk people should pay for the treatment they receive at accident and emergency units, a patients' group has said.
But they already HAVE paid for the treatment. There is no such thing as free healthcare, these people are obliged to pay for the service. You want to charge them again?
'Ah, but Wolfers, these people are drunk', I hear you say.
Right then, define drunk.
What the patients' group wants to conjure up in your mind is an image of young men, Ben Sherman shirts, black slip on shoes, shaven headed or heavily gelled hair, brawling in the gutter. Let's just suppose you've been out for the evening with your friends to a nice restaurant. You're on foot, miss your step and break your ankle. You've had too much to drink to drive legally, but you're not drunk as you would see it. Are you drunk then? Whose definition of 'drunk' is important? What is the test? Incoherence? Evidential breath test? Blood test? Opinion of the triage nurse?
The Scotland Patients Association said nurses and doctors were often abused by those who had overindulged in alcohol, particularly at weekends.
So, prosecute them for common assault then. If they break that little bit of law, which has served us well for, oooh, about a thousand years, then prosecute them. Give the magistrate the power to hand out a proper sentence, it doesn't have to be custodial, but it does have to teach that abusing those who are trying to help you is the act of a clot, and this is what happens to clots.
They said the time had now come for such people to pay for services.
They HAVE!
Ms Watt said: "Anyone who has been abusing alcohol and can't stand on their feet and is admitted to hospital at the weekend should pay towards their treatment.
They HAVE!
Ms Watt said drunk people should be charged for using ambulances and for the time of staff who treated them.
Oh for crying out loud, HELLO? HELLO? THEY ALREADY HAVE PAID.
Hang on. . .
can't stand on their feet and is admitted to hospital at the weekend
At the weekend? Of course, the hardened drinker will out necking it every night, do they not end up in the hospital during the week, or are they members of some loyalty card club?
If you repeat a lie often enough, it becomes truth, it doesn't matter if it is based in fact or not. The fact seems to have been forgotten that we all pay for the NHS, it is not, and never has been free.
By perpetuating the myth that it is run on fairy dust and sunny mornings it makes it easy to demonise people, and drinkers and smokers and the fat are easy prey. What next? A pursed mouth saying 'Well, you chose to grow old'? An NHS that will offer treatment as long as you promise to never be ill?
Because people are told that the NHS is free they feel as if their health becomes the property of the state, or other 'well meaning' people (read: 'bloody nosy interfering busybodies'). It results in rubbish like this:
The move was introduced for players at the Blue Square Bet Premier club a few weeks ago but now the policy has been extended to the whole stadium.
What? Eh? Why? How? *Boggle*
The Gloucestershire club is owned by Dale Vince who is a vegan who runs green electricity company Ecotricity.
Oh, right. There's an old joke in catering about how do you know when a vegan enters your restaurant? Don't worry, he'll let everyone know, very loudly, every five minutes. It's a joke I like because it plays on the level of having a little crack at the self importance of the Righteous, whilst also working on the level of a fart gag.
Free-range poultry and fish from sustainable stocks will continue to be served.
Great, the Devizies Tree Hugging Display Team will also be giving a half time demonstration.
"We appreciate some will miss their burgers and sausages, but our catering staff are working hard on a range of tasty and interesting products to replace those that are no longer available.
Oh, joy. Thank you very much, Dale.
"We're a country now where apparently chicken tikka masala is the most popular national dish. I think the old sausage bap won't be much lamented."
I think you're about to learn a valuable lesson about market demand. Oh, there are those who will follow the club whoever is running it, this is how football survives, but you WILL lose supporters over this, and you will certainly lose revenue in the tea bar, revenue which no doubt helps bankroll the playing staff.
"Anybody that really needs it can bring a ham sandwich or something if they wish - that's no problem."
Can they? That's bloody good of you, old chap. No pat downs at the turnstiles for meat and dairy produce then? Does this mean you won't be coming around to inspect the contents of my fridge with a disapproving look on your puss?
Forest Green Rovers, enjoy the mocking from opposition fans. You deserve it.
Jeez, what is wrong with these people that they think they have the right to decide what your money is spent on, what access you are permitted to have to services the money you provided paid for and what you should and shouldn't be eating?
Saturday, 5 February 2011
Food for thought.
This woman is 51.
Gillian McKeith used to claim to be a doctor, until she was told to stop it. She promotes herself as a 'nutritionalist'. TV has bought into this in the UK and across the Atlantic. She has had TV shows where she advocates a 'holistic' approach to nutrition and ill health, promoting exercise, a pescetarian diet high in organic fruits and vegetables. She recommends detox diets colonic irrigation and supplements, also making statements that yeast is harmful, that the colour of food is nutritionally significant, and about the utility of lingual and faecal examination. She is a brow-beating, shreiking, foot-stamping, Righteous, harridan.
I'm betting she eats alone, in silence, probably indulging in a spot of scouring at the same time.
This woman is 50.
Nigella Lawson is a TV cook. Her entire output would have McKeith going purple with rage. She eats nothing but meat, butter and deserts. Half-fat is a mystery to her. No meal is complete without accompanying alcohol. She is one of the most popular figures in the UK. Admired by women for showing that real women exist and loved by men because, well, look at her.
I'm betting she eats with friends and family, surrounded by contented chatter and laughter. Except when she's tucking into the leftover chocolate mousse just before going to bed.
These two pictures demonstrate what the Righteous, the people that would have you smoke-free, drink-free, fat-free, friend-free, choice-free, freedom-free actually look like, and what they want you to look like. It also shows how those who want everyone to spend the time we have on this Earth actually living and loving, rather than surviving and cowering in fear, look.
Which would you rather be?
Gillian McKeith used to claim to be a doctor, until she was told to stop it. She promotes herself as a 'nutritionalist'. TV has bought into this in the UK and across the Atlantic. She has had TV shows where she advocates a 'holistic' approach to nutrition and ill health, promoting exercise, a pescetarian diet high in organic fruits and vegetables. She recommends detox diets colonic irrigation and supplements, also making statements that yeast is harmful, that the colour of food is nutritionally significant, and about the utility of lingual and faecal examination. She is a brow-beating, shreiking, foot-stamping, Righteous, harridan.
I'm betting she eats alone, in silence, probably indulging in a spot of scouring at the same time.
This woman is 50.
Nigella Lawson is a TV cook. Her entire output would have McKeith going purple with rage. She eats nothing but meat, butter and deserts. Half-fat is a mystery to her. No meal is complete without accompanying alcohol. She is one of the most popular figures in the UK. Admired by women for showing that real women exist and loved by men because, well, look at her.
I'm betting she eats with friends and family, surrounded by contented chatter and laughter. Except when she's tucking into the leftover chocolate mousse just before going to bed.
These two pictures demonstrate what the Righteous, the people that would have you smoke-free, drink-free, fat-free, friend-free, choice-free, freedom-free actually look like, and what they want you to look like. It also shows how those who want everyone to spend the time we have on this Earth actually living and loving, rather than surviving and cowering in fear, look.
Which would you rather be?
Friday, 26 February 2010
The One That Wishes They Would Mind Their Own Business. . .
At the end of my road is an old fashioned greengrocer's shop. If this were an Enid Blyton story it would be run by a cheery, ruddy-faced old man in glasses with a big green apron. But this isn't an Enid Blyton storybook, it's 21st century Britain.
This means that my greengrocer's is run by a Bangladeshi couple. These Bangladeshis are people we want in this country. They are hard working, considerate and very pleasant people. Their shop opens at 8 (at the latest) and closes at 7 (at the earliest), their stock is fresh and (excluding the ingredients used in their ethnically specific cuisine) locally sourced. It is fairly priced and I know that when I go there I will get a friendly reception and will walk out with exactly what I want. My life is infinitely better for having this shop at the end of my road, especially since they started selling cigarettes.
Next to the greengrocers is a newsagent. This is run by a national chain and is staffed by a seemingly perpetual rotation of disinterested, rude, ignorant white school leavers who I doubt can spell their own names.
The difference between the two shops is remarkable. The newsagents are more expensive. The newsagents will open at 8ish (at the earliest) and will close at 5.30ish (at the very latest). There are no smiles, no good mornings, just a vacant stare and a 'what'? Lord knows how much stock they lose as you often have to shout in the direction of the door to the stock room to get the shuffling idiot out to serve you. You could walk out with £100's in stock, they wouldn't notice, nor I suspect care. I'm especially pleased that the greengrocer has started selling cigarettes as they are 10p a packet cheaper, and don't use a till with a CCTV camera attached which shows you it taking a still photo of you buying any age restricted item, this is probably then stored on the till's hard disk to be uploaded to some gummint website showing social undesirables. Doubtless it's for my security, but I don't like it, so now the only thing I bought in there is sold cheaper elsewhere, I don't go in there any more.
Strange, isn't it? I speak the same language as the people in my newsagents (the couple at the greengrocer are 1st generation, they speak English, but you have to listen hard and concentrate) and have more in common with them culturally than the Bangladeshis. Yet, because of the sort of people they are and their work ethic and business manner, I'd much rather put my money in the Bangladeshi till.
This is not some ringing endorsement of muli-culturalism. This isn't me proclaiming to the world that I am a glorious non-racist. Multi-culturalism is bunk, as the Levellers sang, there's only one way of life, and that's your own. Someone's skin colour and religion is as important to me as their eye colour or choice of footwear. Not hurting anyone? Carry on.
It's great here, it's like living in a little village where everyone helps out and looks out for each other and not a government advisor or leafelet in sight.
My community likes the Bangladeshis. The psychiatrist that lives next door to me uses them, as do the Brazilians that live on the other side. The Bangladeshis will go over the road to the chip shop run by the Greeks to get change, and the Greeks will go to the barbers run by the Iraqi Kurds to get their hair cut, the Iraqi Kurds will go the white butcher who orders in halal meat for them and others like them. Does the butcher do this because it is the nice multi-cultural thing to do? No. He does it because there is a gap in the market and he can make money out of it.
The Righteous would probably be up in arms, the nasty white man exploiting the religious sensibilities of the Muslims to make money. But the butcher isn't the villain of the day. There's worse, there's much, much worse.
It's the Bangladeshis.
They've come into this country and have neither sought nor taken any help from the State and their righteous minions. These graceless newcomers have set up business, learned the language, inserted themselves right in the middle of the community all by themselves. And they regularly lambast this government and local council.
Not only that, but now they want to do more. They want to expand, they want to make more money. This isn't supposed to be how it works. They are supposed to be pathetically grateful for the things that are given to them. They are supposed to do as they are told. Well, there's a storm on the horizon.
You see, the greengrocer's sits on the corner of my road and the bottom of the high street of this fair city. The main train station lies a 3 minute walk from the door of their shop and to get from the station to the centre of town you must walk right past them. So they came up with this wizard idea. From 8-9 they would make and sell takeaway hot breakfasts for the workers walking past their door to work. From 1-2 they would make and sell takeaway hot lunches for the workers and residents nearby. From 5-6 they would make and sell takeaway hot dinners for the workers going back to the train station to take home. Three hour long sessions of doling out hot, healthy, nutritious, locally sourced, cheap food (and given the aroma coming from the food that Mrs. Greengrocer eats, it would taste bloody fantastic) all made with produce they sell in their shop.
Mr Greengrocer had negotiated terms with the butcher to supply the chicken and lamb, he had made sure the kitchen in the back of his little shop came up to scratch, he and his wife had attended the evening courses, after the shop had been open all day, 7 days a week, to get their food handling certificates. He thought it odd that he had to go to the council and ask permission to sell this food. He understood about having to comply with food safety and kitchen cleanliness standards, but to go and ask for permission to sell stuff? Like he says: "S'my blinking bizzniss. What does counzil man know of bizzniss?"
The council, of course, have refused permission for this venture. Their policy on takeaways round my part of town are clear. There is already a kebab shop, a Chinese and a chippy that cater for the late diner. They don't want anymore hotspots of people hanging around late at night.
Mr. Greengrocer points out that they close at 7 and he isn't going be open at 2am, he has to get up at 5am to sort his stock and shop out, have his own breakfast, do his paperwork, pay his taxes, get his kids ready and off to school. He isn't interested in the lager brigade stumbling over his mushrooms and mangoes on their way back from the clubs.
It is irrelevant. Council guidelines equate takeaway food with rowdy pissheads, flashing neon signs and a sea of discarded poly food trays. There is no room in the rules to distinguish. There is no will to change the rules.
Mr. Greengrocer points out that a new Chinese has opened across the road from him recently. They got permission. He asked them how. They told him. They made four applications, and made four appeals. That cost them £9000 before they even opened for business.
Mr. Greengrocer is not a fool, he's joined the dots. "Counzil just want my money." It's not about the drunkards. It's not about the mess. It's not about the neon. It is about these unelected grey council mongtards showing you that they are in charge. It is absolutely about taking as much of your cash as possible.
Mr. Greengrocer has realised what 21st century Britain is all about. It can be summed up thus: Be thankful for what you have. Be more thankful that we don't come and take it all from you.
Mr. Greengrocer says that in Bangladesh you'd just bribe them. In the UK you pay a £2000 bribe up front, they even give you a receipt, then they still don't let you do it.
Mr. Greengrocer knows bad business when he sees it.
This means that my greengrocer's is run by a Bangladeshi couple. These Bangladeshis are people we want in this country. They are hard working, considerate and very pleasant people. Their shop opens at 8 (at the latest) and closes at 7 (at the earliest), their stock is fresh and (excluding the ingredients used in their ethnically specific cuisine) locally sourced. It is fairly priced and I know that when I go there I will get a friendly reception and will walk out with exactly what I want. My life is infinitely better for having this shop at the end of my road, especially since they started selling cigarettes.
Next to the greengrocers is a newsagent. This is run by a national chain and is staffed by a seemingly perpetual rotation of disinterested, rude, ignorant white school leavers who I doubt can spell their own names.
The difference between the two shops is remarkable. The newsagents are more expensive. The newsagents will open at 8ish (at the earliest) and will close at 5.30ish (at the very latest). There are no smiles, no good mornings, just a vacant stare and a 'what'? Lord knows how much stock they lose as you often have to shout in the direction of the door to the stock room to get the shuffling idiot out to serve you. You could walk out with £100's in stock, they wouldn't notice, nor I suspect care. I'm especially pleased that the greengrocer has started selling cigarettes as they are 10p a packet cheaper, and don't use a till with a CCTV camera attached which shows you it taking a still photo of you buying any age restricted item, this is probably then stored on the till's hard disk to be uploaded to some gummint website showing social undesirables. Doubtless it's for my security, but I don't like it, so now the only thing I bought in there is sold cheaper elsewhere, I don't go in there any more.
Strange, isn't it? I speak the same language as the people in my newsagents (the couple at the greengrocer are 1st generation, they speak English, but you have to listen hard and concentrate) and have more in common with them culturally than the Bangladeshis. Yet, because of the sort of people they are and their work ethic and business manner, I'd much rather put my money in the Bangladeshi till.
This is not some ringing endorsement of muli-culturalism. This isn't me proclaiming to the world that I am a glorious non-racist. Multi-culturalism is bunk, as the Levellers sang, there's only one way of life, and that's your own. Someone's skin colour and religion is as important to me as their eye colour or choice of footwear. Not hurting anyone? Carry on.
It's great here, it's like living in a little village where everyone helps out and looks out for each other and not a government advisor or leafelet in sight.
My community likes the Bangladeshis. The psychiatrist that lives next door to me uses them, as do the Brazilians that live on the other side. The Bangladeshis will go over the road to the chip shop run by the Greeks to get change, and the Greeks will go to the barbers run by the Iraqi Kurds to get their hair cut, the Iraqi Kurds will go the white butcher who orders in halal meat for them and others like them. Does the butcher do this because it is the nice multi-cultural thing to do? No. He does it because there is a gap in the market and he can make money out of it.
The Righteous would probably be up in arms, the nasty white man exploiting the religious sensibilities of the Muslims to make money. But the butcher isn't the villain of the day. There's worse, there's much, much worse.
It's the Bangladeshis.
They've come into this country and have neither sought nor taken any help from the State and their righteous minions. These graceless newcomers have set up business, learned the language, inserted themselves right in the middle of the community all by themselves. And they regularly lambast this government and local council.
Not only that, but now they want to do more. They want to expand, they want to make more money. This isn't supposed to be how it works. They are supposed to be pathetically grateful for the things that are given to them. They are supposed to do as they are told. Well, there's a storm on the horizon.
You see, the greengrocer's sits on the corner of my road and the bottom of the high street of this fair city. The main train station lies a 3 minute walk from the door of their shop and to get from the station to the centre of town you must walk right past them. So they came up with this wizard idea. From 8-9 they would make and sell takeaway hot breakfasts for the workers walking past their door to work. From 1-2 they would make and sell takeaway hot lunches for the workers and residents nearby. From 5-6 they would make and sell takeaway hot dinners for the workers going back to the train station to take home. Three hour long sessions of doling out hot, healthy, nutritious, locally sourced, cheap food (and given the aroma coming from the food that Mrs. Greengrocer eats, it would taste bloody fantastic) all made with produce they sell in their shop.
Mr Greengrocer had negotiated terms with the butcher to supply the chicken and lamb, he had made sure the kitchen in the back of his little shop came up to scratch, he and his wife had attended the evening courses, after the shop had been open all day, 7 days a week, to get their food handling certificates. He thought it odd that he had to go to the council and ask permission to sell this food. He understood about having to comply with food safety and kitchen cleanliness standards, but to go and ask for permission to sell stuff? Like he says: "S'my blinking bizzniss. What does counzil man know of bizzniss?"
The council, of course, have refused permission for this venture. Their policy on takeaways round my part of town are clear. There is already a kebab shop, a Chinese and a chippy that cater for the late diner. They don't want anymore hotspots of people hanging around late at night.
Mr. Greengrocer points out that they close at 7 and he isn't going be open at 2am, he has to get up at 5am to sort his stock and shop out, have his own breakfast, do his paperwork, pay his taxes, get his kids ready and off to school. He isn't interested in the lager brigade stumbling over his mushrooms and mangoes on their way back from the clubs.
It is irrelevant. Council guidelines equate takeaway food with rowdy pissheads, flashing neon signs and a sea of discarded poly food trays. There is no room in the rules to distinguish. There is no will to change the rules.
Mr. Greengrocer points out that a new Chinese has opened across the road from him recently. They got permission. He asked them how. They told him. They made four applications, and made four appeals. That cost them £9000 before they even opened for business.
Mr. Greengrocer is not a fool, he's joined the dots. "Counzil just want my money." It's not about the drunkards. It's not about the mess. It's not about the neon. It is about these unelected grey council mongtards showing you that they are in charge. It is absolutely about taking as much of your cash as possible.
Mr. Greengrocer has realised what 21st century Britain is all about. It can be summed up thus: Be thankful for what you have. Be more thankful that we don't come and take it all from you.
Mr. Greengrocer says that in Bangladesh you'd just bribe them. In the UK you pay a £2000 bribe up front, they even give you a receipt, then they still don't let you do it.
Mr. Greengrocer knows bad business when he sees it.
Monday, 7 July 2008
The One That Is Feeling Suitably Chastised. . .
Bankrupt Goldfish holidays in Japan.
Interesting to see Gordon the Goldfish (watch his mouth gaping like a landed fish next time he's on the telly, once you've spotted it, you can't help but notice it, you can even predict its appearance) berating us all from Hokkaido about food waste and how much we throw away.
OK, Mac The Knife said it best a little time ago:
If I want to dump 'Taste the difference' Chicken Nibletz into my garden pond, or nail gammon steaks to the shed that's my affair. When will you people shut the fuck up and bugger off?What remarkable chutzpah from Goldfish Gordie, having a go at us about waste? Of course it is all our fault. The economy has been bumping along quite nicely for a while and it was all down to him, but now the wheels have fallen off it isn't his fault. What a remarkable turn of events, who'd have thought in this day and age that someone would absolve themselves of any fault and lay the blame at someone else's door?
The report from the Torygraph says:
Families in the UK are throwing away a total of 4.1 million tonnes of perfectly good food every year, costing each around £420 annually, according to the 10-month study.
Waste could be reduced by storing fruit and vegetables better to stop them going off, and planning meals so goods are used up rather than ditched.
Of course it doesn't work, does it? Because government waste, where they pump huge amounts of public cash, that is cash they've taken from you and me, into, oooh let's say PFI, where private companies are paid stupid amounts to provide a service, which they balls up, and are then given more money to solve the problem which they then don't solve, far outweighs any financial or material waste we indulge in, even if we really, really tried to throw everything away we ever touch.Politicians in the UK are throwing away a total of £4.1 million of perfectly good cash every year, costing each household around £420 annually, according to the 10-month study.
Waste could be reduced by storing tax payer's money better to stop it being spanked on vanity projects and desperate attempts to cling on to power no matter what, and economic planning so monies are used sensibly rather than pissed up the wall like we've nothing to lose.
Honestly Gordon, it's like telling people not to look at porn, only to be seen wanking over the lingerie section of the Grattan catalogue during PMQ's. I always thought that Orwell's Nineteen Eighty-Four was being used by the soon to be erstwhile Prime Minister as an instruction manual, now it looks like he's been reading Animal Farm as well.
Some are more equal than others. . .
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