Thursday, 5 March 2015

THE PRINCES AND THE PAEDOS. LIFE IN RURITANIA. ( Reposted after loss, together with olriginal comments)

Above are two of the most adept, experienced and staggeringly impudent benefits cheats in the land, the world.  
Were their housing, clothing, transport, food, clothing, staff, sporting, travel, booze and whoring allowances  terminated and reclaimed the rest of us might feel fewer of Austerity's unjust barbs.
That we might also reconsider the circumstances of our own births viv a vis those of Baby King George, the new Child Emperor, would be a further benefit.
Worse, however, than their sponging and poncing is the lesser known side of this family's character for it seems that we are funding, idiotically,  adoringly and sycophantically, the lifestyles, families and mistresses of two so-called princes both of whom are up to their inbred arses in child sexual abuse.
His Royal Highness Prince Charles Philip Arthur George, Prince of Wales, Royal Knight Companion of the Most Noble Order of the Garter, Extra Knight of the Most Ancient and Most Noble Order of the Thistle, Grand Master and Principal Knight Grand Cross of the Most Honourable Order of the Bath, Member of the Order of Merit, Knight of the Order of Australia, Companion of the Queen's Service Order, Member of Her Majesty's Most Honourable Privy Council, Aide-de-Camp, Earl of Chester, Duke of Cornwall, Duke of Rothesay, Earl of Carrick, Baron of Renfrew, Lord of the Isles, Prince and Great Steward of Scotland; friend, confidante and admirer of the late Sir James Savile, disc jockey, charity worker, bully, thug, serial child sexual offender and rumoured necrophiliac.
Sir James Wilson Vincent "Jimmy" Savile
Order of the British Empire,

 Knight Commander of the Pontifical Equestrian Order of Saint Gregory the Great; LLD from  Leeds University; Fellow of the Royal College of Radiologists; Cross of Merit of the Order pro merito Meletensi;  green beret from HM Royal Marines; PhD from the University of Bedfordshire.

His Royal Highness The Prince Andrew Albert Christian Edward, Duke of York, Earl of Inverness, Baron Killyleagh, Knight Companion of the Most Noble Order of the Garter, Knight Grand Cross of the Royal Victorian Order, Canadian Forces Decoration, Aide de Camp to Her Majesty. His Royal Highness has innumerable medals, honours,  colonelcies and admiralcies, most of them bestowed upon him by his  doting mother, Bad Queen Brenda. His Royal Highness is friend, confidante and associate of notorious and hugely wealthy  child sexual offender, Mr Jeffrey Epstein, maintaining their close relationship before, during and after Mr Epstein's imprisonment on child sexual abuse charges.
The Prince and the Paedo.

Epstein is a wealthy, New York financier and child pimp who, as well as Andy Battenberg, has other powerful friends in high places, notably in the lawnforcement and prosecutorial authorities in Florida, where he was able to improperly secure a plea-bargain deal by which he was sentenced to a mere thirteen months for a catalogue of sustained, international child slavery and sexual abuse offences but  he has connections, also, among international filthsters,
such as the disgusting Spunky Bill

Ah feel yo' pussy, I mean yo' tits, 
no, shucks, I mean yo' pain, 
course I do.

Spunky Bill, we know, is a borderline paedophile, sexually mistreating a young woman  intern whilst president of the United States and then deploying his administration to bully and harass her, rather as Andy Battenberg and Buckingham Palace, at our expense,  are doing with his accuser;  

 such as Tony'n'Imelda Blair,
 also in Epstein's little black book

The Blair Family UglyBug Blowjob Foundation;
We suck rich cock.
Arab, Jew, Tyrant or Beast,
 all you need for Tony'n'Imelda to jointly suck your cock, 
is the possession of a few billions;

 such as Charlie Spencer,   Duke of Earl,
 a worthless, idle, British aristo-ponce, slobbing around in estates and palaces stolen by his filthy, inbred ancestors;  grown richer on the death and burial of his poor, mad sister, Diana, and on a speech written for him by, it is said,  his priapic school chum, King BoJo of London;

by such as the disgusting Donald Trump, 
owner of Mr Alex Salmond, MSP and large parts of Scotland, my Scotland, the filthy cunt;

by such as the disgustingly dirty old man Sir Mick Jagger 

 as yet uninvestigated over his dodgy past;

These, the great and the good, whose lives and doings we are compelled to admire, these, amongst many others, are known to have either attended Epstein's  child-beasting orgies or to have been his friends and associates.

Andy's slutwife slapper, Fergie,  who historically solicits bribes in exchange for meetings with her former husband,

Sarah, SlapperDuchess of York.

was loaned, as they call it, a large sum of money by Epstein, in order to settle some more pressing debts, despite the fact that Andy's family is among the richest in the world; one can only assume that, in exchange,  the Duchess became a  member of Epstein's sex circle;  

too old, much too old  for him to be interested in fucking - maybe, like the Maxwell slut, Fergie pays her debt by pimping, or  entertaining some potentate in Epstein's circle of beasts but maybe her indebtedness simply welds the trio together in depravity and unnatural practises;  Ferguson was certainly not employed by Epstein as a Weight-Watching consultant, why bother with that, when cocaine is so much more fun;  maybe Sarah  blew cocaine up Epstein's arse while he was buggering a child, a right royal knees-up.

A hundred and twenty days of Sodom,

patron, HM Queen Elizabeth the second.

Andy and Sarah, despite their divorce,
 live together in a small house which we gave them,

perhaps, living together, it is  easier to deliberate as  to where and to whom  the Prince may pimp his former wife, the mother of his congenitally  useless brats, in exchange for money or young girls or both. 
The last Yorkster house,  which we bought them as a wedding present, proved unsuitable, 

as Andy wouldn't pay  to maintain it and it was bought, dilapidated, for  five million pounds over the asking price, by some foreign, coke-snorting, head-chopping despot princepig, who also, like Epstein, paid-off some of Sarah's debts, purely out of the goodness of his black heart.  I guess that if you are using George Osborne's London to launder billions in filthy money then having a pseudo-royal old slut like Ferguson on the payroll makes sense; she comes cheap.

 They do keep the strangest company, the brothers Battenberg. 

 Andy, his piggy face like thunder, is vainly trying to con us into believing that his and his now common-law wife's  lengthy relationship with Jeffrey Epstein
 is not only entirely innocent but actually quite noble,  princely, chivalrous, the cheeky cunt;  his servants rubbish the victims and insist that he is a selfless public servant, without whom overseas British trade would collapse, even though he is an obnoxious, free-loading pervert,

 good for fuck all and in serious need of a quick rub-down with a house-brick, 
before being hanged from  the railings of Buckingham Palace.

Meanwhile, his big brother,
JugEars, the wifebeater, manages to evade any scrutiny whatsoever about his lengthy, personal  relationship with the late Sir Jimmy  Savile. 

Andy, pending further investigation  of his impudent association with Epstein, has behaved badly enough to be stripped of all his titles and honours and medals.  His brother, however, the excuse for a man who would be king, belongs in the Tower or at the very least at the forefront  of Operation Yewtree's investigation into Savile-related crimes. The press should be in full, hot pursuit.

His Royal Highness, Brian, his ponce fag courtiers will pronounce, as though it were true, gives a great deal of his time to charity and meets, therefore, many individuals from all walks of life;  he simply cannot be expected to investigate the backgrounds of all of them, shut up, therefore,  don't be impertinent, remember your place and go away.

Oh, Sir Jimmy, you are almost as funny as the Goons,
did one tell you that one can do a rather good impersonation of Seagoon, one's self? It's like that Ishmael chappie says, there really is no business like showbusiness. Unless it's the royalty business.
Now-now, yer worship, same thing, in Jimmy's book, same thing.

It wasn't just so-called charity meetings, however, which brought Brian and Jimmy together,  Brian absolutely doted on him - enough reason, right there, for him to be barred from the throne - 

allowing him unprecedented free access to both Highgrove and Clarence Houses, luxurious homes, palaces, really,  which we maintain for the useless fucking crybaby bastard and his horsefaced, smokey old Nazi doxy.

Savile wandered in and out at will, molesting staff, slobbering over them, to the Prince's amusement.  Brian had Savile sit-in on interviews conducted to select courtier-ponces and secretary-slags, allowing him the final word on who was to be, whatever it is called, Principal Private Secretary to his Highness, somesuch propaganda post. Savile's opinion was canvassed by Brian  on NHS reform, seriously. Savile, lest we need reminding, was a semi-literate buffoon, patently a bully and clearly a man of - at the very least -  questionable character.  Brian, nevertheless, permitted Savile to edit and amend royal speeches and  correspondence;  maybe he had a hand in the infamous Spider Letters, in that scandal of royal meddling, the story of which the PBC has so bravely buried, at Brian's insistence;  an odious secrecy in which successive Attorneys General have colluded - Brian, quite improperly, has been lobbying ministers to change their policies and now that the Guardian is trying to see the relevant letters it has  been told that the half-wit's  princely meddling is a matter of national security and to fuck off.  

We do not know if Savile brought his erudition or constitutional expertise to these letters but considering his bizarre ubiquity amongst monarchs and prime ministers it wouldn't be surprising if he had.  Nonce-protector General, Margaret Thatcher, MP, PC, MA (Oxon) was so utterly bewitched by Savile that she lobbied four years in succession for his eventual knighthood 

and welcomed him regularly into her familiy home.

One must wonder which areas of public policy benefited from Sir Jimmy's wise scrutiny, either personally or as amanuensis to the dunderhead Prince of Wales.  Savile often shrugged-off questions about his sexuality with threats of friends in high places, as well as low. They don't come much higher than  the residents of Downing Street and the palaces. Thatcher, it is true, befriended all sorts of filth, General Pinochet, Conrad Black and  Henry Kissinger but her government was uniquely friendly to and protective of child molesters and worse, Tebbit, Morrison, Brittan and Clarke all connected to cover-up, at the very least.

We are asked, required, to believe that the highest, brightest most well-informed and wisely-advised  people in the land suspected nothing, heard no alarm bells as they scampered about the corridors of power in the company of, sharing state secrets with, providing wholly inappropriate sinecures for this repulsive creature. A prince or a cabinet minister need only pick up a phone to learn the truth about Savile, even back then there were rumours which should have deterred any intimacy with the Beast of Broadmoor; we are asked to believe that no-one in the palace or in Downing Street thought to run a check on such an extraordinarily presumptuous, eccentric and menacing freak. There are two explanations - and only two - for Jimmy Savile enjoying the royal and ministerial imprimatur:  firstly, everyone concerned in Savile's license and promotion is unpardonably stupid, naive, wretchedly incompetent  and thus unfit for office - this applies, also, to their courtiers, SPADs and bag-carriers - and secondly, at least one prime minister but probably more and the entire house of Battenberg-Windsor are part of the Paedophile Establishment, the uncovering of which Mrs Tracey May is trying so hard to prevent.  There is no other reasonable explanation, for until, after his death a few victims spoke out, the whole of showbiz, royalty and politics bust a gut eulogising Sir James. Now, they expect us to believe that those who take us to war, plan our futures, guard our treasure and manage our daily affairs as well as those who will so lavishly and comfortably rule over us were all fooled, beguiled by this gross mutant, Savile, as though he didn't have ChildMolester written all over him.  The nerve of some people, who do they think they are? The reality of course is that there are enough fellow-travellers in high place, in palaces, courts, constabularies, secretariats and newsrooms to make easy Savile's path and, coincidentally, their own.

In the scandal which Tracey May tries to obscure it is said that the      affair goes even into Brenda's parlour, at least one of her Lords Lieutenant being involved in the Dolphin Square VIP beasting den. 

 Boy-lover, William Hague, certainly did Thatcher's bidding whilst he was Welsh Secretary, covering-up and burying that end of the national Tory obsession with children and who knows how many snorting, braying Westminster pigs have their trotters dipped in the blood of child murder?

There might, however, be light at the end of Satan's Noncing Tunnel,  Brian might inadvertently blow the whistle on himself, he is a fucking idiot, after all; everything he's touched has turned to shit; he is sraggeringly inept and cack-handed; despite the best servants, tutors and advisers which our money can buy for him he is useless;  how he manages to ski a hundred metres without causing injury to himself or others is a matter of wonder but his other, more serious efforts at accomplishment and expertise fail. No matter how many arse-wipers, toothpaste-squeezers and bath-runners we employ for him he is unable to excel at anything.

During his pretend military service he had command of a minesweeper, His Mummy's Ship, Bronington and 

All engines, Full ahead-astern

when the real Captain was asleep or off-duty, the prince, in the tradition set by his uncle Louis Battenberg, another fucking useless crash-happy mariner,

Prince of Wales to  engine room:
maximum thingies, if you please, Mr Chief Engineer.
Look lively, there.

ran the fucking thing aground. 
The records show nothing of this, instead, First Lieutenant JugEars is compared favourably to Admiral Horatio Nelson, but I remember it well.

Prince Jonah is now, of course, Admiral of the Queen's Nay-vee

In 1995, as  Prince Biggles, the fucking nincompoop  was landing a plane of the Queen's Flight in the Hebrides he royally crashed it.  The board of enquiry ruled that the official pilot, a common serviceman, and not Brian - who was actually flying the fucking thing - was to blame.

I own these fucking plane thingies, son, or I will.

Prince PilotError  is now a Marshal of the Royal Air Force.

Best of all, if you can call anything about the royals best, Savile was appointed by Brian to, firstly, ensure that in the days around her wedding to his brother-beast, Andy, his bride-to-be, the above Sloane-slapper, Sarah Ferguson, behaved herself so as not to embarrass the throne, as if such a thing was possible, murdering, thieving, grubby, greedy, cowardly child-molesting fucking slags. That's right, it is a matter of record;  Savile, protecting the reputation of the House of Windsor.  At the request of the heir to the throne. 

I was just saying to mr yardarm that when you wander into this Internet nightmare of royal beasting (you won't find a word of it in  MediaMinster's output)  into  this netherworld of Ruritania-cum-Lilliput, it grows difficult to sustain a belief in Decency, in Virtue and Reason and easy to imagine that such virtues are impressed upon us only to keep us in line. How can it be that to huge public acclaim a  beasting, bullying prince weds a greedy slapper with a massage-parlouring, pisshead father 

Major Ron Handjob Ferguson.

 while the heir to throne appoints his kingdom's biggest sex criminal to keep things proper, tickety-boo, and above board. 

Mr and Mrs Battenberg-Slag.

Fuck me, Jesus, if Jonathan Swift lived now this'd fucking kill him stone dead.

I really do need some money;
why can't I just take some off the proles, 
like my mother-in-law does ?
I am a fucking Duchess, after all.

Sadly, like most of the Prince of Wales's plans, Savile, unsurprisingly, was unable to tame Sarah the Slapper and within months of the wedding no less a moralist that Princess Margaret wrote raspingly to Sarah, damning her for having - get this - lowered the standing of the family firm. As fucking if.

'You have done more to bring shame on the Royal Family than could ever have been imagined. Not once have you hung your head in embarrassment, even for a minute. Clearly you have never considered the damage you are doing us all. How dare you discredit us?' 

 Discredit us, fuck me gently, way to go, Maggie.  But you get the point,  even Margaret Rose, thwarted in marriage by her big sister and thereafter a freeloading,  pisshead,  trampy wreck, even Margaret was incensed  at Sarah's haughty sluttishness.
But the absolute best of all possible bests relating to the Prince and the Paedophile is that Brian, having consistently and contemptibly betrayed and bullied his own child bride,
 poor, mad Diana Spencer, driven her from her wits, 
such few as she possessed, 

then selected the bachelor nonce, Savile,
 as her personal marriage guidance counsellor

 - not their marriage guidance counsellor, hers

 Prince Charles's spectacular, epic, gargantuan, monumental, unparallelled cuntishness would be unbelievable in a normal person.  One can and must only assume the very worst in a person so privileged and advantaged as our future monarch.  We pay millions of pounds in  wages to his staff and advisers. And yet he acts like a member of organised crime.  We never heard, did we, about his tax evasion - not avoidance - remember, how he used to send some arselicker down to the second-hand shops with expensive gifts from idiot well-wishers and then just trouser the proceeds?
It was illegal of course but probably, like all his other crimes, the subject of a D-Notice, as was, or the Official Secrets Act, probably falls under whatever they are now calling the Prevention of Terrorism Act.  If Buckingham Palace is linked to the alleged child murders in Dolphin Square there will be what they call a raft of legislation to prevent us hearing of it. And if there isn't they will write some, overnight.
Poor girl, married to a much older man, a pampered loser, a pig, a brat and an oaf who not only from the word Go! cheats on her with another man's wife - it is, incidentally, in the armed forces, of which Brian is many commanders, supposedly  infra-dig, a duelling matter, to fuck a fellow officer's Mrs  - but briefs against her in the shitpress and  conspires against her with his loathsome courtier-dingleberries. By now the mother of his children, Diana is victimised by  simpering  palace cocksuckers and  by Brian's own  wretchedly inept  and grotesque parents. As if all this wasn't enough mistreatment, her husband now  seeks to deliver her into the hands of the United Kingdom's most infamous child sex offender. 
 No wonder the poor woman went nuts.

Now then, now then, His Nibs tells me that a certain princess has been a naughty girl.....

Of course, it doesn't follow, from his decades-long, close friendship with Savile that Prince Charles Arthur George is himself a beast but if he isn't a beast, why did he hang-out with one?  Why was Savile allowed such intimacy.  The Battenbergs wouldn't speak to you or I, what was it about a world champion nonce which so seduced the Prince of Wales? Surely not his conversation or erudition; surely not his tastes in art; what was it that would lead the heir to the throne to repudiate the advice of his counsellors and consort with a low-life like Savile, not only consort with but clutch to his pampered, worthless bosom?

It is not even as though Savile was a  comedian;
he was as funny as cancer.

Brian even visited Savile's hideaway hovel.

and met his staff, 
in their uniforms.   


Such fun, living like common people.
Such a tragedy, when one lost Sir Jimmy's friendship and counsel.

The Duchess and I are just sort-of appalled at the death of Sir Jimmy,
 he had been one's friend, it seems, forever. 
What shall one do?

The Palace's links to the Westminster Paedophilia establishment are all over the web, just search for  Dolphin Square or Elm Guest House and ignore the usual press subjects - the Guardian and Filth-O-Graph and so on, all of whom worshipped Savile until they could no longer, all of whom worship the Monarchy but be warned, many of   the blogs and sites are written, incomprehensibly, on a dark background, in tiny fonts and are very difficult to read; some of it may seem contentious but much of it smacks of Truths spoken to Power.

What is indisputable is that the heir to the British crown had a long and very intimate relationship with probably our most notorious sex offender.  Savile was not, like Myra and Ian, a snatcher and killer, at least we don't think so but his life of crime was nevertheless utterly repulsive; Prince Charles lent him succour, bestowed upon him status and - unforgivably -  provided him with cover.  At the very least. 
 In a decent society there would be a press-led demand for Charles's demotion and removal.

What is also indisputable is that Charles's brother, Andrew, enjoyed a lengthy and equally intimate relationship with Jeffrey Epstein, which extended beyond Epstein's conviction and imprisonment,  Further, although there is no evidence placing Charles at any of Savile's crimes, there is plenty connecting Andrew to Epstein's orgies and his common-law wife, Sarah Ferguson, to Epstein's dark largess.
In a decent society there would be a press-led demand for Andrew's demotion, removal and imprisonment.  He blusters that he will fight these allegations and clear his name. 
He can't.

These are not errors of judgement, honestly made.
Two princes tightly linked-to, embracing two notorious beasts, why are we so silent, can it be that we are  all latent paedophiles?

After they were published in the States we had to learn the details about Andrew,  although without Uncle Sam the British shitpress would otherwise have been as quiet as the grave.
The deafening silence around Charles and Savile, however,  make it  seem that, as usual, like Savile, he has done nothing wrong. And as they did with his mate,  Savile,  the press believes him.
I fucking don't.



tdg said...
Savile must have gone through a vetting process. So the third possibility is that the security services knew, and informed their masters, but it was kept quiet as a mere idiosyncrasy of character. That crime was then not what it is now. So the record will leak, at some point, and it will wreck the monarchy, but it may be some time.
call me ishmael said...
It is difficult, yes, to re-inhabit the mood of the time and you are right, they would have known - and acted as you say.

Andy's conduct, however, is recent, Epstein's vices enjoy no historical indulgence, yet Andrew supported and, it is said, joined in them.

Any way they are judged both cases merit severe condemnation and, I would have thought, punishment.
yardarm said...
Rasputin. Savile was another Rasputin, preying on the credulity and stupidity of a royal house. Only, back in the last years of Imperial Russia many people warned the block head Nicholas II what Rasputin was like: here, everyone cheered Savile to the rafters.

Bungalow Bill said...
Brenda loves AndyPaedo best of all and made him Admiral of Vulgaria right after the Epstein shitstorm. A sovereign's rightful rebuke to her impertinent subjects.

The predatory Establishment has been always with us, the entitlement of Princes to hunt and fuck being assumed. So too with the political Big Beasts and, as if we needed telling, Thatcher's vile moral imbecility and tacit collusion in child abuse are now plain.

Such are the monsters in which we must not believe on pain of ridicule or, if necessary, much worse. That's their best trick of all, evil so contemptuous and routinely repellent that it cannot be credited.

They hate us and devour us. A bold and necessary post Mr I.
call me ishmael said...
As far as it goes, the Rasputin analogy is correct mr yardarm but as far as I know the Mad Monk was what we would call a Lone Wolf, working only to the Romanovs; Savile, on the other hand, was seen as an asset by the national broadcaster, the national press, the National Health Service, the armed forces and he was given a free pass by lawnforcement. I am not sure of the chronology of all these connections but I guess that before the forging of many of them Savile was under royal protection, so to speak, in a grim spiderweb of symbiosis; who was spinning the threads, that's a moot point. Was Edwina moved to appoint Savile to Broadmoor because of his connection to the Prince of Wales? Did Charles act as some silent, unspoken guarantor, a friend at Court, thus aiding and abetting the offences?
A mirage made in heaven said...
Savile: at least let's raffle his remains off. Preferably though I'd like to see 'em crack open the concrete block with a JCB, then carefully prise of the coffin lid, remove and flense his foul corrupted flesh. Skilfully wire his bones back together, dress him in his usual string vests and shell-suited finery, then send him on a national tour, fairground style. Roll-up, roll up: get a photo of yourself, arm around his shoulders, leering alongside his white and wispy haired skull, complete with a rictus-clenched trademark stogie. At a fiver a photo-op, his rancid bones could pay back at least a little restitution for decades to come. We could 'fix it' for at least one of the cunts.
A mirage made in heaven said...
This comment has been removed by the author.
A mirage made in heaven said...
Is it Blogger or me that inadvertently double posts?

Masterly Mr. Ishmael; well said!
call me ishmael said...
Elegantly framed, mr bungalow bill. mr tdg's point is cheering, however, as I am always saying - to you and he, among others - that things are getting better as a result of random protest and as he says, the crime then is not what it is now, now we tolerate less, now it may unravel an already frayed garment of entitlement.

I hope to see Brenda exposed before she dies, her damned, scowling impertinence; her tupperwaring parsimony; her pig-ugly spawn; her rank, stinking cowardice, her entire, drab, self-obsessed, petit bourgeois existence. You know how George Galloway, missing the socialist point, declaims, God Damn You, Tony Blair? Well, a more fitting outburst would be God Damn You, Elizabeth Gothe-Saxe-Coburg-Battenberg, top turd of Corruption's ShitHeap. That, of course, woukd be too bold a truth for our greatest, living entertainer.
call me ishmael said...
Blogger is going insane, mr mirage made in heaven, you should see the problems it dumps on me.

Restitution is an interesting point, fortunately for his kin, Savile died innocent. If he hadn't, maybe a smart lawyer could have sequestrated Balmoral or Sandringham, made a link between Savile and his royal protector. Maybe, someday, everything will be returned which is owed.
Mike said...
Bravo, Mr I; John Stubbs got his hand cut off for much less, criticising Queen Elizabeth.

I'm not optimistic anything will happen. First, too many with too much to lose. Second, the people are now the equivalent of the domesticated cow. All rebellion has been bred out and we are contained by the legal equivalents of the electric fence. Whatever you think of Farage, just look at the shit he cops on a daily basis for daring to challenge the status quo.

Feudalism is what we increasingly live under.

call me ishmael said...
Well, you know, mr mike, that I consider the i-thing an electronic cattle prod, a feudalism which we carry around with us. I think also that escape into consumerisme totalitairianiste nouvelle is no escape at all. I knew some former East Germans who told me that now they had a choice of sixty beers but they also had streetcrime, prostitution, drug addiction and no pensions. I wonder what they would think of GlobaCorp colonising Ukraine.

You may well be right in your pessimism about the NewPeople but I think we should still be background singers, our voicings there to be heard or ignored.
Woman on a Raft said...
Half-brother, Mr Ishamael. Not that it matters all that much, but it is part of a pattern.

Spare a thought for poor old Kanga. The essence of that story is that she was not well but her condition was aggravated by Brian's 'sod off' attitude. And possibly the way she mysteriously ended up falling out of a window at rehab and being sectioned every five minutes.

It was really to be expected; Camilla and she were competitors.

The deal was, she had been set up with the OK-ish Lord Anthony Tryon, and he was instructed to go fishing while they amused each other. Let's be clear - Kanga was not forced in to anything. Charles was also the godfather to her first son. A quick look at the photos of Charles Tryon (Maris Capital) shows that he got lucky on the geneshake. The old b&W photo of Charles holding him at his christening, with Kanga looking on, clearly had a coded meaning then, which is obvious now. That in itself is curious; the convention is that the first son has to be the husband's, but Brian seems to have ignored that rule.

There isn't much else to say about Lord Tryon, except that he has been accused of telling a gamekeeper to take illegal action against a golden eagle. He settled the constructive dismissal claim out of court. Very wrong to take it out on an eagle, of course, but you can see how he might have the hump with any symbols of royalty.

As he had three other children by Dale, we can assume he liked her well enough when she wasn't howling at the moon.
call me ishmael said...
Sorry,mrs woar, what is the half-brother reference?

The Kanga story was only at the edges of my Walesian consciousness, I did see that C4 show and knew that it stank a bit but it was, as you say, consensual and adult, albeit customarily dishonourable in the New Carolingian fashion. He really is a piece of shit, isn't he? The christening picture you mention I found actually quite sinister, entitlement sneering its invulnerability.
Mike said...
Mr I: that film with Malkovich as Talleyrand: "shit in a silk stocking", as Napoleon said.
call me ishmael said...
Dunno that one, mr mike; I googled it but found only enigma and paradox from Malkovich fans, not even a film title. Good, though, shit in a silk stocking.
Mike said...
Apologies, TeeVee film. Was a good one, though. May have been French.
Woman on a Raft said...
The Queen also follows a certain rule. Charles is unquestionably Philip's - you've only got to look at them. However, Andrew much more closely resembles 'Porchey', this fellow:,_7th_Earl_of_Carnarvon

The likeness is striking in pictures of the 8th Earl.

The difference being, I suppose, that the Queen and Carnarvon were lifelong friends. They had a common love of horses and racing.
Mike said...
And with Anne, it must have been one of the horses.
call me ishmael said...
Fuck me, I never knew that. No wonder Philip is pissed at everybody.Mind you, if it is as you say in that world then he wouldn't be. I always thought it was he who was the adulterer. I don't suppose they even use that word. I'm just off to google images.

That'll be why he's favourite, won't it? He's not Greek.
call me ishmael said...
Right. Seems quite conclusive. Startling resemblance, sealed cabinet papers about the birth, well-documented relationship between Brenda and Lord Carnarvon. Also lots of stuff about Anne and Zara's real father but that's another story. Poor, poor Diana Spencer, marrying into that lot, expecting love.
yardarm said...
Yes, Mr Ishmael, Rasputin was a Lone Wolf, I think the victim of MI6`s first wet job; literally. Savile, Nonce in Chief at the centre of an accepted shadow paedo society from Buckingham Palace all the way down to the taxi ranks and kebab houses of Rotherham.

Brian always had a weakness for gurus, van der Post and his useless uncle, ' Pisspot Louis ' or ' Child Louis ' as US General Vinegar Joe Stilwell called him. Inexplicably made head of Combined Operations by Churchill, fucked it up at Dieppe then sent to preside over the Far East Front, well out of it in Ceylon with 5000 staff while the Fifth Army did the dirty work of clearing the Japs out of Burma.

If they slipped down the greasy pole the Mountbattens would end up brawling on Jeremy Kyle before burning each others council houses down. Bums.
yardarm said...
A thought about Margaret Corpse. Read somewhere, a book by Oborne maybe, that she proclaimed her closeness and influence by her grocer father only after she unexpectedly became Tory leader and needed some sort of philosophy, a message; hence the shopkeeper metaphors, paying bills, saving, budgeting, hard work, etc.

But she legged it from Grantham as soon as she could, seldom went back, was given away by some Tory at her wedding and CorpseDaddy didn`t even have a photo of the grandchildren. She was obviously a self obsessed careerist social climber but maybe she also kept away because the old man was a nonce ?

Maybe she was not even fully aware of it. Maybe it led her to have ambivalent feelings about that ilk and that`s why she promoted and encouraged such beasts.
Mike said...
I'm struggling with this one.

Leaving aside the beasting, surely shagging around is good as it introduces new genes, otherwise the head of state would be a brainless moron?

What I'm really struggling with is: the hereditory head of state model is clearly fucked.

And: so-called democracy as we understand it, and as it is practiced in the west, is clearly fucked.

And the western world's financial system is based on a lie and will shortly go tits up.

And communism failed.

Whither next?
Woman on a Raft said...
The gossip - and I stress gossip - is that Philip found it more difficult to be in her shadow than he thought and may have slighted her in his own behaviour. A queen is not to be mocked by showgirls, cousins etc.

Once you have a secret at your core like that, it is difficult to take a stand about anybody else.

None of this, however, explains the lunacy of letting Savile in to your social circle. A note of caution though. Savile had developed technique of being photographed with celebrities to give himself credibility. The pictures of him with the Beatles should be the subject of analysis.

Savile was proud of his ability to clam up like an oyster but he was also not blind and capable of oilily assuring someone of his discretion despite his huge access to the public and journalists, and then to invite himself to their next high-profile event.

Many of the things said about Savile were said by him for the purposes of being repeated. He did, for instance, have a passing acquaintance with Princess Alexandra and Angus Ogilvy in his capacity as a fund raiser. There are photos of that, too. That is not quite the same as saying he was capable of influencing them, but would the headmistress of Duncroft have known that or had the guts to tell him to get orf her driveway? Princess Alexandra was one of their patrons and the headmistress did not want to upset her.

And if Philip was awfully fond of Alexandra, do you think that Savile would have hesitated to file that observation away, to be leveraged? If they did let Savile in, might it have been in a futile effort to control him?

Remember that the one thing about Savile which appears to have been true is that he was not motivated by money except in the sense of what power it could buy him. And people didn't understand the second part of that sentence, which is why I keep harping on the theme of control. The papers. bloody cowards, had to cope with the idea that if they did not make a story stick like superglue, Savile had threatened to withdraw his fundraising from the hospital and would let it be known it was their fault.

But was it crucial? Well, turns out that when the NHS management and finance was finally sorted out and put on a statutory basis, the locks were changed and Savile was not allowed to park at will, stay on hospital premises etc. He reputedly went apeshit. In the latest report, the historic complaints from the staff and patients stop because he was no longer allowed in to annoy them. The management, however, had to be brave enough to risk what ever the old wizard threatened them with.
call me ishmael said...
Certainly a fuck-up, Thatcher. Never mentioned her own mother and yes, now you mention it, her father's shopkeeperliness is a convenient metaphor for her savagery, an insistence maintained to this day by Spermface that the nation's finances are exactly the same as those of a family or a corner shop, even though they are not and never have been. I didn't know that her father's existence was quite so ephemeral, such a confection, baked in Central Office, probably by thebghastly Tebbit. And she was aberrantly forgiving of sexual misconduct, not just the beasting but the cynical cruelty of the creep, Cecil Parkinson to his mistress, Sara Keays and their child, Flora. Wasn't he another jumped-up shopkeeper pretending to aristocracy?

Her own and her husband's parenting skills have been evident in the ongoing conduct of their son, the Viscount Mark, a criminal, a cheat, a coward and a bully. One could almost feel sorry for her, Christmasing with Savile, later on Conrad Black's bribe list, were she not so utterly, utterly bad.
call me ishmael said...
The answer, mr mike, as you should know, living where you do, is likely to be in Mandarin. There is some interesting comment, presently, about the Chinks inviting Prince Gormless, that his presence proves to the Chinese the value of hereditary leadership, that members of such an elite are good blokes,really, family men, sober, with a concern for the environment. And animals. It is, of course, all nonsense but how are the slitty-eyed billions to know that? Big White Chief come in iron bird, it's the Sino-equivalent of that.

Certainly the satisfaction and pacification of killions of Western consumers looks increasingly difficult to achieve in what is a nineteenth century economic and political model and we will probably go something along the lines kf the Roman Empire into fatal, decadent decline. If, that is, we haven't already done so.
call me ishmael said...
Yes, she always was a pompous and heartless little shit, Brenda, refusing even her sister's request to marry the man she loved; cruelty dressed as regality, also displayed in her indifference to Diana's undoubted plight. What man, shackled to a crow like her would not stray?

I have looked at and republished those Savile-Beatles photographs and I think they are just to the mutual advantage of canny showbizzers, not as interesting as the pictures of Cliff Richard with Lord Boothby, not, anyway, until recently.

It is true that he invited himself to high profile events but it is equally true that he could have been ejected and should have been. I take your point about him exaggerating his influence over the mighty in order to gain more of it butbit dies seem that in crucial relationships - with Thatcher and Brian - both parties had a genuine affection for Savile. I would have set the dogs on him, and I'm nobody, why would the mightiest fawn on him?

I have worked with child sex offenders and I understand that it is as much to do with the exercise of power and control as it is with the calming of sexual urges which, praise be to God, most of don't feel so I take your point about Savile not being as purely motivated by personal wealth as, say, is Jimmy Carr but we should not over-egg that pudding, his TeeVee series and his advertising contracts brought him a significant fortune so it is not that he wasn't motivated by money, he was, it is just that he also raised a lot for charity.

However we approach the Jimmy Savile story - and I do accept that many whose paths he crossed were, like the headmistress, intimidated by him- it seems clear to me that, as my post sought to illustrate, however canny an operator he was, his unchallenged criminality was aided and abetted, indemnified, knowingly, by the future king of our country and that this shocking royal irresponsibilty has passed largely unremarked, is an expression in fact and in real time of the compact between all parties to corrupt, grafting and beasting MediaMinster - the press, the Commons, the Lords and the Monarchy.
Mark said...
I seem to remember that Andrew P-B was bought off with the job of HMQ's stable boy.
A rather small bauble in return for free access to one's wife - but each to their own.
call me ishmael said...
As well as being Royal Cuckold-in-Chief, Andrew Parker Bowles had quite a career, he was involved in Operation Motorman, in Ulster; in the hand-over of Rhodesia from Smith's to majority rule; he was CO of the troops attacked in the Hyde Park bombings and an all-round horsey bloke, being CO of the Household Cavalry and Silver Stick In Waiting to HM Queen Brenda, hereinafter Queen Slut.

I always wondered why he never punched Brian hard in the gob but then until mrs woar told me, last night, about Andrew's sire I didn't know that, either.

It is a strange brew, royal life and love and I suppose that such secrets are contained because the Tatler people would rather be party to them, on the inside, pissing out, part of that charmed circle.

An abiding image from the Tatler shows is of that Nigerian billionaire plonker, his sons playing polo with Princes Gormless and Hooligan, and his head nearly exploding with pride. A stage darky, he should be ashamed of himself.

And as with Andrew Parker Bowles, why haven't either of Diana's idiot sons decked HRH Brian and pissed all over Camilla's support hose?

When he wasn't fucking Edwina Currie, the great moralist, Johnny Underpants, described these two dreadful prats as magnificent young men. No sign of it so far.
How on Earth did it come about that the former husband whom she hated was able not only to escort Diana's body back to the UK but also to colonise her funeral? How did that happen? None of mrs woar's cowardly press even questioned the state funeral.
Bungalow Bill said...
The strangest one from Brenda was her magical intervention in the Burrell prosecution. What the fuck was that about, what horrors was he set to divulge? Ah well, I must get off and earn some more money for her and the brood. Monarchies don't just pay for themselves you know.
mongoose said...
The bastard Tommies have been doing this a thousand years now, Mr I, and they are pretty good at it.

I read from someone a couple of days ago (at Miss Raccoon's place) about that line from the telly, in Wolf Hall. Cromwell needed some bodies for the axe with Anne Boleyn - he needed "some guilty men". And so he chose some likely lads who had crossed him and chucked them under the treason bus, and then added a few of their mates - guilt by reputation and then by association. Are we not, here, being guilty of falling for the same? The Tommies once again leading out the extravagant wierdo, Savile, safely dead and silent, and using him as a great lightning rod, sucking all the life and drama out of the real scandal.

And that the Royals and their hangers-on all fuck each other is none of my business as long as they are adults and keep away from the kids. Although one would prefer that they did it on their own dollar, and remained silent so as to not curdle the milk.
call me ishmael said...
You have consistently made the lightning-rod case with Savile and Harris and Travis and I daresay I have, too; I have certainly made it eternally about the blogosphere and how, ranting and conniving here stops us doing our righteous duty of pulling up paving slabs and hurling them at the unGodly; the world is a wildereness of mirrors aforested with lightning conductors, mantraps and bearpits.

I think it is our business when, po-faced, our rulers blether about family values whilst secretly ignoring them in their own lives. I don't think it is prurience, nor is it weakness or bamboozlement which makes me question the role of the Heir in the Savile catalogue for there is much more to come out about the Palace, worse, I suspect, than Savile's crimes. That they have been doing it forever does not mean that we should shrug our shoulders.

mr bungalow bill's reminder about Brenda lying her fucking ugly face off about the Butler's letter - the fact that she got away with it is the result of that very Oh they bin doin' it forever approach. Fuck 'erm, they should all be in jail. Down with feudal deference.

I know they've been doing it for a thousand years, that's why poor mad Dopey Di so conventiently accidented herself out of the picture. Nigger boyfriend, drunk French chauffeur and wicked photographers. Cromwell would have been proud and content with that outcome.


Bungalow Bill said...

Glad to see you found this Mr I. Good evening to all those looking in from Cheltenham. Lovely town but not much to do when the races aren't on.

call me ishmael said...

Yes I'm glad, too, that mr mongoose found it. It's the second time that's happened. I don't know, we would hope that the spooks had bigger fish to fry than we happy band.

Bungalow Bill said...

An intriguing coincidence even so Mr I. I think we should flatter ourselves, and I for one am plotting escape routes. Given the proven speed and accuracy with which our security operatives intercept malcontents, we'd better err on the side of caution.

call me ishmael said...

They do move swiftly and radically, that's true; this guy, this teacher jailed for six years, for thinking about and talking about doing something, whilst Tony Blair funnels blood money to Labour PPCs, money earned from massacre, holocaust, blitzkrieg, kidnap and torture.

Given what happened to Snowden and Assage, I doubt there's much in the way of escape routes left. Unless we all go and lodge with mr mike, down under, andvrecent Oz governments have looked horrifying.

SG said...

Hmmm! Something seems to be fucking up your site Mr I as the other two posts which preceded your 'Princely re-posting' have now also disappeared. Maybe a problem with Blogger rather than anything more sinister? However, I recommend that you consider consulting with Kim Jong-Un regarding this matter, as he knows everything, and will be able to offer 'field guidance' to enable you to deal with this issue.

call me ishmael said...

I am finding it hard to keep up, mr sg, which posts are thise missing?

SG said...

I'm damned if I can remember Mr I but I'm sure there were a couple of other ones that came after the 'Top Gear' piece. Should be be at least three posts in March, including the Battenburg one, I think. That said I am accessing via an I-Pad - I'll fire up a proper computer tomorrow to see if it shows anything different.

call me ishmael said...

Thanks, mr sg, I appreciate that

SG said...

They seem to have reappeared Mr I. The Tarzan one and the John Sox piece. All would seem to be in order now from a viewer perspective...

call me ishmael said...

Thanks, mr sg, if I knew then what I know now I wouldn't have used blogger. Often, in the middle of a commentary, it starts jumping around all over the place, when that happens it won't save, not even if I copy it all into a New Post, and I have to shut-down and re-open, losing stuff in the process.

On the other hand, I do like the template. Too late to stop now, anyway.