Honest Not Invent
A brilliantly vivid reading experience. Bizarre, exaggerated, visceral, profane and wildly funny. Here it is - Honest, Not Invent.... the best of stanislav (and other voices)
mr ishmael was always a
writer. He couldn’t help it, he didn’t force it, and it flowed out of him, as
though he was a conduit, onto any handy scrap of paper. In the Blogosphere,
both as a commentator and as the host of Call Me Ishmael, he found his metier.
This was a world without the intervention of publishers, with an instant audience,
who would immediately tell him what they thought of his latest offering, for
the reward of engaging with a fine mind delighted to be talking to them, and,
occasionally, receiving a damn good blogging. mr ishmael made not a penny from
his writing: his reward was the give and take, the ebb and flow of the
conversations that sprawled and bloomed from the comments box.
He was very particular about
how his blog should look in order to be accessible, consistent and instantly
recognisable. It was, of course, lavishly and colourfully illustrated with
grotesques. It has not been possible to adhere to mr ishmael’s rules of
presentation in this book, given its very different formatting requirements,
but the many friends who first encountered these essays on the blog will find,
through editor verge’s deft compilation and presentation, the voice of a true
moralist, deeply compassionate, warmly human and utterly indignant about
corruption, avarice and the abuse of office, both sexual and financial: the
voice of the
Zen-Marxist-Presbyterian, as he always described himself. And, somehow, without
the eye-catching illustrations, the essays have yielded a deeper meaning.
For the political junkie; the
charlatans, poseurs and chancers who inhabit these pages will be instantly
recognisable, their foibles, misdemeanours and crimes against humanity well
known. For those with less of an addiction, rest assured - honest, not invent.
Well, maybe a little bit.
This anthology, constructed
by editor verge from mr ishmael’s writings, contains several
voices, but showcases stanislav, the young Polish plumber. Back in the day, I
would beg stanislav’s creator for more stanislav. I wish I could, he would
regretfully tell me - I channelled him
for a while, but he’s not here anymore. Just
as Voltaire’s creation, Candide, contended with the problem of
evil, so does stanislav, albeit more directly and humorously, ridiculing
religion, governments, politicians, television celebrities, the great and the
good, all hidden under a thin veil of naïveté. You think I know fuck nothing,
he rants - but me, I know fuck all.
So there we are with the fuck
word, which brings me to Lenny Bruce, a major influence on mr ishmael. Lenny
was an American stand-up comedian, social critic,
and satirist, whose comedy spoke truth to power, which responded by
relentless persecution and prosecution for obscenity. During one of Lenny
Bruce’s performances in 1966, he said he’d been arrested for saying nine words,
and then said them in alphabetical order: ass, balls, cocksucker, cunt, fuck,
motherfucker, piss, shit, tits. There are no dirty words, both he and mr
ishmael said, only dirty minds. mr ishmael far exceeded nine
- or, at least, he put them together in new and fascinatingly-repellent
combinations. How about: “shit splattering onto their faces from the Great
Latrine of State”? And you just have to be sorry for Ming, sitting gingerly on
his pile of cushions, with his back firmly against the wall, having been
thoroughly (er, metaphorically – Ed.) fucked up the arse by his entire Party.
Once over the schoolboy fascination with forbidden words or prudish revulsion -
twin cheeks of the same poxy arse as mr ishmael might have said - we might
consider the impact of this powerful language as intensifier of the expressed
thought. Melissa Mohr, in her scholarly and accessible book, Holy Sh*t, tells
us everything we need to know about the function of swearing. Swearwords kidnap
our attention and force us to consider their unpleasant connotations.
Swearwords occupy a different part of the brain. Most speech is a higher brain
function - the cerebral cortex, controlling rational thought. Swearwords are
stored in the lower brain - the limbic system, responsible for emotion and the
fight-or-flight response. Them’s fighting words, and mr ishmael could certainly
talk a good fight. His sustained, creative, absurd, poetic, scatological
streams of inventive invective were fuelled by outrage.
For all the ishmaelites,
who appreciated, provoked and entertained mr ishmael through the Comments box
over the years, many, many thanks. It is impossible to give every one a
name-check - some notable contributors in the early years seem not to be with
us any more, but they are not forgotten. Notable are messrs mongoose and mike,
bungalow bill, dick the prick, the dyer’s garden, caratacus, swiss bob, doug
shoulders, inmate, the noblest prospect, SG, oldrightie, yardarm, and mr
ishmael’s ladies - mrs narcolept, agatha, lilith, and woman on a raft. Then
there are all those readers across the English-speaking world who never got around
to joining the comment streams - mr ishmael, although not a statistics
jihadist, knew you were there, because Blogger reported to him the numbers of
his readers in Australia, America, and Europe. Bloody hell, he told me one day,
there’s a bloke been logged on to Call Me Ishmael for eighteen hours - 18
bloody hours - then slunk off without leaving a comment.
And thank you to our two reviewers, messrs mike and caratacus, whose reviews follow below.
My deepest thanks go to mr
verge, an experienced and talented writer himself, who has brought this book
together. mr ishmael awarded mr verge
the special status of house filthster and court jester, and his trust has been amply
fulfilled through mr verge's dedicated and selfless work in producing this anthology. The
task was no easy one, involving reading the prolific outpouring of twelve years of
posts and comments, exercising judgement in the selection of the essays,
providing discreet editorial revisions and footnoting as necessary. editor mr verge has produced a fine memorial to the memory of ishmael smith. Thank you, v./
Thank you
all for your outpouring of grief and condolences after mr ishmael’s death in
January 2020. Many ishmaelites will want to paraphrase Bob Dylan - mr ishmael
is dead. He’s the brother I never had.
Three score years and ten,
and a good death - there’s a lot to be thankful for.
mrs ishmael : September 13th 2020
Reviews
mr caratacus:
Having been greatly humbled to be invited to proof-read the splendid 'Ishmael Project' I confess to have been a little daunted in the initial stages, not least because my ability to read the document was made difficult by the tears of laughter running down my cheeks. To return to the innermost thoughts of young Stanislav was a joy and I was reminded of something P.G. Wodehouse said when he first read the 'Flashman' tales by George MacDonald Fraser; "If ever there was a time when I felt that 'watcher-of-the-skies-when-a-new-planet stuff', it was when I read the first Flashman". Thus it was for me when I read of Gordon the Ruiner, written by Stanislav, a young Polish plumber. I will not tarry over long here, suffice to say that I envy those lucky folk who have yet to read mr. ishmael's writings - boy, do they have a treat in store. For those of us who have followed his blog over the years, you will - as I did - find yourself laughing helplessly as mr. ishmael jaunts effortlessly from one tussock to another, weaving words about him like the storyteller he was. Thank you, finally, mrs. ishmael, for making all this possible. We are forever in your debt.
mr mike:
Editor Verge (peace and blessings be upon him) kindly sent me a final draft of this anthology and graciously asked if I would write a review. It was a challenge, almost a duty, I readily accepted and I hope I do the collection, and its author, justice - although I will roam a little further through Ishmaelia. Reading this anthology I have been through the gamut of emotions, there were tears of laughter and also sadness; only one keyboard was harmed during the production of this review (nasal red wine snort).
I first met stan at the blog order-order, maybe fifteen or more years ago. In those days blogging was like the Wild West; unmoderated and uncensored; not the milquetoast troll infested stuff of today. In between the metaphorical bar-fights, the snippets of information, and the pub-conversations between regulars, one contributor stood head and shoulders above the rest. It was like finding a gold nugget in a dry river bed. Stanislav – a young Polish plumber. Soon he gathered a cult following, and although it can’t be quantified, I would bet that many visitors at order-order came to read stan.
In the voice of a Scotch-Polish plumber, stan laid waste to frauds and incompetents. Brilliantly written – without a gift from God it would have been impossible to generate such style and power. But, as time moved on, stan grew tired of the editorship at order-order and a new child was born - Call Me Ishmael (the chronicles of ruin). In this blog, Mr Ishmael could spread his wings, although his young friend Stanislav appeared from time to time. The content was eclectic – everything from machine tools, gardening, cooking, dogs and cats, Victorian and Edwardian furniture – but mostly topical political commentary. The loyal readership was polite and informed. After an opening piece from our host a thread could go in any direction, unfailingly interesting and often very amusing. Conversations would spontaneously erupt – despite my being on the other side of the world, with eleven hours time difference, I would often get an instant reply from Mr Ishmael in what must have been the wee hours of the morning in Scotland, best part of England. Although we never met, I feel, I hope, I knew him, and the other regulars, well.
Of course, Mr Ishmael was incredibly lucky that public life was festooned with a large cast of miscreants at which to take aim – bigger than the cast of a Verdi opera. All manner of degenerates, liars, thieves, cheats, incompetents, hypocrites; the warmongers; the serial shaggers, cuckolds, and adulterers; the shirt-lifters, shit-eaters, snot-eaters, all knowing what’s best for you and me, but not themselves. The noncing monsignors; the be-jewelled and be-medalled of modern Ruritania; the vacuous celebs prepared to flash their knickers for a picture in the Sun, happy to be insulted on TeeVee. They were all in the cross-hairs, and regularly skewered with facts and wit, and then had a 4WD SUV driven over them and reversed for good measure. Mr Ishmael was always fair and factual - if they got a good rub down with a verbal housebrick, then you can be assured the subject in question truly deserved it.
Mr Ishmael wrote in many voices, not just Scotch-Polish, as befitted the subject. In one exchange I was recounting the travails of The Memsahib; Mr Ishmael counterblasted in the voice of Sir Henry Simmerson of the South Essex Regiment (Sharpe’s Regiment): “Heavens to blazes, Mr mike, ....”. Pure poetry. I’m sure I wasn’t the only reader who read his pieces with the appropriate accent, so good was the caricature. And Stanislavian, and other, phrases and idioms have inevitably encroached on the vocabulary. He could conjure up imagery with a few well chosen words; it’s probably lost in the mists of the blogosphere but I suspect it was stan who first described Gordon Snot wearing a nappy on his rocking horse. (He hints at this himself on p.50 of the anthology ).
It was very clear that Mr Ishmael was not just a prolific writer, but also an avid reader and watcher. He had an uncanny eye for detail which eluded many others, and this allied to an incredible capacity for mimicry in his writings gave birth to the many voices that enriched his work.
Over the years there were several occasions when his readers suggested he publish a book. I always felt his three part series on Ruin would make a book, a play, or film – or all three. I can just hear Dame Judi Dench saying: “throw another shitcake on the fire”. But he always resisted, for reasons not entirely clear to me. After his sad and untimely death, it was only natural that his readers would again take up the call. Mrs Ishmael readily agreed. And Mr Verge volunteered to take on the challenge of selecting pieces for an anthology.
To my reading the anthology starts serenely, quickly rises like a volcano, then rises even higher, and latterly becomes melancholic. Like the seven ages of man. The language can be a little fruity for some, excoriating at times, but this is explained early on in Mind Your Language – the reply to Jonny W and Mr Anonymous also shows also that stan (mr ishmael) did not suffer fools. “There are no dirty words, only dirty minds”.
The archive is vast. It must have been difficult to decide what to include. I gather from mr verge that some incendiary pieces were left out – lest the usual suspects placed a call to me learned friend. We knew Mr Ishmael had health problems, but we learn for the first time the extent of those problems, and his jousting with the National Health Service. Difficult reading, although hilarious. The piece on the death of Buster was particularly heart rending, and although I’m no wuss, I don’t mind admitting it reduced me to tears.
This book is not for everyone: if you are stupid, illiterate, woke, put soy milk in your coffee, then it may not be for you. If, on the other hand, you have two functioning brain cells and are fed up with the propaganda and bias daily doled out by the MSM and the PBC, and the increasing censorship that lets the powerful and connected escape scrutiny, and need an antidote, then this is it. It deserves to be widely read; in a sensible world it would be on the reading list for A-Level and Open University students, if only as an exemplar on how to write. It probably won’t because people are now increasingly afraid to voice their true opinions, except sotto voce to trusted colleagues, lest they be criticised or arrested.
Vale Mr Ishmael; bravo Editor Verge and Mrs Ishmael.
.................................................................................
The book is available as either paperback or hardback; we've had proof copies of both and the production quality is very good. Cover design is the same for both. 340 pages, each chapter dated in the list of contents; we have stanislav from as long ago as 2007, and some of the finest ishmael essays from the present blog. For now (there are still a few hoops to go through before it appears elsewhere, at the same price) the book is only available from lulu.com. No one's billing or delivery address, nor any payment info, will be available or disclosed to the creator of the book; all this is securely handled by the publishing platform. Ishmaelites wishing to buy a copy should follow these steps:
Please register an account with them first. This will save you a couple of quid, as going straight into the links provided below seems to make paypal think it's ok to charge in dollars, and apply their own conversion rate, which seems to put the price up slightly for a UK buyer. Once the new account is set up, follow one of the links (to either paperback or hardback) or type "Honest, Not Invent" into the Lulu Bookstore search box. If you follow a link, a pop-up box asks for age confirmation - simply set the date to (say) 1 January 1960, and proceed. If you type the title, the anthology will not appear as a search result until the "show explicit content" box (found at the bottom left by scrolling down) has been checked. You may also see the age verification box, as above, at this point.
The full title is "Honest, Not Invent - the best of stanislav, a young polish plumber", and the cover you'll see is red with white titles and a picture of Buster the Blog Dog.
Link for Hard Back :
Link for Paper Back :
Or...
shorter link for HB :
shorter link for PB :
At checkout, try LULUFAM15 in the coupon box, which (for the moment) takes 15% off the price before postage. If this code has expired by the time you reach this point, try a google search for "Lulu.com voucher code" and see what comes up.
With the 15% voucher, PB (including delivery to a UK address) should be £14.35; HB £23.74.
33 comments:
Great news. Well done, everyone.
Fabulous work. A proper tribute to a brave and hugely talented man.
Top reviews too, thanks.
Thank you, mr mongoose and mr bungalow bill. All the credit and my gratitude go to mr verge for providing the best and most meaningful memorial to mr ishmael.
I shall be ordering one each HB and PB. HB for the coffee table, cos I is posh innit and PB for general consumption of visiting uneducated plebs who have yet to consume the delights within.
Many thanks to mrs Ishmael, mr Verge, mr Mike and His Majesty. I am sure the anthology will be wonderful, educational and fucking brilliant.
Thanks, all. If that 15% voucher code has expired, the next few days should accept ORDER10 and take off 10%. (And to be clear, the lulu account is mrs ishmael's. My reward as editor is satisfaction at seeing this book achieve the shelf-reality its author deserves.)
Do please spread the word; either with a link to mrs ishmael's blog-post, above, or by copy/pasting the section with the links and the stuff about the best way to approach a transaction. The more people hear about this, the better, as there should be a fair few old-school stanislav admirers still knocking about. (And as others have pointed out, I envy anyone coming to him for the first time. They'll never go near Pimlico Plumbers again, so to speak.)
I confess that as the process proceeded, I worried a bit that an inevitable editorial hyper-familiarity with the material might lead to a degree of contempt for my own initial enthusiasm - that creeping embarrassment you sometimes feel when you realise something you've raved about isn't really, after all, all that. But it never happened. The stanislav rants and lectures remained startling and funny, and the ishmael jeremiads stood firm (like a good wall should, motherfuckers.) I hope everyone who gets hold of a copy enjoys it, and reckon they probably will.
cheers
v./
Thank you, mr inmate - the anthology is all of the things you said. And you must be posh - a coffee table!
And my co-conspirator, mr verge, is now the official stanislavian/ishmaelian expert. I'm sure he could write a thesis on it now, or have it as his specialist Mastermind subject: you can imagine the scenario - scary big chair, even scarier hobgoblin interrogator: tell me, mr verge, in which month did stanislav describe the thistle-jig of shit? And what precisely does the nappy-shambles refer to?
Marvellous, just marvellous.
tnp.
The original discount code worked this morning. My copy's in the post. Huzzah!
Cheers Mrs I and Mr Verge.
tnp
Thanks, mr tnp, excellent news.
Possibly more "in the works" than in the post, though - this print-on-demand lark takes its sweet time; but there was no other way, really. They do produce a good finished article, though.
cheers
v./
Yes, Mr Verge, I’m unfortunately well acquainted with Lightning source POD, having been designing for the format for a few years. Sad to see publishers fail to take a risk on a print run, but understand their need to avoid the remainder shelf. I was disappointed not to be able to offer typesetting and layout services to you for the tomes, due to my time with the doctorbastards earlier this year. It certainly looks the business, however and with a great photo of the dog bloke on the cover. Regards.
tnp
Thanks, again, mr tnp. I've used this POD platform before, in a private/experimental manner, and found this time around that they've simplified the cover-design options, probably sick of techno-dolts like me spending ages on their site fiddling around and still never quite getting it right; they now offer a few basic templates, so we went with the red for various obvious reasons, and considering Buster's importance over the years (just checked: 62 mentions in the anthology) he was a shoe-in for the cover, with the photo being one used in a post some years back. (I'd assumed he was supervising some stanislav repairs in a wet-room, but I've been informed since that he was waiting for his Mum to come home from work, in that psychic way dogs have sometimes that Rupert Sheldrake wrote a bit about a while back.) Anyway, I hope that the textual lay-out doesn't offend your professional eye too much when you see it. Please report back when the time comes.
cheers
v./
Thank you all concerned.
I have a hardback on order to arrive in time for the bookcase I’m building.
HONEST, NOT INVENT will go top left hand side.
Meanwhile, in the spirit of the great man, I submit that the time is upon us when mass non-compliance with the fools on the hill is required. They’re going to close the North East in a couple of days, apparently, the ludicrous bastards. Ignore them all and let RoboPlod do its damnedest.
Stand up now or they will have us on our knees indefinitely.
Book to be ordered ASAP, against the darkness.
It's all very easy to do Mr Verge.
Good to know, mr bungalow bill, that you found the ordering process straight forward.I hope that the book works as a charm against the darkness, but I fear that these are apocalyptic times. Still, it'll give you a good laugh.
Yes, Mrs I, deeply concerning and I truly feel we must start to resist. The creeping tyranny is everything Mr I loathed.
There's a video around just now showing an unmasked man bravely refusing to leave some kind of talk (he's not wearing a mask) and requiring two police officers to march him out. We all have to show similar courage before it is too late. Governments do not give up powers they have stolen unless the effort of doing so becomes intolerable for them.
Not my clearest post, sorry, but you know what I'm getting at. It makes me furious, I'm afraid.
mr bungalow bill You are sadly correct, we must stand up against this tyranny. I have never before experienced such ‘shitting in our faces’ well not since the Son of Satan and his Iraq war.
Here in Bolton we have allegedly the highest number of cases in England, if not the Universe and yet people who want a test cannot get one, people queue for hours only to be told there are no tests to be had, if so few are getting a test where are the positive results coming from? Apparently 169 per 100,000 less than 0.2%. Nobody in ICU in the local hospital, no deaths reported just what the fuck is going on?
Son number two, a music teacher, had his whole year group sent home because one child, yet to return to school this term, has tested positive, because he/she may have ‘socialised’ with others outside of school. This will never end if we don’t do something.
It has become apparent that we have left "the science" behind and we are now about "the tyranny". (In digression, see above - Ishmael passim re Mr Tory Blather's "the investment".)
It is now openly said that the restrictions are not based on accuracy or science or reason but simply on err, simplicity (of message). We are being coerced in simple terms so that there can be no argument that we have misunderstood and thereafter we may be be dealt violence - first financial (eg Piers Corbyn) and failing that lock-up violence. It is necessary that the resopnse to the virus is non-scienfitifc because I am too stupid to understand what is required. Now, when I cross the road I do not wash my hands or wear a mask but I do look both ways. Whe I fixed the table lamp earlier today, I did neither of those things either but I did unplug the bugger first. Thus do human beings make their own arrangements against the probable hazards of the day. Whay are we being treated like children by a bunch of PPE/Mods-and-Greats scientific half-wits?
It is a wickedness.
in York last week I saw a lot of shops had the same "Please wait here to be assisted" notice posted outside. If we allow an American spelling, the insertion of a nice big F wouldn't go amiss.
v./
AssFisted...took me a while
This is my first entry on the blog although I have been an avid disciple of the great man for many years.
Just confirming that I registered an account on Lulu and ordered my copy of this long anticipated anthology in memory of Mr I.
The process was very simple and 15% discount applied.
I very much look forward to a fantastic read.
Well done Mrs I, Mr Verge and the rest of the blog family for your efforts to make this publication possible.
I have long had a great empathy for the writings hailing from Dundee and worked in Brum for thirty years.
Probably not something I should be bragging about!
Keep up the good work Mrs I in these dark satanic times.
Cheers
Jock Roach.
Dear mr roach, very many welcomes to the commentariat! I do hope that this is not your first and last contribution - always lovely to hear from ishmaelites. Sounds as though you've escaped from Brum after 30 years hard labour - much the same for me, before I found Fucking Scotland, best part of England. Mind you, Brum has a much to recommend it - not least the best collection of Pre-Raphaelites anywhere and some fine Victorian buildings.
Thank you, mr inmate, for solving the F puzzle. I didn't like to ask, for fear of appearing stupid. Can't do crosswords, either.
It is a wickedness, mr mongoose. Consider what has been done to our elderly and ill: solitary confinement without trial or appeal. Garden visits from selected, limited family members.
What's to be done, though? Taking arms against a sea of troubles is fraught with a certain danger in these days of enhanced police powers and limited access to the Courts. We need to channel the spirit of the Suffragettes.
What’s to be done, though Mrs I?
Well if I may make a couple of suggestions: General strike? Stop the direct debit for Council Tax, pay quarterly or six monthly. Pay for everything in cash. Cut up the credit card. Boycott the big supermarkets one month at a time. Stop upgrading to the latest ithing. Stop buying new shit we don’t need. Mend clothes, furniture, cars, appliances. Employ local tradesmen, shop local, pay in cash. Cancel the teletax, stop funding our tormentors. Get off Fakebook and Twatter. Pay for everything in cash. Do not ever, ever cooperate with the filth, fuck em. Write, email or text, constantly, with complaints to your local MP. Change your utilities supplier regularly and do not except a smart meter. Pay for everything in cash. Get to know your neighbours, invite them in for brew. Take the piss out of authority figures. Support your local pubs and cafes/ restaurants.
Non of the above is illegal and I like to think the late great mr Ishmael would agree, non violent, civil disobedience is what we must get into, make it part of our everyday life, do not comply. Oh, and Pay for everything in cash.
Well it’d be a start.
Yes, Mr Inmate, we must become awkward and cunning and we must find comfort among ourselves. Guerrilla tactics. My crumbling knees probably rule out crawling through tunnels, but the younger folk may have to give that sort of thing a try in the not too distant, if they want to stay human.
messers BB, inmate, mongoose and Mrs I: something very odd happening, and its happening down here as well. Unprecedented crack down on civil liberties - and we have had only a tick over 800 deaths mostly in hospitals and care homes because of incompetence. I have my suspicions its caused by an impending financial collapse. Maybe the US election will be the trigger. Dangerous times. A second lockdown in the UK will be a disaster, with a generation at least wiped out. Boris is looking a spent force, poor dear. Not looking good.
excellent ideas, mr inmate. Nothing illegal, just a huge nuisance factor. Looking at your list, I can tick quite a few items, apart from the cash thing. Is it true that one is still entitled for one's salary to be paid in cash, if requested?
The late, great mr ishmael would completely have agreed with you, apart from getting to know the neighbours and frequenting restaurants. Maybe you haven't recently read How to Kill and Eat a TV Cook? It's in the anthology. He would have added to your list stop paying the PBC Licence Fee. (mind, that one is illegal)
Sorry to hear about the knees, mr bungalow bill. Would you allow me to recommend Glucosamine sulphate? It has me skipping up and down the stairs like a mountain goat. In clinical trials, it was found to be particularly good for knees. Might get you down those tunnels. And, on the topic of vitamin supplementation, Vitamin D for all ishmaelites! Should you be so unfortunate as to contract Covid - and mr mike is reassuring about that possibility; Vitamin D will enable your body to fight back. It is so good that the Scottish Government is encouraging its use in all their coronabriefings. Get out in the sun without sunscreen and wearing minimal clothing for 20 minutes daily - wave those lily-white legs in the air - and/or take a Vitamin D supplement.
I had a boss, once, who, in the face of the world going tits-up, would say, it's a bit of a worry. If mr mike says there's an impending financial collapse, then believe it - mr mike knows about these things, on account of his sordid past, which he has been kind enough to share with us ( callmeishmael passim).
There's lots of things I don't understand - I'm the first to confess that I have little Latin and absolutely no Greek and that my mathematical ability is vestigial. But I can recognise when a game is being played and that, as mr mike tells us, these are dangerous times. Do you remember Robert Bolt's A Man for All Seasons? Here's a quote: "This country's planted thick with laws from coast to coast--man's laws, not God's--and if you cut them down...d'you really think you could stand upright in the winds that would blow then?
The laws are being hacked down, and we'll be shivering in the subsequent blast.
Alas, poor Boris.
Thanks for the tip, Mrs I. I haven't heard of that and will give it a go asap.
There is no tracking of cash Mrs I, the less we use cash, the sooner they’ll remove it. Stopping paying the tv tax is not illegal, you’re just not supposed to watch live tele without a licence, however streaming tv, as the new people do, is perfectly legal.
Cancelling the direct debit for council tax really pisses off the local council; there is nothing in the Local Govament Finance Act that says it has to be paid monthly and paying in instalments of differing amounts in cash leaves them not knowing if and when the money is coming.
Don’t know about cash from an employer, p’raps better not to upset the boss atm.
I will try the Gucosulphate, see if it helps the creaking shoulder, the better half and I are on Vit D 1000 iu/day.
And further, mr inmate, just because the buggers have made a law to make something a criminal offence does not make it necessarily wrong. I consider my social duty to never pay for a TV licence ever again. Fuck 'em. And as you say, nobody watches TV like that anymore. 'Live' TV, are they daft?
I havent watched tv or had a licence for years now i wonder sometimes why anyone would watch it, I mean as far as i can remember it was all social conditioning and propaganda. Health after years of drunkeness i returned to cycling 0ver 3 years ago the improvements in my health are stunning, my middle son said i dont walk like an old man anymore, an increase in leg muscle must be responsible , i average about 15/ 20 miles a day on my racing bike and the riding position cured my upper back pain, But perhaps i have reasonable genes, i mean Harrison Ford said choose your parents wisely!
Can't do a damn thing about the genetic inheritance, mr benjamin, but we do the best we can with the material to hand. And it sounds like you've got there - well done!
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