Hysterical Inevitability.

Has there ever been an argument more specious, more dishonest and more ineffective than that of 'history', historical 'forces' and the 'winds of change'?
And yet, although utterly useless as an argument, it has been taken up as the zombie chant by millions of people who have plotted to achieve positions of influence, creeping up on the innocent unawares and explaining their manifold transgressions against humanity by means of 'history'.

Let's face it, we must be stupid to be frightened into silent acquiescence by some pathetic bleating about 'history'.
What is history?
History is a record, verbal or documentary, of events that people have committed to by action.
To talk of history as a 'force' is such patent crap that our correct response upon hearing this is incredulous laughter followed by a slap in the face. Or at least, we never take them seriously again.

History cannot possibly be a force, if only because by definition it is a resultant. And a resultant description of event, not an event in itself.

So why do these weirdos appeal to 'history'?
Simple.
Because they know that their actions and planned actions are evil, and they need an excuse to help them pretend they aren't responsible.
They need the sanction of a higher purpose to absolve them of the guilt they try not to feel, and of course, their target for this is the exact opposite of absolution, as it all too predictably must be, since when they stand truth on its head, they never do it by halves.

Personally, I'm waiting for the Feminists to appeal to Herstory.

Message To London.

Counterrevolution-Subverting Subversiveness.

It struck me while watching a vile government mob-hatred-rousing threatvert about benefit 'thieves' just how far the bastard child of Labour has gone in standing the populism of the eighties on its head.

The old Conservative Party introduced the idea of performance tables and accountability, to try and render the overbearing ruler class into the hands of a free populace.

Today, this public engagement has been totally inverted by New Labour, so that the communication is one way, a mixture of fawning slogans designed to demonstrate the grovelling 'efficiency' of the government, mixed with overt threats.

"Believe us or else!" is the watchword of modern tyranny.

In 1992 I obtained an apartment with medical priority. At that time under John Major(the horrid Conservatives) it was possible to get priority with a doctor's say so.
Now it isn't.
Now you have to buy a letter from a doctor, then the local authority will give you a form to fill out effectively taking your money then calling you and the doctor liars.

When in opposition Labour chanted about the 'failure of care in the community'(mentally ill people).
Then, a Section got you 3 months examination as an in-patient.
Now that it's been fixed, it is virtually impossible to get anyone sectioned, and if they are, it's only for two days.

Today we have at your feet/at your throat advertising campaigns, whereas before somebody would knock on your door and politely ask about it-no 'criminal record' no 'interview under caution', just a few questions.
If you admitted you'd done a bit of work on the side and offered to repay some money, they'd forget about it entirely.
Now they criminalise you.

But murderers get released, right?

These New Tyranny Labour bastards don't care about us at all.
They only want to impose their demented job-creation schemes to provide their disfunctional friends with more rungs of Hell to populate.

"Cheer up, Pietr!"

My good friend S.(the mechanic) came by and said, "Here's the keys.Take my bike round the block!"

Well, that is the type of bike.
It's a Honda Fireblade 900, stroked and bored and chipped.
I felt as nervous as on my First Solo.
Certainly, with the V-section racing tyres it was a bit of a handful at low speeds, wanting to fall into and out of turns, but the engine was a marvel; smooth, flexible, and massively powerful.

It's an hour later and I still can't stop smiling.
Gradely, lads!

Freedom And Slavery.

Today I had to get the official test for my car done.
It failed.
Due to an engine misfire(it runs beautifully and starts first time every time) it failed the 'emissions' test.
This test has nothing to do with actual safety or roadworthiness.
It is a government invention which is supposed to declare 'polluting' cars illegal.
As the car isn't worth the cost of repair, I have to find a new one quickly.

It still has another two weeks to live, and it is running as well as ever.

Meanwhile, on the way back from the test station, I took this picture of mechanical confections from the Land of the Free.
The bikes in the foreground are all various Harley Davidsons(now worth more as a brand than GM) but, as you can see from the large signs, Eddy's Motorcycles also stocks Buell, a new American icon, a brand of V-twin sport bikes.
They look the business.
Too bad you can't see any through the gleaming alloy and chrome, eh?
Eddy also has a Triumph shop 100 yards down the road.
I nearly bought a Kwakker there in the eighties. It was a good deal but I was too tight.

Swedish Guvnor? Ay? Know What I Mean?

We Must Repeat!

The Duty Of Entertainment

'Reality Television' reminds me of the absurdist comment in The Fountainhead, where Lancelot Clokey and his pals are chewing the fat; the critic says that in the future, there will be no drama, only everyday life and critics commenting on it.

Well.

It has happened. And Britain is leading the way. Big Brother is a supremely ironic title for something which really is Orwellian.

Meanwhile, Samizdat continues unabated.
There are literally dozens of totally and deliberately undistinguished 'police-type' dramas, in which the old fashioned notion of crime, criminals and justice has been replaced by grossly over-inflated public service announcements.
These include the 'medical' and 'pathology' dramas, in that they all provide opportunities to include various arms of the public service.

Also, schools are now part of the threadbare tapestry on unchallenging, witless and bored-witless non-dramatic dramas.
All aspects of television are ruled by carefully patronised racial profiling and stereo-type, obviously all 'positive' in that the the characterless flesh-lozenges present approved prejudices to camera, and the effect is like being a Catholic Priest hearing confessions at a Bores Anonymous convention.

This is called 'quality' 'entertainment'.

It is actually piss-poor crap.
Thank god for Ugly Betty(which thanks Latino Drama), thank god for the History Channel, thank god for re-runs.
But not of 'Friends', which suits the suits so much they practically devoted a whole channel to it, complete with miserable pastiche sponsorship sketches which stink of fan drama.

The Mouse That Choked

According to Monday's Yorkshire Evening Post the French Prime Minister came to Britain in 1957 to visit Anthony Eden.

He asked to resuscitate the Churchillian idea of a Union between France and Britain; Eden turned him down.

He asked that France be allowed to join the British Commonwealth; Eden turned him down.

Never mind MI5 investigating Harold Wilson.
I'd like to know just what the Hell Eden thought he was playing at.
France-UK? That could have been the basis of an EU which unified British and French ideals of Liberty.
Instead we've got Bismarck 2.

France in the Commonwealth?(And yes, they would have entertained the idea of the Queen as head of state!) That would have been the basis for a proper world power, one that would have shaped history very differently from the way it turned out.

As it was, France overtook the UK economically about 10 to 15 years later.

Thanks, Tony. Tony Eden, that is.

Road Warriors;

Yes, citizen children! We must speak out against bullying!
That's just the Communist bit.
The writing in Green is surreally true to Atlas Shrugged:-"Anti-bullying".

Talk about Sympathy For The Devil.



Meanwhile, anybody reading those little stories about Stuart Bray in my sidebar might wonder what the deal was with Stuart and Citroen; so here are three views of a late model DS!



Left hand drive, almost certainly imported from the South of France where the climate allowed it to survive.
What a fabulous car; first to use molded plastics for the interior, and next time BMW wanks on about 'lights that steer', remember, the DS had them way back in the fifties.

Incidentally, if you pronounce 'DS' as the French do, it makes the French word for 'Goddess'.

De Gaulle survived several assassination attempts in these cars.

Lost Illusion Of Youth

I saw this on TV in 1977, and decided that this was how University would be.
Unfortunately, there weren't any cool people.
Just lounge lizards, creeps, convention junkies and sheep.
God.
What a disappointment.
If only I'd been an American.

Little Towns And Big Men.

This is the Pudsey War Memorial.
Pudsey is a small town in the heights to the West of Leeds, which probably sent hundreds if not thousands of men to fight in the trenches; many of whom never came home.
This memorial compares favourably to the one in Leeds City.
In fact it is three times the size.

This from a town which barely even exists since the 'Metropolitan' authority of Leeds was created in the early seventies.
The size of the memorial isn't due to relative prosperity.
It can only be due to the size of the grief-and pride-of the worthies of Pudsey in the twenties.
In nearly every village in this entire country is a memorial of some kind, either a monolith or a building, which commemorates the immense, voluntary sacrifice made by the great young men of the country.
So please bear this in mind the next time you hear of another soldier being killed in Iraq.
This country fought real wars, where a week in which half a dozen men were killed was regarded as peaceful.
And now, in case the founder of WalMart ever brings out an autobiography called 'Will There Ever Be A Rainbow?', this picture of ASDA(now owned by WalMart) should be comforting.

Remember To Mock The Afflicted.

Once upon a time, in the good old Golden Age of Bobbies, Bobby Socks and Regency Telephone Kiosks, the Gold Standard of sympathy was held aside for those too unfortunate to merit comparison and competition in the big world.

Anybody who has ever seen a Down's Syndrome person doing a good job with painstaking care in an environment which can only be a challenge, will need no second reminder to treat people like these with a light touch, a pleasant air of collaboration in their dare against appalling odds to lead a normal life.


Don't mock the afflicted.

But wait! What's this? You can rely on the fact that self-serving campaigners (social reformers) will have seen our moral largesse, and whenever they see such a thing, their minds spin violently and they formulate dozens of new plans, all designed to deliver our consciences into their 'disinterested' hands for exploitation and enslavement.
So when they hear "Don't mock the afflicted", what do they do?
Obvious.
They produce ever greater legions of 'disabled' allies, creatures that can count on our sympathies even as they invade and destroy our minds.

Did you ever hear the one about Tourette's Syndrome? Sounds to me like a marvellous way to subvert freedom of speech while actually appearing to raise the speech of the 'victims' to sainted status.

How can we fight this?
Morally and practically.

Mock the afflicted.

Killing Us With Cruelty.

Much is made of the 'class distinction' illusion in Britain.
Class is, of course, a strictly Marxist device, designed to intimidate us away from defined value systems and into the vagiaries of less definite values, where we may be safely marshalled, corralled and exploited. Sorry, not exploited, liberated.

However, sick ideologies such as this could not catch on without a pre-existing tendency toward the use of similar concepts; like HIV, Marxism is an exploitative system which outwardly resembles extant sicknesses.
Anyway, snobbery is the system which class exploits; and class judgement is the reward for those who wish delusions of inferiority upon others, whether the manger and the worker, or the Nazi and the Jew, or the Rumanian and the Gypsy.
So why am I discussing this?
Well, today I came through a very, very poor neighbourhood, and saw a toy I'd never seen anywhere else in the world at any time previously.

The poor kid had the toy(a reclining trike with steerable rear wheels). The rich kids?They have school uniforms.
The poor kids have the freedom of the street.
The rich kids have supervised parties.

In other words, the people that are looked down on have all the love, all the generosity, all the freedom- while those whose parents can really afford these, have nothing except a (virtual murder tariff) sentence to the pressure cooker of social conformity, so that one day they can sniff in superiority at the sight of these rough diamonds, and look forward to abusing their own children into the hellishness of 'life as sneer'.

Ever wondered why the poor kids at school had all the cool stuff?
And why the rich kids wanted theirs and yours too?

Maybe you're getting the picture now.

Fat Bastard!

Care of Bagpuss over at Ken Frost.

Miracle Ungrow!

From every parent who doesn't like the way you live, to every other life-form that thinks it knows what's good for you, there is now a solution.

Simply have your 'Problem Child' locked up and drugged, and if that doesn't work, subject them to every form of psychological corruption known to the modern world. Using the Miracle Ungrow(TM) properties of privacy violation, stalking and sleep deprivation, you too can reverse the moral development of actual human beings and become the New Dark Helmet playing with their real-life dolls; merchandising was never this fun before, and it finds untold employment opportunities for demented sociopaths who are incapable of holding down a real job.

Like them, the local authorities can't hold down real jobs either, so they sympathise effusively and with great sensitivity with the barmpot zealots of the new persecution.

Yes.
Miracle Ungrow will rob even stalwarts of their ability to function productively, and satisfy the cravings of the Useless Ones to bind to their victims in an undying death-grip that actually doesn't require physical murder.

We could send the boys around, but that would mean the end of all ambition.
So we don't.

Meanwhile the local politicians proclaim their successes while doing everything in their power to pursue fresh persecutions at the behest of the perpetrators.
For what are the Useless Ones, but new clients?

Holiday Ideas, On The Other Hand...

Makes me proud!

Beer.It's A Serious Business.

This bronze sculpture of Barley is in Leeds, at a mixed-use development on the site of the Tetley's Brewery Wharf.
This was the place used to transfer Joshua Tetley's fine Northern Bitter to barges on the Leeds/Liverpool canal(strictly the Aire and Calder Navigation) for transport across the North and ultimately the world.
The Canal Company head offices are a short walk away, as is the still-busy Tetley's Brewery.
Quite a nice little neighbourhood. There are quite a few privately prosperous people living there.