Wednesday, 10 August 2016


No, look, honestly, I might not know very much, although, on reflection, I don't know anything, fuck all, really. But look, honestly, what I do know is how to lose elections. And not just elections. Whole countries. It was me lost Scotland. And not nearly lost it.

Lost it altogether. Completely.  Lost it so badly we'll never ever get it back again. And that is why I'm just the man to advise on who should lead this great party, the party I love, the party I was born into, 

the party which I have worked so hard to destroy and turn into  the Tory party. 
Austerity, privatisation and more Austerity, that's what I've always supported. Smash the unions, especially the railway unions. In fact, any unions.  There shouldn't be any unions. It's not as though they've done anYbody any good. Well, not me, anyway. 
Yes, and TTIP or whatever it is, the right  enshrined by law of foreigners to strip the welfare state. 
That's what we need. 
And that's what the country needs.
 Now and forever. 
Or until we get the job done.
Whatever it is.
 I don't kinow very much about jobs.
More a positions man, me. 
And roles.

 And the man I endorse with my endorsement is Owen Who.  Jeremy Corbyn, you see, he can only attract members into the party - not that we want actual members - because he promises things which are consistent with a party for working people.  
Mr Who, on the other hand, our next leader and the next prime minister of England, he promises people the exact same things as Jeremy but everybody knows that he doesn't mean it. 
 That's what I call putting integrity back into this great party. 


Aye, us an' everyone else in the IRA're gutted, so we are, by the death of His Holiness the Bishop of Derry. Aye, fair play to him, he made monkeys, so he did, of them Paras, wavin' his wee hanky like he did, over yon dyin' teenager. 


Did wonders, so he did, for the cause of killing for peace. An' as for him bein' a part of a child-molesting organisation, sure, so's me 'n' Gerry, isn't that right?
An' we  in the IRA are all profound and committed Christians, so w'are, believin' devoutly  in the Lord Jesus Christ's teachings, just not that one about thou shalt do no murder. Or that one about thou shalt not do no  kneecapin' people.  Or buryin'  people alive.  Or nail bombin' people. Aye, an' torturin' people. An' sellin' them heroin. 

Apart from that, we in the IRA Cawnflick Resalooshun Movement are just pure, one hunnerd and ten per cent Christians, so w'are. Aye an' we'll all be prayin' for the soul of yon Bishop Edward Daly.

A-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha, so it is.

The thought of Marty Kneecaps praying, eh ?
Jesus fucking wept.


“Our American political classes, being themselves complicit in the well-financed banditry at large in the world, come and go talking of Hilary Clinton’s astrologer and the sins of children’s television, about the wickedness of the National Arts Endowment and Bill Clinton’s Penis. Their insouciance unnerves me. The barbarism implicit in the restless energies of big-time, global capitalism requires some sort of check or balance, if not by a spiritual doctrine or impulse, then by a lively interest in (or practice of) democratic government. The collapse of communism at the end of the Cold War removed from the world’s political stage the last pretense of a principled opposition to the rule of money, and the pages of history suggest that oligarchies unhindered by conscience or common sense seldom take much interest in the cause of civil liberty.” 

Waiting for the Barbarians, 1997. 


SG said...

Yes, he's a shiny little shit is Ed, and, much as I feel he has done good work in respect of 'Ingsoc' (being as I'm from the dark side of 'The Force' and all that), I would glady pull the chain and flush him straight down to Satan.

call me ishmael said...

I guess he thinks it was that nasty Gnasher, lost Labour Scotland and the election, and not him. And if that is so, why does he think thet Mr Who will fare any better?

Old New Labour is done. C'mon the Trots, c'mon UKIP, c'mon Donald Trump, c'mon everybody; I don't care who they are; somebody's gotta fight Ruinous Mammon.

Caratacus said...

I don't know, Mr. I., I must be getting soft in my old age. Having carefully watched footage of Miliband mi in the last election, I concluded that he was a halfway decent fellow who meant well. Indeed there was one unguarded moment where his ability to laugh at himself (an invaluable quality to be cherished, it seems to me) was inadvertently broadcast in a moment of BBC forgetfulness. His politics, of course, belong in a padded cell along with those of Osborne, McRuin, Mandelbum and May-or-may-not but he means well, heaven preserve us all.

No - bugger it. Put him in the stocks alongside the aforementioned and Anthony Blair, Sir Bernard Hogan-How-The-Fuck-Did-I-Get-This-Job, Mrs. Cameron's fucking hair stylist, the Knee-Capper Brothers and Mr. Carney (the unmitigated see you next Tuesday). Tomatoes will be supplied. In tins (as is traditional in these yer parts), can't afford fresh 'uns.

call me ishmael said...

It is easy, I know, king caratacus, to anthropomorphise these vermin but good to see you standing firm. There was a time, before, when someone who had so dismally failed to kick into an open goal would go away and do good, quiet works but in addition to his immodesty, Miliband should know the venom with which MediaMinster attacks Corbyn, that he both vindicates and adds to it is a measure of the man. A veteran apocalypsean, I have cupboards full of tinned tomatoes, honest, not invent, and will gaily contribute them to the common cause. Ruin may mock but dog will have his day.

mongoose said...

Millipede? Dear me, shouldn't he be decorating his kitchens? It is, I am afraid, an epitaph much more fitting than his Pledges Slab that he is too fucking idle to go downstairs to make a cup of tea. The cunt. How far removed from the reality of the lives lived by his lost voters can one man be? Daddy was an intellectual Marxist and I am not quite as bright as him but I am up for the gig too. A pig. He richly needs a good hiding.

It is unfortunate too that Jeremy has turned out to be so fucking awful. He is not playing his part except in the long game of destroying the Labour Party, or what has become of the Labour Party. It will be twenty years before they climb out of this hole though. Just like last time. There will come a time too, when Owen Why is forgotten, when Tom Watson will lead the undead. That's going to be the time for your tears, my friend.

I see that Tom has recently quit his Lads' Flat rented from some union crony. It is disgusting beyond imagining that such an arrangement can ever have been in place at all. Where is Terry Thomas when we need him? What a shower! Any day now, Angela Eagle will be Shadow Foreign Secretary (or some such) and the band will play on as if nothing had ever happened.

Good luck tomorrow - if luck is needed.

Mike said...

Hard to believe that Marty & Gerry are still breathing - they must have some bloody good security. I did hear many years ago that one or both were MI5 assets - so maybe a quid pro quo. At least in the good ol' US of A some second amendment type would have taken care of business.

Re the farce that is the Labour Part - any sighting of Banana Boy?

call me ishmael said...

I should think, mr mike, that Dave is hoping for a plum job with President Trousers before he returns triumphant to claim his inheritance; all the more reson for Trump to win.. It has always amazed me than none of my cousins have exterminmated Marty anbd the Nonce.

call me ishmael said...

No sweat, mr mongoose, just dropping a boychild at Inverness Airport.

Yes it is an abomination,Labour, all of it, but is now, at least, seen to be such. You have always despised Watson. I think he looks like what he is, Oh, if Spitting IMages was still her, what sort of creature he would be cast as, slime and sloth.

mongoose said...

Watson is emblematic of everything that is wrong with politics. And not just Labour politics but UK politics - post-TV politics everywhere, in fact. He is a good-for-fuck-all placeman, a time-server, a would-be populist but a instead a tawdry purveyor of tedium. Let's ban the sale of Gary Glitter records, eh, Tom? Why? Does the nasty little bastard make any money from his 70's crap? But how will it play? Do fuck off, Tom. It is just swinish chasing of inside the tent headlines. Career fodder for pigs. A mean, dim, grasping, thieving, expense-fiddling, pie-scoffer. He needs hanging. Today.

And if you think Corbyn is doing a shite job, just wait until Tom is running the show.

Alphons said...

"Caratacus said...
I concluded that he was a halfway decent fellow who meant well."

He was a politician and they are incapable of having any decency at all. They are all actors and bitpart players interested in only their own aggrandisement and wallet.

Caratacus said...

I say, Mr. Alphons ... I mean, after all ...

There are a few - a very few - politicians for whom I would open a door: Kate Hoey is one, Frank Field another, and I regard Socialism as a nonsense of the first water. In the past there was dear old John Enoch and Jack Ashley. But yes, the remainder are as you describe and I wouldn't piss on them if they were on fire. Well, of course I would piss on them ... but you catch my drift, I'm sure.

Alexius said...

Tinned tomatoes are fine. Just leave `em in the tins.

Mike said...

One for Mr Verge....

History of the Olympics:

"2500 years ago a slave call girl from Sardinia named Gedophamee (pronounced Ged-offa'-me) was attending the first athletic festival in Greece.

This festival had no name.

In those days the athletes performed naked.

To prevent unwanted sexual arousal while competing, the men imbibed freely on a drink containing saltpetre before and throughout the variety of events.

At the opening ceremonial parade of this first great event, Gedophamee observed the first wave of naked athletic males marching toward her and she exclaimed: "Oh! Limp pricks!"

Over the next two and a half millennia that expression morphed into "Olympics"

Woman on a Raft said...

What is the general opinion of Sir Alec Douglas-Home? I have been up to the Hirsel estate and have formed a glib opinion that his career marks the triumph of ruin over decency. A gent who was doomed by his general niceness with a touch of English weakness.

It looks to me as if you have to be a bit of a bastard to make any headway in politics. We reward it, select for it, hoping that at least we might get a bastard who is on our side.

This strategy is not working out too well.

Anonymous said...

Mr Mike - that sounds like an out-take from an imaginary Asterix book. Funnily enough today's headlines include reports of limpness in the young caused by excess of porn. Poor loves.

Itchy pole? Smegma. (3, 7, 5)


yardarm said...

He was perfectly capable of putting the knife in, Mrs WOAR, as Rab Butler found out, nor was he devoid of ambition: no one made him relinquish his peerage and the Tories were almost embarrassed by the number of potential successors to Macmillan. For five days the last peer to be Prime Minister. He nearly won in `64, too. But I`d prefer him to the human rubbish we get now.

call me ishmael said...

ADH's brief moment, mrs woar, also marked the start of the decline in UK journalistic standards, the 'papers mocking his accent and diction and appearance. Up until ADH v Wilson only Private Eye had done that sort of thing. was Bailey Vass the Eye's name for Home, my collection dosen't go back that far?

I am insufficiently read, mr yardarm, I know little about Home and would usually be ill-disposed towards Tory landed gentry; compared, however, to Thatcher's cheap spivs and Cameron's, he seems to have been a proper gent, not a coke-snorting, public school barrowboy.

call me ishmael said...

I need help with that, mr verge, but not as much or as profoundly as you do.

Anonymous said...

anag. The Olympic Games, Mr Ish. Simply tipping the hat back at Mr Mike.


Woman on a Raft said...

Gent, yes, I think that may have been true, then. Obviously your own folks at your own estate are going to put the best gloss on it but they may have been speaking honestly for once. There is a statue to him, a decent bronze, surrounded by substantial carvings about his interests; giant antique scrolls and vases etc. The arrangment is set behind a hedge just at the gateway to the drive and I think is genuinely modest. You can see it easily but you have to look for it.

The estate is open to people who want to have a look round; they ask for £2.50 for car parking but they do keep it nice and there are lavatories in the converted stables so it is suitable for grannies, children, mobilitity impaired etc. The stables have been converted to workshop showrooms for potters, glass workers, tea shop etc. There is a small playground for the tinies. I fell in love with the sand-blasted glassware by Julia Linstead.

The Hirsel estate is just on the edge of Coldstream. The lady in the glassworks explained that it is not a theme-park; it is a working estate so they can cope with a small stream of visitors but they could not necesssarily cope with coachloads.

If your path ever takes you through Coldstream, make an hour to turn off the road to see the statue and then take the long drive down to the lake. He was a toff but there are worse things you can say about a man than he was inclined to paternalism and wanted the garden kept tidy.

call me ishmael said...
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call me ishmael said...

Thanks for that, mrs woar, I have passed Coldstream and was delighted to realise that the Coldstream Guards actually came from somewhere called Coldstream - I had never thought about it. I have never actually visited the place, though, but I will now.

I don't think I have ever heard anything bad or beastly about Home but then I have never heard much about him at all. It is but a childhood memory but I was set an essay on the topic of that election and all I can recall is that as a kid - in a working class house - i was quite surpised by how nasty it all was, how unfairly ADH was treated. I will visit the subject in the cyber-library.

call me ishmael said...

Thank you, mr verge, sometimes you erudition leaves me speechless.

yardarm said...

Cricket was his cocaine, Mr Ishmael. He had his prejudices too but back then it was not the done thing to sneer openly at the lower classes if one was to the manor born (as well as being politically prudent). It was considered.....bad manners, or form as they would have said. Unlike now when its seen as an essential qualification for a politician to publically void his bowels on those that elect and pay for him.

call me ishmael said...

I have biograhies of many post-war politicians, mr yardarm, but nothing about Home. Any recommendations?

I am sure that Wilson and Farmer Jim Callagah and Healey and the rest would have ssneered just as fervently as Home and I am inclined to think that such genuine reform as Labour managed was completed by Wilson's time, since when the parties have to all intents and purposes merged, playing musical chairs with the front bench.

It wasn't that I was being defensive on Home's behalf, just that even as a child I could see that it was Godlessheathenbastardy to criticse him for his physical appearance.

mr mongoose is passing fond of cricket, I believe.

mongoose said...

ADH was another example of the old politics - public service politics. Pre-TV politics. Politics based on words and ideas expressed with concision and consistency. The politics that understood Churchill doing a great deal in the winning of WWII but quite properly losing the 1945 election. The world was different and he had helped to make it so and was undone by it.

Now it is the sound of the words and the clamour of the crowd that bring success or failure in politics. And we are the poorer for it. De Niro thinks that Trump is a loon. Who gives a shit what he thinks? Owen Nobody thinks we need to negotiate with ISIL - a clever-clogs nuancing of the NI process that is completely tone deaf to the actual world as it is outside the JCR. Who gives a fuck what Owen thinks?

Yes, Mr Ishmael, cricket is the real sport of kings. Son Number One was sworn at on the cricket field just this last Sunday and hit the fucker with a cricket ball the very next delivery. Picked up the ball, went back to his mark and got him out two balls later caught in the slips, fearful and therefore late. Good lad. You see? We educate those needful of manners too. If you cannot be polite, be silent.

yardarm said...

Only passed by ADH in reading about others, Mr Ishmael and have therefore only a string of anecdotes. In the Cuban Missile crises in `62 as Foreign Secretary told the Russian charge `d affairs if they attacked us we`d throw the nuclear kitchen sink at them and in `71, back as Foreign Secretary after Golitsyn`s defection expelled over 100 Russian ' diplomats '. Apparently a gang of students turned up at the Hirsel while he was PM to kidnap him but he calmed them down over a drink and kept quiet about it lest his police guard get punished over it.

If we have to have Tories governing us I`d settle for the 14th Earl of Home over Top Hat Dave or the Maidenhead Horror. Or indeed the WarCriminal or Bongo Head Brown.

SG said...

Seconded Mr Yardarm!

call me ishmael said...
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call me ishmael said...

Thanks for that, I knew none of it.

It is a measure of how bad things have become, mr yardarm and mr sg, that most of us would prefer a belted earl to a fourth-generation tax-dodging spiv, not much of a choice, is it, but the right one.

I worked, once, in a stately home, for a Marquis and his beard and I never saw any of that noblesse oblige stuff; but I saw lotsa suits of armour and antique silver and took boiled eggs to her Ladyship at three in the morning, before she went grouse shooting at dawn; me, the butler,the footman, the lady's maid, the upstairs maid, the footman and the factor. Seven members of staff, to get the worthless, spoiled dimwit out of bed.