American Classic in the Land That England Forgot

Here in the land that England forgot, the World Cup ended a week ago, for England two weeks; yet the flags are still flying.
They are flying in every street and all over England.
You'd think somebody would notice and tell them to remove them?Surely this might happen.
But nobody seems to be in too much of a hurry to try just yet.
Wonder why.

Meanwhile, I spotted this American classic on the street; it is a Pontiac Firebird, with two-tone metal flake paintwork and hood art.
For sale if you've got £15000($30000US).

I Went To The Levy But the Levy was Arrested!

His spokesman said the peer "vigorously denies any wrongdoing". He has been bailed pending further inquiries.

"Lord Levy has made it clear that he is ready at all times to cooperate with the police investigation," the spokesman said.

"He therefore complied with a request to attend today at a police station where the police used their arrest powers, totally unnecessarily, apparently in order to gain access to documents that Lord Levy would quite willingly have provided without this device."

-BBC NEWS-

Yeah.

But I bet it felt great to arrest the guy anyway.

Maybe the Plod has good days too. Maybe they'd love to help if only they were allowed to.
'Denied vigorously'-you can almost see the arm-flapping gesticulation associated with that;that's how well trained these bastards have us, and that's what they want us to imagine with their toad-swallowing, sewage-drinking meticulousness.

Hooray for Ploddy!

Yes,Ploddy!
He's a very big fellow who chortles when you get into difficulties; then he says,"Resistance is useless.." in a whining, resigned, Vogon sort of way, before telling you not to do anything.

Anything at all.
Except suffer.
Then, when the bastards have finished torturing you and finally decide to put you out of their misery, the police promise to look serious(snigger snigger) for the TV camera while promising to bring the perp to 'justice'.

The judge(go on?Yer 'avin a larf right?)will give the murderous ones a few years relaxing at the State's expense, retraining them as expert criminologists so that they can take good jobs(better than ours), also at the state's expense five or six years after we have rotted in the ground.

Jesus we must be thick.

The Brave New KiddyCaust Part 2.

News just on-'bright' children will be placed on a register to ensure that they don't escape,no, sorry, I mean to ensure that they don't waste their talents being turned into underachievers at traditional state schools.

The Kiddy-Caust.

Of course, all these college-victim/killer slags are now fully grown with children of their own; they are feeling a bit sick about 'all that'.
So they think,
"If only I'd been one of the 'popular' students...."
None of them really were, of course, especially not the 'popular' ones, but they see some feeble illusion of success in the booming presumption of the Law/Rugby/Ski/History students (or whatever the hell dopographic they belonged to), and determine that their children will not be 'left out' of the rabbit hutch.
For off to the hutch it will be;statistics determine it!
Children of graduates go to university!
It is undeniable!
And so, as soon as they can walk, the kids are saturated with things and influences which are sure to make them 'successful', in other words they are taught how to sell out from the age of four, not eighteen.

The better to fit in with the savages at university.

They want their kids to be 'ahead of the game'.
But there are signs that some of the so-called 'increasing sophistication' of children is enabling them to drop out of that at an even earlier stage; the parents are spoiling for a fight with the ruling sociopaths of a long-dead social cosmos, and the kids are accepting being spoilt but not showing up for the gig.

Maybe they really are the future, eh?
Or maybe the micro-social engineering of these aborted families is producing a newer, deeper and more far-gone layer of artificially ignorant ruler-fodder?

The College-Caust.

When I was a young sprog on his way to the big city to attend the big college in the big university, I couldn't wait to find the people there, not necessarily of like mind, although that was part of the dream; no, I expected to find my betters, people who were smarter than me,better than me in every way, braver, more mature, the kind of people who would be able to show me the way forward.

I was severely disappointed.


To begin with there was an overwhelming air of timidity; the kids weren't able to know what they wanted to do.
They thrashed around, trying to appear to be doing something;there were clubs and societies for them to join, places to which they could belong.
Essentially they recreated high-school but with public funding of their social ambitions.
The only bravery I encountered was the chancer's courage of those who decided to become group leaders of these little packets of aimlessness.
There was no grand scale society, no overarching community of the intellect.
We were left to do what we wanted, and most of them didn't do anything much.

It was the massacre of ambition. Too afraid to imagine, too scared of rejection to reject, they came to the time when they felt comfortable with their young deaths, and could look down on me with a sneer, or if they were kind, with a patronising smile.

There were a few like me; I didn't know it, but more than a few felt this without knowing how or why, and I only saw them when they sold out or made terms.

I didn't start to come to terms until my final year, when I could see an end to it.
My so-called 'friends' decided(arbitrarily, but actually at the pleading of their English group leader), to say that they had all 'gone through a process' at university-they hesitated to call it growth, or indeed to name it at all-but that I had not.
They asserted the superiority I already knew didn't exist-like maniacs drowning in a swamp and clutching at straws of self-esteem, the most pathetic failures of all.
So just as I was coming through it all, I was relegated to non-person.

It wasn't pretty.
I didn't get my soul back until after I learned to fly, escaped from 'college' and met my first Californian girl.

She showed me that they had been the non-persons.

But the traffic drove, the trains ran, the buildings were lit, so I still harboured illusions of the world; it took a further ten years to find it.
Elsewhere.

Yorkshire-Land of Contrasts!

Postman Pat was having a bad day.
The criminal fraternity had decided to declare war on all things postal.


Especially Post Boxes. The ugly mess on the floor is the remains of a modern, plastic add-on; the cast iron original survived.

Meanwhile in another part of the world. another original has survived.
This is a 1600 cc Hillman Mynx, a 1962 model no less.

It's in perfect condition.
And finally, proof that some people at the depot get paid a deal more than me;

This is a three-cylinder Triumph Daytona motorcycle.
And very nice it is too.
Apparently the Ginetta sports car brand is moving to a new factory.
In Leeds.
Thank gawd,eh?

"Drama."

This made me laugh.
Aren't big corporations like Google terrible?

Back In the USSK part 2

This song is just soooo good.

The State Of The Union.

In the nineties 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
Will Irish Guinness still taste better?

Whatever Happened......

to Belfast!


Strategic firewood and barricade store at the Loyalist end of the Falls Road. There was little 'Englitz' -style backbiting; the people are too glad not to be getting blown up and shot at. But there are loads of huge, tough-looking men. I felt very junior. And nobody bothered me.Except my agent, who suggested that I should go down the Catholic end of Falls Road where my 'conservative politics' would see me safe.
Sense of humour.


Town hall.

Harland & Wolf shipyard gantry-where Titanic was built.

Inside Belfast City Airport, built on the Shorts factory airfield; Bombardier Aviation still occupies the factory.
The Shankhill? Drivethru?Didn't that used to be 'drive by'?



The mind boggles; Nationalist Murals near the Falls Road.





All of the Crown Liquor Shop. The lights are gas. And they use them. The beer is fine, and yes, Guiness does taste better in Ireland. It's a very passable Stout.

This-Leeds Airport-is only 45 minutes away from
this-the Hotel Europa, which they tried to blow up several times.



The Leeds-Bradford breakfast was a fiver; the aircraft was Canadian, a Dash-8, from what used to be De-Havilland Canada.The one behind bars looks like some sort of late model Jetstream.

Let's hope I get the job,eh?

Back In The USSK....

You don't know how lucky you are, eh?


The view from the bar at Pearson was great, especially as everybody else was watching football.




But the other side -the side from where we would depart-had bars on the windows, not next to them.
Any complaints were duly reported to the carrier;Bastards!You flew me to England!

Going.....



Going.......


Gone! Toronto disappearing from view! What a bummer, man!

Crossing enemy coast, skipper.


Back in the land of industrial relics.

Continuing my studies with the bad machines.

On The Nature Of Force.

I have already stated that force is the destroyer of morals.
But what is the 'force' of the social engineer?

The crudest form is bad law; this is law that seeks to achieve a social(ie statistical) end by violating the free actions of individuals.
Good law restrains harmful actions.
Bad law labels freedoms 'harmful' then seeks to restrain them.

More subtly, there are forms of force which are designed to bypass even the most cursory of reasoned arguments and discussions; these are strictly the domain of criminals, since you don't discuss broken windows with a burglar in your front room.

But where a mere criminal claims to want to take your property, there is form of criminality which is purest violation, gratuitous evil for the sake of evil.
The Moors Murderers of the 60s British Peak District killed children for the sake of hearing them cry.
This was the outrage that led to them being imprisoned for natural life, and the criminal apologists often point out that had they been executed the bodies of some of the children would never have been recovered.
Will somebody please think of the children(without thinking of the children)?
It is becoming increasingly common in England to find oneself the target of purely gratuitous evil.

And this evil is being multiplied and magnified by the application of force in all its forms to people at large; the rubbish thinks that if their 'leaders' can do it, they can jump onto the bandwagon and acquire popular delusions about their intended victims in order to disguise their naked aggression in clothes of virtue, being able to convince themselves that they are doing something truly awful for the sake of some sort of good.

To strip them of these illusions is to remove all incentive for honest introspection, and leave them at the self-destructive mercy of their chronic impulses.

Depending on the level of their evil obsessiveness, they will stop, or collapse, or go into an advanced stage of psychopathological expression.

Bringing this state of affairs about is one of the more difficult and dangerous methods of destroying the problem.
This is why self-control is paramount, as one needs to be able to bridge crisis points in order to ascertain the resources and ability of the aggressor.
When they are halted, if they work with a team, the psychological and physical expense of assembly, along with exposure to conventional detection, will tend to cause an inevitable loss of initiative and momentum.
The role is reversed.

But nobody said this was safe.

Last Few Days, Must Go Soon!

Various pictures of street-life in a prosperous area of Toronto, at least between Davisville and Eglinton on Bayview.
I'd love to live in the hi-rise in the distance.
And I'd love to own a Lamborghini, even an old one; although as I was drinking my Espresso, the owner came out and rather spoiled the effect by having to struggle with the trunk lid for five minutes.

Oh well.
I'll be in the air again soon.

Social Engineering.

"As long as they're engineering society my way"-humour(?) by Entozoa on London Fog.
What is 'social engineering? No,wait, what is engineering?

Engineering is the application of force to physical objects in ways that produce actively useful products-mechanisms, machines and other items.

There are various level of indirection in engineering; we can force materials into shapes which can be used to apply superior force to superior materials and so on down to the final products, which defy hand-tooling techniques and pricing.

Then along came Social Engineering.
The reasoning went,"We can 'change' people to make them 'better'."
The reasoning was specious.
The reasoning hid a multiplicity of evils.
The reasoning contained no real reasoning.

Engineering is the application of force.
This was fully understood by the proponents of social engineering, but supported by people who believed in the 'miraculous' production of undisputable goods by the magic of engineering as they (didn't) understand it.

And so the bastards in control were put into positions of power over people by the use of mumbo-jumbo flash-card argument, and given license to experiment with 'social engineering'.
Thus they applied, ever so subtly, force to people in their millions.

The Human Being requires freedom from coercion as its sole condition for moral functioning.
It is by the application of the reasoning mind to the tasks necessary and desirable for life, that the person acquires the mental space to allow the functioning of his or her emotions, feelings, morals.
Force, when applied externally, is the destroyer of morals, by theft of outrage('taking' or 'stealing' someones piss,in colloqueal Cockney talk).
Threat is the logical precursor to force in conditions of integral evil, but more often threats are empty.
Knowing how to identify the difference and respond (or not!) is key to staying alive in a country where social engineering has introduced force into social transactions like poison to a reservoir.

And it is precisely the (fraudulent) attempt to improve 'society' by social engineering which has destroyed social and individual morality to such a great extent and is conitnuing to do so.

So, no.
They aren't engineering society to anybody's benefit.

Let's Make a Night of It.

Meeting up with my favourite employee of the CBC, we arranged to meet at Queen Street West after work.
To spend the time until then, I went into the National Film Board, which has a remarkable collection of sponsored Canadian movies dating back to the fifties; they are accessed from a central video-on-demand server which stores all NFB work in digital form.
You simply ask for an hour(free) and they give you a code to log on with. Luxury seats with touch-screen controls.
And unfortunately creepy 'volunteers' who try to throw their status and mediocrity around, but these are avoidable.

Love it or hate it, as a source of amusement and for cultural forensics it is unbeatable anywhere in the world.


Anyway, QSW beckoned, and we took in dinner at the Rex while watching the Richard Whitely Trio; thence to the even better Cameron House(note our insect overlords) where I was enchanted by Colonel Tom and the Swinging Doors.
Congratulations to Tom Parker and his new wife, Alex (nee Pangman); she is moving from Jazz to Bluegrass in this, her husband's new band.
Had I the time I would go back again and again for these cheerful, talented and uplifting performers.

Staggering Staggered Staggering

And so, properly fortified, I set out to liberate Toronto single-handed.
I marched towards the CN Tower.



It just kept getting bigger.

I crossed the footbridge which crosses the Union Lines.

I paused; looking up and down Front Street, taking a deep breath-then I plunged into the heart of the Beast;below is the bit where they shoot a news show, but there was no show to invade that day.
Besides, all this Canadian politeness stuff is wearing off on me, and I was in a good mood after all that beer.




So I sat underneath.
And watched TV.

Then I went for a little lunch in the basement, sat and had coffee in the core, and took this picture; apparently the CBC is losing hegemony over this building, and may soon no longer be downtown.
With the cheeky recommendations of that blasted liberal-stuffed committee last week, if I were Harper I'd pull the plug.
Let them eat ratings!