Thursday, 15 October 2009


Although resident and trading in the English capital, media colossus, Mr Paul Staines, bestriding MSM TV studios, captioned, "the artist formerly known as Guido Fawkes", claims, like many, Irish citizenship. Every Uncle Sam president, probably even the current Messiah, O'bama, claims it, too;

even your correspondent claims it, although he was actually born there.

In most cases, a grandparent's notional bog-trotterness entitles one to a passport, citizen-membership of the twenty-six counties of cowardice, gangsterhood and melancholy, spud-gulping, Guinness-swigging, wife-beating, repressed homosexuality; fondle me, Father, for I have sinned, red-faced, broth-of-a-boy simpletonism. And let's not forget Mr O'Bono and his Art; nor the Celtic triangle of economic power, beloved by Lord Salmond of Scotland and the peerless political historian, Mr O'Staines, himself. And we mustn't mention, beJasus, the recent sorry economic collapse and the wee business of the Treaty, lest we make both of these seers look like stupid, mouthy cunts, so we mustn't. And sure won't it all be England's fault anyway?

But we digress, down the paths of wine-sodden, institutionalised foolishness. (Is drunken driving less of a crime when it's expensive wine involved; shouldn't it be?) We are here to talk of patriotism - and Paddy doesn't own that, not that you'd know - and the temper, specifically, of ex-patriotism.

Open any political blog and you can find I-left-that-shithole-twenty-years-ago-and-now-I-live-like-an-air-conditioned-
-Pharoah-with-nigger-slaves-and-I-wouldn-t-ever-come-back-and-you-are-all-stupider-than-me-because-for-ten-pence-a-week-I-get-the-best-surgeon-in-the-world-to-operate-on-my-ingrown-toenails-and-a -five-star-chef-cooking-my-bangers-n-mash-ha-ha-ha-you're-all-wankers. And-I-can-drive-home-pissed-and-it-doesn't-matter.

Don't take my word for it, just have a look. Costa del Telegraph is a good one, so many, sniping, like some Vichy colony, at the true UK resistance, those of us still here, paying taxes, hanging-on, in quiet desperation.

It was England, not faux-Paddy Staines's Ireland of gangsters which saved the World, the World, mind, from 'thirties fascism, that he might live here, preaching his own, greedy, money-grubbing, murderous racist infanticide. It was the Republic of Eire, neutral in the Hitler War, not the despised English; still, no matter, proper history only started when Staines started blogging, innit.

It is not Irish but English which is spoken and read and studied the world over and the Blair-Brown-Cameron wideboys cannot bootleg that. But their stooges abroad make easy their other felonies, by whining some self-exiled, delusional superiority at us. I have air-conditioning, crows triumphantly expatriate mr nomad, here, the other night - and some, mr nomad, have a country house which you would pay to walk around, if they let you, which they wouldn't, so there, game, set and fucking match, by your miserable, moronic standards.

Mr Swiss Bob rightly points out that some are abroad by accident and happenstance, yet are, at heart English/British and of course people are scattered by romance by longing by the four the winds to all corners, that is not a matter of concern or irritation and should not impede their comment. What is intolerable, however, is to claim that the deserter's stance is more moral than the combatant's. I-saw-this-all-coming-and-was-clever-enough-to get-out etc etc. These people should fuck off properly, they are as much use as a chocolate kettle; let them sit and get sunny skin cancer, perished kidneys from cheap booze, let them not trouble their vast imtellects with UK matters but let them, instead, Hosannah the One True Expatriot, Tony Blair, stateless itinerant, heavily fortified and unloved, he is their man. Let the Dago care for them in senility, let them, as clever and far-sighted as they are, surrender their passports and citizenship, for isn't that what they urge us to do?

The streets of cyberspace are filled with rubble, refugees and wannabees, scrambling all around, tuneless chanteurs and players, exposing their atonal worthlessness; rhymeless poets, illiterate scribes, frauds and hucksters beyond imagining; freaks and monsters extolling pain and bondage and humiliation as though they were the Love of God, as, indeed, they may be, cruel and harsh as He is.

But there is a special conduit which brings the guilty expatriot to the surface and it is political blogging. Let him stew in his own air-conditioned filth, if he feels guilty that's his look-out, I feel guilty and I only moved within the UK, that's mine. Let him start an oily blog, like Tuscan Tony does but let him not sabotage our meagre efforts with his own cowardice, let him. instead, keep on running.

Mr Mother's Ruin, on mr nomad, from the comments

.......having created his own heaven and pulled the ladder up behind him,he had realised that he still needed humanity,even if only to give himself a hell to piss down on.

15 October 2009 00:23.

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Caractacus said...

Is it - or will be it within a few years - of no importance where an individual resides in Europe? Or indeed the world, for that matter? Since the European grand project makes national boraders redundant, what difference does it make, anyway?

Sadly, we're all stewing in the same juice...much of it not of our own making.

Ramjam said...

It is without a doubt a place that was at one time well worth saving, but as one grows older, and I have seen out over three quarters of a century, one does begin to wonder if the place, or more correctly its inhabitants, are worth saving.
May be this is how all "systems" fail. They just degenerate through misguided greed, as the greediest and laziest consume the source of sustainance.

call me ishmael said...

Yes, to both of those but No to those who say the effort in itself marks stupidity, it's avoidance wisdom.

PT Barnum said...

My own favourite flavour of that tune played on the ex-patriate's violin is the one which names their main reason for leaving the homeland as there being 'too many immigrants'. Following their irony bypass, are they in their turn regarded as 'bloody immigrants coming over here taking our [fill in blank]' by the natives of their country of adoption? I do hope so.

Elby the Beserk said...

All very well, Ish, but I would contend that the Irish wield the English language far far better than the English.

Make what you like of that.

And this faux half Irishman, his grandparents witness to the troubles, in Dublin, has never found anything but kindness on his visits there. Even better, the place is not festooned in CCTVs, road and bridge cameras, and state goons in pretend uniforms.

call me ishmael said...

Yes, mr elby, granted, all of that, but they did harbour U-boats, didn't they?

Not one to drag up old wounds but - you know - it's a thousand years and more since the land of saints and scholars, unless you count Oscar and Brendan and the wee fucker, O'Bono, recent history is more to do with the State colluding in massive child abuse by the noncing monsignors, in the terrorism of Sinn Fein, of superstition and ignorance and most recently of many kow-towing to the NWO, their own gangster leaders indemnified against just prosecution as cast-ironedly as ours.

I don't doubt that you will be made welcome in Eire, be at ease, I know, too, that overnight you will not think me stupid for not joining you there; that is my complaint, that so many do.

call me ishmael said...

They are normally retires, aren't they, Mr PTB, all support hose and digicammed grandchildren with stupid non-names. Good fucking riddance, really.