tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-60659987312670254992024-03-19T08:47:14.336+00:00call me ishmaelThe chronicles of Ruin, continued.
Call me Ishmael said....intelligence is knowing what to do when you don't know what to do.
Anonymous said... When I don't know what to do,I come here.
10 September 2009 22:59call me ishmaelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14369028864168461729noreply@blogger.comBlogger2104125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6065998731267025499.post-85150949797273298192024-03-17T17:41:00.003+00:002024-03-17T17:44:27.656+00:00The Sunday Ishmael: 17/03/2024<div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: times;"><i> <span style="background-color: white; font-size: 20px; text-indent: -1em;">“And hast thou slain the Jabberwock? </span><span style="background-color: white; font-size: 20px; text-indent: -1em;">Come to my arms, my beamish boy!</span><span style="background-color: white; font-size: 20px; text-indent: -1em;"> O frabjous day! Callooh! Callay!”</span><span style="background-color: white; font-size: 20px; text-indent: -1em;"> He chortled in his joy.</span></i></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="801" data-original-width="748" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiL2TI-4kuivQ9755K6lE-VfOEbInNjAwnhYYtCX-KGcv_527UoMbTw2pVtIDRLxxIjMTaf6316jkE-S9cA2aiH419my6yIjphzEECtWDaxG83QNtKeo_ARonS2JggY5KbgDSMYtz94AYF_K2KP9PHqQPAQFD8l5POSGFUTzQpDfLBYJDFGvSMAlgUcQR8/w374-h400/Jabberwock.png" style="font-family: times; font-style: italic;" width="374" /></div><div style="text-align: center; text-indent: -20px;"><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="background-color: white; text-indent: -1em;"><span style="font-size: large;"><i> W</i>ell, I haven't actually, Dad. Slain the Jabberwock. And please don't call me Beamish Boy. It's </span></span><span style="background-color: white; text-indent: -1em;"><span style="font-size: large;">a museum in Northumberland. I've asked you, like, a thousand times. No, while I was standing by the Tum-Tum tree and having an uffish think, you know, it occurred to me that wanting to kill all jabberwocks is kind of racist. Or jihadist. Or a genocide or something. I think it is</span><span style="font-size: 20px;"> </span></span><span style="font-size: large;">essential to engage in respectful dialogue, considering the humanitarian impact and the complexities of regional dynamics. And, while we are having a sleeves-rolled-up heart-to-heart father/son soul-baring discussion, I know you won't mind if I point out that sending me out alone, away from home, to kill a flaming-eyed, whiffling, not to mention burbling, monster (sorry, is that monsterist? I retract the monsterist slur unreservedly, and maybe I can make up for it by bunging £5mill to the charity of your choice, but not the Labour Party, obvs.) where was I? Yes, sending me out, alone, armed only with a vorpal sword, kind of breaches child protection safeguarding protocols. I'd need Abrams tanks, Leopard Tanks and Challenger tanks, not to mention some Storm Shadow missiles if you are seriously expecting me to conduct your poxy, sorry, proxy war, on the Jabberwock nation. If that was even a good idea in the first place, like. I mean, we don't even know the Jabberwock's preferred pronouns, let alone whether it was fed puberty-blocking drugs by evil doctor/scientist/ideologues when it was a wee small brute (sorry, no offence intended, again, can I assuage your pain with another bung of £2mill or so?), resulting in brittle bones, the inability to breathe effective flame and the lack of winkie-development causing insufficient penile tissue to hollow-out like a sausage skin, turn inside out and ram up inside its downstairs parts and a complete inability to enjoy itself with another Jabberwock in the sack, and not be able to have little Jabberers.</span></span></div><div style="text-align: center; text-indent: -20px;"><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: center; text-indent: -20px;"><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: large;"><i> Yes, I see your position, my son, and I completely respect it, but how are we to get to the last verse if you won't fulfil your role?</i></span></span></div><div style="text-align: center; text-indent: -20px;"><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: large;"><i><br /></i></span></span></div><div style="text-align: center; text-indent: -20px;"><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: large;">Thank you for respecting my position, Dad, and for desisting in the whole Beamish Boy thing, but your question draws in the whole issue of free will. Do I have it, or not? Am I no more than an instrument of Western aggression, white supremacy, a coercive tool, a puppet? or do I have my own soul, my own spark of divine fire?</span></span></div><div style="text-align: center; text-indent: -20px;"><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: center; text-indent: -20px;"><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: large;"> <i>I was also counting on you to do your bit against the JubJub Bird and the Frumious Bandersnatch, while you're at it. I'd go myself, but I'm too old for armed conflict. I have to confine myself to strategy, these days.</i></span></span></div><div style="text-align: center; text-indent: -20px;"><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: large;"><i><br /></i></span></span></div><div style="text-align: center; text-indent: -20px;"><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: large;"><i> Y</i>es, Dad, I do appreciate that you are a senior now and that we may need to have a family conference soon to decide if we should approach Dr. Shipman for a touch of physician-assisted very end of life care, but if we prop you up and move you around you can still read the auto-cue very convincingly and win the people's votes. But could you tell me what the last verse is that you need my help in achieving? </span></span></div><div style="text-align: center; text-indent: -20px;"><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></span></div><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><div style="text-align: center;"><i>’Twas brillig, and the slithy toves did gyre and gimble in the wabe: All mimsy were the borogoves, and the mome raths outgrabe.</i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i><br /></i></div><div style="text-align: center;">But that's the first verse!</div><div style="text-align: center;"><i><br /></i></div></span><div><div style="text-align: center;"><i style="font-family: times; font-size: x-large;">Indeed, my son, </i><i style="font-family: times; font-size: x-large;">Whatever has happened before will happen again. Whatever has been done before will be done again. And there is no new thing under the sun. </i><span style="font-family: times; font-size: medium;">Ecclesiastes 1.9</span></div><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><div style="text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="801" data-original-width="748" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgAPM6bwThTdZ1UUQEbTxtcwnwYcFbhUygSsFRgcssBt2IfMugM0LwpyxBCEOeQTTKpaWkIAOKmLxWxmjm9Fa11wVsbzgk-8yf7_O8uA1KChu98VfcoI1zdps3MmFQtaVANmUMQULOQVkttMyv231Mix7_LCUz0pQkXnU5VFFTd6uxietReu70LToTikAg/w187-h200/Jabberwock.png" width="187" /> </div></span><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">Watching Diane Abbott jump up and down like a fiddler's elbow on the 13th March during PMQs and being totally and completely ignored by Mr. Northern Speaker, whilst the white boys were talking about her and deciding between themselves just how bad remarks made about her 5 years ago were, several conclusions leapt forth: nobody likes her, nobody wants to hear her, this row was not actually about her, she was just a handy peg to hang the usual PMQ badinage upon, racism remains great fodder for publicity and, primarily, there has to be a better method for ordering Parliamentary business and deciding who gets to speak than this business of jumping up and trying to catch Mr. Speaker's Eye. I thought it was a disgraceful, opportunistic shambles.</div><div style="text-align: center;">Now, mr ishmael has had a great deal to say about Diane Abbott over the years. This is not because he was racist, nor were his posts racist. It was because, as a politician, and a rather dim and hypocritical one at that, she was fair game. There's a difference between being nasty about someone and being racist. Okay, it is not very nice to be rude, and it seems that being nasty is about to be reclassified as hate speech and to become a major offence - all part of the contraction and denial of free speech that is currently blighting our society, crippling debate and strangling satire.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="328" data-original-width="496" height="265" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjeLk8oWl_MBNRt_PxsoYrnztqJ71NCEAjaavhIO5a57alPn9NgDiOJdDMjdGJJ4F8qoZOSlLQIHkEokMKA8i25b5UF4ZP5zgF3TDgwM61s_jtgt-1t6tJEb8zD6pJ65l4aBSuU60d3rBqavQVSDIjlQIme2KvTyMOpNNeeCLDP1lNQsi0nY7_Nm1b4xec/w400-h265/John%20Bull.jpg" width="400" /></div></span><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><div style="text-align: center;">Wiki tells us that Satire is a genre of the visual, literary, and performing arts in which vices, follies, abuses, and shortcomings are held up to ridicule, with the intent of exposing or shaming the perceived flaws of individuals, corporations, government, or society itself into improvement. Although satire is usually meant to be humorous, its greater purpose is often constructive social criticism, using wit to draw attention to both particular and wider issues in society. A feature of satire is strong irony or sarcasm —"in satire, irony is militant", according to literary critic Northrop Frye, but parody, burlesque, exaggeration, juxtaposition, comparison, analogy, and double entendre are all frequently used in satirical speech and writing. This "militant" irony or sarcasm often professes to approve of (or at least accept as natural) the very things the satirist wishes to question.</div><div style="text-align: center;">That is what we do here - not racism. Judge for yourself: here's some pieces by mr ishmael for your consideration.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><img alt="" border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8CAZDy5aDtv4gJLjJsgAmbN9apBsC16wICofYEtqdgVpPkYz4YBvGmdhGeYwkoiTI7kSVnml6MnYaTucKiIInQS-eNQKaWu38-AvohOb-pdIG_l5wfVG9qq51SyyuvML5SdburOb_eVXq/w350-h400/diane-abbott.jpg" width="350" /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><div style="clear: both; font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: medium;"><br /></div><div>VOTE4ME, SAYS TELLY'S SOCIALIST STUNNA, DI, AND ALL YOUR CHILDREN CAN GO TO PRIVATE SCHOOLS, LIKE MINE DOES. (20/5/2010)</div><div>It is my commitment to socialist values - and to appearing on telly with comrades like the feminist, Peter Stringpenis - which makes me the outstanding candidate to lead this great party, this great nation, this great audience. People want to watch better late-night telly and I'm just the person not to give it to them. If people vote for me, I can guarantee that I will be on all channels, waving my arms around, tongue-tied and giggling, like a fucking ignoramus.</div><div>Twenty years I have run my constituency and it's now worse than ever - poorer, dirtier and more violent; that's the sort of leadership I can offer the viewers.</div><div>Vote Lard for a Britain fair to clapped-out career politicians and social climbers.</div><div><br /></div><div><div><i>Now, the moral of this story, the moral of this song, is simply that one should never be where one does not belong.......</i></div><div><br /></div><div>Not for nothing are journalists rightly despised, scribbling rubbish in the London papers and spouting drivel on telly, Diane Lard has made a comfortable, private school living pretending to be one of them; in addition to her handsomely-paid public servant role Abbott has boosted her income, not due to her talent or merit - there is much better commentary in these cyber-pages than would ever spring from her leaden opinionising - but due to her position; last night, she found that journalism is a little more brutal than she had imagined.</div><div><br /></div><div>Bumptious, hypocritical gabshite beasted on mainstream Tee-Vee</div><div><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="288" data-original-width="512" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7fpcwuWAJePQSgbF1qF-e32C4Zhm9XAIBmsW28t3O9OVRvCELItC3S9H0aA1obp0_XaidrPNGX1AS68iIXwMmbG2lUm2CXk1ilu1CKdWr1ka0kPchimShgv1CGp6PJCkBIPtDR6JINqvNnhjNGIe2DxRtz30iknPTn1YNN2h_AIdeMM1RbfR3VGCvq0g/w400-h225/Abbott%20and%20Portillo.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" width="400" /></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Abbott and Costello debate the week's news</td></tr></tbody></table><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="288" data-original-width="512" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2PumSSjpGBMBbN8e9d5TygK2aTIf_A1bBDb6i-0V_0MldUj1idhPuWliIwOsdcBQvmupVXDd_oH1O1xIFlijRdTY5NcXVYloVgHmd5X44VwL0rp0-rI8NJhx43UmHB4Lu2gA6kkLeLWq4PBt9eSpWmdVrUD5934BNfVWTRikgmN-o-PInpCXIrSYpy44/w400-h225/Andrew%20Neill.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" width="400" /></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Under the guidance of Andrew Neill</td></tr></tbody></table><div><img alt="" border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqgWsDdQzpjHOZMfMsgh6ffGgNqDS2_gArbP4BGdX_FPPITfwouvcoDA4jgXYtc-WAyc1N_EfRb3cpQc5dYRQtUhKeGBLD0FEiKfeM6ixrD_JQNVLr8U2ZVQyKfSG3GPMFJv8ZJoXL126F/s400/FIJJI5+006.JPG" /></div><div>If you missed this week's This Week, among the usual frothy rubbish, pantomime journalists in boats and numbskull, nobody celebrities, there was a dark moment or two of political reality as Andrew Neil effortlessly exposed the hypocrisy and self-interest, the utter poverty of intellect or principle at the heart of Ms Abbott; she really is as stupid as she sounds, as venal, as precious, as astonishingly maladroit and incompetent as one has always suspected. Unable to explain, refute or even divert Neil's questions about her expenses, her own, stagey racism, her contradictory, greedy, self-centred parental decisions, she floundered, Oh-Andrewing, as though these straightforward - and long, long overdue - questions were beneath her. So utterly banal and worthless was her performance, so embarrassing, that one wondered, not for the first time, why it was that Neil has for so long pretended to value her opinion.</div><div></div><div>Had Abbott fanned a few flames of hope, that she might wrest a shadow front bench role from this pretend leadership bid, she will today be staring into their embers.</div></div><div><br /></div><div>MINDLESS CRIMINALS RECALLED, NUMBER 1. </div><div>DIANE "I HAVE WALKED THE STREETS OF HACKNEY" ABBOTT. (11/8/2011)</div></div><div style="text-align: center;"><div>I would just like to say, Mr Tiny Speaker, that I have walked the streets of Hackney and I would simply say that these people should be like me, they should flog a load of intolerable old bilge to the newspapers - or columns as I like to call my oeuvre - for fifty grand or so, get themselves on the BBC with that wearisome old poof, Portillo, and get paid about a grand an hour for dribbling and waving their arms around and then they should get get a job moonlighting in this place, along with six hundred-odd others who really know the meaning of the word looting. Oh yes, Mr Tiny Speaker, and they should take several holidays a year in the Caribbean and of course send their sons to decent public schools. Like I do.<br />Cheers, waving of order papers, <i>singing:</i> for she's a jolly good darky, for she's a jolly good darky, for she's a jolly good darky and so say all of us (apart from the Old Etonians, former Bullingdon Club members and HM Govament, prop. skymadeupnewsandfilth)</div><div style="text-align: left;"><i> Mr Tiny Speaker:</i> I call the Unelected Prime Minister. Mr David CallHimDave.</div><div><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">Mr CHD -Well, I thank the honourable skanky 'ho and would just like to remind members that this whole rioting thing is an ideal opportunity for the public to forget that we, the cops, the press and the bankers are all picking their pockets, closing down their services and shitting in their faces. And is, therefore, a jolly good thing, for us at any rate. And that's what matters.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div>Cheers, hear-hear, <i>singing</i>: we're all going back on a Summer Holiday.</div><div><br /></div><div><i>Revisited:</i> Prompted by mr oldrightie I checked Abbott's entry in the Register of Members' Bungs; the BBC only paid her approximately three hours @ £300 for her hourly appearances on This Week probably an hour in make up, an hour getting pissed and an hour on the sofa, not quite a grand an hour, then. ITV, by contrast, paid her the whole grand for her appearance on Cash In The Fucking Attic. Got her finger right on the pulse of urban deprivation has Comrade Abbott. Fuckpig.</div></div></span><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="text-align: left;">As well as a regular income for appearing on BBC1's This Week on Thursday nights, she received a £14,326 "pre-production fee" for the BBC's Play It Again programme in which she tries to learn the piano.</span></div></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="801" data-original-width="748" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhwTwE7SmIIf-fQGxZz0wNPLotnhcUGE10DnviwVBEZiGj__wbP29ErEIFGyMBvQSepwvIfNb6zryW095xEAh6Xqj4OEuGNqC0DkqwWLTbiJ10DoGNennRMPvQQ73SZh0fnmHcheATCwGIUAZY8RkdhyphenhyphenqZGK7FRsWAjWtaOg0rS3ZLDCTWNDXupRzI-jFM/w187-h200/Jabberwock.png" width="187" /></div><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">What happened to little master Abbott, for whom his mum sacrificed her socialist principles on the altar of her maternal ambition just so's he could have a private education?</span></div></div><div><div style="text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEibAsxP1jMMFXdCsKaP6ukpfNr1ow4bHWzoW6yLYtwIsY2jlszX6vGy_4jIh_sThzuQVHHBIcM53ragbReZklbS2gwDyw1JYlJyQl3w1PuwRfG7f1ndauIMn0imBMQbKmNPeDxfWyvtlM4K/w228-h400/jhvg+gfc.jpg" style="font-family: times; font-size: x-large;" width="228" /></div><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><div style="text-align: center;">Little James Abbott-Thompson is now 33, and after his private school education, his degree at Cambridge, his career in the Foreign Office and his diplomatic posting to Rome, he became addicted to crystal meth and chased his mum round her house, wielding scissors, claiming he had a gun in his dressing gown, bit a police officer who was attempting to detain him under the Mental Health Act with drug-induced psychosis, committed <span style="background-color: white; letter-spacing: -0.16px; text-align: left;"> </span><span style="background-color: white; letter-spacing: -0.16px; text-align: left;">eight further attacks, assaulting two nurses, a doctor, a therapist and four police officers. Three of his victims were female. </span><span style="background-color: white; letter-spacing: -0.16px; text-align: left;"> He later</span><span style="background-color: white; letter-spacing: -0.16px; text-align: left;"> exposed himself at Homerton Hospital, racially abused a nurse, assaulted her and smashed her glasses. </span><span style="background-color: white; letter-spacing: -0.16px; text-align: left;">The next day he set upon another policeman, and a few days later assaulted two officers outside the Foreign Office, where he had been employed. He eventually pleaded guilty t</span><span style="background-color: white; letter-spacing: -0.16px; text-align: left;">o carrying out 12 assaults as well as racially aggravated criminal damage, making threats and exposing himself.</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">Diane Abbott herself has a bit of a history of racism. In 1996, w<span style="text-align: left;">riting in her local paper, the Hackney Gazette, she criticised the appointment to posts at Homerton Hospital, Hackney, of "</span><span style="text-align: left;">blonde, blue-eyed girls from Finland, instead of nurses from the Caribbean who know the language and understand British culture and institutions''. Nursing unions and the hospital were furious, and </span><span style="background-color: white; text-align: left;">Sir Patrick Cormack, Tory chairman of the all-party Finland group, said: ``Finland has the most excellent health service, and very fine nurses, and I'm sure an authority employing them won't be employing inadequate people.''</span></div></span><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><div style="text-align: center;">And, of course, Abbott is currently suspended from the Labour Party and under investigation by them following a letter she wrote to the Observer, in which she stated that only Proper Black People, really Black People, can experience racism. Any negative experiences by white people who aren't Proper White People, Really White People, like Jews, or redheads, are experiencing prejudice, not racism. This view is considered to be racist.</div><div style="text-align: center;">So, the remarks made by Tory tosser and donor, Frank Hester in 2019, should be considered within the context that everyone is racist. Including the Abbotts, mère et fils. Mr Hester said: "It's like trying not to be racist but you see Diane Abbott on the TV, and you're just like I hate, you just want to hate all black women because she's there, and I don't hate all black women at all, but I think she should be shot."</div></span><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><div style="text-align: center;">Gold to the Labour party, of course, who are demanding that Mr. Hester is given his money back and unpersoned. £10 million. No wonder Sunak is resisting. "He's said sorry, hasn't he? And we want to keep the money."</div><div style="text-align: center;">Parliamentarians are now falling over themselves to prove that British politics is not racist, calling in aid the following:</div></span><span style="font-family: times;"><div style="font-size: x-large; text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="895" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjdOuYCNq54JeAcMghPSGdH7brDjUCkkQBkj5dx0kgxINKaus4uMYN00Ngq6MDg46tOOLBHwe9obu1QcIOK7RMNbP6FGQ0yljQcGPcCktkuvSokf-XThy2SPh_ALqSThDflfdLUMWLgu96dfAyjUmMRdJ-Mr-ZY00CnSU5zjvofJ9AaPQ77t5G0EssnhQU/w299-h400/sunak%20and%20soldiers.jpg" width="299" /></div>Unelected Prime Minister of the United Kingdom, Rishi Sunak</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-size: x-large; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="200" data-original-width="267" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjEt-m6FLsACll4Zl-8eePZytMvpvtMwwrkNim7Qi5SoIEabdreo18FBPVp7mv6h7ithHeXcCZk3Z3MB-ixWbmP8UVZTbSFL40t9YD345vqbugiOijgdUvvD-Sc8IXOqLltdyzXA2ottdXjcrUxbRbTYzMk3r5ePYqTc0z_hRFTp3dT0CeZpzMnNi8aZwk/w400-h300/Humza%202.jpg" width="400" /></div><div style="font-size: x-large; text-align: center;">Unelected First Minister of Scotland, Humza Usaf</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjT6FDDG7S92H6uctGnl7dhr-HHY32wKFRPqRPCDTxvHsjExTFnn4yZBUiBy1cO55guPLLcly_V2bJgaKpz1jOSC4aox3-MrCew0pA1c-HU0khhUuAD7ypLzwms3mNvJJL556iEz3JFH249SfghqAUoQTplyvyScxXmcma5Qk3vzAUifzPW5uWVkxB_DAU/s311/Gething%202.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="180" data-original-width="311" height="232" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjT6FDDG7S92H6uctGnl7dhr-HHY32wKFRPqRPCDTxvHsjExTFnn4yZBUiBy1cO55guPLLcly_V2bJgaKpz1jOSC4aox3-MrCew0pA1c-HU0khhUuAD7ypLzwms3mNvJJL556iEz3JFH249SfghqAUoQTplyvyScxXmcma5Qk3vzAUifzPW5uWVkxB_DAU/w400-h232/Gething%202.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div style="font-size: x-large; text-align: center;">Unelected Leader of the Welsh Assembly, Vaughan Gething</div></span><span style="font-family: times; font-size: medium;"><div style="text-align: center;">"No, I'm not giving back the £200,000 given me by my criminal chum, David Neal. It's a legitimate political donation, look you". David John Neal, twice convicted of environmental offences as head of two companies, Atlantic Recycling and Neal Soil Suppliers. Gething's ministerial colleague Lee Waters, described the donation as "completely unjustifiable and wrong".</div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>"Want to make something of it, boyo? I yam the first Black person in my family for a thousand generations to attend university. Oh no, that was Kinnock. And he was a Ginger"</i></div><div style="text-align: center;">Are all Welsh politicians pompous windbags?</div></span><span style="font-family: times;"><div style="font-size: x-large; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-size: x-large; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="349" data-original-width="620" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDJheQWWw1RE8Np-Da7NtpK8C4pNusuPAtlXOqrA6EkF5zIxHNkaiyxieYJvqB_8ttdnUcdupwE4jQ_l7okUganAgtQHFbK3HUD0ZX0pdywXxM0URqPqmdAzwbYR7gTJzZNMr-sX00MCLCmraqgalfDmWNK8UYXjAjW0OhaAWYs4Dj-LRvBCItUa3JdFg/w400-h225/Anas%20Sarwar.jpg" width="400" /></div><div style="font-size: x-large; text-align: center;">Labour leader in Scotland, Anas Sarwar</div><div style="font-size: x-large; text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="577" data-original-width="640" height="361" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEju8m8Bdr7F0hW_ZIxUcLSYvF3kGKyJSMG4vulHFZ33DYkrkddd793BnhjANGAjU2EvdsN-j1-kH59SPkIwrBdOU1uIS21ZRTuPwg6btcLjdPxzEOE1zafNOkAG2XN2pcypdKIIZUm_c_jMD4w4ADZedxliZQK2Dgap8WX-EkcI2C6FzlcgWkZcBB55Oao/w400-h361/Sadiq%20Khan.jpg" width="400" /></div>Mayor of London, Sadiq Khan<br /><span style="background-color: white; color: #141414; text-align: left;"><br /></span></div></span><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><div style="text-align: center;">They must have run out of white, upper-class, middle-aged chaps. We'll see how racist the people of Britain are when all these unelected post holders go to the country and seek to be elected later this year. They are saying the Plotters are suggesting Penny Mordaunt, Sword Bearer, should wield her sword into Sunak's back and lead the Tory boys into another glorious Reich of unending glory.</div></span><div style="font-size: x-large; text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="328" data-original-width="474" height="276" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjEl4-mNCbesKZ6LQ2WfWpVzO-7yXUzl9cGf4PVBDBvqRQjLu-Jmjebzxbi_aZW5me3FnlSKjoGX4vV_W4jlGb8jW9rfvjV0M3__mNGKAjtO2MppXz-U3EZqerS4gaGQx6gJHAdY-IBeInuEzTqfI3-hgDWzrzLIst8eE8XOppjrBVXkvZPx8OSxb4TCVU/w400-h276/Penny%20Mordaunt%20sword%20bearer.jpg" width="400" /></div><br /></div></div><div style="text-align: center; text-indent: -20px;"><span style="color: #141823; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><i>"You are old," said the youth; one would hardly suppose</i></span></span></div><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><i><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: #141823;"> That your eye was as steady as ever;</span></div><span style="color: #141823;"><div style="text-align: center;"> Yet you balanced an eel on the end of your nose —</div></span><span style="color: #141823;"><div style="text-align: center;"> What made you so awfully clever?"</div></span><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: #141823;"><br /></span></div><span style="color: #141823;"><div style="text-align: center;"> "I have answered three questions, and that is enough,"</div></span><span style="color: #141823;"><div style="text-align: center;"> Said his father; "don't give yourself airs!</div></span><span style="color: #141823;"><div style="text-align: center;"> Do you think I can listen all day to such stuff?</div></span><span style="color: #141823;"><div style="text-align: center;"> Be off, or I'll kick you down stairs!"</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div></span></i></span><div style="text-align: center; text-indent: -20px;"><div style="text-indent: 0px;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #141414;">The f</span><span style="background-color: white; color: black; font-style: inherit; font-variant-caps: inherit; font-variant-ligatures: inherit; font-weight: inherit; text-align: left;">our-volume</span><span style="background-color: white; color: black; font-style: inherit; font-variant-caps: inherit; font-variant-ligatures: inherit; font-weight: inherit; text-align: left;"> </span><span style="background-color: white; color: black; font-style: inherit; font-variant-caps: inherit; font-variant-ligatures: inherit; font-weight: inherit;">Call Me Ishmael oeuvre, collected and curated by editor mr verge, is available on Lulu and Amazon.</span></span></div><div style="text-indent: 0px;"><img border="0" height="133" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRJCv9T1Bcq1AFtN1lgllwI1UnV6D1vSFcIIlK4GDHxh2AIm4ZvLVr35fOuHfIdaQZMam0fpwx4_T2KOJJOfkTpjdj-77dcyQtI6IJ3UVRMxaxYJ12yGgEBvJEB9w2Q74dpp0wYjJj2eI/w200-h133/thumbnail_COVER1+%25282%2529.png" style="text-align: left;" width="200" /><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgB-6JNv0jzD-R6hVIQdseWlNzsQLWKPechwQLF-xBeWkTc2KBvQxd80TyV3YWU9LaKJXse5ACodyzCVXD4dj6Tauuh5V_qW3-aky-yLGAJoMA9jgq45-i8TSb1KkijC-XCS5HDiFBEO5s/w141-h200/vent+stack.png" width="141" /><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjdQlcfm-4zheOEcRYhuwdhvN3DhLeGtm_lQC_27iRcmVLSW44CpLdukXz8QTXTWfOLCzUEY2jsIVynLG9DlbzcCZtbaD13WF_XDyKjNpuEdecwGCEX9ypq4nAjH3gm7pXxVODPXhlKtXxMg48D41QCsTG_hVYJUMIZ7N_bSjdRdYMGRalX1IWsAoR7/w141-h200/Ishmael" width="141" /><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEip2EzAoKCLON9L8HJyC277gD1ITzLx35xSCKihjE4TB61OSh9LSeBcqfZ9iJC-nbiwe9U3ZMyHAminiob0CmWfcHHu4r491WHBWKcz4U1ywHvGM11tl-yds2PLCJaMecibLj6MhGLKfVMuR0SiAAHwOttqy6tLWBip7Wgpl56dGFLiQt3ij_6tBtNcSp8/w141-h200/Flush%20Test.jpg" width="141" /></div><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0px;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large; text-align: left;"></span><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large; text-align: left;"></span></p><div><div style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-size: large;">Honest Not Invent, Vent Stack, Ishmael’s Blues, and the latest, Flush Test (with a nice picture of the late, much lamented, Mr Harris of Lanarkshire taking a piss on a totem pole) are available from Lulu and Amazon. If you buy from Amazon, it would be nice if you could give a review on their website.</span></div><div style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-size: large;">Ishmaelites wishing to buy a copy from lulu should follow these steps :</span></div><div style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-size: large;">please register an account first, at lulu.com. This is advisable because otherwise paypal seems to think it's ok to charge in dollars, and they then apply their own conversion rate, which might put the price up slightly for a UK buyer. Once the new account is set up, follow one of the links below (to either paperback or hardback) or type "Ishmael’s Blues" into the Lulu Bookstore search box. Click on the “show explicit content” tab, give the age verification box a date of birth such as 1 January 1960, and proceed.</span></div><div style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-size: large;">Link for Hardcover : https://tinyurl.com/je7nddfr</span></div><div style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-size: large;">Link for Paperback : https://tinyurl.com/3jurrzux</span></div><div style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-size: large;">https://www.lulu.com/shop/ishmael-smith/flush-test/paperback/product-9yjvn7.html?q=Flush+Test&page=1&pageSize=4</span></div><div style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">At checkout, try WELCOME15 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.<br />With the 15% voucher, PB (including delivery to a UK address) should be £16.84; HB £27.04.</span><div style="font-size: medium;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="180" data-original-width="240" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-7-qXZdfhiM5MBbuBObhd5DVIcPelaFoAMsnLEgzQVMEIR0DKdptaVsdKZ78KAe72xTsUtcQVeJsWRQJVs0xQ6myfuR5XB0nZNF6PAC0_OZCaHYRPYP122PB-rc72W6nxBiX4mbK1WN5SjJNo0AUe2OEisyvzyVbrxvG4qxZAAVHMA7_U4qn2v064tG8/w400-h300/CLOVER.jpg" width="400" /></div><br /><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div></div></div>call me ishmaelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14369028864168461729noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6065998731267025499.post-45756083714804480492024-03-15T17:30:00.000+00:002024-03-15T17:30:13.251+00:00Evensong<div style="text-align: center;"> <b><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">Chanson de Nuit - Edward Elgar</span></b></div><div style="text-align: right;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: medium;">played by the Northern Sinfonia of England, conducted by Richard Hickox.</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><iframe allowfullscreen="" class="BLOG_video_class" height="266" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/OKpKLfz0NNg" width="320" youtube-src-id="OKpKLfz0NNg"></iframe></div><br /><span style="font-family: times; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div>call me ishmaelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14369028864168461729noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6065998731267025499.post-14679485411526108932024-03-10T18:19:00.002+00:002024-03-11T08:31:35.130+00:00The Sunday Ishmael: 10/03/2024<div style="text-align: center;"><i> <span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><span style="background-color: white; text-indent: -1em;">And, as in uffish thought he stood, t</span><span style="background-color: white; text-indent: -1em;">he Jabberwock, with eyes of flame, c</span><span style="background-color: white; text-indent: -1em;">ame whiffling through the tulgey wood, a</span><span style="background-color: white; text-indent: -1em;">nd burbled as it came</span></span></i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-style: italic; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1024" data-original-width="548" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjX4ck1AkZxb7M8g4x56SKm97jDFQgsaCDcUu9WwEPj8TVeISkEyKLqGuZvPBFvbd5jVpHwEaIbRJlbdCIOzMw0_Q5drzwXw8TQmcbUEikQhY23GXfKp6YPoJUSH5pyDWbgezdnrVwFx1cU3I9LhaGFAypZyjCne9EkgllOEA6ZuvFc_sLN6-Ml7L-Lc_w/w214-h400/Elizabethan.jpg" width="214" /></div><span style="background-color: white; text-indent: -1em;">Too much uffish thought, Chancellor Chunt. Two percent off National Insurance? Why, only people under the age of 66 pay it, and, as we know from the demographic crisis that disproportionately affects the Conservative Party constituency, this will Not Help You. On one phone-in show, a public-spirited (but dim) citizen enquired - if I'm paying less National Insurance, does this mean that I'll get less pension? Don't give them ideas. National Insurance was never an insurance scheme and never was ring-fenced to pay pensions - just an extra tax to contribute towards government revenue. </span></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="768" data-original-width="768" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfAZiceCeAD1j4bkbBKv1FKBt8QrnnHI3ZZg0Y5zyfsrR7GpMXLpR_a6xvszjSBul4RYs7PRDNsm8rNQbfAxOG4wZk4M19eJRJ6GncmO2uT2q33YzABVg_u0TPC7ihZSK7mq3caY9AvWJTMRPILisV0H_TQsUDtE5Px9Zu6SeIeWRWs36ByqOiO2MFHzY/w400-h400/Hunt.jpg" width="400" /></div></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><span style="background-color: white; text-indent: -1em;">Anyway, to pay for this 2% cut, Chancellor <strike>C</strike></span></span><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">Hunt extended the windfall tax (35% surcharge on profits) on North Sea oil and gas companies by a year, raising an expected £1.5bn. It was introduced in May 2022 and was due to end in March 2028, but will now conclude in 2029. You might think this was a Good Thing, as the Office for National Statistics has reported that 41% of British adults are finding it very or somewhat difficult to afford energy bills, possibly because British Gas profits increased 943% from 2022 to 2023. However, this has upset the Scottish Conservatives, who had been hoping for electoral success in the North East by opposing heavy taxation on the oil and gas industry, which is a significant employer in the region. Wee Douglas Ross, dubbed man-child by Angus Robertson, </span><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">SNP,</span><span style="font-family: times; font-size: x-large;"> </span></div><div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1493" data-original-width="2112" height="283" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCrj4RvjQbGZI91coSL8knyd38gToIuZkHbnyxTRWOfeym8bT9RPKFx21UxTdNR1HFallGYPWAvWWFbU9DUMe5Al5ZzH4EmkvqmR2oqBqwZiYoPvxXte8EJot2nyvEJ1zdU2lVDUbsAHXACTVnwnwfyNARLBLUoex1PxZTmcjlc57Xzj9J8TyxckQzVhY/w400-h283/Douglas%20Ross%20Tory.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" width="400" /></span></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">Ooh you are awful<br /></span></td></tr></tbody></table><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><div style="text-align: center;">let it be known that he had lobbied Hunt to drop the proposal, to no avail, even scheduling his own debate at Holyrood on the motion that warned of the economic harms of extending the windfall tax. This, of course, opened a mockery window for First Minister Humza Useless: He said:</div><div style="text-align: center;">"We have a UK Government that is taking £500m out of our budget in real terms over the last two years. Douglas Ross really needs to take whatever influence he has - and we know he doesn't have much influence - to make sure the Conservatives fund public services, not slash them to the bone."</div><div style="text-align: center;">Offshore Energies UK (OEUK) said the extension risked investment, jobs and growth. </div><div style="text-align: center;">OEUK chief executive David Whitehouse said: "The industry is being taxed on windfall profits which no longer exist and facing a fourth round of fiscal change and turmoil in less than two years, making it impossible to plan investment for the energy transition and the path to net zero." </div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #141414; font-family: inherit; font-size: inherit; font-style: inherit; font-variant-caps: inherit; font-variant-ligatures: inherit; font-weight: inherit; text-align: left;">Chancellor Cunt told the BBC's</span><span style="background-color: white; color: #141414; font-family: inherit; font-size: inherit; font-style: inherit; font-variant-caps: inherit; font-variant-ligatures: inherit; font-weight: inherit; text-align: left;"> </span>Good Morning Scotland<span style="background-color: white; color: #141414; font-family: inherit; font-size: inherit; font-style: inherit; font-variant-caps: inherit; font-variant-ligatures: inherit; font-weight: inherit; text-align: left;"> </span><span style="background-color: white; color: #141414; font-family: inherit; font-size: inherit; font-style: inherit; font-variant-caps: inherit; font-variant-ligatures: inherit; font-weight: inherit; text-align: left;">programme that he accepted the extension "was a difficult decision" for his Scottish colleagues, but he didn't care because there's more votes in extending the windfall tax and he's happy to throw the Scottish oil and gas industry under a bus because the Tories are never going to get into power in Scotland, and he needed the money to be fiscally responsible on account of not daring to make an unfunded National Insurance tax cut, so there. Or words to that effect.</span></div><div style="text-align: center;">What with rows at First Minister's and Prime Minister's Questions and general feeding-time-at-the-zoo noises during the budget speech, it's all getting a bit Parliament in the Maldives.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><iframe allowfullscreen="" class="BLOG_video_class" height="266" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/86zGBErQZUk" width="320" youtube-src-id="86zGBErQZUk"></iframe></div><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Happy Mother Day, as my local Indian takeaway announced, saying if I didn't fancy chicken tikka, I could have chicken nuggets and chips. Makes a change from chocolates, flowers and pink prosecco. But here's a Mother's Day story about one who once thought she was Mother of the Nation. Margaret Thatcher, born 13/10/25, Conservative Prime Minister from 1979 to 1990, died of a stroke on 8/4/2013 whilst living at the Ritz hotel in London, where she had set up home 4 months previously, to convalesce after bladder surgery. Her death certificate listed dementia as a secondary cause of death. Her daughter, Carol, revealed in her 2008 memoir that her mother had shown the first signs of dementia in 2000. Cool* Kenny Clarke's theory has the dementia dating from her final year in office - which would put onset at age 65. mr ishmael's theory was that she was always bat shit crazy. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">The Telegraph has recently run with new details about the involvement of Margaret Thatcher's disreputable son, Mark, in a failed coup attempt in Equatorial Guinea, in 2004. A team of British mercenaries led by former SAS officer, Simon Mann, were arrested at Harare airport,
Zimbabwe for plotting the coup, which was part-financed by Mark Thatcher. He was sentenced to four years imprisonment, suspended, after pleading guilty to being an investor in the plot, but in a minor way.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Simon Mann has now revealed, twenty years on, that not only had Mark negotiated a profit-sharing arrangement, but planned to live in Malabo, capital of Equatorial Guinea, after deposing the president, Teodoro Obiang, and, moreover, that he had discussed the coup with his dear old demented mum. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Simon Mann served 4 years in prison in Zimbabwe, and a further year in Equatorial Guinea, and he now seems intent on getting his own back on his fellow conspirators. In December 2003, Mark promised to invest $300,000 in the planned coup, but told Mann that his personal wealth was tied up in a trust fund administered by his mum - so, allegedly, he took Mann to meet her, to explain the proposed venture and gain her co-operation. “Jolly good,” said Lady Thatcher. “I am sure it’s going to work”. She then asked how “our money” would be handled. Mann reassured her that the $300,000 would be channelled through a fake air ambulance joint venture – separately from the other investors. Mrs Thatcher then reminisced about the Docklands redevelopment in London in the 1980s. “Everything had to be razed to the ground first”, she said. “It’s the same in Equatorial Guinea. What is needed is a fresh start”.</div></span><br style="font-family: times; font-size: x-large; text-align: center;" /><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">As Mann was leaving, Lady Thatcher asked: “Have you met Sancho yet?” Sancho was the London link man for a group of wealthy Venezuelan businessmen opposed to the corrupt president, Hugo Chavez. Mann had agreed to help them once the coup in Africa had been taken care of. “Good, well I hope that goes well too”, said Lady Thatcher. “We must always look after our friends, Simon, as I’m sure you know."</span></div></div><div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: times; text-align: center;">At Christmas in Cape Town, Mark allegedly invited Mann to a breakfast meeting, with Mrs Thatcher, who told him: </span><span style="font-family: times; text-align: center;"> “I know what is going on and you SAS chaps need to get
a move on, don’t you.”</span></span></div><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><p class="MsoNormal"></p><div>On the 2nd January 2004, Steyl emailed Mark to say: “We are standing by the
profit-sharing agreement,” and on Jan 12 Mark emailed Steyl back, saying: “I will be doing the revenue-sharing agreement as soon as I have a
minute.”</div><div>
By February, Mann had the mercenaries, weapons and air transport in place for the coup. He told Mark: “If it goes wrong, I want you to
rescue those of us still uncaptured”, and provided the coordinates,
pre-agreed radio frequencies, locations, times and dates. “You
are a pilot, a sailor and have the political connections”, he added. “I expect
you to rescue us”. Mark noted down the data and the codes and, according to Mann, said: “I
will be there for you, no matter what, Simon.” They shook hands.</div><div> Mann alleges that Spain, the UK, South
Africa and other countries were aware of the plot and were happy for it to play
out, but Robert Mugabe, then-president of Zimbabwe, was not. Mann was arrested
at Harare airport while waiting for his private soldiers to arrive, Zimbabwe
intelligence officers inspected the crates and the weapons were discovered. The
aircraft was impounded and the men arrested and jailed. On March 21 2004, Mann wrote to his wife: “Our situation is not good....his
lawyers get no reply from‘Scratcher’ (Thatcher) who
asked them to ring back after the Grand Prix was over. What we need is maximum effort – whatever it takes. It may be that getting us
out comes down to a large splodge of wonga. Of course, the investors did not
think this would happen. Do they think they could be part of something like
this with only upside potential – no hardship or risk of this going wrong?”</div><p></p><p class="MsoNormal"></p><div>When the contents of the letter became public, the fiasco was dubbed the “wonga
coup” by the media.</div>
<div><br /></div><div>Mark Thatcher was arrested on August 25 2004 for funding an illegal coup
in breach of the Foreign Military Assistance Act. <br />
He accepted a plea bargain, admitting lesser charges and
paying a fine. He pleaded guilty to “wrongfully and
unlawfully attempting to finance mercenary activity” and was fined 3 million
rand (then worth £265,000). Which dropped Mann in it.<br />Mark Thatcher is now 70. In response to Mann's allegations, he said: <br /> “Simon can say what he
wants. I’m really not going to comment on any of that.”</div><o:p></o:p><p></p></div>Of course, mr ishmael has covered all this: </span></div><div><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: times;"><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;"><b>Mummy's Boy Gangster demands Money</b>: </span><span style="font-size: medium;">15 November 2011</span></div><div style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: medium; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;">SIR MARK THATCHER OUTSIDE COURT IN SOUTH AFRICA.<br /></span><div><span style="font-size: large;">GIMME MONEY, THAT'S WHAT I WANT.<br /><span style="font-size: large;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9V5DU6dmbFdPZ76zvvBQ17cN24mBWTcSuoKbNF9ss7FiJgEtwu-EEnru7tjngHktZH-8Qs-VGRqWLSHoOf66j_oxYZR8NEkLszkTmmqDla2MiqK77CGPcBSpTc_hzdgQgTW1jIQyw8KI/s400/mt2.jpg" width="400" /></span></span></div></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span> </span> The distinguished entrepreneur - or infamous racketeer, shithead and failed coupster - Sir Mark Mumsy, has expressed his disappointment that a film has been made about his criminal family without him having been paid any money. I have friends who can be very persuasive, said Sir Mumsy, referring to former Field Marshal Sir Simon Mann Golightly-Jockstrap, thicko mercenary, author and ex-con, who was Mumsy's co-accused in their abortive attempt to take over an African banana republic and who did the time in a jungle jailhouse whilst Boy Wonder Mark, pimping, as ever, on his mother's name, got off with a bollocking.</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;">The disgraced hereditary viscount, also famous for milking his mother's contacts with the headchopping elite of Oman, has his arse in his hands over the current portrayal of his mother by ageing Hollywood strumpet, Mrs Meryl Teeth, below.</span></div><div style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; text-align: center;"></div><div style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3q86gUu_lj3Cb2GuCXHBBUNbjHocUvBBZqDh8WR4nKot7trXagD5VTJXKk75gY_dpD19UJswPah-PnngF6_GZpIZ_jSExgPKmrFalGsUlUj9h3mIbqHBAhU-zIkZc4crjwbnWjhHaOJE/s400/TheIronLady_2055693f.jpg" width="300" /></div><div style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; text-align: center;">Meryl Teeth stars in Thatcher vs Thatcher,</div><div style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; text-align: center;">a study in greed and dementia.</div><div style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;">My mother not only served the country with distinction but was also on the board of many other distinguished criminal families, such as that of Lord Conrad Black-Embezzler, the famous newspaper-owning-and-robbing convict and that of General Sir Jorge Pinochet, the acclaimed human rights activist and exterminator<i> sans pareil. </i>My mother unfailingly signed-off Lord Black's accounts, whether they were accurate or not, which they never once were, that's how great a lady she was. And she did all of this for a mere few hundred thousand pounds of shareholders' money.</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;">If Ms Teeth doesn't do the decent thing and pay me my cut I can arrange for Mr Mann to go around to her gaff and bore the arse off her with tales of his jungular derring-do. Or maybe my sister, wotsername.</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;">A spokesperson for Meryl Teeth said, Meryl has wrung herself out, gone right to the very edge, in this performance which she feels captures the true essence of Baroness Williams. It takes a great deal of courage to go where great actresses go (up producers' arses? <i>ed</i>.) and she is now recharging her batteries and considering other scripts suitable for a young actress of her age.</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><span style="font-size: large;"><img border="0" height="224" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5h2UhCes12S57hIFIRE8G-52XK75BF4NYl5eb1opLwCW-q-b-suQAz1fcOp9HgOJtYQhSBmsKnEy0oTaG0NDHMPMeLI9lR8bXKZ2JsonH4zDVC1iSX9GESZPggHpVVG3tvIHdQHQLkvE/w400-h224/bell.jpg" width="400" /></span></div><span style="font-size: medium;">Lord Bell-End.</span><br /><span style="font-size: large;">Sir Tim Bell-End, Thatcherite PR guru said that to trade on the Thatcher legend was despicable.</span><span style="font-size: x-large;"> </span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;">These people are just making money for the sake of it. (honest, not invent.)<br /><img border="0" height="228" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7njEDt3EPbJNUe9hf5hi3CJjkgohkBfY0Wk13hJTs6V0blWcdYbT3EiRzdKJ_43j1KQ7HN9T2cZaIhBWtwgL6OfZ20-oVzq_SRVo8tZduhPftSoXEO-0uVbx2T8UxCUxHvuKYyzQ37is/s400/tebbitt.jpg" width="400" /><br />Lord Norman Tebbit, of the Filth-O-Graph and late of Al-Fayed Enterprises, although he didn't know about the freebies until he was found out and then he stopped taking them, like a good Tory.<br /><br />Well, far be it from me to mention to the prime minister that I won three general elections whilst he hasn't won any. Far be it from me, a former pilot and working journalist (rabble-rousing fuckpig? <i>ed.</i>) to tell this effete public schoolboy what to do. I mean whaddooIknow, I only won three elections. Margaret Thatcher. Yes, a great lady, she helped me win three elections. And now here I am, writing tosh for expatriot redneck wankers. Well said, Lord Norman, they say, couldn't have put it better myself. And they're right, they couldn't.</span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;">...............................................................................................................</span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;">* And what is Cool Kenny up to, saying the Iron Lady was bonkers in the nut (technical term) back in 1990? <b>Before</b> her involvement with her disreputable son in financing a plot to assassinate an African Head of State? He must be retrospectively laundering her reputation. If she was demented, she didn't really mean that she wanted to raze Equatorial Wherever to the ground and murder a Head of State, in order to make wonga. </span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;">While we're at it, here's mr ishmael on Cool Kenny:</span></div></span><div><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: large; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></span></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: inherit; margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="249" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi12MsfCromPaGLEwxBiz4cVJT-7fDJ6qXgoC4QTTX3OEpXwk38zilENsRDEN3aPgn2mS2PGDj8eERVxlZyERzCxaXoSWuGSdkzgBB_QQ79aR67epsW6ioOPDBH0gqZRPAIOLnpB-qCemY/s400/kc1.jpg" width="400" /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: large; text-align: center;"></span></span></span></div><div><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: large; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">You have to wonder what he's up to, Cool Kenny, jazzman and bildberger. Surely, he doesn't need the grand of our money which the BBC gives him for performing like an elderly seal on Any Questions, a bloated, smokey, piss-sodden old fart like him, in his worn-out, shiny suits and his Hush fucking Puppies, traipsing around from community shithole to community shithole, one week a cathedral, the next a university, the next some phantasmagoricaly well-run school, the audience packed with smug teachers and smugger parents and intolerably smug sixth-form shitheads, spouting their go-ahead parents' dire scripts, drummed, all their lives, into their ghastly, malformed, ambitious little minds; surely, Kenny has better things to do than this shit. What's he doing, as he does today in the Barclay Zombie Twins' Filth-O-Graph, characterising, those U-kippers as nasty, fucked-up, neo-fascist , white supremacist headbangers ? Everybody knows that. Doesn't need a Minister Without Portfolio banging on about it. The U-kippers are a political party - thieves, liars, ponces, backmailers, money launderers, extortionists, bullies and slags; enough said, job done, up against the wall, motherfuckers. Worthless fucking bastards every last one of them, doesn't matter a fuck what they say about Europe or wogs , black wogs, brown wogs or white wogs, as far as the kippers are concerned, everybody who doesn't agree with them is some kind of wog. No point old Ken Clarke accusing them of wog-bashing; it's like saying that the richer the Torybastard is; the more he hates the poor, everybody knows that.</span></span><br style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: medium; text-align: center;" /><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: large; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"></span></span></span></span><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="299" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjrASgom2ZdywVDgIINXV-8UiaioceICVq4ejrSj34hCHse3PhdPQohaout4I2jdTc7Q_fHiWwNMlLx6L509QDsJzQSn6rzSRsQOOTeBTRWri0pIswCbSvByh4REWq7VPK3AJ5QU9LqKxI/s400/pigs.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" width="400" /></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A new political party, finding its trotters, I mean feet.</td></tr></tbody></table><br style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: medium; text-align: center;" /><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: large; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> </span></span></span></span><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">The kippers, they're just like all the rest of them; just like Kenny himself, the rotten old hypocrite - </span><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: medium; text-align: center;" /><div style="text-align: center;">HM Seckatry of State for Health,</div></span></span><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><div style="text-align: center;">Kenny Cool.</div></span></div><span style="font-family: times;"><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="250" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_78Sch-uqgNXWOHpd6TkAgwP1iAgEN589Us2rZN1Vh8lZD16WeGhqYfqfoe3sexpKY10vFHqdQvgV6NyFfZtRCs9eMJ9oc-yoM3s0avyhXMMy1IktnwlsAO62-K8Hb5VjlZVTV6PYWtQ/w400-h250/kc2.jpg" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;" width="400" /></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"></td></tr></tbody></table><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;"><div style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: medium;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #141414;">The f</span><span style="background-color: white; color: black; font-style: inherit; font-variant-caps: inherit; font-variant-ligatures: inherit; font-weight: inherit; text-align: left;">our-volume</span><span style="background-color: white; color: black; font-style: inherit; font-variant-caps: inherit; font-variant-ligatures: inherit; font-weight: inherit; text-align: left;"> </span><span style="background-color: white; color: black; font-style: inherit; font-variant-caps: inherit; font-variant-ligatures: inherit; font-weight: inherit;">Call Me Ishmael oeuvre, collected and curated by editor mr verge, is available on Lulu and Amazon.</span></span></div><div style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: medium;"><img border="0" height="133" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRJCv9T1Bcq1AFtN1lgllwI1UnV6D1vSFcIIlK4GDHxh2AIm4ZvLVr35fOuHfIdaQZMam0fpwx4_T2KOJJOfkTpjdj-77dcyQtI6IJ3UVRMxaxYJ12yGgEBvJEB9w2Q74dpp0wYjJj2eI/w200-h133/thumbnail_COVER1+%25282%2529.png" style="text-align: left;" width="200" /><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgB-6JNv0jzD-R6hVIQdseWlNzsQLWKPechwQLF-xBeWkTc2KBvQxd80TyV3YWU9LaKJXse5ACodyzCVXD4dj6Tauuh5V_qW3-aky-yLGAJoMA9jgq45-i8TSb1KkijC-XCS5HDiFBEO5s/w141-h200/vent+stack.png" width="141" /><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjdQlcfm-4zheOEcRYhuwdhvN3DhLeGtm_lQC_27iRcmVLSW44CpLdukXz8QTXTWfOLCzUEY2jsIVynLG9DlbzcCZtbaD13WF_XDyKjNpuEdecwGCEX9ypq4nAjH3gm7pXxVODPXhlKtXxMg48D41QCsTG_hVYJUMIZ7N_bSjdRdYMGRalX1IWsAoR7/w141-h200/Ishmael" width="141" /><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEip2EzAoKCLON9L8HJyC277gD1ITzLx35xSCKihjE4TB61OSh9LSeBcqfZ9iJC-nbiwe9U3ZMyHAminiob0CmWfcHHu4r491WHBWKcz4U1ywHvGM11tl-yds2PLCJaMecibLj6MhGLKfVMuR0SiAAHwOttqy6tLWBip7Wgpl56dGFLiQt3ij_6tBtNcSp8/w141-h200/Flush%20Test.jpg" width="141" /></div><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large; text-align: left;"></span><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large; text-align: left;"></span></p><div style="font-family: "Times New Roman";"><div style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-size: large;">Honest Not Invent, Vent Stack, Ishmael’s Blues, and the latest, Flush Test (with a nice picture of the late, much lamented, Mr Harris of Lanarkshire taking a piss on a totem pole) are available from Lulu and Amazon. If you buy from Amazon, it would be nice if you could give a review on their website.</span></div><div style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-size: large;">Ishmaelites wishing to buy a copy from lulu should follow these steps :</span></div><div style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-size: large;">please register an account first, at lulu.com. This is advisable because otherwise paypal seems to think it's ok to charge in dollars, and they then apply their own conversion rate, which might put the price up slightly for a UK buyer. Once the new account is set up, follow one of the links below (to either paperback or hardback) or type "Ishmael’s Blues" into the Lulu Bookstore search box. Click on the “show explicit content” tab, give the age verification box a date of birth such as 1 January 1960, and proceed.</span></div><div style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-size: large;">Link for Hardcover : https://tinyurl.com/je7nddfr</span></div><div style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-size: large;">Link for Paperback : https://tinyurl.com/3jurrzux</span></div><div style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-size: large;">https://www.lulu.com/shop/ishmael-smith/flush-test/paperback/product-9yjvn7.html?q=Flush+Test&page=1&pageSize=4</span></div><div style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div><span>At checkout, try WELCOME15 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.</span></div><div style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-size: large;">With the 15% voucher, PB (including delivery to a UK address) should be £16.84; HB £27.04.</span></div></div></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="659" data-original-width="500" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhsZa4T0wIGEc0_pNt8SmtB0DLYRKtuswhPJd6oxOdT1p7IRQ84GJy4R1CORec5nn3js_bQ2pVREAN9i-FH2f2b7lqy947gzP3eB1zmKFiM5VtIfkvhX1a78Rii6jlYMIuU4gWVnL_n36i_ibEntSL7tNX5B5uRGUs4UlUlywLp4mBW3pOIy3ohAkAqetI/w304-h400/cherry%20blossom.gif" width="304" /></div><br /><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div></span></div>call me ishmaelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14369028864168461729noreply@blogger.com17tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6065998731267025499.post-91218290117267957342024-03-03T18:15:00.002+00:002024-03-04T21:18:42.260+00:00The Sunday Ishmael: 03/03/2024<div style="text-align: left;"><i> <span style="background-color: white; text-indent: -32px;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">He took his vorpal sword in hand;</span></span><span style="background-color: white; font-family: times; font-size: x-large; text-indent: -32px;"> l</span><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="background-color: white; font-family: times; text-indent: -32px;">ong time the manxome foe he sought - s</span><span style="background-color: white; font-family: times; text-indent: -32px;">o rested he by the Tumtum tree, a</span><span style="background-color: white; font-family: times; text-indent: -32px;">nd stood awhile in thought.</span></span></i></div><div style="text-align: left;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-style: italic; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="766" data-original-width="604" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDW181MF453k7ZJACl_Zap8eb8hbFwVAovKziuFGsQ0gjoUZx6q8hoQ00MxW_67H4YiSLWC4hjSSZZ4cglw-NXBpsS8jxN93xj9QJOeWdUETwQGJSIJVVEi4IAEFLCoXJgiMrTfxgSTkKKV1OunCSXev0qJTFq8B6nDMYBu0KhMzGlGnxFd5aY95lpCDQ/w315-h400/Jabberwocky.png" width="315" /></div><br /><span style="background-color: white; text-indent: -32px;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="background-color: white; text-indent: -32px;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><b>Learn Economics 101 with mrs ishmael</b></span></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="background-color: white; text-indent: -32px;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3000" data-original-width="4494" height="268" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhav3t_eUiHDt7tjWPmZ78f2ZgNdUXtCY57vFZuYMjJTdPCpq_Qsu2kJr6i7cGjHv815wzO-OiIb4Twrc3lAEndlFRqZT4q_HHRx49_gsq5Y9ReKxHDrHDIvam2g9S5_VV2lAqkF-emuarWjO7Vh_8N2bQTv-HWKHjGXuFsEalA0AXQoGVCzkWWW0OZeJo/w400-h268/rhubarb%20pie.jpg" width="400" /></div></span><span style="background-color: white; font-family: times; font-size: large; text-indent: -32px;">Would you prefer a steak and onion pie or a rhubarb pie? It matters not, it is only a metaphor. The pie can be cut into four slices, and sold to four people who can fill their tum tums quite comfortably. If there are six people, each can have a smaller slice. If there are five people and one </span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="background-color: white; text-indent: -32px;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="201" data-original-width="183" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgPKvPp-q6CIjA_GW1FLovHLL8CwKYuYLSwWm5WKRDq4Fv83JP_1izaMPhb6kP2Vs5CwiR9Vivqi0K1BrLv848wb3INg8mUlVtbZ8i_97KJymROlOBpCZNV6MOmFpzERFp4Q94NVGFz_VAUOmGvxTMfvaMLt0zxE54m-ygdCtyHCW0W5QNu9Wlx08ixgw4/w364-h400/bunter.jpg" width="364" /></div></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="background-color: white; text-indent: -32px;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">greedy bastard, then four people get a slice each and mr greedy bastard, or King, gets two. Pretty straight forward - so far, so common sense. This is why poor people, existing on half a slice, or no slices at all, hate rich people, because they nicked all the pies. And why rich people need armed guards to stop poor people demanding that their slice of pie is returned. </span></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="background-color: white; text-indent: -32px;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">But then, after millennia of static pies and societies, humans invented <i>growth</i>. Growing pies meant that there was more pie, although humans being human, mr greedy bastard, or King, would still commandeer more pie <i>and</i> virgins on their bridal night, because of his Divine Right. (which is another made-up idea which we might cover in <i>Learn Religion 101 with mrs ishmael</i>).</span></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="background-color: white; text-indent: -32px;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">To grow your pie, you need more flour, butter, sugar, rhubarb and oven space. But you don't have the cash to buy these things. So you go to mr greedy bastard and sell him the idea that if he lends you some money, you can grow more pies, sell them and pay him back his loan, with a little bit extra for his trouble, whilst keeping some profit for yourself. Profit being the difference between what it cost you to make the pie and what you sold it for. Without taking a profit, you wouldn't bother with pie making in the first place. All this requires trust in the future, a nebulous place, inhabited by pie eaters and pie bakers who pay back the greedy bastards, or bankers, their start-up loans, with interest. A lot can go wrong - even if people don't go off rhubarb pie - in which case you can diversify into apple pie; people may not have the money to buy pie at all, because mr greedy bastard, or Government of the Day, has taken all the pie eaters' money in taxes, or the pie baker decides he can make even more profit by saying to greedy bastard banker, fuck this for a game of soldiers, I'm not paying you back and you need to lend me some more money so I can open another pie bakery. </span></span></div><div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: times;">Moving away from Rhubarb Pie, </span><span style="font-family: times;">economic growth refers to an increase in production in an </span><span>economy</span><span style="font-family: times;">, which is generally manifested in a rise in national income and productivity, allowing an increase in individual income, which is spent on buying more goods and services, which stimulates the production of more of these things. A good thing for everyone, dependant upon increasing the quantity or quality of the working age population, the technology, raw materials and capital to fund it all.</span></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">As in the pie model, growth is not straight forward nor is it guaranteed. Economists describe four phases: </span></div><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><div style="text-align: center;"><ul class="comp mntl-sc-block finance-sc-block-html mntl-sc-block-html" id="mntl-sc-block_16-0" style="background-color: white; box-sizing: border-box; color: #111111; counter-reset: section 0; letter-spacing: 0.05px; list-style-image: initial; list-style-position: initial; margin-bottom: 1.75rem; margin-top: 0px; padding-left: 1.5rem; text-align: start;"><li style="box-sizing: border-box;"><strong style="box-sizing: border-box;">Expansion</strong> – employment, income, industrial production, and sales all increase.</li><li style="box-sizing: border-box;"><strong style="box-sizing: border-box;">Peak</strong> – The economic expansion hits its ceiling. </li><li style="box-sizing: border-box;"><strong style="box-sizing: border-box;">Contraction</strong> – The expansion stalls, then decreases. It becomes a recession when a significant decline in economic activity spreads across the economy.</li><li style="box-sizing: border-box;"><strong style="box-sizing: border-box; letter-spacing: 0.05px;">Trough</strong><span style="letter-spacing: 0.05px;"> </span><span style="letter-spacing: 0.05px;">– What it says. As bad as it gets.</span></li></ul></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="726" data-original-width="982" height="296" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhq0SL8ObfmUe2jyehO4rOSzZ5GxIrsFa07Rp-cERjSWrpmnWtk4UeMKpE6UUSDQe48wNDSCR9OmmCNJ_dD3XekEzE1OSzguqjhFKkTHhkkG7ju8kCwEjrNirJwhPLPOEJaG5X-l2GXm56eVyagAcE2hk7UBcilyCXukAo-lswRZvsns0qJDJaaMokgNwk/w400-h296/Jeremy%20Hunt%201.jpg" width="400" /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">Fortunately,</span><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"> Jeremy Richard Streynsham Cunt, MP for South West Surrey, is our Chancellor of the Exchequer, having replaced Kwasi Kwarteng, whom nobody believed in, despite gaining his PhD in political history from Cambridge with a thesis on the recoinage crisis of 1695-9.</span> Chancellor Cunt studied Philosophy, Politics and Economics at Magdalen College Oxford. I do hope he was paying attention and not letting his Presidency of the Oxford University Conservative Association distract him from his studies, because, as you'll have learned from our exposition of the rhubarb pie growth theory, economics is neither plain nor simple.</div><div style="text-align: center;">Truss and Kwarteng's Big Idea was to cut taxes and let the Brits spend their way into growth. That didn't end well. So, although Chancellor Cunt hints that he may lower taxes on Wednesday, when he gets to wave his red box at us,</div></span></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="380" data-original-width="640" height="238" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhNWu4knDiIMIbXehy7rAuX1g4-KPGmTe5Xb6P7mTcXsmMIkNFZpWAWxBLK8msrBXSSHicWDGQZQxheHVg2e6QCuB1rU03R4_rS73UNwvB1JdDSHJSF5wprsxwTa8AZpXg_ARbW0FY1qyUVxhWzTxVVY-QoPhqVFXeqB75JfZXPg93aj4jj9A9yEIfbeNw/w400-h238/Hunt's%20red%20box.jpg" width="400" /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">he won't, really. Britain is in a recession and the next phase of the economic cycle is Trough. </span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">There isn't much any Chancellor can do about it - one of the levers - the ability to set interest rates- was given away by Gordon Brown to the Bank of England, who are stubbornly not reducing interest rates, because they have a duty to keep inflation under control, and growth, inflation and recession are, as WellDoneGeorge might say, three cheeks of the same arse that he would like to spank. The other lever - cutting taxes, was kind of broken off by Trussonomics. </span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">Increasing Government spending on make-work projects to get people back to work at a decent wage, so that they can buy more stuff, to stimulate the production of stuff, that would work, if he had any money left over from funding proxy wars - but that's ok, lets print some more - whoops, inflation.</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">So you see, fucked.</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">Of course, he has to pretend that first, he knows what he's doing, second, he has any power to influence what's going on, and third, he's not really trying to further fuck things up so as to give Rachel Reeves an even more impossible job when she walks into 11, Downing Street. Reeves, sweet girl, has A levels in Politics, Economics, Mathematics and Further Mathematics, has an MA in PPE from New College, Oxford and a further degree, an MSc in Economics from the London School of Economics. Probably over-qualified for the job.</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">Unlike Jeremy Cunt, who squirmed and writhed in the interviewee's chair on the Laura Kuenssberg show this morning, giving us a little bit of this and a little bit of that, all referencing the economic tools that I carefully described above. The British Government has to create trust in the people it has borrowed money from, women have to be freed up from child care to re-enter the work force, taxes will go down, but immigrants will be taxed. He is going to be Prudent. </span><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">He confirmed that the financial forecasts setting out how much “headroom” he has in order to meet his fiscal rules had “gone against us”. Apparently the Office for Budget Responsibility told Chancellor Hunt on Wednesday that he has only £12.8 billion of headroom, £2 billion less than he'd hoped for. Headroom? Ah, yes - a s</span><span><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><span style="background-color: white;">elf-imposed fiscal rule to increase spending or cut taxes, intended to keep public finances under control and maintain the confidence of the market and the public. </span></span></span></div><div style="box-sizing: border-box; line-height: 1.44444; margin-bottom: 20px; margin-top: 0px;"><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">For example, if the government has a rule that the deficit should not exceed 3% of GDP, and the current deficit is projected to be 2%, there is a 1% fiscal headroom. This means the government can potentially increase its deficit by up to 1% of GDP – either by increasing spending or cutting taxes – without breaking its own rule. </span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">Yes, I know, it's all made up. On Laura's panel, listening to the Chancellor's attempts to sound Plausible and Prudent was Andy Haldane, former Chief Economist at the Bank of England and a member of the Government's Economic Advisory Council. He recommended that the Chancellor take up sprinkling fairy dust and dealing with his mojo deficit. These are serious economic terms, if not theories.</span></div><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">And Laura herself introduced the spectre of Gordon Brown's great</span><span color="var(--neutral-foreground-rest)" style="text-align: center;"> clunking claw of doom. Let's remind ourselves of the masterly economist, </span> Gordon the Ruiner.</div></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"> </span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;">WHITHER HIS FEVERED BOMBAST, NOW? </span><i><span style="font-size: medium;">mr. ishmael</span><span style="font-size: large;"> </span><span style="font-size: medium;">23/6/2010</span></i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">Where is his fusillade of tractor statistics, his towering intellect, his metronoming Claw of Doom punctuating each flight of bumptious, bullyboy doggerel; where is his incisive, hot-housed mind, his grasp of detail, his complete mastery, as they call it - the reptiles at skymadeupnewsandfilth - of his brief; where is his Prudence, now; where is his promised fighting for his party, for the poor and the sick, where is his snotty, raging tumult of I-Know-Bestisms?</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;">Something made Gordon Brown Bad, and not in a good sense. He was a parliamentarty bully, needlessly bombastic, eternally over-egging his statistical pudding, shouting the odds so much that we called his blowhard despatch box musings tractor-production statistics, mocked his Great Clunking Fist of Doom, his shredded fingernails, his DryWank JawDrop, his infantile snot-eating and his dreadful bullying of subordinates.</span><br /><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span><span style="font-size: large;">Alongside his unattractive idiosyncracies, his running of the Treasury and then the government was unwholesome. We do not have Uncle Sam's system of presidential appointments to cabinet posts, most are filled, in the UK, by elected politicians. Brown, however, elevated unelected special advisor Balls to a position of huge influence, eventually parachuting him into a safe Labour seat, party-bigwigs-for-the-use-of; Mrs Balls, too, surprise-surprise, came from nowhere into cabinet, as did the Milibands, the Eagles and wee motormouth Douglas Alexander; by the time of Tony'n'Imelda's departure to GlobaCrook the cabinet was </span><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;">effectively </span>Snotty's fiefdom, anti-democratic, non-meritocratic. </span></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><img alt="" border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWRPivr76urrrBInsdPw5HaQRAcx6zth9GqRVrvrM0qHzsupWhZIzZbdMt5v3H4Yzn0hc3-vn4t38_JxExCZ1_UThesz1GaLxrBMZEGqyFBSCPSnqa4vtNQw8Ncmlkr8Nm8VkNA4-Awow/w334-h400/Gordon+Brown+Holiday+1.jpg" style="background-color: white; font-family: "Times New Roman";" width="334" /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">Ah well. We'll see what Wednesday's Budget will bring.</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">If anyone is feeling the economic pinch, can I recommend making your own butter? You can use it to make pastry for your rhubarb pie. It is very easy, although it helps to have one of these:</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2969" data-original-width="2609" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJT4npUj5JnjtqdH09R-6R_OTeB76hrcpgQhsAWrmzlewT7dqElLwPElELG3KT0hVBg8ZmLs6cl2sIkKmGguELSCxalqtfRJsOpRb0pSLbxVTH08-USsuFj6FexBqbWfApzgd8GxHrEsakUCmt0gzTBPfr625yOkM8upKZJ_lWz1F-rYz4eLt5jr096eI/w351-h400/stand%20mixer.jpg" width="351" /></span></div><span style="font-size: large;"><br /><span style="font-family: times;">You will need 600 ml of double cream, which costs £2.30 from Mr. Tesco, although I daresay you can get it cheaper if you have access to other supermarkets. When mr ishmael and I first came to Orkney, there was a high street grocery store, which, at first sight, carried a wide range of goods. But not cream. On enquiry, I was told, "thoo'll git naa cream onna Whensdie. There's naa caull ferrit. Thoo'll be a ferry-louper theesael?" That store no longer exists. Strange. But we have Mr Tesco now, although his shelves are often empty in the winter when the ferry can't cross - but when they do, you can get cream on a Wednesday.</span></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">Tip the cream into your stand mixer or other beating device, and whizz it for around five minutes. It will first thicken then solidify into a yellow lump, swimming in buttermilk. Squeeze all the milk out of your butter, then put it into a sieve and rinse it under the cold tap until the water runs clear, then add salt if you like and shape it, before wrapping it up tight in greaseproof paper. It tastes like the very best butter. You could add herbs or garlic if wanted - parsley and garlic butter melted onto steak would be just the thing. Mr mike would add ground chillies, I'm sure.</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2040" data-original-width="1530" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEggExfxg4iu8Pz2t_bSOhzZzKMRGQTUVbKVA0kfmgQowXaRkt3FpWQ-KEkMMFIpZ4ScnkJP_0OSpelQWn2Ph2GxY5W-1xFWtfsS32Hy1NJOjzbNOJviLltXSyRowxt8XEjHvP0JlPATsB5UkUn8hmIYFHF5tKj5zS_3ZIXpJM1nw6G4mdl738qXyUXUXYY/w300-h400/butter.jpg" width="300" /></span></div><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">It yields 300 grams of butter, with a good quantity of buttermilk, which can be used in the usual way of milk. As a block of butter weighs 250 grams, costs anything from £1.80 upwards, and is not as good, then it is, as they say, a no-brainer.</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">....................................................</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #141414;">The f</span><span style="background-color: white; color: black; font-style: inherit; font-variant-caps: inherit; font-variant-ligatures: inherit; font-weight: inherit; text-align: left;">our-volume</span><span style="background-color: white; color: black; font-style: inherit; font-variant-caps: inherit; font-variant-ligatures: inherit; font-weight: inherit; text-align: left;"> </span><span style="background-color: white; color: black; font-style: inherit; font-variant-caps: inherit; font-variant-ligatures: inherit; font-weight: inherit;">Call Me Ishmael oeuvre, collected and curated by editor mr verge, is available on Lulu and Amazon.</span></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="133" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRJCv9T1Bcq1AFtN1lgllwI1UnV6D1vSFcIIlK4GDHxh2AIm4ZvLVr35fOuHfIdaQZMam0fpwx4_T2KOJJOfkTpjdj-77dcyQtI6IJ3UVRMxaxYJ12yGgEBvJEB9w2Q74dpp0wYjJj2eI/w200-h133/thumbnail_COVER1+%25282%2529.png" style="cursor: move; text-align: left;" width="200" /><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgB-6JNv0jzD-R6hVIQdseWlNzsQLWKPechwQLF-xBeWkTc2KBvQxd80TyV3YWU9LaKJXse5ACodyzCVXD4dj6Tauuh5V_qW3-aky-yLGAJoMA9jgq45-i8TSb1KkijC-XCS5HDiFBEO5s/w141-h200/vent+stack.png" style="cursor: move;" width="141" /><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjdQlcfm-4zheOEcRYhuwdhvN3DhLeGtm_lQC_27iRcmVLSW44CpLdukXz8QTXTWfOLCzUEY2jsIVynLG9DlbzcCZtbaD13WF_XDyKjNpuEdecwGCEX9ypq4nAjH3gm7pXxVODPXhlKtXxMg48D41QCsTG_hVYJUMIZ7N_bSjdRdYMGRalX1IWsAoR7/w141-h200/Ishmael" style="cursor: move;" width="141" /><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEip2EzAoKCLON9L8HJyC277gD1ITzLx35xSCKihjE4TB61OSh9LSeBcqfZ9iJC-nbiwe9U3ZMyHAminiob0CmWfcHHu4r491WHBWKcz4U1ywHvGM11tl-yds2PLCJaMecibLj6MhGLKfVMuR0SiAAHwOttqy6tLWBip7Wgpl56dGFLiQt3ij_6tBtNcSp8/w141-h200/Flush%20Test.jpg" style="cursor: move;" width="141" /></div><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large; text-align: left;"></span><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large; text-align: left;"></span></p><div style="text-align: center;"><div style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-size: large;">Honest Not Invent, Vent Stack, Ishmael’s Blues, and the latest, Flush Test (with a nice picture of the late, much lamented, Mr Harris of Lanarkshire taking a piss on a totem pole) are available from Lulu and Amazon. If you buy from Amazon, it would be nice if you could give a review on their website.</span></div><div style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-size: large;">Ishmaelites wishing to buy a copy from lulu should follow these steps :</span></div><div style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-size: large;">please register an account first, at lulu.com. This is advisable because otherwise paypal seems to think it's ok to charge in dollars, and they then apply their own conversion rate, which might put the price up slightly for a UK buyer. Once the new account is set up, follow one of the links below (to either paperback or hardback) or type "Ishmael’s Blues" into the Lulu Bookstore search box. Click on the “show explicit content” tab, give the age verification box a date of birth such as 1 January 1960, and proceed.</span></div><div style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-size: large;">Link for Hardcover : https://tinyurl.com/je7nddfr</span></div><div style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-size: large;">Link for Paperback : https://tinyurl.com/3jurrzux</span></div><div><span style="font-size: large;">https://www.lulu.com/shop/ishmael-smith/flush-test/paperback/product-9yjvn7.html?q=Flush+Test&page=1&pageSize=4</span></div><div style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-size: large;">At checkout, try WELCOME15 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.</span></div><div style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-size: large;">With the 15% voucher, PB (including delivery to a UK address) should be £16.84; HB £27.04.</span></div></div></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="334" data-original-width="500" height="268" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNz0Ue8hxgCovElr7oeUWJ9Qn_Edwv5sth8kGNYrkoFRGAIKoktgOQ3QNTW5UEvtlCpTVXUhv1pD5eMajugLYnLHu4coVbLe03LQdevO0MDlctyDWozTTZCODAzi1B5_-21FjUtMB66Wz7le_I2OWrJWKe6BFP1wUmbiWALqn3g09BLHQpzBjW0UkdlGw/w400-h268/rhubarb%20shed.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" width="400" /></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">It's all rhubarb</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /><br /></span><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="background-color: white; text-indent: -32px;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></span></div>call me ishmaelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14369028864168461729noreply@blogger.com11tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6065998731267025499.post-59144319519464456902024-03-01T12:39:00.000+00:002024-03-01T12:39:46.161+00:00Well Done, George<div style="text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZz9sPh5MLigrQ3s38osnMuwRlAKdRZy0A8xTAU28K0Vw8mmDiKgoplCEdlf1M1ccqnQrF3hiCE80Pj2UDznlFZed4zmXUXR5EiDstkkCnmTKbCtiPODPeixoiWdeuVjRPi5MHE76O4khh/w400-h240/mbmnv.jpg" width="400" /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">mr ishmael would not have been acclaiming George Galloway's win in the Rochdale by-election with a majority of 5,697 - a win only made possible by the Labour Party having withdrawn their anti-semitic candidate, Azhar Ali, after his social media remarks placed him beyond the pale, even for Labour. Galloway graciously marked his victory by stating: <span style="background-color: white;"> </span><span style="background-color: white;">“Keir Starmer and Rishi Sunak are two cheeks of the same backside and they both got well and truly spanked tonight.” So the people of Rochdale are now represented in Parliament by a narcissistic opportunist, described by </span>The Board of Deputies of British Jews as: "a demagogue and conspiracy theorist, who has brought the politics of division and hate to every place he has ever stood for Parliament. His election is a dark day for the Jewish community in this country, and for British politics in general. We believe he should be shunned as a pariah by all Parliamentarians.” Sounds about right. </span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">mr ishmael wrote extensively about Gorgeous George, now known as Gaza George. Here's a couple of his pieces:</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: times;"><span><b><span style="font-size: x-large;">Juden Raus</span></b><span style="font-size: large;">* </span></span><span style="font-size: medium;">10/08/2014</span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span><span style="font-size: large;">*</span><span style="font-family: times; font-size: medium;"> </span></span><span style="font-family: times; font-size: medium;"><i style="color: #202122; text-align: left;">Juden Raus!</i><span style="background-color: white; color: #202122; text-align: left;"> </span><span style="background-color: white; color: #202122; text-align: left;">(lit. "Jews Out!") is a</span><span style="background-color: white; color: #202122; text-align: left;"> board</span><span style="background-color: white; color: #202122; text-align: left;"> game published in</span><span style="background-color: white; color: #202122; text-align: left;"> </span>Germany<span style="background-color: white; color: #202122; text-align: left;"> </span><span style="background-color: white; color: #202122; text-align: left;">by Günther & Co. in 1936.</span><span style="background-color: white; color: #202122; text-align: left;">The game was advertised as "entertaining, instructive and solidly constructed".</span><span style="background-color: white; color: #202122; text-align: left;"> </span><span style="background-color: white; color: #202122; text-align: left;">The game's equipment included a pair of dice, a game board, and several game piece figurines with large</span><span style="background-color: white; color: #202122; text-align: left;"> </span>pointed hats<span style="background-color: white; color: #202122; text-align: left;"> </span><span style="background-color: white; color: #202122; text-align: left;">meant to represent</span><span style="background-color: white; color: #202122; text-align: left;"> </span>Jews<span style="background-color: white; color: #202122; text-align: left;">. </span><span style="color: #202122; text-align: left;">Players took turns rolling the dice and moving their "Jews" across the map toward "collection points" outside the city walls for deportation to Mandatory Palestine.</span><span style="color: #202122; text-align: left; text-wrap: nowrap;"> </span><span style="color: #202122; text-align: left;">Written on the game board, it says "If you manage to send off six Jews, you’ve won a clear victory!"</span></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;">"We don't want any Israeli goods, we don't want any Israeli services, we don't want any Israeli academics coming to the university or the college, we don't even want any Israeli tourists to come to Bradford, even if any of them had thought of doing so." </span><br /><span style="font-size: large;"> The not so gorgeous, angry old man, reported in the Guardian.</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;">Been hoping for someone to speak-out against Zion-uber-alles, just wish it hadn't been Galloway. </span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;">I never knew which was the dumber electorate, Blunkett's Sheffield or Mandelstein's Hartlepool, both could usefully be drowned in the North Sea, they wouldn't know the difference between being wet or dry, dead or alive. Now, there is a similarly backward and gullible electorate in Bradford West and to demonstrate that stupidity is a multi-cultural affliction this one consists mainly of the religionists of peace and of daily renewed grievance who now have their very own rabble-rousing, jive-talking poltroon, theologian, political scientist, teevee personality, the multi-talented, multi-married and multi-salaried, dictator-worshipping old fart, ladeezangennulmen, </span><br /><span style="font-size: large;"><img border="0" height="272" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGdcszoSt7xh7pxEExvsDi9Xu7TCKbJVHOYYyc2jc85m1XIbiqKqoVQvz1eqMBAWmhde8OditXnMSpP1rQFHjzmD4Rt7ZZGs0x3sRcbRpFjXSutz9RwphRp3UslF46sz7BubQwYnbTTpD9/s1600/.lkjh+ljhbkjhb.jpg" width="400" /></span><br /><span style="font-size: large;">one of Marxism's richest men, </span><span style="font-size: large;">George SeeYouJimmy Galloway.</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span><span style="font-size: large;">Galloway, with breathtaking conceit, has recently played his own No Jews card, although he spells it No Israelis for, let's face it, there is but one God, whichever one Georgie claims to believe in at any time in his lucrative career as a paid gabshite, raconteur, didact, poseur and Big Brother housemate;</span><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhc5rsIxVcOb9o-qHXpez8riIOIlW1xLvMg8g4vzkc8fMA2l2o8bEUlhIz9bU6YUkQ1bb1gL_Fs7FoqZ4bfSpWm1BQafSFdFrggXGk5LMy3BnPqXjGU59KNU6cZBegqts3FKLxCUnqcENSl/s1600/kjhb+ghvjhgv.jpg" width="400" /></div><span style="font-size: large;">his constituency, he thunders in his best panto-prophet-voice, is now Israeli Free, </span><br /><span style="font-size: large;"><img border="0" height="254" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMXFA0dOTKyQQEWC-cWcPZIzrjCGxQXavP46pkaP8vWY38TCPu5MTUAxDPxf6ib2MnoEje0BjLEM5VErNFOHBNS2QvzqZgiAzOykCGD-JGHRTGE7v1MOjgOZJeABheVbSpQZEjWsIgbdOs/s1600/;lkj+kjb.jpg" width="400" /></span><br /><span style="font-size: large;">No Jews here.</span><br /><span style="font-size: large;">Juden Raus.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-size: large;">no-one is permitted to eat anchovies or pomegranates, so there, or grapefruits, see, Tony Blair, God damn you, </span><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;">God damn you, Tony Blair, </span>beat that for statesmanship. </span><br /><span style="font-size: large;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5eque8M7La5udO-4nLitrOkKQ-6XTTz1mjx8_-ZT2E6RJVOqsPKV1i_yn8fJxelbMX5p3C0EQiidiYbyKwwLQ4CMvcFA1g9BXaPlhnHFutAL_arHnuGO0zwk5YgJjUxCauXsIFX2B0_MD/w400-h240/lkj+jhg.jpg" width="400" /></span><br /><span style="font-size: large;">No grapefruit. See that? No grapefruit? </span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;"> Jews will be turned back at the Galloway Line - Bradford West's border with sanity; Morecambe and Wise will be banned from Bradford TeeVee and Saturday will be removed from the Bradford West week.</span><br /><span style="font-size: large;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgUOsYAkHEURIZr2-lewSjqdOzfIVblxNxlRTprhrUOJUI83kkBvhZ3fQ3sCSRxcrLSykGoWQFLcPGqpl9r4M5q23KPIXr3jRT5Dws1QY27fHqhTem-WEj4Z3hInI4__UnGsuhNq3GiIs9P/s1600/lkj+ih.jpg" width="400" /></span><br /><span style="font-size: large;">Bradford, indeed, the whole of Yorkshire,</span><br /><span style="font-size: large;">is now twinned with Gaza</span><br /><span style="font-size: large;">and I now declare the holy Republic of Georgistan</span><br /><span style="font-size: large;"><img border="0" height="221" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9gyX_RXZmmKQ1sMhWUmUkN1_w0xzQLt_a1LXpKGxzfyY3tVYL4wwARALlII3iyCsYm9tBm4lZSs-SxS-NWN7zm3pD4Q234XSJ9GN5YHdqGzm62SuMN6QlrMlj4q0QS_tLMpRO3mrzP1LV/w400-h221/20124211437296734_20.jpg" width="400" /></span><br /><span style="font-size: large;">Peace and blessings be upon my name.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-size: large;">A profound and hard-hitting package of measures to wotsaname the Jews, sort 'em out, that's it, teach them a few Islamo-socialist-Glasgow-OldLabour-NewMotherRussia home truths. Whatever it takes, people can pay me to do it for them. I am the way, the truth and the light. So help me God. Whoops, wrong book, wrong religion. Never mind, 'sall bollocks, really; you don't think I believe in this mumbo-fucking-jumbo, do you? Nah, girl's gotta make a living, don't she?</span><br /><br /><span style="font-size: large;"><img border="0" height="249" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhAbRMzcEGmees4S609YBWIOW7XvfrGNlFGkrmNv4hfEw28Nu0eaSThipJU-5x7Jya5ZXbR12ZGHJFL7kcAavFPTk1uQQTEg_N6IEqx_KAXSTV7wwtJofNKxsmbjEaDF9feZB4ckwBC4-BH/s1600/kh+gh,jhb.jpg" width="400" /></span><br /><span style="font-size: large;">Idiot, shitbrained fuckwit, who elected this cunt, dressed up like one of Ali Babi's forty thieves? </span><br /><span style="font-size: large;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgp6nQ-X0OdI1WPM9kYqYNjpOIP3uVeUeI-MFrFWNVUe49eMCNR9roZT437-hmnMTBZv2FRO5BhEsMfy2wSGxD_vCnC6VJoDIY9ERIlxOXarbqePcLRiYxWr-g7acqs7FDUP_cjQHpxBQi-/s1600/lkj+gb.jpg" width="400" /></span><br /><span style="font-size: large;">Don't they see how racist this all this? Some belligerent, snuffler-bearded Weegie, acting-out a Lawrence of Arabia fantasy, don't they see they are all just extras, spear-carriers in The Revolutionary Life of George, don't they see that he and his coke-sniffing mate, </span><br /><span style="font-size: large;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidNHHIS-EZkCKZQ1bEvQA-xlMgLKIxnpLaejYA6iUygTH7DRuZoa0Uk82iQ2J1PNGgn5oWOZsyxfYGu6a1ezMth4eJQPB_72Mw-mbTeqEt1t1gGakbk9xFRrIFcaEc5DC-eBtuRoTWef7k/s1600/njbmcnv+z.m,c.jpg" width="294" /></span><br /><span style="font-size: large;">Aye, hoosabootye, big man?</span><br /><span style="font-size: large;">Ach, cannae grumble, George, cannae grumble.</span><br /><span style="font-size: large;">A few whoors, some coke, could be worse. </span><br /><span style="font-size: large;">Hoosabootyerself?</span><br /><span style="font-size: large;">Och, 'sno sae bad, them nignogs, y'see them, they fair luv me, so they do. D'ye want fer me t'see if some a they other Muslim places'd stand yous, fer their MP, like, d'ye ken?</span><br /><br /><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"> </span> Tearful Tommy Sheridan has destroyed the Left in Scotland and has nowhere to go but amongst those whom he can still dazzle and bamboozle with bogus, shitty oratory. Christ, he can't even make a marriage last, never mind make a constituency flourish. All he can sing is the Discord Blues, it's the only song he knows.</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhczHkRnqLSe74ri-YlsGo25kHzhAkdmrH0xtpXsqfvnpa7Nu4AFnvfGjAljf_vM8yJP2yk9DDdw4164qdDiD-W2AdccCJK9owAATF-uqbgSZs6ciUGrsxQI6oSaPi7Y8ifDeJDkolMzVGn/s1600/,xmc+x.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"></a><span style="font-size: large;">Galloway, anyway, is, on the face of it, an entirely unsuitable representative of his largely Muslim constituency; another bloated cockwaver, a preposterous, greedy egomaniac as vain and shallow and untrustworty an infidel as one might find anywhere and although he has participated in three apparently muslim marriages, two of which have failed, George coyly declines to confirm or deny his conversion to Islam. Why is that? At a time when anti-Muslim rhetoric has never been so well-nourished, why does he not make this simple clarification, it is a reasonable enough question, like asking, is Blair a Christian?</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /><span style="font-size: large;">Like Boris Johnson, most of Galloway's earnings will come from outside parliament, two cheeks of the same gabshiteing, money-grubbing arse, as he might say himself, were he not head and shoulders up his own scabby arse - newspaper columns, his contemptible and risible appearances on the lewd and vulgar Big Brother Show, nothing very Islamic in that cesspit and recently as a Kremlin stooge on Russia Today. Nothing wrong with Russia Today, per se, I watch some of it with interest, some of it is great, but it is a Putin mouthpiece, yes, that Putin, slayer of Muslim separatists, foe of Islam, generally. I don't know that there's much to choose between Putin and Obama, save that Putin has a foreign secretary who can speak fluent English and Obama hasn't. But both are happy to torture and murder adherents of Islam, at the drop of a hat; why is it not only OK but also seemingly part of a wider Dialectic of Muslim Liberation for Galloway to work for the ace wogbasher, Putin? Maybe because there's money in it, more than the average Respect voter could dream of. </span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;"> I don't see much of him but every time I do he's dressed in ever more eccentric and expensive threads, </span><br /><span style="font-size: large;"><img border="0" height="299" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKbCagCmkJbZPg3je_mSr46ld5wByL7TXaDi67m7PJnia-JnS0jBIBPVW55OsrErL9FdL6HCkCB1P0xEzG5ivx_-_Q4n3VWtox0gvxren6_OKoJ2AAAStAGsxfXPTn87yl9Yz1ySvdGxvH/s1600/,mhbmnvb+c.jpg" width="400" /></span><br /><span style="font-size: large;">elaborate permutations of beard and whiskers, resembling something half-man, half-tart, half-pasha, half money-lender; all this old man image-burnishing must cost a fortune </span><br /><span style="font-size: large;"><img border="0" height="299" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3eJXD3th3KphXdcm9bAY74onvxDhprPNhay16UCWyqYX18SLqXu5Gzihe8Nm7saZ7NK6F8Qu4VZtrbVlGxJq42mNNs_dF6mAjmEjIWUHCtmbLIejJI6MDGmMP2UuVkY8Qmqjiur-vbqLT/s1600/mn.jpg" width="400" /></span><br /><span style="font-size: large;">It's him, from the Galloway Spring collection.</span><br /><span style="font-size: large;">Silly old cunt.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-size: large;">and if he can't wring it out of his parliamentary expenses then maybe RT will stump up for some of it, top class entertainers like Galloway don't come cheap, after all, and as a last resort, Georgie can always send some of his minders around the mosques, very charitable people, Muslims. Meantime, though, he sits in the RT studio like some bloated, farting old sultan, accompanied by a young exotic-looking lady, underlinging, subordinately doing his masterly bidding. Man's an utter cunt, his politics in the ditch, a flyblown mess of corruption, he reinvents his mission as often as he re-trims his beard, you wouldn't buy a fish supper from him, would you, much less a political agenda? He reminds me, always, of that other Labour traitor-turned-hack, His Socialist Grace the Lord Roy Hatterjee, Baron of Sparkbrook. </span><br /><span style="font-size: large;"><img border="0" height="299" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhczHkRnqLSe74ri-YlsGo25kHzhAkdmrH0xtpXsqfvnpa7Nu4AFnvfGjAljf_vM8yJP2yk9DDdw4164qdDiD-W2AdccCJK9owAATF-uqbgSZs6ciUGrsxQI6oSaPi7Y8ifDeJDkolMzVGn/s1600/,xmc+x.jpg" width="400" /></span><br /><span style="font-size: large;">Of course, he slobbered, of course, I am only going to the House of Lords for the truly scrumptious free dinners and the fine free wine list and the three hundred pounds a day pocket money and of course, I almost forgot, to abolish the place. </span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;">Well, yes, it may well be the case that my Sparkhill constituency was, as one judge said, electorally the sort of place which would disgrace a banana republic but I was only the elected MP for twenty years, what's all that got to do with me? What's that? Yes, I will take more foie gras, just a small second helping, no, no, man, not that small. Don't you know who I am? I used to be half of the Dream Ticket. Yes, me and Neil Kinnock. Yes, that's him, useless Welsh git and thieving bastard. Yes, him and his Mrs. Europe? Yes, made a fortune, they did. No, no, was never asked......damn shame, really, understand they have some rather fine restaurants.</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;">Georgie would have you believe that, given the chance he'd be like Samson, heaving at the pillars of MediaMinster, in order to bring it crashing down, that's the only reason he's there. Never fails, that one.</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span> <span style="font-size: large;">It's not funny, though, this arse, prancing about, gabshiteing, like he was personally related to Mohamed, peace and blessings be upon his name. It's the easiest thing in the world to denigrate Tony Blair, probably just as easy to bamboozle big-hair, white-teeth bought-and-paid for Senators but Galloway's bizarre position as an MP for Muslims stinks a bit of racism, doesn't it? Me your white brother, me can speak whiteman language in house of big white chiefs. If his is a Muslim constituency why doesn't it have a Muslim MP, why doesn't he work towards that end? Because there's no fucking Georgemoney in it, that's why. And it's the same as that old Tory argument about women, No, no, no old chap, you have it entirely wrong, we select purely on merit and not on any airy-fairy notions of a representative legislature. George Galloway, the most meritorious Muslim-or-not in West Bradford, eh, God fucking help us all.</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;">Of course Georgieboy will argue that Bradford is seventy per cent white British and that he therefore has a multicultural mandate but the psephological truth is far from that. Of the fifty per cent who voted, the majority were young muslims. All are agreed that he swung his massive by-election swing after targeting young Muslims, rightly fed-up with the corrupt practices of their Labour-voting fathers and uncles - Gosh, if only Glasgow could see that particular light - and by denigrating British foreign policy, well, the anti Muslim part of it.</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;">Galloway is four times married, bless, these women, what are they like, eh, wedded to the best thing since Allah and they still won't do as they're told. Galloway is a career politician, having switched constituencies several times, been thrown out of NewLabour, formed his own one-man party, a la Mr Farage, and has been on the public purse and at the public trough since 1987. Where, once, in true JockLabour style, he told his voters that their continued poverty and ill health could only be remedied by voting Labour for another hundred years, he now tells Muslims that he, uniquely, will recalibrate the measure of the Middle East, of South Asia, of MediaMinster and of Washington DC, when, in fact, as the dogs in the street know, Galloway <i>is</i> MediaMinster; blowhard, emotional traincrash, bully, hypocrite, TeeVee slag and parasite, this rotten, shouty old ponce could be its mascot. He did nothing for Glasgow but plenty for himself, he did nothing for Tower Hamlets but plenty for himself, he will do nothing for Bradford West, claiming, like the revolting Gordon Snot, that his invisibility in parliament is actually a demonstration of great principle, his absence due to him writing literally thousands of letters on behalf of his constituents; even though he always claims the maximum in office and admin. expenses, I suppose that George, hommes des lettres, author, commentator, wit, philosopher and cultural historian - he really, really values John Lennon's odious, hypocritical dirge, Imagine, considers it part of his credo - George just has to be there, to make sure the right postage is paid on all the letters to dustbin departments, street lighting executives and passenger transport operatives and that, Whoops, genuine mistake, some entranced, junior Georgite doesn't submit an expenses claim for her master's Christmas cards, not that he's a Christian, or anything, and that's why he can't appear in Parliament, got far more important things to do, licking envelopes - although it is remarkable that his epic of correspondence doesn't keep him from the RT studios, where, unlike the situation within his real employment - as a member of the legislature - he actually does have to turn up in order to be paid. </span><br /><br /><span style="font-size: large;">I suppose that ultimately Galloway is Blair's creature. Unlike many of the left-leaning - me, for instance - Galloway, in voting for himself, voted for Blair to form that government which he now decries, upon which he bases his whole act. If Blair had given him a ministry, made him a right honourable - and don't forget they stay right honourables, it is a mealticket for life - things would have been very different. Let's face it, Blair gave Tony Banks a ministry and he was far more disloyal and naughty than George had ever been. He could have given George Overseas Aid or Fishing, something that not even he could have fucked up. And George would've swiftly become accustomed to being limousined and Yes, Ministered, like the scabby phoney he is; he'd have loved all that bowing and scraping, people kissing his arse; he'd have loved the salary, the pension, when it came and the directorships. Just look at John Reid, fellow Glaswegian Marxist-Trotskyist-Leninist, fellow personal fuck-up, fellow thug, bully and gabshite, blatantly unsuited for ministerial responsibility and yet he did them all - only for about a fortnight, granted, staggeringly incompetent but now wee Lord John is coining millions in retirement. If only Blair had appointed Galloway, the nation would have been spared his noisy hysterics-for-money and perhaps the people of Bradford West might - just might - have a member representing their interests instead of his own.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-size: large;">At least, though, unlike the rest of MediaMinster, George remains uncontaminated by recent disclosures.</span><br /><span style="font-size: large;"><img border="0" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiEkashM5uniBYzVxhoI3q-y857qxYHSQsckBjX4XMP4jx-mX-2gMax8ysZbC7QW_uoFZlJWSOoDnGCuou7KyP7_ChgZ54UhT1pmrjxVFKM7iVW1oS4mFasPn61oMQIwQMZ4YuXUjOacCSg/w400-h266/George-Galloway.jpg" width="400" /></span><br /><span style="font-size: large;">Showbiz celebrities embrace, bless.</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span><span style="font-size: large;"> </span><b><span style="font-size: x-large;">Who Owns the Street? </span></b><span style="font-size: medium;">30th August 2014</span></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;"><img border="0" height="265" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwHkNJBUSqJZ0FC-EKfZ1O9uXwYG7OJGwF0Qr1A48BkeH_jgdPX7A3KOCIM2cPNgTNLxntBjL_Z0qWeqVQd_dRVpZ4BI0AItaBYuaSsOssAZdWq5rp0nQ_UFTrDHpg_KoCVRIpUd6LK_CM/s1600/A+supporter+of+MP+George+Galloway+wipes+his+face+after+an+egg+was+thrown+towards+the+MP.jpg" width="400" /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">A punch in the face is no laughing matter. Showbusiness, of course, depicts people being drop-kicked and pistol-whipped, smashed full in the face with a nailed boot, yet laughing and grinning ruefully, just a few moments later. The older I grow the more these enactments frustrate me; the human body is, no other word for it, a miracle, its powers of reconstitution and repair beyond the wildest imaginings of technology; to kick it about and wound it deliberately seems wanton and stupid; </span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihzh4X-5BQy9xL293N_-FXg765Xp7SMOZIOLR1gABfNKvs1BXGuArBGL6oXKf5HV7YmTBby9f_4RErnYZP4YjWQNdz4XzAmo_TrcKm4c3Ms2_f7cF6ECePHR0Vg5p8-NpJOWfcNUnjJf6C/w270-h400/errftgyhjm.jpg" width="270" /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"> to invite violence on oneself is not the conduct of a wise man, for it begets itself, time and again and hurts others; it is the soft words, rather than the vain, gabshite grandstanding, which turn away Wrath.</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="342" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEijWaPBlPOyXUe9gZL75uGOVm8XKedaqLg_qjRAJwbQJQ-yP298gfywuvGDfIJiLNAUWgLEJ-XlXdncneMf8sNUBP4IUZKdr1AEOfqJZVmfLCQls_Q1uD6XSvQyURov93tgPrgnTXJ4cdNj/s1600/gallowayinlycra2-300x257.jpg" width="400" /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">That the disgusting old whore, Galloway, should be struck, while <i>posing for pictures</i> is a bitter-sweet irony which will be lost on him; that there is at least one person in the UK unenthralled by his shouty, undiscerning celebrity he can probably live with but even that fact will chafe a little at our great people's champion and poseur. It will be interesting to see if, as it should, this episode knocks Georgie off the plinth of his own vanity or if it becomes embellished the more with the facetious mythology of his unending struggle for the creation of a (now) Islamo-Socialist Republic On Earth.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;"><img border="0" height="263" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg61MHi5eULaxnACBMBQDBxAMNTh-I-rr-p0uteIIPuJopWHKSugvMUSmybBleVhIWy4R42FmTp2xMh_RohsX9Ndvw8Ou6wlODjLKKtZ4UauA0O67RzWvZeK-Xpa9YIIkRM0lRN6XNLlUXt/w400-h263/article-2123715-1264F8C9000005DC-519_468x310.jpg" width="400" /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">A spiritual Native American, I never permit my photograph to be taken, believing, like them, that it amounts to theft of the soul. That Galloway cannot live without his image being endlessly cosmeticised, tailored and widely reproduced, this alone bespeaks his unworthiness.</span></div>call me ishmaelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14369028864168461729noreply@blogger.com12tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6065998731267025499.post-2996506843535923642024-02-25T17:45:00.006+00:002024-02-26T17:09:12.085+00:00The Sunday Ishmael: 25/02/2024<div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><i>Beware the Jabberwock, my son, the jaws that bite, the claws that catch. Beware the Jub-Jub bird and shun the frumious bandersnatch.</i></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><i> </i></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">There's really no shortage of people. If you measure success by how many DNA copies a species comprises, then homo sapiens has been staggeringly successful. Before the Agricultural Revolution, about 10,000 years ago, it is estimated that the hunter gatherer human population of the Earth was 6 to 10 <b>million </b>individuals. The United Nations tell us that the w</span><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #111111; text-align: left;">orld population reached</span><span style="background-color: white; color: #111111; font-weight: 700; text-align: left;"> 8 billion</span><span style="background-color: white; color: #111111; text-align: left;"> on November 15, 2022</span></span><span face="Roboto, Helvetica, sans-serif" style="background-color: white; color: #111111; font-size: 16px; text-align: left;">. </span><span style="background-color: white; color: #111111; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">At 11.46 am on the 25th February 2024, it was 8,093,550,705. There's a world population clock you can have a look at here: </span></span><a href="https://www.worldometers.info/world-population/" style="text-align: left;">World Population Clock: 8.1 Billion People (LIVE, 2024) - Worldometer (worldometers.info)</a><span style="background-color: white; color: #111111; font-family: times; font-size: x-large; text-align: left;">. </span><span style="background-color: white; color: #111111; font-family: times; font-size: large; text-align: left;">The number goes up faster than you can follow. The United Nations estimate that the world population will reach <b>10 billion </b>in 2059.</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #111111; font-family: times; font-size: large; text-align: left;">So how can demographers assure us that birth rates are falling so catastrophically that the human race is facing an existential crisis?</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #111111; font-family: times; font-size: large; text-align: left;">Because they are looking through a Eurocentric lens. For a stable population, each woman needs to have 2.1 children. Any less and the population falls. So, until the transitional period is over and the population stabilises at a lower level, there will be more old people than young ones, paying less tax to maintain the services that society requires. In Italy, the birth rate is 1.24, in France 1.8, the UK 1.5, (but Scotland is 1.37). Widen the lens to include what we call the West, and we see the U.S. birth rate per woman is 1.7.</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #111111; font-family: times; font-size: large; text-align: left;">Women in the Middle East and Africa are doing the heavy lifting on keeping the population clock ticking merrily upwards: in the Middle East it seems that women have three babies each, in Chad and Mali they have six apiece and in Nigeria five each.</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">Received wisdom has it that women in the west are not doing their bit because they prefer the benefits of childlessness: more money, so better food, housing, clothes, material goods; better advancement in careers, higher status - and who wouldn't, if you have the luxury of choice? A choice given by efficient birth control backed up by abortion. Others blame the prolonged adolescence of western culture - only in their thirties do people stop travelling, studying, games playing, and buckle down to the business of creating the next generation. And by then, of course, fertility has declined to the point that medical intervention is often required. We should start saying: <i>Teenage Pregnancy? That's a <b>good</b> thing.</i></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">A factor that dares not say its name, however, could be this: </span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="215" data-original-width="235" height="366" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjrsW9A-BoTO9qCKfIy2bHWUUASAyX3vG6IU7yxQR4OTSUdzJOwIrE5otyPJ7M4TOlW73nM5zO-J8aNVC_ViD-ivL0SwAb4fd5gQr_RjQNnKfmrn1pTveoyhIU2Z87cBFZDHBmHB0gGzE-0uqHG2vfWb-VKtdOYB5opFCRW153Tb1Qe0xHg8BJiJmBtIQ0/w400-h366/Gay%20Pride.jpg" width="400" /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">Or this:</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="400" data-original-width="220" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjC4BSNPteo76_nfEsgg9QrySvwpaLYSs5u6CcBsN6kvvPyRUQWScNMM7amsXJ5VQvVBx2RbbgArFXKVstsAl2isR-ObCRJR3jBJf0H_pket7Hd_cCw8vdaAVR_vgIixabpEYDvro_NquYKTakdwB_Gf8A0FRuVaRAyEzpRXxRtatBjGoB4Mv-L34qRE0M/w220-h400/Gay%20Pride%202.jpg" width="220" /></div><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">Or this:</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><iframe allowfullscreen="" class="BLOG_video_class" height="266" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/myM8nHMq4AQ" width="320" youtube-src-id="myM8nHMq4AQ"></iframe></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #141414; text-align: start;">The BBC's take on this work by Kim Petras is: "<i>Titled Slut Pop Miami, it's an outrageous, sex-positive, club-ready tribute to the joys of carnal pleasure." </i></span></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #141414; text-align: start;">The lyrics extol a practice that is unlikely to lead to conception, and impossibly so when perpetrated by one man upon another man dressed up as a woman.</span></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="266" data-original-width="474" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8C83Mg5mtwRHpfbN9-Z6hu2xvyU2vpYjHp8LfdxVX20OqEi3ocw5764bD0mFukjI5Kb6KfJd2Kqe6AfP-DUeJ-P5U_-2jIOBqpNtvZDeUd_LnWxoOWbDEfpX8MnOI7Yju4vswqlhk8jWyXJqJp0x5lqgBMYnjCsCmRaTA3drB1J1iGzUtpnDWzgGLX2c/w400-h225/Kim%20Petras%20and%20Sam%20Smith.jpg" width="400" /></div><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><div style="text-align: center;">Kim Petras and Sam Smith - two biological <b>blokes</b> at the Grammy Awards, 2023.</div></span><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div>The thing is, that if men refuse to father children by women within a secure and lasting relationship, then sensible women will say fuck that for a game of soldiers, I'm not risking my health, happiness and financial position in order to have children as a single parent. Unless the state intervenes - remember that period of moral outrage when single mothers were vilified for getting pregnant for the purpose of securing housing and an income from the state? Turns out that they were heroines, really, as blokes have turned away from the responsibilities of fatherhood and family life in favour of the joys of Sodom, onanism and cross dressing.<br /><span style="background-color: white; color: #141414; text-align: start;">What with all this non-reproductive sexual activity, and falling birth-rates in the West, you would expect that the small boats filled with illegal immigrants, especially if one or two of them included fertile females, would be welcomed with open arms by the osteoporotic nations. But no! It turns out that these geriatric countries are more bothered about the loss of their existing cultures than about welcoming foreigners who are willing and able to breed, will pay taxes and might also possibly adopt some of the host culture. In December, Elon Musk was invited to Italy by prime minister, Giorgia Meloni, to discuss ending Italy's "demographic winter". He said: "Italy is the people of Italy ....make more Italians to save Italy's culture."</span></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #141414; text-align: start;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #141414; text-align: start;">And that, ladies, gentlemen and ishmaelite scholars, is at the heart of what has been happening in London this last week. Nope, not Italy- that's just an example. </span></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: times;">"Any large-scale human co-operation - whether a modern state, a mediaeval church, an ancient city or an archaic tribe - is rooted in common myths that exist only in people's collective imagination.... None of these things exist outside the stories that people invent and tell one another. There are no gods in the universe, no nations, no money, no human rights, no laws and no justice outside the common imagination of human beings." </span><i style="font-family: times;">Sapiens</i><span style="font-family: times;"> Yuval Noah Harari.</span></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">And these stories - myths, narratives, can, and do, change. The story that has held the peepul of Britain together in a collective culture is changing faster than we are comfortable with. And when it does, violence usually ensues. </span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">Back when we were foragers, before the Agrarian Revolution, roving small bands of people would make war on other small bands, over issues of food, the territory over which you could roam to find your food, and possession of fertile females. It was immediate, real and touchable. Then the idea, or story, happened, cooked up in our human big brains, unifying myths, or culture. And now we go to war over ideas. Poor old Mr. Northern Speaker found himself in the middle of several of these competing certainties last week.</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">He has apologised - quite profusely. But I have seldom heard such a belligerent apology. </span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="323" data-original-width="474" height="272" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgtEB4T3Cp9xlGweitk6igXzmHJK6SD98TtKswgRwTjRAGgebR1dfUugVGi3CA48_mUGsx6DyFU6wyRZ2-ZvIiZlvqqRsiU4IiUqjc6_ovPK-IQGd0mEonQ_40SK-gIJic4JmNYt7D4D1ojuUMDZHEIbVLoSLOMyTR9_6VcibIfFz-5FoRdM-oL0ApoRXo/w400-h272/Gaza%20chaos%20in%20House.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" width="400" /></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Here they are, all upset, storming out.</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">For our non UK readers, and those who haven't been paying much attention (and, as ever, who can blame you?), here's what happened.</span></div><div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">Three times in each Parliamentary session, the SNP are allowed an Opposition Day, in which they pick the topic for debate that day. On Wednesday, they laid down a motion calling for an immediate ceasefire in the Israeli/Gaza conflict. Labour put down an amendment to the SNP motion, calling for an </span><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"> "immediate humanitarian ceasefire", providing that both sides laid down their weapons and that all the Israeli hostages were released, and then the Conservative </span><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">Government tabled its own amendment, which leaves out calls for an immediate ceasefire and instead says that parliament “supports moves towards a permanent sustainable ceasefire”.</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">It is the Speaker's job to decide if an amendment can be debated and voted upon, within the </span><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">parliamentary convention that if a motion has been put forward by an opposition party, like the SNP, it cannot be amended by another opposition party, like Labour - only by the government. Despite this, Mr Northern Speaker, Sir Lindsay Hoyle, ruled that both the government and Labour's amendments to the SNP's motion could and would be voted on, claiming he wanted to give the House as many options as possible when debating such an emotive topic</span><span face=""Sky Text", sans-serif" style="background-color: white; color: #4a4a4a; font-size: 22px; text-align: start;">. </span><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">Penny Mordaunt, sword bearer, then pulled the Government amendment, saying the Conservatives would "play no further part" in proceedings in protest at Hoyle's actions. So Labour's amendment was passed without a vote, the Tories and SNP became very agitated and walked out.</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">Massive stramash ensued, and Hoyle made his belligerent apology, in which he claimed to be protecting the lives of MPs. How so? you may ask. There have been weekly protests in the streets of London, MPs have been threatened online and in their own homes to pressure them to take a pro-Palestinian line in the Israeli/Gaza conflict, and so we are invited to assume that Hoyle, in giving MPs the opportunity to express their support for Gaza, believed he was saving their lives. What? What, What, Whattitty What? Yes, sounds a bit tenuous to me, too. God knows what he was up to, really. The Conservatives, who we suspect believe themselves to be God (with a divine birth-right to rule this dis-United Kingdom), allege that he was Starmer's cat's paw, having been a Labour man before he was elevated to the Speaker's Chair and therefore shed all his political allegiances and became, by convention, a man without conviction.</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="667" data-original-width="1000" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRPaJgQr1CiBu8jsZoZsAhQziAD8euy4WzY-mg2j9znIYKM0qPyimVwfBcGWQWLo9ZI7LWlgQGDtbCWgWPK_1_aa4gMHQYFRdWizMvDFiwmyL7YcQriodhHqa12jVWZfmynDRmdA5BC2dJ2ZVWnGTe9RCne9Veyr871I9Evo-hCl3hTK1qgbeHzcq5KLg/w400-h266/speak.jpg" width="400" /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">Bit of a mess, really. Picking out the unifying myths, or stories, in this lot, there's the idea of Parliamentary Democracy, there's the concept of three political tribes, there's the story of fair play and <i>its our turn</i>, there's the ridiculous idea that a debate in the House of Commons in London should have any bearing on a war being waged 2,229 miles away,</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="493" data-original-width="1182" height="166" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvxC3T5bA9lJdcG1YGHeB6Pg-HvDq2XwiRk_-1RqpcfiurC7rzA1TW-jyajO-4Xe1r4j2Ybb990mPaQSX2fDqYZhUjGn3VBPm1WuV8dScg0mSJ-jzkS9uvz_IlJTmQPn-OBOk7vDSLS32bYR3_KgP_rpvIxtsGoaybuYBIEgNI-L2uhb0iTY23Rua5EQA/w400-h166/Gaza%20London.jpg" width="400" /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">and there's the cry from the streets, called in aid by Mr. Northern Speaker, in which we see the collision of national and supra-national myths.</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">Here's a few definitions:</span></div><div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><b>Islamist</b>:</span><span style="font-family: times; font-size: x-large;"> </span><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"> advocate or supporter of Islamic militancy or fundamentalism: "radical Islamists"</span></div><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><b>Islamic fundamentalism: </b>a movement of Muslims who aim to return to the founding scriptures of Islam and live similarly to how the Islamic prophet Muhammad and his companions lived. It is defined as a puritanical, revivalist, and reform movement of Muslims.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><b>Islamic terrorism: </b></span><span style="font-family: times; font-size: x-large;"> </span><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">terrorist acts with religious motivations carried out by fundamentalist militant Islamists and Islamic extremists.</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><b>Anti-Semitism</b>: hostility to or prejudice against Jewish people</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><b>Judaism</b>: a religion characterised by belief in one creator God (male)</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><b>Islam</b>: </span><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">a religion characterised by belief in one creator God (male)</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: times;"><b>Christianity</b>: </span><span style="font-family: times;">a religion characterised by belief in one creator God (male)</span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><b>Religion</b>: a particular system of faith and worship. A narrative invented by humans.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><b>Lobbying</b>: to seek to influence a legislator on an issue. Does not legitimately include threats of violence and murder.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><b>Flag: </b></span><span face="Roboto, Helvetica, sans-serif" style="background-color: white; color: #111111; font-size: 14px;"> </span><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #111111;">a </span><span style="background-color: white; color: #111111;">piece of cloth or similar material, typically oblong or square, attachable by one edge to a pole or rope and used as the symbol or emblem of a country or institution or as a decoration during public festivities.</span></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="266" data-original-width="474" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhmn823hUx-Eq0MABV6v5z3A-_rHlpzer7wVNiD05RN7kQvJkTq1RmVzm_f9I20coGrF7uh1xv9wJzPAk5zTL4rsejE9PKUzofvT_12vjYg-YNX6RBUz_ofJVg4dvVhOvxq_isBOplu6o3AYvb7mGoHECue_P99XoMQjjRVWkkh_FHIn_T0FjNkAsF8RYw/w400-h225/palestinian%20protest.jpg" width="400" /></div></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">Of course, this conflict between narratives focused on the Gaza mess is dressed up in terms of faith, but, at bottom, is about territory and the concept of the nation state - which is another narrative.</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">Best of luck and be careful out there.</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="353" data-original-width="474" height="297" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjxBL4EUVbGL8Klig2p-Pzr-uHEmjv0p0_cX4gtLTqqp5tY_lZnkpSKY2NO6oSiS0KTkLmeqj402qarRZSgWAPuRyigaBcOqIi0ilBCTjqhbMUv301YbDTy8DbkQL1zxjt5yDiPhu-1KM9DDNOhlKSU46jZla03VAOqVQR8F7ZI6BY95RQISy6L8HdNuoI/w400-h297/be%20careful.jpg" width="400" /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large; text-align: left;"><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #141414;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #141414;">More sardonic wit, political satire and biting cynicism from mr ishmael can be found in the f</span><span style="background-color: white; color: black; font-style: inherit; font-variant-caps: inherit; font-variant-ligatures: inherit; font-weight: inherit; text-align: left;">our-volume</span><span style="background-color: white; color: black; font-style: inherit; font-variant-caps: inherit; font-variant-ligatures: inherit; font-weight: inherit; text-align: left;"> </span><span style="background-color: white; color: black; font-style: inherit; font-variant-caps: inherit; font-variant-ligatures: inherit; font-weight: inherit;">Call Me Ishmael oeuvre, collected and curated by editor mr verge.</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="133" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRJCv9T1Bcq1AFtN1lgllwI1UnV6D1vSFcIIlK4GDHxh2AIm4ZvLVr35fOuHfIdaQZMam0fpwx4_T2KOJJOfkTpjdj-77dcyQtI6IJ3UVRMxaxYJ12yGgEBvJEB9w2Q74dpp0wYjJj2eI/w200-h133/thumbnail_COVER1+%25282%2529.png" style="text-align: left;" width="200" /><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgB-6JNv0jzD-R6hVIQdseWlNzsQLWKPechwQLF-xBeWkTc2KBvQxd80TyV3YWU9LaKJXse5ACodyzCVXD4dj6Tauuh5V_qW3-aky-yLGAJoMA9jgq45-i8TSb1KkijC-XCS5HDiFBEO5s/w141-h200/vent+stack.png" width="141" /><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjdQlcfm-4zheOEcRYhuwdhvN3DhLeGtm_lQC_27iRcmVLSW44CpLdukXz8QTXTWfOLCzUEY2jsIVynLG9DlbzcCZtbaD13WF_XDyKjNpuEdecwGCEX9ypq4nAjH3gm7pXxVODPXhlKtXxMg48D41QCsTG_hVYJUMIZ7N_bSjdRdYMGRalX1IWsAoR7/w141-h200/Ishmael" width="141" /><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEip2EzAoKCLON9L8HJyC277gD1ITzLx35xSCKihjE4TB61OSh9LSeBcqfZ9iJC-nbiwe9U3ZMyHAminiob0CmWfcHHu4r491WHBWKcz4U1ywHvGM11tl-yds2PLCJaMecibLj6MhGLKfVMuR0SiAAHwOttqy6tLWBip7Wgpl56dGFLiQt3ij_6tBtNcSp8/w141-h200/Flush%20Test.jpg" width="141" /></div></span><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large; text-align: left;"><div style="text-align: center;"><div style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-size: large;">Honest Not Invent, Vent Stack, Ishmael’s Blues, and the latest, Flush Test (with a nice picture of the late, much lamented, Mr Harris of Lanarkshire taking a piss on a totem pole) are available from Lulu and Amazon. If you buy from Amazon, it would be nice if you could give a review on their website.</span></div><div style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-size: large;">Ishmaelites wishing to buy a copy from lulu should follow these steps :</span></div><div style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-size: large;">please register an account first, at lulu.com. This is advisable because otherwise paypal seems to think it's ok to charge in dollars, and they then apply their own conversion rate, which might put the price up slightly for a UK buyer. Once the new account is set up, follow one of the links below (to either paperback or hardback) or type "Ishmael’s Blues" into the Lulu Bookstore search box. Click on the “show explicit content” tab, give the age verification box a date of birth such as 1 January 1960, and proceed.</span></div><div style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-size: large;">Link for Hardcover : https://tinyurl.com/je7nddfr</span></div><div style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-size: large;">Link for Paperback : https://tinyurl.com/3jurrzux</span></div><div><span>https://www.lulu.com/shop/ishmael-smith/flush-test/paperback/product-9yjvn7.html?q=Flush+Test&page=1&pageSize=4</span></div><div style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-size: large;">At checkout, try WELCOME15 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.</span></div><div style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-size: large;">With the 15% voucher, PB (including delivery to a UK address) should be £16.84; HB £27.04.</span></div><div style="font-size: medium;"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="308" data-original-width="474" height="260" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSUC6PU_u5qqTzx9bUT5mkJRMOX-NL4X9ZhFKq5r8LQ3jjouI5VaLvTM6eBfrrG9Xv8txcUyvWtGIkNGO4oMr6JlzL4GpV0w_GFIF7Ql7eoktLUL3SgMqjvgpiSprr6bqBBba3wtjtqsPK5hmKKkC7FQR4mZZxvkw1dAHmMFznqIShIML96IrO5Es6Sgk/w400-h260/religion.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" width="400" /></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A minister, an imam and a rabbi walk into a bar. The bartender looks at them and says, 'What is this, a joke?<span face="sans-serif" style="background-color: white; color: #202122; font-size: 14px; padding-right: 0.15em; text-align: start;">'</span></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div></div></span></span></div></div>call me ishmaelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14369028864168461729noreply@blogger.com15tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6065998731267025499.post-21058930279752283702024-02-18T18:36:00.004+00:002024-02-19T08:31:06.430+00:00The Sunday Ishmael: 18/02/2024<div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><i>Twas brillig and the slithy toves did gyre and gimble in the wabe: All mimsy were the borogoves and the mome wraths outgrabe. </i></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">Everything's rather gloomy and irritating just at present and it's hard to be excited about anything, even the last croaking writhings of the Conservative Party as they face the reality of losing their jobs en masse when Tiny Sunak gives in and calls an election. </span><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"> The only Tory MP willing to go in front of the cameras to spin the drubbing that the Tories got in the Kingswood and Wellingborough by-elections looked like a rabbit transfixed by headlights or a chap in need of some chemical assistance. Illegal immigration minister Michael Tomlinson, K.C., </span><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">Member of Parliament for Mid Dorset and </span><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">North Poole and Minister of State for Countering Illegal Migration, was sent out to do battle on the politics programmes this</span><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"> morning. I've not come across this complete and utter nonentity before - he looks as if he has been carefully moulded from plastic and he speaks in polished </span><span style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">perorations, won't admit to anything and says everything is for the best in the best of all possible worlds. </span></span></div><div><span style="text-align: left;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="181" data-original-width="278" height="260" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjrJFaotdRrTnxg6fQIn7HE397opiR3JM8GMzEH_T0_XEUZzG3ebYen9SMkI84y4c_TQlu1vVvc9qeg-_jCCAZe-nUscWZLwzO6kzqqgaEPnXIUZ99CkPJWFCVSEF-XjSs9Sb-Pouw6BKKca8hGca_cg0F2FQ_Wg-GRrH4CM8R-bzarumR_3bdnRU4Zg_s/w400-h260/michael%20Tomlinson.jpg" width="400" /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">He told Laura Kuenssberg that the elections had taken place against a “very difficult backdrop. Governments don’t traditionally win by-elections. It’s very clear that a vote for reform is a vote to let Labour in. That is a very clear message I have taken away.”</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">Laura told him that, au contraire, that was a load of bollocks: “the clear message” she said was “that voters don’t like the prime minister."</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">He was equally amusing when discussing his failure to stop the boats - one of Sunak's infamous <a class="sh-anchor" data-tg-citations="1;2;3" data-tgpsgid="d_anstgsen0" h="ID=SERP,5942.1" href="https://www.bing.com/ck/a?!&&p=2ff3d053760cc3d4JmltdHM9MTcwODIxNDQwMCZpZ3VpZD0xYWJjNTI0OS0wYjYzLTY4MWUtMzE2MC00NjRhMGFhODY5NGUmaW5zaWQ9NTk0Mg&ptn=3&ver=2&hsh=3&fclid=1abc5249-0b63-681e-3160-464a0aa8694e&psq=rishi+sunak%27s+five+pledges&u=a1aHR0cHM6Ly93d3cuYmJjLmNvLnVrL25ld3MvYXYvdWstcG9saXRpY3MtNjQxNjY0MTc&ntb=1" style="background-color: white; text-align: left; text-decoration-line: none; text-underline-offset: 3px;" target="_blank"> </a>five pledges.<b><span style="background-color: white;"> </span></b>Here they are again:</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><ul style="text-align: left;"><li><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">Halve inflation this year to ease the cost of living</span></li><li><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">Grow the economy, creating better-paid jobs and opportunity across the country</span></li><li><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">Ensure national debt is falling</span></li><li><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">NHS waiting lists will fall and people will get the care they need more quickly</span></li><li><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">Stop asylum seekers crossing the Channel on small boats.</span></li></ul><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"> </span><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">Just wanted to give you a cheap laugh. </span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div></span><div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">Laura put to him a few facts: the total number of illegal arrivals since Sunak took office is 38,668 - over a third of the 115,927 who have crossed the Channel since January 2018. 52 successfully crossed on Friday, bringing the 2024 total to 1,605, almost 19% more than had crossed by this point in 2022. To which Michael stuck to the party line: I'm doing my best and the numbers are going down. Laura made a point of saying she <i>wouldn't</i> make a bet with him whether he'll get any illegal immigrants on a flight to Rwanda before the election.</span></div></div></div></span><span style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">Here's Michael talking seriously to Plod about "<span style="background-color: white; letter-spacing: 0.42px;">ensuring that only that <i>(sic)</i> entitled to work here are doing so. The Government are <i>(sic)</i> determined to break the business model of the people smugglers, but rogue employers and landlords threaten to undermine our efforts by encouraging illegal migration. </span><span style="background-color: white; letter-spacing: 0.42px;">Michael went to see for himself the work being done by law enforcement, to stop rogue employers from employing people illegally." <i>Tomlinson's Website</i></span></div></span></span></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="540" data-original-width="830" height="260" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFpYQDaXWcx-hJizh6gzdTBROm2Vi7oIM1ItIHRsT5eeOeYTfphhy8P22GLUBAK_XUH_K1azWRYwCyuKD63CVPgYv9PfeRwiKU5L6l3FrB6N8dETbOno7ace_kQklQZ7PtGqQmGWTMTpF-HuiYqr24gGIQnTPW6-klAI_MwJLNszZkenVdv_NJM3JvyLQ/w400-h260/michael%20enforcement.jpg" width="400" /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: times;">His website also invites you to <b>Volunteer with Michael</b> (Honest, not Invent). It says: "</span><span style="font-family: times;">Michael has a Parliamentary team to help him with casework, but much of the work done with an MP is done by volunteers. If you'd like to get involved please complete the form below. Even if the options below don't sound like anything you would be interested in, we need help doing all kinds of things so please get in touch! You'll always get a warm welcome - and even the odd cup of tea or coffee!"</span></span></div></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">There's an on-line form to complete, so don't hesitate if you'd like to help out Michael with his important work. Who knows, you might get to escort small boat illegals to Rwanda For Fuck's Sake and even get a cup of tea.</span></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">I'm still distressed by the death of Navalny, and so, it seems, is Baron Cameron of Chipping Norton, PC. </span><span style="background-color: white; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">Speaking as he attended the Munich Security Conference on Friday, Lord Cameron said: “We should hold Putin accountable for this, and no-one should be in any doubt about the dreadful nature of Putin’s regime in Russia after what has just happened.” He said there will be <b><i>consequences</i></b> for Putin. </span></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="background-color: white; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">They are all at it - Sunak, Tugendhat, Yousaf, Davey, Starmer, it is clearly the thing to do, to speak rashly and intemperately and demand more sanctions. Since the last lot of sanctions were imposed, Russia's economy has grown, which is a damn sight more than ours has done. They won't be happy until the proxy war has been replaced by open warfare. Back to Baron Cameron, and mr ishmael's take on his abilities as a war leader: </span></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: medium;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><b>The War*lord of Chipping Sodom - 4/12/2015</b></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span>* insert current war</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-family: "Times New Roman";"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-family: "Times New Roman";"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-family: "Times New Roman";"></div><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"><img border="0" height="249" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiS0ASMGpb6todEnB39thbV6kT8Sqykibc1meeVnQTye8-6Px8YxVZScbfzfNk_wOw5kIT5QC_eMd6AvsYqHCOws-y_GubLFWWRX9dStYZu14WNrqVB1KQNOJ5No7GZcYFaJax4F6PVGF18/s400/wac10.jpg" width="400" /></span></span><br /><span style="font-size: large;">Well, I would just say to this house that as your prime minister and commander-in-chief it is my foremost duty to start wars, wherever and whenever and upon whomever ...is it whomever, whose ever? upon whoandwhomsoever I can. And thus invite retaliation, here, at home. Not exactly here, in the Palace of Westminster, sewn-up tighter'n nun's knickers, this place, but generally, among people who travel on the buses, and walk down the streets.</span><br /></div><div style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: medium;"><br /></div><div style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: medium;"><span style="font-size: large;">Wosssat? Win them? Win the wars? Good God, no, we don't win them. Didn't win in Egypt, did we; didn't win in Malaya, certainly didn't win in Northern Ireland; Iraq, didn't win there. Afghanistan, we never, ever win there. </span><br /><span style="font-size: large;">Libya? What's to win? </span><br /><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"><img border="0" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZkO5N7BHmkEU_oDx1vR6Mm1kIqraN4Vge6aqEJCve5ZxCyS9zlfhhs-Fo79HSqTCsh4p8uId9bYz5h04iRFiU8Vd-QJk4mBAv6XP8Hp4w5B3AactOq-c45C-TeQy5OgaYxsgx5g-PZSlK/s400/wac8.jpg" width="400" /></span></span><br /><span style="font-size: large;">And actually, d'you know what, none of these are actually our wars....whose are they? Fucked if I know. Israel's, America's ? We just tag along, so's not to be left out. But as the great Shakespeare said, They also serve, who only stand and lose. And that's what we do so well, lose. Lost in Ulster, lost in Iraq, lost magnificently in Afghanistan. And do you know what, when I visit our servicemen and women abroad, that's what I say to them: We can rely on you chaps to lose for us, and since that's what's gonna happen, there's no point in the Chancellor spending good money on supplying you with proper gear, y'know, boots, that sort of thing, the right toothpaste, carrier air support, we needed that money for the bankers' bonuses. I mean, lessbeclear, if it wasn't for the army you'd probly all be in Mrs May's young offender institutions.</span><br /><span style="font-size: large;">As it is, keep your nose clean, lose your legs, and you might get to shake hands with Prince Harry Hooligan. Just the once, he's a busy man.</span><br /><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"><img border="0" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdXNDIEAnxW7Tfj_FFFh6dVbK8WjvkoOqVnVhZbhskXK8KSz-X36CwtQu5Ok-CLMh8cKIUtLyKyu4Yw47izWRpI7exJXN3hcsenu2w8-NePDj9oxzL7ijBaD2E8uVCQYJoeRy2i576v_oD/s400/wac9.jpg" width="400" /></span> </span><br /><span style="font-size: large;"> </span><span style="font-size: large;">And Syria, no, we haven't a snowball's chance in Hell. </span><br /><span style="font-size: large;">Not against hundreds of Russian Migs or whatever they are and hundreds of Uncle Sam's stealth fighters and attack helicopters and what have you. No, no, they won't actually be shooting <i>at</i> our Spitfires and Hurricanes, not as such, but there's always Friendly Fire, at which Uncle Sam is most proficient. And Mr Putin does seem to have his arse in his hands, just because a few hundred of his citizens were blown out of the sky. That's the thing, with the Russians. I mean, the French, they lost far fewer citizens than were in the Russian aircraft and they're hardly making any fuss at all, are they? Apart from demanding that everybody join them in World War Three, which we are happy to do. Let me inform the house, it beats the arse, this WarLording, off negotiating a new Euro-treaty. Not that we will, because we can't, but a good world war'll take people's minds off that, I should think.</span><br /><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span><span style="font-size: large;"> But at the end of the day, as we used to say at Eton, it doesn't matter how you play the game as long as somebody else loses and the right people make a fortune. </span></div><div style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: medium;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><img border="0" height="242" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhNY2otaHzryN5o0xyBB1k9RFJwAyWhNYIvxDe6KAfMcqKeqU9dMyNEIll2mwjj76hsDijPMYyKJr4gUvPgcg3VmOKLM_gSJ0YpJBBZ2F1Ks4G1mWXjNbODeKpKl4IUiTWyhfoltg58MbYi/s400/wac32.jpg" width="400" /></div></div><div style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: medium;"><span style="font-size: large;"><i>(cheers, Tory benches and some Labour benches erupt in song, Give us Money, that's, whatwewant, that's whatwewant, that's what we wa-a-a-a-a-a-a-a-a-nt, yeah, that's what we want .)</i></span></div><div style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: medium;"><br /></div><div style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: medium;"><span style="font-size: large;">I mean, I simply say, Mr Tiny Speaker, in response to my honourable friends, that all of us in this house have had to make do with a miserly eleven per cent pay rise, whilst those whom we were quite proply elected to rule over are clamouring for what they call a living fucking wage, if you please. I hesitate to call that Treachery in Time of War but I shall, in a week or two. Older members may recall a previous prime minister, the Earl of Haliburton, who has been such an inspiration to us all, when he helped invade Iraq, he lost no time in calling the striking firefighters the Enemy Within.</span><br /><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"><img border="0" height="333" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhzMaW820VU0dVGM90BVbDLy0CU88ejRPjeMr9F6Nr8eyvvIsu4uJ3fa5-SehKPWxx0IjPqAUE8HblxY9lZ5DoWUmqUMkAO3A01UA0yhVi6sg9fr0JRgCwXXssCq3R3YNbgO9qtS59vjT08/s400/wac11.jpg" width="400" /></span></span><br /><i><span style="font-size: large;">Strikers? Yes. Time of War, we can shoot them.</span><br /><span style="font-size: large;">Doctors? Any bastard.</span></i></div><div style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: medium;"></div><div style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: medium;"><span style="font-size: large;">But yes, whether you win or lose doesn't matter because for a certain type of person it is simply impossible to lose.</span><br /><span style="font-size: large;"> </span><img border="0" height="224" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhcroPJZmheveWzqoBfkk9Z7JnJRsvOVKwT53Tz5U9MyLeR-oR1eOou-ckCXoDgOX3bWEPRQufGw2gsWWJFNmdeUnPHKo2qSR-wMka-3Uh9Zwh30q2HTroU80fV9PU10RdICevFgdwMxHOv/s400/wac24.jpg" width="400" /></div><div style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: medium;"><span style="font-size: large;">I'm the cunt in charge of the Conservatives. </span><br /><span style="font-size: large;">Well, me and Mr Murdoch, and my dear neighbour in Chipping Sodom, Mrs Rebeka Witch. No, no, 'snot as if they want a war at the Sun, but it does always sell a few more copies. Yes, that's right, the good people of Royal Wootton Gruesome, them, too.</span><br /></div><div style="font-family: "Times New Roman";"><div style="font-size: medium;"><br /></div><div><span style="font-size: large;">But as to winning wars, things have moved on a bit, since the days of my namesake, Sir Winston Simple, and the point of wars, now, is that you don't win them. I mean, take the War on Drugs. We've been fighting that one since Mrs President Reagan's astrologers invented it, having seen Jupiter aligned with Mars or something, </span><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-size: medium;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4s7O1SFBdzy7qzYn0TpDK65zljvDpNZOXAcFhImQCoqIfmwrLOlYVLUyOoN6D4ysLROcCrLDY59gvB3SotP5otPtqkwhIcrjtCw6A3STbCoA0_WnLEvm5ed3s8carpCwdXNhq5IEpakIz/s400/wac60.jpg" width="305" /></div>And that, Mr Tiny Speaker, Mrs Reagan's War on Drugs, is what you call a hugely successful failure of a war. Costs the fucking Earth and makes things worse. And yes, I assure the house, we can and indeed <i>are</i> doing just the same thing with Terror, and in my view quite proply. Spending a fucking fortune and making things much worse.</div><div style="font-size: medium;"><br /></div><div style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-size: large;">But joking aside this is a serious matter, the one facing our nation. We face a truly great peril. Yes, worse than what the Nazis were, or would have been, if America had not won the Battle of Britain for us. And I do think that ISIL can help me beat the right honourable terrorist opposite, Sheikh bin Jeremy Corbyn, who, lessfaceit, is a Marxist traitor and the biggest threat ever faced by this great nation of England. What? What about Scotland? I shouldn't worry about Scotland if I were you. I don't.</span></div><div style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhzMaW820VU0dVGM90BVbDLy0CU88ejRPjeMr9F6Nr8eyvvIsu4uJ3fa5-SehKPWxx0IjPqAUE8HblxY9lZ5DoWUmqUMkAO3A01UA0yhVi6sg9fr0JRgCwXXssCq3R3YNbgO9qtS59vjT08/s1600/wac11.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="333" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhzMaW820VU0dVGM90BVbDLy0CU88ejRPjeMr9F6Nr8eyvvIsu4uJ3fa5-SehKPWxx0IjPqAUE8HblxY9lZ5DoWUmqUMkAO3A01UA0yhVi6sg9fr0JRgCwXXssCq3R3YNbgO9qtS59vjT08/s400/wac11.jpg" width="400" /></a></span></span></div><div style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-size: large;">Now, I am a great believer in my enemy's enemy being, what is it? My enemy, too? No? Right. Of course, in my friend being my enemy. Yes, like Mr Clegg, whom I have never met. Yes, Mr Coulson too, he was my true friend and enemy. And I have never met him, either.</span></div><div style="font-size: medium;"><br /></div><div style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-size: large;">But no, the enemy are not overseas. I mean is not are overseas. He are at home, here, among us. And I can see how, proply handled, the gentlemen in ISIS could help us in our gravest battle, which is to beat the Labour party. No, it's quite true, Mr Corbyn is a terrorist. He has a beard, he doesn't take bribes, his expenses are a joke, hardly anything in fact, and he eats lentils, as I said. Why would a member of this house, or indeed, the other place, who can eat whatever he wants, at no cost to anyone, apart from the taxpayers, why would anyone eat lentils instead of oysters, chateaubriand, asparagus and a decent Mout</span><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;">on Cadet Rothschild,</span></span><br /><div><span style="font-size: large;">followed by a line or two </span><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large;">snorted off the arse of some pretty young research</span>er, yes, of any gender? </span><br /><span style="font-size: large;">I mean, it's what people come into politics for.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-size: large;">I say to the house that this cowardly, underhanded Marxist vegetarianism simply beggars belief. I mean, what're animals for, if not for serving at the best tables? And that Comrade Corbyn is, therefore, a very real threat to national security. Now, you ask for reliable intelligence, well, in my view it doesn't come any more reliable than that. By his own admission, Jeremy Corbyn is a lentil-eating, bomb-throwing menace, a threat to the way of life of all six hundred of us, here. And what we really must do is encourage our many friends in the Labour party to destabilise him.</span></div></div><div style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-size: large;">So, by declaring war on ISIS, and causing division between him and the many jolly decent Tories in his party, say, the members for....well, most of them, actually, we will succeed in defeating the terrorist sympathisers, all six hundred thousand of them, outside, who have cynically joined this once-great party of ours in the hope of making it a voice for ordinary, working, that is to say terrorist people.</span><br /><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span><span style="font-size: large;">I can honestly stand before this house and promise that a vote for bombing wog babies guarantees that terrorism won't win in the Oldham election, I personally guarantee it. </span><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><img border="0" height="223" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwvcU_ozM1HKJ1R9AJpicogmOmH1Udbwx3kK8xU00vS4lCnvJ1Xqdh_ZeiWJi27HtfBeqiXdDHRNe5qRl-_Hb3TCEKeQc6OGsTudG7Q2BER8gbPs-jOqvJ765QkGAuI6KYsAc3vhyudlY8/s400/wac114.jpg" width="400" /></div><span style="font-size: large;"><i>(cheers, applause, shouts of: time for some bubbly)</i></span><br /><span style="font-size: large;">We shall join a war with no end, just because it is the right thing to do, for the Conservative party, to which we all belong, against whoever we say is the enemy at the time. In this case, Mr Corbyn, opposite. A war which we shall never win. Why not? Well, because it's just fucking stupid, that's why not. Nobody can beat these fucking lunatics. Even thick people know that, like me and the govament.</span></div><div style="font-size: medium;"><br /></div><div><span style="font-size: large;">I commend myself to the house and I rest my face, I mean case.</span><br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">........................................................................................</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large; text-align: left;"><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #141414;">More sardonic wit, political satire and biting cynicism from mr ishmael can be found in the f</span><span style="background-color: white; color: black; font-style: inherit; font-variant-caps: inherit; font-variant-ligatures: inherit; font-weight: inherit; text-align: left;">our-volume</span><span style="background-color: white; color: black; font-style: inherit; font-variant-caps: inherit; font-variant-ligatures: inherit; font-weight: inherit; text-align: left;"> </span><span style="background-color: white; color: black; font-style: inherit; font-variant-caps: inherit; font-variant-ligatures: inherit; font-weight: inherit;">Call Me Ishmael oeuvre, collected and curated by editor mr verge.</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="133" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRJCv9T1Bcq1AFtN1lgllwI1UnV6D1vSFcIIlK4GDHxh2AIm4ZvLVr35fOuHfIdaQZMam0fpwx4_T2KOJJOfkTpjdj-77dcyQtI6IJ3UVRMxaxYJ12yGgEBvJEB9w2Q74dpp0wYjJj2eI/w200-h133/thumbnail_COVER1+%25282%2529.png" style="text-align: left;" width="200" /><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgB-6JNv0jzD-R6hVIQdseWlNzsQLWKPechwQLF-xBeWkTc2KBvQxd80TyV3YWU9LaKJXse5ACodyzCVXD4dj6Tauuh5V_qW3-aky-yLGAJoMA9jgq45-i8TSb1KkijC-XCS5HDiFBEO5s/w141-h200/vent+stack.png" width="141" /><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjdQlcfm-4zheOEcRYhuwdhvN3DhLeGtm_lQC_27iRcmVLSW44CpLdukXz8QTXTWfOLCzUEY2jsIVynLG9DlbzcCZtbaD13WF_XDyKjNpuEdecwGCEX9ypq4nAjH3gm7pXxVODPXhlKtXxMg48D41QCsTG_hVYJUMIZ7N_bSjdRdYMGRalX1IWsAoR7/w141-h200/Ishmael" width="141" /><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEip2EzAoKCLON9L8HJyC277gD1ITzLx35xSCKihjE4TB61OSh9LSeBcqfZ9iJC-nbiwe9U3ZMyHAminiob0CmWfcHHu4r491WHBWKcz4U1ywHvGM11tl-yds2PLCJaMecibLj6MhGLKfVMuR0SiAAHwOttqy6tLWBip7Wgpl56dGFLiQt3ij_6tBtNcSp8/w141-h200/Flush%20Test.jpg" width="141" /></div></span><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large; text-align: left;"><div style="text-align: center;"><div style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-size: large;">Honest Not Invent, Vent Stack, Ishmael’s Blues, and the latest, Flush Test (with a nice picture of the late, much lamented, Mr Harris of Lanarkshire taking a piss on a totem pole) are available from Lulu and Amazon. If you buy from Amazon, it would be nice if you could give a review on their website.</span></div><div style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-size: large;">Ishmaelites wishing to buy a copy from lulu should follow these steps :</span></div><div style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-size: large;">please register an account first, at lulu.com. This is advisable because otherwise paypal seems to think it's ok to charge in dollars, and they then apply their own conversion rate, which might put the price up slightly for a UK buyer. Once the new account is set up, follow one of the links below (to either paperback or hardback) or type "Ishmael’s Blues" into the Lulu Bookstore search box. Click on the “show explicit content” tab, give the age verification box a date of birth such as 1 January 1960, and proceed.</span></div><div style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-size: large;">Link for Hardcover : https://tinyurl.com/je7nddfr</span></div><div style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-size: large;">Link for Paperback : https://tinyurl.com/3jurrzux</span></div><div><span>https://www.lulu.com/shop/ishmael-smith/flush-test/paperback/product-9yjvn7.html?q=Flush+Test&page=1&pageSize=4</span></div><div style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-size: large;">At checkout, try WELCOME15 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.</span></div><div style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-size: large;">With the 15% voucher, PB (including delivery to a UK address) should be £16.84; HB £27.04.</span></div></div></span></div></div></div></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="413" data-original-width="634" height="260" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhklm0moCEJaLKla6pP7jvFHG-DPghCkGN9n3KQmQKgWwh985DDGgiB71L_Zs6qMSQKq_dobpAUJo7IhXnZz52YEn2fgbXaId0FzGiV87nGH2VD0dGaUddUcKsNA_25ZbB3-yUg-20kEtCsHxSbW5_ZOeSyssuXb6Kgw7HHWwJzbOnvo_rST539N8kiv9o/w400-h260/Cameron%20and%20Putin.jpg" width="400" /></div><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div>call me ishmaelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14369028864168461729noreply@blogger.com16tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6065998731267025499.post-17035107911817317862024-02-16T17:34:00.000+00:002024-02-16T17:34:44.713+00:00Evensong<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="315" data-original-width="474" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjZqPkft8ZnNRd2YC5xL8H7BejCAxfy5bbPFnCU0FGCwNh3pgRxmKuotUfWr2yoc_8nvN8rc4XsI5Oz0P77IoJLAfTO761-GQ1iOJdnP8upD74jMRHN8Dgv2R8TMf3ZaOy2cO77uODlN1t_eYlpPu9th2A9T53gywYAs7jz1tDTA2CgA7nYepHTsB6WJI/w400-h266/Navalny.jpg" width="400" /></div><p></p><ul style="background-color: white; box-sizing: border-box; list-style: none; margin-bottom: 20px; margin-left: 10px; padding-left: 16px;"><li style="box-sizing: border-box; position: relative; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">Russia’s prison agency says Navalny has died at the age of 47 while serving a 19-year sentence at the IK-3 Arctic prison colony. He “felt unwell” after a walk and “almost immediately lost consciousness” and died, it said. They really should have looked after him better. It will not play well.</span></li><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="650" data-original-width="1360" height="191" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEin7860JpZokqavTXfGuS6kxoM4Te7cQxi_7nFJ9T2mlXnwjQad-HGDuH7LTBSRjgfhZ5D8rje2xBtzJzTivouJn_v03MbQCokMvJRtTfiMQ2IZ8vg0ZoSbjJA1k-HMl3mh229Y54NRcEq0X8jE7UuIPaxbs6pMeLUV8ONr2aR9Jq-6nkEgqh11ci4MIyk/w400-h191/Kharp_panorama%20(1).jpg" style="background-color: transparent; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" width="400" /></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">IK-3 Kharp panorama </td></tr></tbody></table></ul><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><div style="text-align: center;">That brave, beautiful, reckless man has not lived to see the spring.</div></span><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="316" data-original-width="474" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjynF3xCT1SOTcEuoqwokkwk7cg-w3X2msDZ2jMCM6hlNULqUHisoyeHyUlLOcBAuTgSLvTdvMH_x_wbFOtgoyJfHHrrtb0rvYmdsRivbtqZiMHG0RoGhZDoes3Dp4ZaMvuvViXXCcM95Q2bHSw4By-KKsZVavX6yzTq8te7aByVCuUIO6DygeojVmNm8A/w400-h266/white%20cherry%20blossom.jpg" width="400" /></div><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #0f0f0f; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><b>Sir Karl Jenkins: Sakura, Spring Has Come</b></span></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><iframe allowfullscreen="" class="BLOG_video_class" height="266" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/uwwfAw405cw" width="320" youtube-src-id="uwwfAw405cw"></iframe></div><br /><p><br /></p>call me ishmaelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14369028864168461729noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6065998731267025499.post-76214432914278029072024-02-11T18:44:00.006+00:002024-02-11T23:05:19.143+00:00The Sunday Ishmael: 11/02/2024<div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"> It is embarrassing, in the same way that hobble-de-hoys, trying to join in grown up conversation and impress their elders with their wit, are deeply, dreadfully embarrassing, their mothers pinning on a proud smile, while flushing unbecomingly brick red, as the pubescent son launches off-colour jokes and swear words that they have just discovered, and their fathers don a rictus grin, thinking, dear god, did <i><b>I</b></i> father that? What <b><i>was</i></b> I thinking of? <b><i>Surely</i></b> it is the product of a steamy afternoon liaison whilst I was away at the office?</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">It's embarrassing and nasty, vicious little jibes crafted by spads and </span><span style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">apparatchiks, with the tribe baying, hooting and catcalling, jostling to hold their man's coat as he yells - there, your mother's a whore, and the leader of the opposing tribe shouts with equal gusto, so's <i>your</i> mammy, didn't I see her on the internet last night, having sex with a pig, at least it's honest work, not like you, you stinking gabshite? And <i>his</i> tribe laughing and gurning, there, got you. What you going to do about that?</span></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">It's undignified, the opposite of statesmanlike and nofuckingway to run a country. But it is the corner stone of Great British Parliamentary Democracy in the Mother of All Parliaments - public school boys writhing on the green benches, jeering, sneering and smirking, just like they learned in their expensive, exclusive and ancient "charitable" educational establishments. Wiki tells us that </span></span><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #202122; text-align: left;">the now famous disorderly behaviour of MPs during PMQs first arose as a result of the personal animosity between </span>Harold Wilson<span style="background-color: white; color: #202122; text-align: left;"> and </span>Edward Heath<span style="background-color: white; color: #202122; text-align: left;">; before this PMQs had been lively but comparatively civilised.</span></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="304" data-original-width="474" height="256" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWM_q3tIeeGRySZxT_O00KwUxTymW-UTzFzDO5CfFo6oHDMBTtggyguq3bih4RcE_xZhjDV_4NhDEc7DxxINodC4hn-r9t37Id2k2-2mk75i7D7TnlLIdVF6kfk77sZyWHu1TOvxCetmHhqQY3VMDh8uEetIc9Q369pzqUnPbUaVblw9jXOEF_LfjWJ7o/w400-h256/PMQs.jpg" width="400" /></div></span></div><div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #202122;">For our overseas readers and those UK readers who don't pay much attention, (and who can blame them), </span></span><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">Prime Minister's Questions (PMQs, officially known as Questions to the Prime Minister,) is a constitutional convention in the United Kingdom, currently held as a single session every Wednesday at noon when the House of Commons is sitting, during which the prime minister answers questions from members of Parliament (MPs). The Institute for Government has described PMQs as "the most distinctive and internationally famous feature of British politics." </span><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">The leader of the opposition asks six questions at PMQs, and the leader of the third largest parliamentary party asks two questions. It is all a bit of a game, with everyone taking their turn to be rude, kicked off by t</span><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: times;">he first formal question on the Order Paper, posed by simply saying "number one, Mr [Madam] Speaker", to ask the prime minister "if he [she] will list his [her] engagements for the day". The prime minister replies: "</span><span style="font-family: times;">This morning I had meetings with ministerial colleagues and others. In addition to my duties in this House, I shall have further such meetings later today."</span></span></div><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><div style="text-align: center;">The reason for such a ridiculous format is that, historically, the prime minister may be questioned only as to those matters that (s)he is directly responsible for. These are relatively few in number, because most stuff falls into the purview of other Cabinet ministers. By requiring the prime minister to list his/her engagements, the follow up question is ought the prime minister be engaged in some other activity or be taking some other action. Or, in the common parlance, all hell breaks loose. As mr ishmael put it:</div></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">"</span></span><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">fawned-upon, pampered, dishonest as the day is long, these two chancers swing handbags at each other as each milks the dead for all they are worth".</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">And that's what happened this Wednesday, with Starmer turning Sunak's personal jibe about his uncertainty about defining what a woman is (an adult female of the human species) into mockery of the 16 year old trans girl, Brianna Ghey, dead at the hands of her two 15 year old chums, <b><i>whilst</i></b> - you couldn't make this stuff up - her mother was visiting the Chamber, in pursuit of her personal crusade to get something done about all this. (see <i>The Sunday Ishmael 4/02/2024</i>). She's probably about to be sainted, Esther Ghey, as the media falls over itself to praise her cool intelligence, </span><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: times;">her quiet composure and her nose ring, </span><span style="font-family: times;">her determination to make a public figure of herself instead of staying home quietly grieving, then getting on with the rest of her life.</span></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">So, sucks to Rishi, with his tin ear for what is allowable, even in the bear pit of PMQs, but I really wanted to slap Starmer, up on his high horse, with his "I can't believe you said that, with Saint Esther in the gallery."</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1260" data-original-width="2400" height="210" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEilSpKEcQA8N2xBQCSdb10DYCtaeuJVAxcspQnwMUKVN6bLEl8UnY0xO2fzX6dOHO0NdK8a8lEHtfeHzkH79QnShsBy09Lfp7RcyC3I0mn20GwO2fS922ibyYZF_7ljbBlqrenMioVfDDKLOb_qWSGNqP36U9uBZgT3fRLfp_bn1Ad7s8F8gY98HqQJ4e4/w400-h210/sunak%20and%20Starmer.jpg" width="400" /></div><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">Sunak is refusing to back down and say sorry, just sticking to his line of that's what we do, in the Mother of all Parliaments, insult each other every Wednesday. Great Tradition.</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">Compounding his foolishness, the skinny (he fasts for 36 hours every Sunday through to Tuesday) Leader of our Great Nation, had just taken a bet with Piers Morgan, on television - a thousand pounds says you won't get illegal immigrants extradited to Rwanda before the election. Rwanda, the UK Government asseverates, is a safe country because "most alleged human rights violations" are against its own nationals who criticise the government. Like journalist Dieudonne Niyonsenga, who was acquitted in the Rwandan courts of fraud, illegally impersonating a journalist and obstructing public works, but retried following the Rwandan Government appeal and found guilty on all charges and a fresh one of "humiliating state officials" and jailed for seven years, where he is held in solitary confinement and beaten daily.</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="296" data-original-width="474" height="250" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjSforKrexQB95hxbZFIeXF2D9gM5byq3kkLW_6PL2VPHFpa8XqgkWWYgRapH_zTypvDwCBB41J6SrO64T327ZxZ0DdwsOdNNK4P_9vgn7axHcNoTNdoV8Jv0C1iYqDDn_Vi2Rb4clXaP-Lccsaf09qL12uTghntqagTLHAwibmFo5UICnGe7Y246Zqg6E/w400-h250/Sunak%20and%20Piers%20Morgan.jpg" width="400" /></div><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">It's not that Morgan is a giant - although he is what we used to call "a well-made man" - Rishi really is that tiny, his sweet little braceleted hand lost in Morgan's man-sized fist, as they shake on a really bad-taste bet that simultaneously revealed Sunak's contempt for the migrants and his own vast riches in which a £1000 bet is no more than a lottery ticket is for most folk. I don't do betting - apart from a brief addiction to those penny fruit machines at Blackpool when I was a kiddie about a hundred years ago -</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="363" data-original-width="474" height="306" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYB1p0_sOpVq9VQEv56V0OCE1n7v8IggmFhmeUta5FooftPCte_o1kHdzKaQmhpXbPamsY3tpaCiR-SrzG6aaZrDG-YEXYclV1arm2jq-klx7ZG8qtZ-Ff8TbyKwxM4-kQwRhhV1tdOHSRUGoUm_FtkQBsMnSBkxpbDkmIBP9dAiWQ8J0UsvGfEZWo_YI/w400-h306/fruit%20machine.jpg" width="400" /></div><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">and neither, little Rishi swears, does he. Gambling that is. Unfortunately for him, the BBC has unearthed a clip of him i</span><span style="background-color: #f6f9f8; letter-spacing: -0.09px; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">n an interview on the BBC's Test Match Special podcast in July last year, saying spread-betting was "great" and gushing about spending a summer gambling on the cricket.</span></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="background-color: #f6f9f8; letter-spacing: -0.09px; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">He really should eat something. I swear he's shrinking. He's about the size of the Dwarf Zelensky now:</span></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="287" data-original-width="474" height="243" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLVJp6FC2M-dOoigiObxc8DqS1AVzVK84VH_uaASOUCZr4o6gIRv0Hor1vwcaFKcIk8MPgOLIGEt6QJ3nLbTou-sdvl-SrPolPCq9SN8eguRveCGEjqzHyWOQVR17ZEDhCAfjNYQIH6mCzc-GOhhMTmXkRIjz42YyQWktXDhsfzCfNSl54_1CBE6YOBfg/w400-h243/Zelensky%20and%20Sunak.jpg" style="background-color: #f6f9f8; letter-spacing: -0.09px;" width="400" /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="background-color: #f6f9f8; letter-spacing: -0.09px; text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;">and we know Zelensky's diminutive proportions:</span></span></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="511" data-original-width="600" height="341" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhuZ8FLydEhxUIJr760RXtUoDPmAPmspp5shaoBk2jYd_5gqRYDOkjyXeSXHrOtDewXeCOIr12nGhS3Kr9_0EEUgDzXKyVR4vPaLdPBeioPyMkwX50wZ2M10nYk50D9uyK4ZIAB2yLRvxCnLt3gYDr166dZfor-llWK5Uy7qkByaNfIvpyeEYEku9L0XWg/w400-h341/Zelensky%20short.jpg" width="400" /></div><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><div style="text-align: center;">That brings me round to Tucker Carlson's interview of Putin. Did you see it? I saw some highlights - I skipped the history lesson on mediaeval Russia, although I'm sure it was most informative. I appreciated Putin's reassurance that he was not going to embark on global thermonuclear war, and kinda believed him when he said that Boris Johnson had scuppered the peace deal negotiations with Ukraine - it was the way he held his finger and thumb about an inch apart when he described the size of the peace document - that had the ring of truth. I can also believe that Johnson would have wanted to torpedo a peace deal - after all, it was his war, he was doing well out of it in the popularity stakes. From my half-remembered history lessons I was sure that there had been a War of Johnson's Ear, which would have been nice. Unfortunately, it turns out to have been called the War of Jenkins' Ear, referring to Robert Jenkins, captain of the British brig <i>Rebecca.</i> Apparently, Jenkins' ear was sliced off by Spanish coast guards while searching his ship for contraband in 1731. Nobody bothered too much about this, apart from Captain Jenkins, until, some seven years later, the incident was used to incite support for a war against Spain in order to improve British trade in the Caribbean, including retaining</div><div style="text-align: center;">the lucrative Asiento de Negros giving British slave traders permission to sell slaves in Spanish America. Has it occurred to anyone else that we were born into the wrong side?</div><div style="text-align: center;">Tucker Carlson, thrilled to be in Moscow and interviewing the great Putin, was a little uncomfortable, but Putin took pains to set him at his ease with a joke or two. When Carlson asked "who bombed Nordstream?" Putin looked him in the eye and said "you did". No, really, has it occurred to anyone else that we were born into the wrong side?</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="312" data-original-width="200" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFWT9iJc1lX9H-9bk18s3NjY_nhrLp6Ptahdd6kQeq0zgzA7uDENJLVB2HFgmSHsSXMfvL9d_tsDjIIUemjdSSSVDUscGrCOBoN-708z0j1Bxlff_DdCxyqNW1ntFYY_bMvNX8PbU7bsEMNA3Od6aVDbHlUCMxe_40g3u7epMqEywXWM1kOd6otJp8U4U/w256-h400/Vice.jpg" width="256" /></div><div style="text-align: center;">Talking of dastardly politicians, which we always are, I saw <i>Vice</i> this week. It is described as an American biographical political satire comedy-drama film. Which is a bit like Polonius' comment, in Hamlet: " tragedy, comedy, history, pastoral, pastoral-comical, historical-pastoral, tragical-historical, tragical-comical-historical-pastoral". </div><div style="text-align: center;">Directed, written, and produced by Adam McKay, the film follows Dick Cheney on his path to becoming the most powerful vice president in American history and the exploiter of the "theory of the unitary executive" - the theory says the president has ultimate control over the executive branch. So, basically he can do what he wants. As CEO of Haliburton (the world's second largest oil service company), from 1995 to 2000, both Cheney and Haliburton did rather well out of the Gulf War. Cheney retired from Haliburton during the 2000 U.S. presidential election campaign with a severance package worth $36 million. As of 2004, he had received $398,548 in deferred compensation from Halliburton while Vice President. He has received stock options from Halliburton.</div><div style="text-align: center;">The film tells us that Cheney's actions lead to hundreds of thousands of deaths, the rise of the Islamic State of Iraq, extraordinary rendition, torture and Guantanamo. Cheney is impersonated by Christian Bale, in a fat suit and facial prostheses. Highly recommended, if you don't mind being extraordinarily rendered into a state of impotent fury and the certainty that we were born into the wrong side. You can catch it on i-player, if you are quick.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3000" data-original-width="2000" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhg4dhuEQ750x668Z-wlhiCQvBS0XJF8QkrzuNzdSAwzgbJJfpS1p7nj2BViDIrf0_8cwcVJ3W6kLSKPIxEDI88dgskfNx85CmAFwsVUnMs2kINQGb5yhyvG7EcrlXvjU0PEJQfpsWVCUsVQfQuqZXnugF_YQaQPT0MXJLkP4Yx4QXPN4kzp2ZdRkm5zbM/w266-h400/Vice%202.jpg" width="266" /></div><div style="text-align: center;">Here's a fun story that isn't a fun story at all - Scottish Poetry Library's Deputy Director Ali Barr used the Bard chatbot to compile a list of Scottish poetry books published in 2023. Bard's list contained 12 books, complete with descriptors - for example Kevin Williamson's <i>The House of the Fox</i> "a dark and atmospheric collection of poems that explores themes of alienation, violence and the human condition", and <i>What the Sea Gives</i> by Alan Riach "a collection of poems that explores themes of nature, memory and the Scottish landscape" . Ali Barr wanted to read them, but unfortunately, Bard had made them all up, including titles and descriptors. Only seven of the twelve authors named are real Scottish poets. Barr should have asked Bard to write the poems whilst he/it was in the zone.</div><div style="text-align: center;">...........................................................................</div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #141414;">Sardonic wit, political satire and biting cynicism from mr ishmael can be found in the f</span><span style="background-color: white; color: black; font-style: inherit; font-variant-caps: inherit; font-variant-ligatures: inherit; font-weight: inherit; text-align: left;">our-volume</span><span style="background-color: white; color: black; font-style: inherit; font-variant-caps: inherit; font-variant-ligatures: inherit; font-weight: inherit; text-align: left;"> </span><span style="background-color: white; color: black; font-style: inherit; font-variant-caps: inherit; font-variant-ligatures: inherit; font-weight: inherit;">Call Me Ishmael oeuvre, collected and curated by editor mr verge.</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div></span><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><div style="text-align: center;"><div style="text-align: left;"><img border="0" height="133" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRJCv9T1Bcq1AFtN1lgllwI1UnV6D1vSFcIIlK4GDHxh2AIm4ZvLVr35fOuHfIdaQZMam0fpwx4_T2KOJJOfkTpjdj-77dcyQtI6IJ3UVRMxaxYJ12yGgEBvJEB9w2Q74dpp0wYjJj2eI/w200-h133/thumbnail_COVER1+%25282%2529.png" width="200" /><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgB-6JNv0jzD-R6hVIQdseWlNzsQLWKPechwQLF-xBeWkTc2KBvQxd80TyV3YWU9LaKJXse5ACodyzCVXD4dj6Tauuh5V_qW3-aky-yLGAJoMA9jgq45-i8TSb1KkijC-XCS5HDiFBEO5s/w141-h200/vent+stack.png" style="text-align: center;" width="141" /><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjdQlcfm-4zheOEcRYhuwdhvN3DhLeGtm_lQC_27iRcmVLSW44CpLdukXz8QTXTWfOLCzUEY2jsIVynLG9DlbzcCZtbaD13WF_XDyKjNpuEdecwGCEX9ypq4nAjH3gm7pXxVODPXhlKtXxMg48D41QCsTG_hVYJUMIZ7N_bSjdRdYMGRalX1IWsAoR7/w141-h200/Ishmael" style="text-align: center;" width="141" /><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEip2EzAoKCLON9L8HJyC277gD1ITzLx35xSCKihjE4TB61OSh9LSeBcqfZ9iJC-nbiwe9U3ZMyHAminiob0CmWfcHHu4r491WHBWKcz4U1ywHvGM11tl-yds2PLCJaMecibLj6MhGLKfVMuR0SiAAHwOttqy6tLWBip7Wgpl56dGFLiQt3ij_6tBtNcSp8/w141-h200/Flush%20Test.jpg" style="text-align: center;" width="141" /></div><div style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-size: large;">Honest Not Invent, Vent Stack, Ishmael’s Blues, and the latest, Flush Test (with a nice picture of the late, much lamented, Mr Harris of Lanarkshire taking a piss on a totem pole) are available from Lulu and Amazon. If you buy from Amazon, it would be nice if you could give a review on their website.</span></div><div style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-size: large;">Ishmaelites wishing to buy a copy from lulu should follow these steps :</span></div><div style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-size: large;">please register an account first, at lulu.com. This is advisable because otherwise paypal seems to think it's ok to charge in dollars, and they then apply their own conversion rate, which might put the price up slightly for a UK buyer. Once the new account is set up, follow one of the links below (to either paperback or hardback) or type "Ishmael’s Blues" into the Lulu Bookstore search box. Click on the “show explicit content” tab, give the age verification box a date of birth such as 1 January 1960, and proceed.</span></div><div style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-size: large;">Link for Hardcover : https://tinyurl.com/je7nddfr</span></div><div style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-size: large;">Link for Paperback : https://tinyurl.com/3jurrzux</span></div><div style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-size: large;">https://www.lulu.com/shop/ishmael-smith/flush-test/paperback/product-9yjvn7.html?q=Flush+Test&page=1&pageSize=4</span></div><div style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-size: large;">At checkout, try WELCOME15 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.</span></div><div style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-size: large;">With the 15% voucher, PB (including delivery to a UK address) should be £16.84; HB £27.04.</span></div></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="388" data-original-width="800" height="194" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgsPIyoSBPOZcp4LAQuyNTWSnIplGRU2aM0SnmjBUPkWSOOWkbYinXxp7ByMyneyVrD5GCRXTNhGEVdhDrFt5Gm7sfMfEPhNmII3eguJ4nLoVwe4eGBicg2W0AIRkf8bmQf2InphSZdztgR7zcA5FDZBebYOrQJLR4jSefljTVTNgAvMkxahkDhfa1ud84/w400-h194/content_war_criminals.jpg" width="400" /></div><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div></span><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div></div>call me ishmaelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14369028864168461729noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6065998731267025499.post-38624318316042579202024-02-09T14:01:00.000+00:002024-02-09T14:01:32.094+00:00Evensong: The Weary Blues, Joan Armatrading <p></p><div style="text-align: center;"> <span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">Having wrestled the wheelie bin of shame (empty bottles) over ice-crusted snow globs <i style="font-weight: bold;">and then </i>gone back for the bin of plastic containers, slipping and skidding on the bits where the snow had melted then frozen into ice slides, because Radio Orkney had assured me the Refuse Collectors would be out today despite having been missing in action for over a week - the chaps had been reassigned to snow shifting duties - much more fun, scooping up great swathes of the white stuff in the heavy equipment, and, I swear they must have had a snow blower on the job at one stage judging by some of the walls of snow - anyway, I was rewarding myself with a sit down, a glance through this month's issue of Apollo and a cup of tea. I was distracted and dismayed by the reproduction of the silver albumen photograph of three Women from Xiamen by Lai Fong (1839-1890)</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2429" data-original-width="3090" height="315" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiISh5TUqw4BK1xCgw_Ot0CU3CUhUKHHJkyP8rXqc0WVXlVrOCWsEI0ZhQSkiz3Yt9P8sJnKKKQu-nepPWPV_L_9n0ktbcEi5LfVZ8J8bYesIy2EoC2XAifXM3-NxoeVie9mtH3PTucrjFkhTxjEA6GR9TR5kIkfmDvHwh7wzd0oxJOwsY4133yTBsQFjE/w400-h315/Chinese%20women%20with%20bound%20feet.jpg" width="400" /></div><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><div style="text-align: center;">Women as decorative collectable objects, unable to walk away, let alone run, on those tiny, crippled, bound feet. <i><b>They</b></i> couldn't have wrestled the wheelie bin of shame to the bin collection point. I read a searing account of a servant with healthy whole feet bringing a bowl of warm, rose-scented water to her mistress, together with fresh bindings, then withdrawing to give her lady privacy to unbind, wash and treat her deformed feet, while keeping herself away from the odour of those rotting feet. I hope it was made up. </div><div style="text-align: center;">I became aware of something rather marvellous being played on Radio Four's Desert Island Discs. The castaway was Val Wilmer, writer and photographer, born 1941. She has photographed and interviewed significant musicians, including this portrait of Louis Armstrong, made in 1965 and now in the V. and A.:</div><div style="text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1081" data-original-width="735" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKgcqdkAxbKvnjFDWP3P4ZGoF1ocJFhcBdj45nRTty9R6mRCVIfPwjXEMtvNkpw_X4xSlLRXkJscP4AwLaAvZIk_BDzC1CP6b45HYA6JHCcnzJf_FjP-pWvXiCY4QDCvo156949hncRiaMAD9UtGz8S420pLNkwWG5_pcEDSVCjanx5RuspjIPtk08-Mw/w273-h400/louis%20armstrong.jpg" width="273" /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="background-color: #fefefe; text-align: start; white-space-collapse: preserve-breaks;">Her photographs are held in the collections of the V&A and the National Portrait Gallery. </span>She is also a journalist and author: <span style="background-color: #fefefe; text-align: start; white-space-collapse: preserve-breaks;">her book <i>As Serious As Your Life</i> examines the evolution of free jazz within the wider context of racial and sexual politics. </span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="background-color: #fefefe; text-align: start; white-space-collapse: preserve-breaks;">Her playlist for Desert Island Discs was exquisite: </span><span face="ReithSans, Arial, Helvetica, freesans, sans-serif" style="background-color: #fefefe; color: #3a3c3e; font-size: 16px; text-align: start; white-space-collapse: preserve-breaks;"> </span></div></div></span><div><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><i>Potato Head Blues</i> - Louis Armstrong & His Hot Seven </span></div><div><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><i>Black, Brown And White</i> - Big Bill Broonzy </span></div><div><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><i>Sonata for Solo Cello, Op. 8</i> - By Kodaly, First movement performed by Janos Starker </span></div><div><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><i>The Weary Blues</i> – Langston Hughes </span></div><div><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><i>My Lovely Elizabeth</i> - S.E. Rogie </span></div><div><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><i>Criss Cross</i> - Thelonious Monk </span></div><div><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><i>Dogon A D</i> - Julius Hemphill </span></div><div><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><i>Love and Affection </i>- Joan Armatrading</span><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /><div style="text-align: center;"> Here's <i>Weary Blues</i>:</div></span></div><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><div style="text-align: center;"><iframe allowfullscreen="" class="BLOG_video_class" height="266" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/KyqwvC5s4n8" width="320" youtube-src-id="KyqwvC5s4n8"></iframe></div></span></div><span style="background-color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.05); color: #131313; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">I like this version of </span><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"> Langston Hughes' poem, r</span>ecited by Allen Dwight Callahan, with <i>Groovy Drums</i> composed by Umberto Pagnini and <i>ST James Infirmary </i>composed by Paul Lenart and Bill Novick. The mad footage is taken from <i>Moon Over Harlem</i> - Directed by Edgar G. Ulmer and <i>Rhythm & Blues Revue</i> - Directed by Joseph Kohn and Leonard Reed; and evokes the Harlem Renaissance - <span style="background-color: transparent; font-family: times; font-size: large;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #202122;">an intellectual and cultural revival of </span>African American<span style="background-color: white;"><span style="color: #202122;"> music, dance, art, fashion, literature, theatre, politics and scholarship centered in </span></span>Harlem<span style="background-color: white; color: #202122;">, </span>Manhattan<span style="background-color: white; color: #202122;">, New York City, spanning the 1920s and 1930s. At the time, it was known as the "</span><b style="background-color: white; color: #202122;">New Negro Movement</b><span style="background-color: white; color: #202122;">", named after </span><i style="background-color: white; color: #202122;">The New Negro</i><span style="background-color: white; color: #202122;">, a 1925 anthology edited by </span>Alain Locke<span style="background-color: white; color: #202122;">.</span></span></div></span></span><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><div style="text-align: center;">Langston Hughes (1901- 1967) was an American poet, social activist, novelist, playwright, and columnist. He was an early developer of the literary art form called jazz poetry, and a leader of the Harlem Renaissance. Both of his paternal great-grandmothers were enslaved African Americans while both of his paternal great-grandfathers were white slave owners. He was raised by his grandmother, who was, unusually, a college graduate. Of his childhood, he wrote: "I was unhappy for a long time, and very lonesome, living with my grandmother. Then it was that books began to happen to me, and I began to believe in nothing but books and the wonderful world in books - where if people suffered, they suffered in beautiful language, not in monosyllables, as we did in Kansas."</div><div style="text-align: center;">Hughes wrote about the struggles and joys of working-class blacks in America.</div></span><div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></div><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><div style="text-align: center;">Joan Armatrading's Love and Affection could underscore the conversation I had with mr bungalow bill on last Sunday's Ishmael. <i>Love, not sex</i>. Raised, but not born, in Birmingham in the West Midlands, Joan's music is influenced by rock, folk, jazz, blues, soul, and reggae. Her songs have been described as "some of the most deeply personal and emotionally naked ... of our times". In a 2003 interview, she said: "My songs aren't about me at all. They're always about love, the pain and anguish of it."</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">"Man's love is of man's life a thing apart,</div><div style="text-align: center;">'Tis woman's whole existence."</div><div style="text-align: center;">Lord Byron, Don Juan, canto 1, st.194</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">Armatrading's voice is a rich, perfectly controlled contralto. mr ishmael had her albums.</div></span></div><div><span><div style="background-color: white; box-sizing: border-box; color: #555555; text-align: center;"><br /></div></span></div><div><span face="Roboto, Arial, sans-serif" style="background-color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.05); color: #131313; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-size: 14px; text-align: center;"><iframe allowfullscreen="" class="BLOG_video_class" height="266" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/6Z6QpV4UtnA" width="320" youtube-src-id="6Z6QpV4UtnA"></iframe></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-size: 14px; text-align: center;"><br /></div><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><span style="color: black; white-space-collapse: collapse;">Should you wish to listen to Val Wilmer's Desert Island Discs, it is available on BBC Sounds for the next 22 days: </span><a href="https://www.bbc.co.uk/sounds/play/m001w0r6" style="white-space-collapse: collapse;">Desert Island Discs - Val Wilmer, writer and photographer - BBC Sounds</a></span></span></div><div><span face="Roboto, Arial, sans-serif" style="background-color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.05); color: #131313; font-size: 14px; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span face="Roboto, Arial, sans-serif" style="background-color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.05); color: #131313; font-family: times; font-size: large; white-space-collapse: preserve;">Anyway, Radio Orkney was right - the bin men have collected my recycling and I must battle out to retrieve my wheelie bins before the storm takes them to Norway.</span></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5T-Ox6QTYJcvLEeCMm2MTX2Mwhfth7Dk8m1RjDmrmLUKWk9J0YoFbxcxOu_SLcNzMg1Fg1z0KHcD4A9ePRV5TrIr5Px3zY42rSCxuBCEqHZvLsWA8GXuNJcYVHDOn6aj6x1djxCv7pG1xiHOeRZj2kq_etU1dASudHXHgeVR5gmIvdwEQgpBXBltUTyM/w400-h300/snow%20st%20ola.jpg" width="400" /></div><br /><span face="Roboto, Arial, sans-serif" style="background-color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.05); color: #131313; font-size: 14px; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><br />
</span><p></p></div>call me ishmaelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14369028864168461729noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6065998731267025499.post-82862949707935815382024-02-04T17:46:00.000+00:002024-02-04T17:46:57.672+00:00The Sunday Ishmael: 4/02/24<div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"> I've stayed in Orkney for more than two decades, and during that time my home has never been burgled, nothing has been stolen from my person, I have never been physically attacked, let alone murdered by children. This is not because Orkney is a particularly safe place - it has its share of crimes of violence and acquisition. It is more the result of my anonymity, the middle class safety of my home's location, and because I don't go where the wild things are. It is so much hot air and sweet Fanny Adams to say the streets should be safe for women to walk at any time of day or night wearing whatever they choose to express their personality and sexuality. The truth is that they are not, probably never will be, given the nature of the human race, and it's best not to put yourself in harm's way. </span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">Human nature is not noble, but its worst excesses can be encouraged or discouraged. Society can be structured to reduce both motivation to prey on one's fellow humans <b><i>and </i></b>the opportunity to do so. A century or so ago the measures to enforce desirable behaviour weren't kind or pretty: religion threatened eternal torment, female sexual transgression was punished by stigma and banishment, their children designated bastards, murderers executed. Even these harsh measures were ineffective, as Dr. Lucy Lisp gloatingly tells us about Victorian female killers. </span></div><div><div style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 13px; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-size: 13px; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">Dr Lucy Lisp, Keeper of the Royal Knocking Shops and media tart, is happiest </span></div><div style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 13px; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="828" data-original-width="1472" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj19ikFGV3_nBKU7rZzpxIu40XeaiFfnFyPQtAsUiYFfo7nEyKYy2du6SsMziAluRoZU6HxTNYrNWLGte8eXYTSoFBVppO70VTXfB6YlXzShXzribe5lobw7rrpCEkFkmz2GrlteDoI8N7xP_5Y3OeOtawllB3hHpzxJQUqPJRLPy-Vx_ms6uga0g4yVdg/w400-h225/lucy%20worsley%202.jpg" style="font-size: x-large;" width="400" /></div><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">posing for the nation in a bath or laced-up in a Georgian corset, pouting and lisping her crass arty histories at us, a pseudo-scholarly telly trollop, ghastly little stoat. </span><div style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-size: 13px; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: large;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgemHDJ5eK-yM9CVcVySV6P1r0EPKxmxsGJsaSzk6f-PGCQZD-MijNcnv0kDE_nbvh1PztWkUi9mZKYWpSdS0wiDO5y6EbBVRvB8dfLaHdRcSM80ggBpgVShR_lE3-UuBy0forw1s9iQ4D1/s1600/a-very-british-murder.jpg" style="color: #5588aa; margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-decoration-line: none;"><img border="0" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgemHDJ5eK-yM9CVcVySV6P1r0EPKxmxsGJsaSzk6f-PGCQZD-MijNcnv0kDE_nbvh1PztWkUi9mZKYWpSdS0wiDO5y6EbBVRvB8dfLaHdRcSM80ggBpgVShR_lE3-UuBy0forw1s9iQ4D1/s1600/a-very-british-murder.jpg" style="border: 1px solid rgb(204, 204, 204); padding: 4px;" width="400" /></a></span><br /><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: large;">Hi, big boy,</span><br /><span style="font-size: large;">I'm Doctor Lucy, </span><span style="font-size: large;">buy me. </span><span style="font-size: large;">No business like showbusiness. (mr ishmael 6/05/2015)</span></span></div></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">But to <i><b>abandon</b></i> any attempt to socialise our young by internalising morality just because we have fallen out with religion, "traditional values" and believe it is okay for women to enjoy sex, has not been the best idea we've ever had. Instead, we have created a bear-pit for ourselves, a competitive, envious, avaricious, self-indulgent hell of gratified impulse, pandered by the Dark Lords of the Internet, who will service any grotesque desire, as long as there's money to be made. Most of us can deal with it, fairly unscathed - okay, I buy too much, my garage is piled high with Amazon cardboard and I haven't got enough life left to read all the books on my Kindle, but I haven't murdered anyone. However, the young, the vulnerable, the insecure, the neuro-divergent - well, it's a different matter there. Takes us into the fevered atmosphere of </span><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><span style="background-color: #fefefe; letter-spacing: -0.32px;">the 1960 trial of D. H. Lawrence’s novel </span><i style="--tw-border-spacing-x: 0; --tw-border-spacing-y: 0; --tw-ring-color: rgb(59 130 246 / .5); --tw-ring-offset-color: #fff; --tw-ring-offset-shadow: 0 0 #0000; --tw-ring-offset-width: 0px; --tw-ring-shadow: 0 0 #0000; --tw-rotate: 0; --tw-scale-x: 1; --tw-scale-y: 1; --tw-scroll-snap-strictness: proximity; --tw-shadow-colored: 0 0 #0000; --tw-shadow: 0 0 #0000; --tw-skew-x: 0; --tw-skew-y: 0; --tw-translate-x: 0; --tw-translate-y: 0; background-color: #fefefe; border: 0px; box-sizing: inherit; letter-spacing: -0.32px; line-height: inherit; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">Lady Chatterley’s Lover</i><span style="background-color: #fefefe; letter-spacing: -0.32px;"> for being obscene under British law, citing the</span></span><span style="background-color: #fefefe; letter-spacing: -0.32px;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"> informal precedent of “variable obscenity,” which held that obscene books should be kept out of the hands of children, women, and the working classes, who were all susceptible to works likely to “deprave or corrupt” - unlike upper-middle-class male readers. </span></span><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><span style="background-color: #fefefe; letter-spacing: -0.32px;">The prosecutor, Mervyn Griffith-Jones, who had represented the British at the Nuremberg war crimes trials, asked the jury, “Is it a book that you would even wish your wife or servants to read?” In response, members of the jury broke out in laughter. Three of the jurors were women. The jury pool also included a cross-section of workers, including teachers, dockworkers, drivers, and salesmen. It was unlikely that any of them employed live-in domestic servants.</span><span style="background-color: #fefefe; letter-spacing: -0.32px;"> </span></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">Sixty-four years later, anyone in possession of a mobile phone can read anything, look at anything, incite suicide, violence or murder, order their drugs or court notoriety by posting videos of themselves on TikTok miming and dancing to popular songs. Brianna </span><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #202122;">Ghey was a 16-year-old, born male and living as a girl, who had a strong internet presence and promoted a transgender</span><span style="background-color: white; color: #202122;"> life, assisting younger children to access hormone replacement therapy. She had many more followers than this blog attracts - variously reported as </span></span><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #202122; font-family: times;">11,000,</span><span style="background-color: white; color: #202122; font-family: times; text-wrap: nowrap;"> </span><span style="background-color: white; color: #202122; font-family: times;">31,000</span><span style="background-color: white; color: #202122; font-family: times;"> or </span><span style="background-color: white; color: #202122; font-family: times;"> 63,000.</span><span style="background-color: white; color: #202122; font-family: times;"> Lots, anyway. In February last year she was killed by her two 15 year old chums, </span></span><span style="background-color: #f8f9fa; color: #202122;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">Scarlett Jenkinson </span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="background-color: #f8f9fa; color: #202122;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="750" data-original-width="1200" height="250" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNQynkC9kM_YrIbboF2TiKjiC0yL9FF2JxMpqDUD2XUPHYMQQHHjA7ONWSGYDFPm4DH3uDMEpmnmKXYgeVNynoWj5w9c2fxsLuHhwcJiEofuHGG6j4iN_IC2rAWsOoG1dddPUuMD7FzTgP6zo62dOrxe0C7AQj1pi7oTUhV9xyAtqmYeP3KaeRcQ-sp30/w400-h250/jenkinson.jpg" width="400" /></div></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="background-color: #f8f9fa; color: #202122; font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: large;">and Eddie Ratcliffe in a planned knife attack. Eddie is autistic and a selective mute. </span></span></div><span style="color: #202122;"><div class="separator" style="background-color: #f8f9fa; clear: both; font-family: times; font-size: xx-large; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="260" data-original-width="226" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWXu-Qm6IvnvA8BXAuaZgSVIIG5E3bbntk-x7PWF4Q5Tkt3ZmkQa9EngocQUH_d3tUw1YwqzshyIxxcfPnXIsCsEjTrULAgF1_WErxJ2T2tzDPOzHCGP_ZosWJx2DOb5Nx22iV4Gj5SpFyggW6xBH9cERCGi1bBVbI7O-fBgz7ZTTILxrypl4GkIF4yF4/w348-h400/eddie.jpg" width="348" /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="background-color: #f8f9fa; font-family: times;">Despite his facial hair, he looks very young and vulnerable. Each has blamed the other for the knife work on Brianna. Both have been found guilty and sentenced to life imprisonment, with a minimum tariff of 22 years for Scarlett and 20 years for Eddie.</span><span face="sans-serif" style="background-color: white;"> </span><span style="background-color: white; font-family: times;">That's three kids with their lives lost or ruined. Brianna's mum is firm in her belief that it was the internet and its dark delights that turned Scarlett and Eddie into conspirators and caused Brianna to lose her life at their hands and she is now campaigning for a change in the law to prevent youngsters from having legal access to phones with full internet capability. It would have to be a global change in the law, of course. Can't see it happening, myself, however desirable it might be. Pandora's box has been opened and that's that.</span></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="background-color: white; font-family: times; font-size: large;">This is terribly troubling. And what is that Mrs Justice Yip doing, releasing their names? Either they should be treated as children, or not. </span><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #141414; text-align: left;">She said members of the public would want to know the identities of Brianna's killers 'as they seek to understand how children could do something so dreadful'.</span><span style="background-color: white;"> Bollocks. The public interest is not the same thing as the public being interested in something. There's a great deal of murder by young people under the age of 18 these days. It is not rare. This case has received the publicity it has because of the transgender element, which is terrifically fashionable. </span></span></div></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">I also take issue with the description of these three as children. The word conjures up for me images of pre-pubertal kiddies. We need another term in law for people who are post pubertal, but not yet legally adult. Youth would do.</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">mr ishmael would have had no difficulty in recognising this situation as a predictable development: </span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: x-large;"><i>Living in the Shitegeist: August 2009</i></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: x-large;"><i><br /></i></span></div><i><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><span style="text-align: center;">Twitter is a mystery to me. Seems like some form of digitised</span></span><span style="font-family: times; text-align: center;"> <span style="font-size: large;">narcissism. Twittering is what Arts correspondents do, Kirsty Wark and Paul Morley and Germaine Greer, twitter-twitter, any old frothy, pretentious bollocks, just as long as they get paid. Who would want to be a twitterer ? No, really, have you seen Paul Morley ?</span></span></i></div><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><div style="text-align: center;"><i><br /></i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>Facebook, too, don't know what it is, don't want to; i-things, don't know, blackberry, that, too. Not a thing to admit to in decent company but I don't have a mobile phone. There is no special virtue in this abstinence but neither is it being Luddite - although the Luddites had some socio-economic validity to their opposition, an early manifestation of It's not the economy, Stupid - I have some IT stuff, enough. This non-engagement with the latest IT wheeze is, though, a sort of discernment, a resistance. I would jump in my car tomorrow, even with its world-famous sticky automatic transmission, and drive to Moscow or Kathmandu, having managed all these years without satnav. Genghis Kahn did it and he was on horseback. It is in our nature to cultivate a sense of direction, or we could look at the Sun, or we could ask someone for directions, do some of that communicating shit that we're so good at. Satnav is an infantilisation too far, like Fatboy Jerry Clarkson and his simile-generating engine - this car is soooo fast that your hair'll catch fire, this car is soooo extraordinary that you'll want to own one, only you can't afford one, but I can, it's for big boys, see. My ancestors - and yours - sailed the world in paper boats, what the fuck do I want with satnav?</i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i><br /></i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>His Holy Grumpiness, my Highlands neighbour, Mr Bob Dylan, in one if his interviews of epic grievance, remarked that Aaah-Wontsa-Pohna-Time, if people wanted the sound of a handclap on a pop record they'd run up to the 'mic and clap their fucking hands, like decent Christian or in his case, artistically pantheistic people should, fucking self-indulgent idiot, one minute at the Wailing Wall, the next at the Vatican; nowadays, there's a button on the keyboard marked "handclap." What is the point of that ? Bob's rock'n'roll credentials may be as counterfeit as much - but by no means all - of his output, indeed, given his endlessly tedious Western Swing Rockabilly it is difficult and painful to recall that he authored Highway 61 Revisited (and should in all decency, therefore, shut the fuck up with his cheesy gnomic whining, vain, silly old fart) but he was right enough in being dismayed by the digitisation of everything, even spontaneity, by GlobaMusic; it's the human handclap for me, too. But not the Stetson.</i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>It is as though we do this shit without even thinking Do we want to ? but just because some nerd lacking a proper job has dreamed it up. - A sitemeter, for instance, counts the visits to this cyberplace, it logs the duration of and the geographical location of visitors. I don't know how it works, some instrument of Satan. I looked at it for a couple of weeks and found that it influenced what I wrote, as though I was the CEO of a global dissent corporation; Hmmm. things are a bit quiet in Malaysia this week, maybe do a piece about pineapples, or rubber. I now take a quick peek every couple of weeks, just to get an idea of how many people read this stuff, there is no analysis beyond that and actually I should disable it altogether, lest I be tempted. It wouldn't ever occur to me, though, that I should make it public, have it running down the side of the page, somebody has just come on and is from such-and-such a place and the last site he was looking at was so-and-so; what on Earth is that about? If someone signs their name and address in a comment, that's one thing, although no-one ever does but to have a piece of software identifying the reader's location and last-visited site is an impertinence worthy of government, isn't it, creepy, entirely contrary to the supposed anonymous nature of cyberworld, a staggering impudence, an overwhelming conceit. Not only is Big Brother watching you on behalf of the government, he is watching you on behalf of me, the Mighty Libertarian Blogger, look, that's you, City of London, or Frome, Somerset, down the side there; you can post but you can't hide, cheeky fucking bastard.</i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i><br /></i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>Some, of course, measure their hits as though they were their cock and the publication of site spymeters information just a form of exhibitionism, the IT-flasher, so to speak, but even that is wholly perverse, unsavoury, bragadaccio compounding an ever-indignant scattergun demagoguery, almost, actually, like a party political broadcast, innit, by some crypto-fascist grouping, it's all the wogs' fault, if there weren't any wogs we'd have decent politicians, seem to be the fatuous Chimes of Freedom, tolling through much of bloggery, the bedrock of much of this sort of stuff, wogs out, that's the thing, just watch how that ushers-in a new dawn of respectable and representative politics. Or maybe not.</i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i><br /></i></div><div style="text-align: center;">In his problematic 2017 essay <i>Say Cheese!,</i> in which mr ishmael argues that it is impossible for the State to suppress home-made revenge pornography, and furthermore, it should not attempt to do so, that everyone should just accept the consequences of their own foolish actions, even if those actions were undertaken as teenagers, he writes: <i>If anyone had ever asked me what pubescent teenagers - boys and girls - would do with 'phone cameras this is exactly what I would have predicted. Because that's exactly what I would've done.</i></div></span><span style="font-size: large; text-align: center;"><i>Born too late, me.</i></span><div><span style="font-size: large; text-align: center;"><i><br /></i></span></div><div><span style="text-align: center;"><div style="background-color: white; border: 0px; color: #141414; font-family: times; font-feature-settings: inherit; font-kerning: inherit; font-optical-sizing: inherit; font-size: medium; font-stretch: inherit; font-style: inherit; font-variant: inherit; font-variation-settings: inherit; font-weight: inherit; line-height: inherit; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"><br /></div><div style="background-color: white;"><div style="font-family: times; font-size: x-large;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRJCv9T1Bcq1AFtN1lgllwI1UnV6D1vSFcIIlK4GDHxh2AIm4ZvLVr35fOuHfIdaQZMam0fpwx4_T2KOJJOfkTpjdj-77dcyQtI6IJ3UVRMxaxYJ12yGgEBvJEB9w2Q74dpp0wYjJj2eI/w320-h212/thumbnail_COVER1+%25282%2529.png" /></div><div style="font-family: times; font-size: x-large;"><br /></div><div style="font-family: times; font-size: x-large;"><br /></div><div style="font-family: times; font-size: x-large;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgB-6JNv0jzD-R6hVIQdseWlNzsQLWKPechwQLF-xBeWkTc2KBvQxd80TyV3YWU9LaKJXse5ACodyzCVXD4dj6Tauuh5V_qW3-aky-yLGAJoMA9jgq45-i8TSb1KkijC-XCS5HDiFBEO5s/s320/vent+stack.png" /></div><div style="font-family: times; font-size: x-large;"><br /></div><div style="font-family: times; font-size: x-large;"><br /></div><div style="font-family: times; font-size: x-large;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjdQlcfm-4zheOEcRYhuwdhvN3DhLeGtm_lQC_27iRcmVLSW44CpLdukXz8QTXTWfOLCzUEY2jsIVynLG9DlbzcCZtbaD13WF_XDyKjNpuEdecwGCEX9ypq4nAjH3gm7pXxVODPXhlKtXxMg48D41QCsTG_hVYJUMIZ7N_bSjdRdYMGRalX1IWsAoR7/s320/Ishmael" /></div><div style="font-family: times; font-size: x-large;"><br /></div><div style="font-family: times; font-size: x-large;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEip2EzAoKCLON9L8HJyC277gD1ITzLx35xSCKihjE4TB61OSh9LSeBcqfZ9iJC-nbiwe9U3ZMyHAminiob0CmWfcHHu4r491WHBWKcz4U1ywHvGM11tl-yds2PLCJaMecibLj6MhGLKfVMuR0SiAAHwOttqy6tLWBip7Wgpl56dGFLiQt3ij_6tBtNcSp8/w283-h400/Flush%20Test.jpg" /></div><div style="font-family: times; font-size: medium;"><span style="font-size: large;">Honest Not Invent, Vent Stack, Ishmael’s Blues, and the latest, Flush Test (with a nice picture of the late, much lamented, Mr Harris of Lanarkshire taking a piss on a totem pole) are available from Lulu and Amazon. If you buy from Amazon, it would be nice if you could give a review on their website.</span></div><div style="font-family: times; font-size: medium;"><span style="font-size: large;">Ishmaelites wishing to buy a copy from lulu should follow these steps :</span></div><div style="font-family: times; font-size: medium;"><span style="font-size: large;">please register an account first, at lulu.com. This is advisable because otherwise paypal seems to think it's ok to charge in dollars, and they then apply their own conversion rate, which might put the price up slightly for a UK buyer. Once the new account is set up, follow one of the links below (to either paperback or hardback) or type "Ishmael’s Blues" into the Lulu Bookstore search box. Click on the “show explicit content” tab, give the age verification box a date of birth such as 1 January 1960, and proceed.</span></div><div style="font-family: times; font-size: medium;"><span style="font-size: large;">Link for Hardcover : https://tinyurl.com/je7nddfr</span></div><div style="font-family: times; font-size: medium;"><span style="font-size: large;">Link for Paperback : https://tinyurl.com/3jurrzux</span></div><div style="font-family: times; font-size: medium;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="font-family: times; font-size: medium;"><span style="font-size: large;">https://www.lulu.com/shop/ishmael-smith/flush-test/paperback/product-9yjvn7.html?q=Flush+Test&page=1&pageSize=4</span></div><div style="font-family: times; font-size: medium;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="font-family: times; font-size: medium;"><span style="font-size: large;">At checkout, try WELCOME15 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.</span></div><div style="font-family: times; font-size: medium;"><span style="font-size: large;">With the 15% voucher, PB (including delivery to a UK address) should be £16.84; HB £27.04.</span></div><div style="font-family: times; font-size: medium;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="font-family: times; font-size: medium;"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1110" data-original-width="2000" height="223" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8ZySR7UuBNmqRou_Vnf-nXxxg1Gc5bfTVaDNyxgHrI0DtaXfzOp4G1qSR1dQ4H9mWAmwY17iWoDpslzjlehe7ERRwQsHF8aSqytsBXZWvFNeaVytjbgs9q6C-0WXxkl0x-ZGYr0IBd6HB6V19DRTBxPp6EIW7DJ9Dg2PNdGhDoLx06XR8lKqpH46QewM/w400-h223/Four%20horsemen%20of%20the%20Apocalypse.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" width="400" /></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse - Revelation 6</td></tr></tbody></table><div style="color: #202122; font-family: sans-serif; font-size: 14px; margin: 0px 0px 1em; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="color: #202122; font-family: sans-serif; font-size: 14px; margin: 0px 0px 1em; text-align: left;">War, Famine, Pestilence and Death</div><div style="color: #202122; font-family: sans-serif; font-size: 14px; margin: 0px 0px 1em; text-align: left;">Then I saw when the Lamb broke one of the seven seals, and I heard one of the four living creatures saying as with a voice of thunder, "Come." I looked, and behold, a white horse, and he who sat on it had a bow; and a crown was given to him, and he went out conquering and to conquer.<br />When He broke the second seal, I heard the second living creature saying, "Come." And another, a red horse, went out; and to him who sat on it, it was granted to take peace from Earth, and that men would slay one another; and a great sword was given to him.<br />When the Lamb broke the fourth seal, I heard the voice of the fourth living creature saying, "Come." I looked, and behold, an ashen horse; and he who sat on it had the name Death; and Hades was following with him. Authority was given to them over a fourth of the Earth, to kill with sword and with famine and with pestilence and by the wild beasts of the Earth.When He broke the third seal, I heard the third living creature saying, "Come." I looked, and behold, a black horse; and he who sat on it had a pair of scales in his hand. And I heard something like a voice in the center of the four living creatures saying, "A quart of wheat for a denarius, and three quarts of barley for a denarius; but do not damage the oil and the wine."</div></div><div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="color: #202122; font-family: sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 14px;"><br /></span></span></div></div></div></span></div>call me ishmaelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14369028864168461729noreply@blogger.com37tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6065998731267025499.post-69531030011641887312024-02-02T16:02:00.006+00:002024-02-03T10:27:21.722+00:00Not Going Out Again<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1006" data-original-width="1024" height="393" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEir0Obq3xtw0o9_kEJlFcWiOIa5MV5s1vKgGnPqgJkAG706JUpn6ZgnPtUq493s6DF58rDKlcsgaFtHFcPidwqxGeR5ShdLOS0YEiwBQrsCyDObzKuUgQlHPizvlwCjy30wkTVUxUR636KFxTazwzfc26Hfxik55hc5ylxgLgZbVB_g8RRiS2oth9efEKQ/w400-h393/festival%20of%20light.jpg" width="400" /></div><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"> Now, that looks good, doesn't it? Did you notice where it says <i>Free Entry? </i>It was all over Radio Orkney yesterday morning.</span><span style="font-family: times; font-size: x-large;"> </span><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">Events on the market green and installations in the Cathedral, at, the man explained, </span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><i>the interface where Art meets Science, featuring <span style="background-color: white;">an arresting array of light installations, fire performances, and artistic displays each evening over the four days. As the festival unfolds across Kirkwall's historic streets, residents and visitors can expect to be immersed in a spectacle of colour, movement, and creativity</span><span style="background-color: white;">. </span></i></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><i><span style="background-color: white;"><br /></span></i></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><span style="background-color: white;">The Radio Orkney interviewer was mildly amused: Are ye no' worried about weather bomb Storm Ingunn, down frae Norway, with gusts of 106 miles per hour, yellow weather warning and all ferries cancelled?</span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><span style="background-color: white;"><i>Ha ha. We'll strap everything down.</i></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><span style="background-color: white;"><i><br /></i></span></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">Stalls and booths. Street food. Shops open late with light displays in their windows. So I went. A bit worried that I would be late for the opening - 4.00pm it was scheduled for, and I didn't get there until 4.20pm, I thought that the thin trickle of people making their way from the carpark (a very thin trickle - mum, child and grandmum) was because I was late. I really should know better by now. How long have I lived here?</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="264" data-original-width="493" height="214" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5F1oLlRhgbg9p35-BbvI71jZc9VXYqhwcQtv6n7L1T5hQjxqkad37LQNYLHefI-BqP6qlSlEaiDv4StCzf-sG20r8UaT-x8YMP8ru5zgNIDUv0taKZ9Np7OzIP6ztCHoAhJv8GPyxpGWge3_MToEFxkwwUXL94iMx3gTRgxXvFAag7A-28iJtBQhba1I/w400-h214/Craggy%20Islandcat.jpg" width="400" /></div><br /><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">Granted, there were some christmas tree lights on in the shops on Broad Way and there was something that looked like this, but well strapped down, on the Cathedral Green,</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="261" data-original-width="453" height="230" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhyPPWAf6ylwgG-CzM8bpm3Np6-EelUAWcfvdMRVVjJtdoonNiFvokPivmHDLFAwOSE1B3Ang6FvN5w-qzoh5PH-rQRbsvoVQepZ26SlYsR_xcod2cvrlyYEc29cYFJ8UjjWhhxNUrD7ez9y6q9lkOycCJ6Hn10hP4BDW-_gGeCIkvL4ZucglYw0dqIWEw/w400-h230/trampoline%20base.jpg" width="400" /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">but, compared with Shetland's fire festival, Up Helly Aa,</span></div></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="180" data-original-width="270" height="267" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQjIqldIe5w34pTTB2BQq1CpGKUUKEDEDbVWZ9_vGn16OY64e14u-mcMM1DZvc7otRxXNVYT0s_MnyOq9WNsDTNLXkdVPN6kNhb9rcAPhcKqi23-w1eZgb1rFRFOLA6FlP1UZCq4nY1GFITaFMkZ0tDkicfFLLLCM4WBQdlPNlgAoA2sD_0MxEIvOfu5E/w400-h267/Up%20Helly%20Aa%202.jpg" width="400" /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">it lacked a certain something. </span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">Fire. </span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">Big Beards.</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">Burning Viking Dragon Ships.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="180" data-original-width="264" height="273" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgqNPCJAXQw1GadWGvYJbPKhT0iboFiA2biRrEfANVsAtsiZgzDc09u_mo_7P7PctB63YCHTYyWo-qZNgDz3DBCyc-BFA1GmsKBA0tKneR9VBAWYMoglpBuI4Hm8oMgSXgamO-Thod421BZmHFPMrcNRMhcMi1TkTQHv7KBP3vPYvtTjatQGBYEme48UVo/w400-h273/Up%20Helly%20AA.jpg" width="400" /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">What it did have was a giant Newton's Cradle or wave pendulum inside the Cathedral, like this:</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><iframe allowfullscreen="" class="BLOG_video_class" height="266" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/_4ICFmAr_DQ" width="320" youtube-src-id="_4ICFmAr_DQ"></iframe></div><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">I admit, that was rather cool, suspended within what looked like a ship's skeleton. It was presided over by a middle aged steampunk couple, complete with top hat, frock coat (him) and corset laced over a black polo neck (her). The handful of children present were clustered around an infinity recursion box of lights, which was also engaging for a couple of minutes.</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">That was it.</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">So I took myself off to Mr. Tesco's emporium, as the succession of January storms (Henk, Isha, Jocelyn and now Ingunn- the Norwegians named it before we could alphabetize it) had left me out of staples. Unfortunately, Mr Tesco was also out of staples. No boats again. Row after row of empty shelves. Where there are usually piles of apples - Gala, Golden Delicious, Pink Lady and Bramley, there was one. Not one variety. One apple. No onions, but, strangely, many carrots and garlic. I scooped up the last net of Sweet Easy Peelers (used to be called tangerines), and settled for a chicken that had Freedom to Roam in its barn - probably wouldn't have wanted to be outside in this weather. There was no bread other than that made on the premises, and there was damn little of that, so I had to make do with an artisanal sourdough worthy loaf. Radio Orkney had warned us to have food in the house that doesn't need electricity to be prepared, because of the anticipated power cuts, and, luckily, Mr Tesco still had some cheese and cold meat. Thank Bacchus for the wine aisle. I spotted a chum busily reading labels. "There's me all in a wine dwarm", she greeted me. "Best get some in afore the weather closes in the morn's morn. I used to drink nothing but white wine - but I canna now - it is all oaked. You should try this - a friend gave me a bottle for feeding her cats. I don't usually go for comedy labels,<br /><br /></span><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="439" data-original-width="679" height="259" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhmsQF1921h84iHFG2UCITpH-ktd44xxKlsrycMrcDmYCBHLSg2S_kVyHg9Sod2iDgL02IcUKQPjiE6K8XMRfYb3h81viRkEgzMenSP07-J4Q3bx4gXtdoK5iagyNrIuALk1fBQy2vOSG4Z0lpMYdL33k8BZptCS8olK5j5-67uQrVMJtoATpCgZaODkOo/w400-h259/nineteen%20crimes.jpg" width="400" /></div><span style="font-size: large;">but it was a gift so I had a glass and oh my it was good so I finished the bottle and luckily they've got some in. I was going to tak the lot, but seeing its you I could spare you a bottle".</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;">By now it was too late to cook, and I shouldn't eat my power-cut food, so I thought no harm in getting fish and chips for tea. First time this year, after all. </span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;">Its called the Happy Haddock. I don't usually go there because I'm scared of the bloke that runs it. But there's a carpark next door and it was blowing a hoolie, not to mention the rain, so I thought, nothing ventured, no fishnchips, and in I went. </span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;">"You wait", barked the bloke, busy on the phone. </span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;">"Yes, nugget, chip, batter sosidge, fry chicken deliver. Half hour, you stay, maybe forty-five, you pay". </span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;">"Yes? What you want?" to me.</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;">"Fish supper please and a portion of mushy peas, please".</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;">"That all? Hokay. Ten poun. You sit."</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;">So I sat, while he parcelled up chicken nuggets, chips, battered sausage and fried chicken with frightening oriental efficiency and handed them to the delivery driver. Other people came and were served while I sat waiting for my small order of happy haddock. You'd think a shop selling fried fish would actually have some fried fish ready at teatime for customers wanting a bit of fried fish for their tea. But no. It is a rule that you always have to wait for fish. Then suddenly, breaking through my dwarm, the bloke shouts:</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;">"Fish, shit, pee?"</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;">"That's me", I say, recognising my order and receiving the cardboard box.</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;">"Enjoy", he commands.</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;">They were greasy. Cooked in beef dripping. But the half bot of Mr Tesco's The Pebble cut through the grease and I did enjoy, although chips always, always smell better than they taste.</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="207" data-original-width="207" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjIUb7l1KwE9imE8Mw0mqlQ4JX4bX47MFsHRjd1PcYkBfowuZeev5DQ5wjHJ4I5Ds8YRxdq0xF68IcWubsHTyW7Sjf8nGPQTblJzH9COdRV3j8yyrrXHHNFBqJTH3pt7qjYbMV4qUoRZEILARibeD0iwFzRibj9vv2EtP2hWtNPL-G-olXSFd2N44jl-SY/w400-h400/The%20Pebble.jpg" width="400" /></div><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">Here's the blurb: </span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="background-color: white; white-space-collapse: preserve-breaks;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">The vineyard soils of the Loire Valley are composed of a mixture of clays, sands, limestone and flint. These contribute a unique mineral freshness to the principal grape variety: Sauvignon Blanc. The Pebble serves as a reminder of the origins of this wine. An appealing aroma combines with complex flavours of citrus and passionfruit, to produce an elegant and refreshing wine which will accompany light foods or be delicious just on its own.</span></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="background-color: white; white-space-collapse: preserve-breaks;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">Or with fishnchips.</span></span></div><p></p>call me ishmaelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14369028864168461729noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6065998731267025499.post-43069065400517848152024-01-28T18:00:00.001+00:002024-01-28T18:00:58.750+00:00The Sunday Ishmael: 28/01/2024<div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"> A few decades ago, when working as a Probation Officer in England, part of my role was to prosecute breaches of Community Service Orders and Probation Orders in the Magistrates Courts.</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="480" data-original-width="640" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiCHEq0Yf5efSqDnn2e7Saf778kHGeizLaQducC2ZS6ERI1tILvjMgD-75lM2btKoZUrXct9jRKGV3RdI9pB4i6_OKGS40ubPSE9OURQMFzgA5Y3pZyiBS_DzvignjqUA0ljqA9G5e_L-f3d54KYo6i15ECtIzyjoDmg8GGc5G9_ERKTRuROZ7RAX_sOGc/w400-h300/Birmingham%20Magistrates%20Couts.jpg" width="400" /></div><br /><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">Here's how it goes: a chap (statistically, its usually chaps, not totties,) commits an offence. He would be very unlucky indeed to be caught. When someone is described as a "first offender" it is more accurate to say that this is the first time he has been caught. So he will go on to commit more offences, becoming increasingly more careless, or until someone dobs him in. Don't believe all that stuff in TV dramas about clever insightful police - that's entertainment, not real life. The police don't detect anything - they wait for someone to tell them who dun it, and now, I understand, they put up pages on social media requesting information about the offence. Anyway, when your man eventually arrives in Court, charged with an index offence and a string of other offences that he has asked to be "taken into consideration" (T.I.C.s - they assist the police clear-up rate), he pleads guilty in order to get the discount for an early guilty plea, the case goes off for reports, and your man then does his best to persuade the Probation Officer tasked with writing the Pre Sentence Report, as it was called, that he is the real victim here and that he made a mistake. He is never bad, wrong, cruel, greedy, vicious, or a scofflaw, but he did make a mistake and will never do it again if he is given a chance to redeem himself, he has a girlfriend/wife, several children, a flat, a job to go to and is in treatment for drugs/alcohol. The Magistrates, who have read this sort of thing more times than they care to remember,</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="300" data-original-width="232" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxDEu4gmY2ACUnUwNATfxMiAHiWLgp0IF2JXqublCMHIxO5bJGR4rU1jHufO2Z6kSPpz2EnVs_qUS1eluYMYeufunYGzof_ajPjcGphZFm5kqwcXZv73gSAmbpHBW1ubHsNVmcfwo_TZ0uRuKFk9CN5i5rnnZNqHacDGjEVBEglnG1ykT6EgPyy6FAo94/w309-h400/Alice.jpg" width="309" /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: times;">are not legally qualified, and are advised by the Clerk to the Court, who is so qualified, on the law relating to the case and of the sentencing options available to them. </span><span style="color: #202122; font-family: times;"><span style="background-color: white;">The offender, now legally known as the defendant, would be really, really unlucky to receive a custodial sentence (as the prisons are full and the courts have strict guidance to limit the numbers sentenced to imprisonment), and will get an absolute or conditional discharge, or a fine, or Probation Order, with or without conditions - like live in a Probation hostel. If his offence is deemed imprisonable he may receive a Community Service Order as an alternative to that sentence of imprisonment. Or a Pick and Mix of Orders and fines. Then, job done, Magistrates, Clerk, Crown Prosecution Service and Police, hand the offender over to the Probation Officer. </span></span></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="color: #202122; font-family: times;"><span style="background-color: white;">Once, on Saturday morning Court duty, when there's only a skeleton staff, I had to transport the offender to a Probation hostel without an escort. He was pleasant enough, but as we drew up at traffic lights, he opened the car door and was away on his toes. Should the offender fail to comply with the terms of his Court Order, the Probation Officer's job is to summons him back to Court and ask the Magistrate to revoke the order and deal with him for the original offence as if that Order had never been made. All sorts of sentencing nonsense then ensues: maybe a fine and continue with the Order, maybe more hours of unpaid work, maybe a telling off. They never pull a prison sentence on a first breach. Maybe a third. If the offender really wants nothing to do with the probation service, he will not comply with the order and then not turn up at Court for the breach hearing. The prosecuting probation officer will then ask the magistrates for a warrant for the offender's arrest and production before the next available court. The magistrates sign the warrant which is then sent to the police. Who, almost invariably, ignore it. Even when they know where the chap lives and the chap is actually living there, as opposed to living with his girlfriend and claiming double benefits. The police have a hierarchy of importance and urgency which they apply to stuff arriving in their inbox. And warrants to bring offenders to court for breaching a Court Order are way down that hierarchy. Even if the Court Order was made for offences deemed so serious that the defendant stood in danger of imprisonment at his first hearing. Much more fun to race down the motorway at 120 miles per hour, deploy stingers, break doors down and plant drugs behind the telly and shout hey sarge, look what I've found!</span></span></span></div><div><span><span style="background-color: white;"><span style="color: #202122; font-family: times; font-size: large;">So I was not at all surprised to learn that the arrest warrant issued for Valdo Calocane after he failed to attend Court in September 2022 had never been executed. </span><span style="color: #141414; font-family: times; font-size: large;">They are just low priority. In June 2023 Valdo Calocane then fatally stabbed three people in the street, obeying the voices in his head that had instructed him to kill these strangers in order to avoid harm coming to his family. He then used the van belonging to one of his victims to escape. A police chase ensued until Mr. Calocane drove the van into three more people, causing injuries. Had the warrant issued nine months prior been executed, it is possible the tragedy could have been averted, as he might have received a sentence of imprisonment for the offence in respect of which the warrant was issued (an assault on a police officer as he was being conveyed to a mental health facility), or, as </span></span></span><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #141414;">Nottinghamshire Police's Assistant Chief Constable Rob Griffin said: "</span><span style="background-color: white; color: #141414;"> </span></span><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #141414; text-align: start;">an arrest might have triggered a route back into mental health services, but as we have seen from his previous encounters with those services, it seems unlikely that he would have engaged in this process.</span><span style="background-color: white; color: #141414;">" Well, that's alright, then, nothing to see here, move along now please.</span></span></div><div><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #141414;"> A</span></span><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">n investigation by the police watchdog has concluded officers following Mr. Calocane in the van could not have foreseen he would drive at pedestrians. The Independent Office for Police Conduct (IOPC) said its three-month review had not identified any conduct or performance issues in relation to the incident. Once again, </span><span style="background-color: white; color: #141414; font-family: times; font-size: large;">that's alright, nothing to see here, move along now please.</span></div><div><span style="background-color: white; color: #141414; font-family: times; font-size: large;">Mr. Calocane was given a hospital order after he admitted that he had committed manslaughter whilst suffering from diminished responsibility in consequence of his mental ill health. He will be detained </span><span style="background-color: white; color: #141414; text-align: start;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">at a high-security hospital, very probably for the rest of his life, as sentencing judge, Mr. Justice Turner stated. His sentencing remarks are readily available. He quoted from the psychiatric report prepared by </span></span><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"> Dr McSweeney:<br />“ He was under the false impression that his thoughts and actions were under the control of artificial intelligence and that his family may be in grave danger. By definition, a person experiencing acute psychosis is not able to accurately test reality or distinguish reality from an abnormal perception. It seems likely that Mr Calocane’s decision-making was largely governed by his psychotic experiences.<br />“Mr Calocane has an established diagnosis of paranoid schizophrenia. This is a chronic and enduring psychotic mental illness. His illness will never be "cured”, and he will require long term, very cautious management with antipsychotic medication and appropriate psychological and supportive interventions (almost certainly for the remainder of his life).”</span></div><div><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">This was not enough for the bereaved families, and once again we have been treated to *kymadeupnewsandfilth whipping up anti-Christian emotions. It is not enough that the perpetrator was seriously mentally unwell, nor that the police could have avoided this tragedy had they acted timeously on an arrest warrant, nor that they failed to stop the van before Mr Calocane drove into three pedestrians. Nope, the bereaved wanted a murder charge and they feel seriously let down. What would have been the outcome of a murder charge? An expensive trial as Mr. Calocane would have been advised to plead not guilty. He would not have been convicted as he was clearly too ill to have formed the requisite mens rea for murder. For goodness sake, the poor chap had even gone to M15 headquarters in London to ask them to stop messing with his mind and thought processes.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">I seriously think that we should hear much less from the bereaved in these matters. It is ill informed and unhelpful. </span></div><div><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">It is not victim justice, but victim vengeance, orchestrated by *kymadeupnewsandfilth. And Mr.Calocane's case was just <b><i>so</i></b> telegenic - three white victims, two of them pretty young University students, killed by a black man of ferocious appearance - the optics were just <b><i>so</i></b> wonderful, darling.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">Here's mr ishmael, writing on the </span><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">24th January 2011:</span></div><div><span style="font-family: times; font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><span style="text-align: left;">The target, in these quarters, of more invective than any other single subject is skymadeupnewsandfilth. Murdoch - and his repulsive stooges, from Larry Lamb and Kelvin McKenzie to Tony Blair - has, in my opinion, contributed more to Ruin than any other single individual or institution. Murdoch has coarsened the public discourse so severely that it may never recover, has cheapened traditional British values - far beyond the cessation of deference, this vulgar man has devalued human life, trivialised suffering and mocked fairness. Gotcha! he gloated, the cunt, as Argentinian conscripted teenagers drowned in the South Atlantic, no patriot, he, neither Aussie nor Brit, assuming US citizenship for business reasons, marrying a chink for same, what a fucking monster. And first through the back door of Number Ten, after the Coalition Coup, giving his Filth Agenda to the inbred, fishfaced mutant, Cameron.... </span><span style="text-align: left;">Anybody come in here telling me that former unelected prime minister Snot is somehow deeper in villainy, more ruinous than Murdoch, well they can go and fuck themselves for Ruin's servants.</span></span></div><div><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">.............................................................................</span></div><div><div style="background-color: white; border: 0px; color: #141414; font-family: times; font-feature-settings: inherit; font-kerning: inherit; font-optical-sizing: inherit; font-stretch: inherit; font-style: inherit; font-variant: inherit; font-variation-settings: inherit; font-weight: inherit; line-height: inherit; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="font-size: large;">More sardonic wit and biting cynicism from mr ishmael in the f<span style="color: black; font-style: inherit; font-variant-caps: inherit; font-variant-ligatures: inherit; font-weight: inherit; text-align: left;">our-volume</span><span style="color: black; font-style: inherit; font-variant-caps: inherit; font-variant-ligatures: inherit; font-weight: inherit; text-align: left;"> </span><span style="color: black; font-style: inherit; font-variant-caps: inherit; font-variant-ligatures: inherit; font-weight: inherit;">Call Me Ishmael oeuvre, collected by editor mr verge.</span></span></div><div style="background-color: white; font-family: times; font-size: x-large;"><div><br /></div><div><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRJCv9T1Bcq1AFtN1lgllwI1UnV6D1vSFcIIlK4GDHxh2AIm4ZvLVr35fOuHfIdaQZMam0fpwx4_T2KOJJOfkTpjdj-77dcyQtI6IJ3UVRMxaxYJ12yGgEBvJEB9w2Q74dpp0wYjJj2eI/w320-h212/thumbnail_COVER1+%25282%2529.png" /></div><div><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgB-6JNv0jzD-R6hVIQdseWlNzsQLWKPechwQLF-xBeWkTc2KBvQxd80TyV3YWU9LaKJXse5ACodyzCVXD4dj6Tauuh5V_qW3-aky-yLGAJoMA9jgq45-i8TSb1KkijC-XCS5HDiFBEO5s/s320/vent+stack.png" /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjdQlcfm-4zheOEcRYhuwdhvN3DhLeGtm_lQC_27iRcmVLSW44CpLdukXz8QTXTWfOLCzUEY2jsIVynLG9DlbzcCZtbaD13WF_XDyKjNpuEdecwGCEX9ypq4nAjH3gm7pXxVODPXhlKtXxMg48D41QCsTG_hVYJUMIZ7N_bSjdRdYMGRalX1IWsAoR7/s320/Ishmael" /></div><div><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEip2EzAoKCLON9L8HJyC277gD1ITzLx35xSCKihjE4TB61OSh9LSeBcqfZ9iJC-nbiwe9U3ZMyHAminiob0CmWfcHHu4r491WHBWKcz4U1ywHvGM11tl-yds2PLCJaMecibLj6MhGLKfVMuR0SiAAHwOttqy6tLWBip7Wgpl56dGFLiQt3ij_6tBtNcSp8/w283-h400/Flush%20Test.jpg" /></div><div style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-size: large;">Honest Not Invent, Vent Stack, Ishmael’s Blues, and the latest, Flush Test (with a nice picture of the late, much lamented, Mr Harris of Lanarkshire taking a piss on a totem pole) are available from Lulu and Amazon. If you buy from Amazon, it would be nice if you could give a review on their website.</span></div><div style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-size: large;">Ishmaelites wishing to buy a copy from lulu should follow these steps :</span></div><div style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-size: large;">please register an account first, at lulu.com. This is advisable because otherwise paypal seems to think it's ok to charge in dollars, and they then apply their own conversion rate, which might put the price up slightly for a UK buyer. Once the new account is set up, follow one of the links below (to either paperback or hardback) or type "Ishmael’s Blues" into the Lulu Bookstore search box. Click on the “show explicit content” tab, give the age verification box a date of birth such as 1 January 1960, and proceed.</span></div><div style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-size: large;">Link for Hardcover : https://tinyurl.com/je7nddfr</span></div><div style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-size: large;">Link for Paperback : https://tinyurl.com/3jurrzux</span></div><div style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-size: large;">https://www.lulu.com/shop/ishmael-smith/flush-test/paperback/product-9yjvn7.html?q=Flush+Test&page=1&pageSize=4</span></div><div style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-size: large;">At checkout, try WELCOME15 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.</span></div><div style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-size: large;">With the 15% voucher, PB (including delivery to a UK address) should be £16.84; HB £27.04.</span></div></div></div></div>call me ishmaelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14369028864168461729noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6065998731267025499.post-77227436537516132032024-01-23T09:33:00.000+00:002024-01-23T09:33:35.375+00:00In Memoriam<div style="text-align: left;"> <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3264" data-original-width="2448" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQGA6Gq6LoNeqBzkUnXigG3wxSbSc8e9JmUGTpS-a8uZDZ4RA65vYyL8MCtcH9pNCsSA75R6TjhUoFJCTOZJQ8R2NIxsC96weLmrDkUKACqdiGnReCumRvGYAuLtKJVDhiBECflaufgAXaUTXG4MXOJIiDMQA_ok4FemFC61PetALTXShHd_Py5tzqkYQ/w300-h400/Snowdrops%20at%20the%20Willow%20Burn.jpg" width="300" /></div><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">Ishmael Smith, 1950 to 23rd January 2020</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">Writer and Satirist</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">Much missed.</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><i>"Call me Ishmael.... whenever I find myself growing grim about the mouth ....... and it requires a strong moral principle to prevent me from deliberately stepping into the street, and methodically knocking people's hats off - then I quietly take to the ship." </i></span></div><div style="text-align: right;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: medium;">Moby Dick, Herman Melville</span></div><div style="text-align: right;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">Across the dark seas of night to the bright shores of morning, mr ishmael.</span></div>call me ishmaelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14369028864168461729noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6065998731267025499.post-7752446494927897202024-01-21T18:40:00.002+00:002024-01-23T09:19:48.066+00:00The Sunday Ishmael: 21/01/2024<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2040" data-original-width="1530" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhpcYmZOz9cOnFpzLkzRacEkN84Gx-3Kl-4cHcZhz_vpfLYY8Ee0eCJWgnVCT-Oc9SiNSPaztomM1kyuEpokQIlArOy5XoJoqZ3WTOPjIEbv2qWdDsfUwYej0owtnuVHaH_OcBa_ltOs6bQu-CAYbe_MNGyxQv588pz-ILuecpmbrsVWLSbjDI39n72z50/w300-h400/snow%20field.jpg" width="300" /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">We've been having some snow here in the Bracing Isles. For more than a week, snow has fallen, snow on snow, in the bleak midwinter, but <i><b>not</b></i> long, long ago. <b>Now</b>. I last battled into Kirkwall on Monday, 15th January, in order to get some supplies in, as the weather forecast was appalling. </span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2040" data-original-width="1530" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjnFgs0dOnare4rFTwDZaoeHynDRmqdoB0uHpqgaqh-rU-xUfItws6FKd4D2vqXWzf1ITW1bH2VB9ocD-3OPcBnqFqkG4bi52dxaN9x_XR9Qp0PyyZdFoAWHbzGQfnj9V0c-numa7qQ3mcjxmSI5oXjkziYQlXLfn22mGs4sq61uFkq5DdrOSCDKi0N2Uk/w300-h400/snow%20Kirkwall.jpg" width="300" /></div><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">Sadly, there were few supplies to be had, as the boats hadn't made it in with our food. There's nothing like gazing at row after row of empty shelves in the supermarket to ram home the words of that call centre operative when he failed to book an engineer visit: Did you know you is livin' on a island?</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">On Monday and Tuesday the schools were open but the school transport wouldn't go. On Wednesday the schools closed for the rest of the week. Everything was cancelled. There were no flights. No ferries. Radio Orkney ordered us not to drive. </span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">When it wasn't snowing, it was galeing, the wind driving great waves of snow across the fields, dropping birds out of the skies. </span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2040" data-original-width="1399" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUWwFiglknuC0h8A5ZfGvVag9WBv4oFrEhYJmRS_Fp76PLvxVvOeSeDH_jW0PcaadvFINrKNL7wzsIp-JimnL84-S_kk14qfGQuPYw73tAhMRL3GVLblS52BkCGVtTR_IeunfODveKj19gbODyq0ljeeuZLiE0VneGcduF0wDtPF1amOJUr38U4aYIPYM/w274-h400/snow%202024.jpg" width="274" /></div>On Friday, the snow started turning into water and the roads were running like rivers with melt water.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">On Saturday, it had more-or-less cleared, so I went to Tesco. And so did everyone else. There were no bananas in Tesco, but Lidl had some. Doing two supermarkets rammed with people who had been confined to their cabins for a week was exhausting. Everyone wanted to talk and share their snowed-in experiences. One acquaintance told me she had been delayed in Aberdeen for four days, waiting for a flight that only arrived yesterday. One chum was buying large plastic storage containers for her husband who had been driven by the extreme weather into sorting his stash in his man cave. They turned out not to be for storing his dismembered body, (as I saw him later in the car park), but for his car parts. Everyone scrutinised each other's trolleys, to see what they'd managed to glean from the still-sparse shelves. Nobody said global warming. It was too damn cold.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">Weather, of course, is not the same as climate. Weather can do all sorts of terrible and temporary things. Like the Frost Fairs, held on the River Thames when it froze solid - a combination of bad weather, the absence of embankments on the Thames, so that it flowed slowly, and the narrow arches of the old London Bridge, which allowed ice to form and to dam the river. </span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="540" data-original-width="700" height="309" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgA8E3Zi06P5yNZXq24gpQXoDyFUUQLsNKBwQDg5Si7Urm1-anCn8nqq9YywVKq0AAkIjzrQco2Ci_li6MVz9HDIff5lLIvDCberU_3cFCN920pJBhQNvwffXPChPbj4nG5EXHwM5wEs_HnS3RNjuJDqDPwrPI1YU_N8x8XKzy24gTduDYn5Popj4Vb3Y4/w400-h309/Frost%20Fair.jpg" width="400" /></div></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">Londoners being entrepreneurial Londoners, they set up booths, sold food, and during the 1814 Frost Fair walked an elephant across the river and had an ox roast. Earlier frost fairs also featured the blood sport of </span><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><span style="text-align: left;">Cock throwing.</span><span style="background-color: white; text-align: left;"> </span><span style="background-color: white; text-align: left;"> A</span><span style="background-color: white; text-align: left;"> </span>rooster<span style="background-color: white; text-align: left;"> </span><span style="background-color: white; text-align: left;">was tied to a post, and people took turns throwing coksteles (special weighted sticks) at the bird until it died.</span></span><span face="sans-serif" style="background-color: white; font-size: 14px; text-align: left;"> </span><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><span style="background-color: white; text-align: left;">A contributor to</span><span style="background-color: white; text-align: left;"> </span><i style="text-align: left;">The Gentleman's Magazine</i><span style="background-color: white; text-align: left;"> </span><span style="background-color: white; text-align: left;">in 1737 was of the opinion that cock throwing arose from traditional enmity towards the French, for which the cock played an emblematic role. </span></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-family: times; font-size: x-large; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="246" data-original-width="353" height="279" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgn3jsF2UJr5p871xiIv-KwcyHEV0wZIi-mdQGOhkWzvpgb9x7ZsYf_KwRUOFONLfXr42lJQ5cHBE01HY_IyuPglrCs32f7xrxcqDHY0gz1e9blMV8PVFLpgZ_F8QYLmxhEazCUINRUCjF83B2lLP5LyNWhSlIFKveVFEofdzMjtiqQaM9dE2bvk8PHfZI/w400-h279/Boris,%20Macron%20and%20cock.jpg" width="400" /></div><div style="background-color: white; margin: 0.5em 0px 1em; text-align: center;"><span style="color: #202122; font-family: times; font-size: large;"> </span><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="color: #202122; font-family: times;">If the </span></span><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="color: #202122; font-family: times;">bird had its legs broken or was lamed during the event, it was supported with sticks in order to prolong the game. The cock was also sometimes placed inside an earthenware jar to prevent it from moving. (Bastards!) </span><span style="color: #202122; font-family: times;">In 1660, an official pronouncement by Puritan officials in </span><span style="color: #202122; font-family: times;">Bristol</span><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="color: #202122;"> to forbid cock throwing (as well as cat and dog tossing) on Shrove Tuesday resulted in a riot by the apprentices. The past, as they say, is a foreign country, where they do things differently. Whatever you may think about football, and personally speaking, I don't think about it much, but I have a friend who does, if pushed, I'd say that football is a huge improvement on cock throwing and cat and dog tossing.</span></span><span style="color: #202122; font-family: times;"> </span></span></div><p style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: medium; text-align: left;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #141414; font-variant-caps: inherit; font-variant-ligatures: inherit; font-weight: inherit; text-align: start;"><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: x-large; font-variant-caps: inherit; font-variant-ligatures: inherit; font-weight: inherit;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><iframe allowfullscreen="" class="BLOG_video_class" height="266" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/tefY7S7J9T4" width="320" youtube-src-id="tefY7S7J9T4"></iframe></div></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: #121212; font-variant-ligatures: common-ligatures; text-align: start;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">Despite the above video being widely shared on social media, the Ministry of Defence is sticking to its "Nothing to see here, move along now" story. Just when we need all our warships to protect our shipping from the Houthi pirates, </span></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: times; font-variant-caps: inherit; font-variant-ligatures: inherit; font-weight: inherit;"><i>HMS Chiddingfold</i></span><span style="font-family: times; font-style: inherit; font-variant-caps: inherit; font-variant-ligatures: inherit; font-weight: inherit;"> reversed into </span><span style="font-family: times; font-variant-caps: inherit; font-variant-ligatures: inherit; font-weight: inherit;"><i>HMS Bangor </i></span><span style="font-family: times; font-style: inherit; font-variant-caps: inherit; font-variant-ligatures: inherit; font-weight: inherit;">while docking in an unnamed Bahrain port. </span><span style="font-family: times; font-style: inherit; font-variant-caps: inherit; font-variant-ligatures: inherit; font-weight: inherit;">Both are specialist minesweeper vessels, trying to ensure the safe flow of trade through the Middle Eastern waters. The Royal Navy said: </span><span style="font-family: times; font-style: inherit; font-variant-caps: inherit; font-variant-ligatures: inherit; font-weight: inherit;">"We are aware of an incident concerning two minehunters alongside in Bahrain. There are no casualties as a result of this incident and it would be inappropriate to comment further whilst investigations are ongoing,"</span></span><span style="font-family: times; font-size: x-large; font-style: inherit; font-variant-caps: inherit; font-variant-ligatures: inherit; font-weight: inherit;"> </span></div></span></div></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><span style="background-color: white; text-align: left;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><div class="ssrcss-11r1m41-RichTextComponentWrapper ep2nwvo0" data-component="text-block" style="border: 0px; font-feature-settings: inherit; font-kerning: inherit; font-optical-sizing: inherit; font-stretch: inherit; font-variant-alternates: inherit; font-variant-east-asian: inherit; font-variant-numeric: inherit; font-variant-position: inherit; font-variation-settings: inherit; line-height: inherit; margin: 1rem 0px; max-width: 36.25rem; padding: 0px; text-align: start; vertical-align: baseline;"><div class="ssrcss-7uxr49-RichTextContainer e5tfeyi1" style="border: 0px; font-feature-settings: inherit; font-kerning: inherit; font-optical-sizing: inherit; font-stretch: inherit; font-variant-alternates: inherit; font-variant-east-asian: inherit; font-variant-numeric: inherit; font-variant-position: inherit; font-variation-settings: inherit; line-height: inherit; margin: 0px; overflow-wrap: break-word; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"><div style="border: 0px; font-feature-settings: inherit; font-kerning: inherit; font-optical-sizing: inherit; font-stretch: inherit; font-variant-alternates: inherit; font-variant-east-asian: inherit; font-variant-numeric: inherit; font-variant-position: inherit; font-variation-settings: inherit; line-height: inherit; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; text-align: center; vertical-align: baseline;">That didn't stop Rear Admiral Edward Ahlgren saying the cause of the collision "is still to be established. <span style="font-style: inherit; font-variant-caps: inherit; font-variant-ligatures: inherit; font-weight: inherit;">We train our people to the highest standards and rigorously enforce machinery safety standards, but unfortunately incidents of this nature can still happen. In</span><span style="font-style: inherit; font-variant-caps: inherit; font-variant-ligatures: inherit; font-weight: inherit;"> the meantime, the UK will continue to play a key part in ensuring the safety of merchant shipping in the region."<br /></span><span style="font-style: inherit; font-variant-caps: inherit; font-variant-ligatures: inherit; font-weight: inherit;">Whoever was reversing </span><span style="font-variant-caps: inherit; font-variant-ligatures: inherit; font-weight: inherit;"><i>HMS Chiddingfold</i></span><span style="font-style: inherit; font-variant-caps: inherit; font-variant-ligatures: inherit; font-weight: inherit;"> into t</span><span style="font-variant-caps: inherit; font-variant-ligatures: inherit; font-weight: inherit;">he<i> Bangor</i></span><span style="font-style: inherit; font-variant-caps: inherit; font-variant-ligatures: inherit; font-weight: inherit;"> needs a refresher high standards training </span>course<span style="font-style: inherit; font-variant-caps: inherit; font-variant-ligatures: inherit; font-weight: inherit;"> - especially as it is the second time the </span><span style="font-variant-caps: inherit; font-variant-ligatures: inherit; font-weight: inherit;"><i>Chiddingfold </i></span><span style="font-style: inherit; font-variant-caps: inherit; font-variant-ligatures: inherit; font-weight: inherit;">has attacked a sister ship - she crashed into </span><span style="font-variant-caps: inherit; font-variant-ligatures: inherit; font-weight: inherit;"><i>HMS Penzance</i></span><span style="font-style: inherit; font-variant-caps: inherit; font-variant-ligatures: inherit; font-weight: inherit;"> in 2021 off the coast of Bahrain. </span></div><div style="border: 0px; font-feature-settings: inherit; font-kerning: inherit; font-optical-sizing: inherit; font-stretch: inherit; font-variant-alternates: inherit; font-variant-east-asian: inherit; font-variant-numeric: inherit; font-variant-position: inherit; font-variation-settings: inherit; line-height: inherit; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; text-align: center; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="color: #141414; font-style: inherit; font-variant-caps: inherit; font-variant-ligatures: inherit; font-weight: inherit;">The </span><span style="color: #141414; font-variant-caps: inherit; font-variant-ligatures: inherit; font-weight: inherit;"><i>Bangor </i></span><span style="color: #141414; font-style: inherit; font-variant-caps: inherit; font-variant-ligatures: inherit; font-weight: inherit;">sustained a large hole in her fibreglass hull. She was </span><span style="color: #141414;"><span style="font-style: inherit; font-variant-caps: inherit; font-variant-ligatures: inherit; font-weight: inherit;">due to be decommissioned next year. It is all very </span>embarrassing<span style="font-style: inherit; font-variant-caps: inherit; font-variant-ligatures: inherit; font-weight: inherit;">. </span></span></div><div style="border: 0px; font-feature-settings: inherit; font-kerning: inherit; font-optical-sizing: inherit; font-stretch: inherit; font-variant-alternates: inherit; font-variant-east-asian: inherit; font-variant-numeric: inherit; font-variant-position: inherit; font-variation-settings: inherit; line-height: inherit; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; text-align: center; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="color: #141414;"><span style="font-style: inherit; font-variant-caps: inherit; font-variant-ligatures: inherit; font-weight: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="border: 0px; font-feature-settings: inherit; font-kerning: inherit; font-optical-sizing: inherit; font-stretch: inherit; font-variant-alternates: inherit; font-variant-east-asian: inherit; font-variant-numeric: inherit; font-variant-position: inherit; font-variation-settings: inherit; line-height: inherit; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; text-align: center; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="color: #141414;"><span style="font-style: inherit; font-variant-caps: inherit; font-variant-ligatures: inherit; font-weight: inherit;">Talking of embarrassing, the Covid-19 Inquiry has now moved to Scotland. </span></span><span face="sans-serif" style="color: #202122; font-size: 14px; text-align: start;"> </span><span style="color: #202122; text-align: start;">The </span><span style="color: #202122; text-align: start;">Inquiry</span><span style="color: #202122; text-align: start;"> is an ongoing, independent </span>public inquiry<span style="color: #202122; text-align: start;"> into the </span>United Kingdom<span style="color: #202122; text-align: start;">'s response to, and the impact of, the </span>pandemic<span style="text-align: start;"><span style="color: #202122;">, and to learn lessons for the future. It was instituted by Boris Johnson in May 2021 and public hearings began in June 2023. Much has been revealed of a government chaotic and unprepared, and of former Secretary of State for Health and Social Care Matt Hancock's foul language and high handed contempt for practically everyone. </span></span></div><div style="border: 0px; font-feature-settings: inherit; font-kerning: inherit; font-optical-sizing: inherit; font-stretch: inherit; font-variant-alternates: inherit; font-variant-east-asian: inherit; font-variant-numeric: inherit; font-variant-position: inherit; font-variation-settings: inherit; line-height: inherit; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; text-align: center; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="text-align: start;"><span style="color: #202122;">Anxious to avoid future public scrutiny of the Scottish "government's" inability and incompetence, far-sighted Ken Thomson, who then held the post of Director General for Strategy and External Affairs for the Scottish Government, advised governmental participants in a "Covid Outbreak group" chatroom in August 2020 that their messages were discoverable under Freedom of Information law and told them to use the "clear chat button". He then boasted "plausible deniability is my middle name".</span></span></div><div style="border: 0px; font-feature-settings: inherit; font-kerning: inherit; font-optical-sizing: inherit; font-stretch: inherit; font-variant-alternates: inherit; font-variant-east-asian: inherit; font-variant-numeric: inherit; font-variant-position: inherit; font-variation-settings: inherit; line-height: inherit; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; text-align: center; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="color: #141414;"><span style="font-style: inherit; font-variant-caps: inherit; font-variant-ligatures: inherit; font-weight: inherit;">John Swinney, dubbed "Honest John" by </span><span style="font-variant-caps: inherit; font-variant-ligatures: inherit; font-weight: inherit;"><i>The Scotsman </i>newspaper following last year's Edinburgh Tram Inquiry Report's criticism of his "lack of candour" that called into question his integrity, and the former, allegedly disgraced First Minister Nicola Sturgeon,</span></span></div><div style="border: 0px; font-feature-settings: inherit; font-kerning: inherit; font-optical-sizing: inherit; font-stretch: inherit; font-variant-alternates: inherit; font-variant-east-asian: inherit; font-variant-numeric: inherit; font-variant-position: inherit; font-variation-settings: inherit; line-height: inherit; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; text-align: center; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="color: #141414;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="295" data-original-width="474" height="249" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJq5sBfg2uy0jtVt6q0sbJoy_KbN4Fbd6l6qdfJ9SoTIeXf-anA1ImKw5vwyeX13sU2m-dZsX7xpQBsYhT6vpVeRPrd5yarbRANcz4qsDsSI1W_zJheaGlFkef9uV3rrOtL36JelLDgFPP8YehYjtLmwvG_x_4OnXsvLJy5IAO33la_OuRpHdb0_Lh1Jo/w400-h249/Nicola%20Sturgeon%20cross.jpg" width="400" /></div>have been unable to produce their WhatsApp messages. Alex Cole-Hamilton, Scottish Liberal Democrat leader, said: "deleting messages on an industrial scale represented one of the biggest scandals in Scottish political history. Even Richard Nixon didn't destroy the Watergate tapes."</span></div><div style="border: 0px; font-feature-settings: inherit; font-kerning: inherit; font-optical-sizing: inherit; font-stretch: inherit; font-variant-alternates: inherit; font-variant-east-asian: inherit; font-variant-numeric: inherit; font-variant-position: inherit; font-variation-settings: inherit; line-height: inherit; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; text-align: center; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="color: #141414;">So we are left to surmise what the fuck was in those messages that led Sturgeon and Swinney to conclude that their political reputations would be so damaged that it was worth defying the Inquiry's clear instructions from June 2021 that destruction of messages was illegal. I suspect the messages would have revealed their continuous positioning to appear more able, thoughtful and prepared than the UK Government and their cynical exploitation of a national emergency for their political (and therefore personal) advantage. We'll call it the Baroness Mone of Mayfair Motive.</span></div><div style="border: 0px; font-feature-settings: inherit; font-kerning: inherit; font-optical-sizing: inherit; font-stretch: inherit; font-variant-alternates: inherit; font-variant-east-asian: inherit; font-variant-numeric: inherit; font-variant-position: inherit; font-variation-settings: inherit; line-height: inherit; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; text-align: center; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="color: #141414; font-style: inherit; font-variant-caps: inherit; font-variant-ligatures: inherit; font-weight: inherit;"><br /></span></div><div style="border: 0px; font-feature-settings: inherit; font-kerning: inherit; font-optical-sizing: inherit; font-stretch: inherit; font-variant-alternates: inherit; font-variant-east-asian: inherit; font-variant-numeric: inherit; font-variant-position: inherit; font-variation-settings: inherit; line-height: inherit; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; text-align: center; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="color: #141414;"><span style="font-style: inherit; font-variant-caps: inherit; font-variant-ligatures: inherit; font-weight: inherit;">Humza Useless, the current First Minister of Scotland and leader of the SNP, has the entirely unenviable job of attempting to render the SNP electable after the unprecedented spectacle of its three senior members being interviewed under arrest by the Scottish Police in connection with the disappearance of large sums of money and the purchase and subsequent hiding of a luxurious motorhome which was then very </span>publicly<span style="font-style: inherit; font-variant-caps: inherit; font-variant-ligatures: inherit; font-weight: inherit;"> impounded by the Police. Humza, </span></span></div><div style="border: 0px; font-feature-settings: inherit; font-kerning: inherit; font-optical-sizing: inherit; font-stretch: inherit; font-variant-alternates: inherit; font-variant-east-asian: inherit; font-variant-numeric: inherit; font-variant-position: inherit; font-variation-settings: inherit; line-height: inherit; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; text-align: center; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="color: #141414;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="706" data-original-width="300" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiEyW5KqCz9vaDsxv5XLrABy55x5DhW_jjCDvaacDpO4JzV-5HzjjSiU9-ubWoIMGe32Wx7Z8_hR3XGmkvPUn_iFV7LW3Y-2sDVUVXvhvOxDiqgW53f2JBqP22mzR7CsYy1EyBcBHsgT6_en6g4Sa1Inj7OfHnAcmcRsw65lBBrT-G6FyIde2x17xb5F_I/w170-h400/Humza%201.jpg" width="170" /></div></span></div><div style="border: 0px; font-feature-settings: inherit; font-kerning: inherit; font-optical-sizing: inherit; font-stretch: inherit; font-variant-alternates: inherit; font-variant-east-asian: inherit; font-variant-numeric: inherit; font-variant-position: inherit; font-variation-settings: inherit; line-height: inherit; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; text-align: center; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="color: #141414;"><span style="font-style: inherit; font-variant-caps: inherit; font-variant-ligatures: inherit; font-weight: inherit;">who seems like a nice boy, although way out of his depth with the poisoned chalice he was so keen on inheriting, has come up with a great new wheeze.</span></span></div><div style="border: 0px; font-feature-settings: inherit; font-kerning: inherit; font-optical-sizing: inherit; font-stretch: inherit; font-variant-alternates: inherit; font-variant-east-asian: inherit; font-variant-numeric: inherit; font-variant-position: inherit; font-variation-settings: inherit; line-height: inherit; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; text-align: center; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="color: #141414;"><span style="font-style: inherit; font-variant-caps: inherit; font-variant-ligatures: inherit; font-weight: inherit;">He has assured the Scottish Peepul that as Sir Keir Starmer will be the next Prime Minister, without a doubt, absolutely guaranteed, it is okay for Scots to vote SNP, and not waste their vote on Scottish Labour, as Keir doesn't need it, what with England turning out to vote for him en masse. And he's written to Sir Keir, inviting him up to Edinburgh for a chat.</span></span></div></div></div><div class="ssrcss-11r1m41-RichTextComponentWrapper ep2nwvo0" data-component="text-block" style="border: 0px; color: #141414; font-feature-settings: inherit; font-kerning: inherit; font-optical-sizing: inherit; font-stretch: inherit; font-variant-alternates: inherit; font-variant-east-asian: inherit; font-variant-numeric: inherit; font-variant-position: inherit; font-variation-settings: inherit; line-height: inherit; margin: 1rem 0px; max-width: 36.25rem; padding: 0px; text-align: start; vertical-align: baseline;"><div class="ssrcss-7uxr49-RichTextContainer e5tfeyi1" style="border: 0px; font-feature-settings: inherit; font-kerning: inherit; font-optical-sizing: inherit; font-stretch: inherit; font-style: inherit; font-variant: inherit; font-variation-settings: inherit; font-weight: inherit; line-height: inherit; margin: 0px; overflow-wrap: break-word; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"><p class="ssrcss-1q0x1qg-Paragraph e1jhz7w10" style="border: 0px; font-feature-settings: inherit; font-kerning: inherit; font-optical-sizing: inherit; font-stretch: inherit; font-style: inherit; font-variant: inherit; font-variation-settings: inherit; font-weight: inherit; line-height: inherit; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; text-align: center; vertical-align: baseline;">.............................................................................</p><p class="ssrcss-1q0x1qg-Paragraph e1jhz7w10" style="border: 0px; font-feature-settings: inherit; font-kerning: inherit; font-optical-sizing: inherit; font-stretch: inherit; font-style: inherit; font-variant: inherit; font-variation-settings: inherit; font-weight: inherit; line-height: inherit; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; text-align: center; vertical-align: baseline;">No selection from mr ishmael this week, but there's lots of sardonic wit and biting cynicism from him in the f<span style="color: black; font-size: large; font-style: inherit; font-variant-caps: inherit; font-variant-ligatures: inherit; font-weight: inherit; text-align: left;">our-volume</span><span style="color: black; font-size: medium; font-style: inherit; font-variant-caps: inherit; font-variant-ligatures: inherit; font-weight: inherit; text-align: left;"> </span><span style="color: black; font-size: large; font-style: inherit; font-variant-caps: inherit; font-variant-ligatures: inherit; font-weight: inherit;">Call Me Ishmael oeuvre, collected by editor mr verge.</span></p><div style="color: black; text-align: center;"><div><br /></div><div><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRJCv9T1Bcq1AFtN1lgllwI1UnV6D1vSFcIIlK4GDHxh2AIm4ZvLVr35fOuHfIdaQZMam0fpwx4_T2KOJJOfkTpjdj-77dcyQtI6IJ3UVRMxaxYJ12yGgEBvJEB9w2Q74dpp0wYjJj2eI/w320-h212/thumbnail_COVER1+%25282%2529.png" /></div><div><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgB-6JNv0jzD-R6hVIQdseWlNzsQLWKPechwQLF-xBeWkTc2KBvQxd80TyV3YWU9LaKJXse5ACodyzCVXD4dj6Tauuh5V_qW3-aky-yLGAJoMA9jgq45-i8TSb1KkijC-XCS5HDiFBEO5s/s320/vent+stack.png" /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjdQlcfm-4zheOEcRYhuwdhvN3DhLeGtm_lQC_27iRcmVLSW44CpLdukXz8QTXTWfOLCzUEY2jsIVynLG9DlbzcCZtbaD13WF_XDyKjNpuEdecwGCEX9ypq4nAjH3gm7pXxVODPXhlKtXxMg48D41QCsTG_hVYJUMIZ7N_bSjdRdYMGRalX1IWsAoR7/s320/Ishmael" /></div><div><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEip2EzAoKCLON9L8HJyC277gD1ITzLx35xSCKihjE4TB61OSh9LSeBcqfZ9iJC-nbiwe9U3ZMyHAminiob0CmWfcHHu4r491WHBWKcz4U1ywHvGM11tl-yds2PLCJaMecibLj6MhGLKfVMuR0SiAAHwOttqy6tLWBip7Wgpl56dGFLiQt3ij_6tBtNcSp8/w283-h400/Flush%20Test.jpg" /></div><div style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-size: large;">Honest Not Invent, Vent Stack, Ishmael’s Blues, and the latest, Flush Test (with a nice picture of the late, much lamented, Mr Harris of Lanarkshire taking a piss on a totem pole) are available from Lulu and Amazon. If you buy from Amazon, it would be nice if you could give a review on their website.</span></div><div style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-size: large;">Ishmaelites wishing to buy a copy from lulu should follow these steps :</span></div><div style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-size: large;">please register an account first, at lulu.com. This is advisable because otherwise paypal seems to think it's ok to charge in dollars, and they then apply their own conversion rate, which might put the price up slightly for a UK buyer. Once the new account is set up, follow one of the links below (to either paperback or hardback) or type "Ishmael’s Blues" into the Lulu Bookstore search box. Click on the “show explicit content” tab, give the age verification box a date of birth such as 1 January 1960, and proceed.</span></div><div style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-size: large;">Link for Hardcover : https://tinyurl.com/je7nddfr</span></div><div style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-size: large;">Link for Paperback : https://tinyurl.com/3jurrzux</span></div><div style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-size: large;">https://www.lulu.com/shop/ishmael-smith/flush-test/paperback/product-9yjvn7.html?q=Flush+Test&page=1&pageSize=4</span></div><div style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-size: large;">At checkout, try WELCOME15 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.</span></div><div style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-size: large;">With the 15% voucher, PB (including delivery to a UK address) should be £16.84; HB £27.04.</span></div><div style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="font-size: medium;"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghrQ1p6IKwt6mpgL9sDxZd8wd4_EsOBJbiOZ4SgZuz2jyd6ENcbGAdfSWjKXdEMh7BZSnuDo2epFJuoSL1pxRBQLbUKV7CHJB7XUmMX7PsS_LraitcRBt8JofTNJh14KwARjItF7HjPGQUVzibpxI35PpN10wDnQ7zW5z7Kn1Ti8UWUxwbMymy9GfcQ5M/s736/River%20Song%20and%20the%20Frost%20Fair.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="552" data-original-width="736" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghrQ1p6IKwt6mpgL9sDxZd8wd4_EsOBJbiOZ4SgZuz2jyd6ENcbGAdfSWjKXdEMh7BZSnuDo2epFJuoSL1pxRBQLbUKV7CHJB7XUmMX7PsS_LraitcRBt8JofTNJh14KwARjItF7HjPGQUVzibpxI35PpN10wDnQ7zW5z7Kn1Ti8UWUxwbMymy9GfcQ5M/w400-h300/River%20Song%20and%20the%20Frost%20Fair.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span face="aktiv-grotesk, "Helvetica Neue", Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif" style="font-size: 16px; text-align: left;">“It’s my birthday. The Doctor took me ice-skating on the River Thames in 1814. The last of the great Frost Fairs. He got Stevie Wonder to sing for me under London Bridge.”</span></td></tr></tbody></table><div style="font-size: medium;"><br /></div><br /><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div></div></div></div></div></span></span></div><p></p>call me ishmaelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14369028864168461729noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6065998731267025499.post-57405626542218096412024-01-15T19:03:00.000+00:002024-01-15T19:03:44.404+00:00The Sunday Ishmael: 14/01/2024<p> </p><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><h4 style="text-align: center;">Woops, he's done it again.</h4></span><div style="text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><img border="0" data-original-height="692" data-original-width="646" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSXXamrGoF1waDp28bCVyiKYCtAenQICgTJprXR6gH0zIHI5dAXDAFAevE6VAIoLklPwcBOTT_g98_eMuA2yKWfYMkgUKkUS4UPBzLCytyacZ3FIz0oHfj2d-IpN-LRjYp5TsUoh_nQBBf-9o81vn1Dm7CS8jVesnt8cvd4xwhR2mBwXdnYmlKBUkKNg8/w374-h400/cameron%20Rolls%20Royce.jpg" width="374" /></div><br /><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">"He's smooth, he's persuasive, he powers along, the great Rolls Royce is back," according to Geordie Greig, editor of <i>The Independent,</i> for some strange reason, interviewed today by Laura Kuenssberg. </span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">Well, that's one way of looking at Ham Face, graduate of the Bullingdon Club, </span></div><div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="360" data-original-width="480" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfrapWuV9kgoqA2cClWk-5HTFKy_5oyCVLyv2E96R29QHpOx2LJD1Z3JkSzUBpunH_CRN-2E3iYR-HV6_i-crWXnbzMQlaZWoeCUIfDh0YL0CLwffrdyAxv9EE2QQagqMmxUIbVA3tW7ggkNPvSKJQuDIxD4OaJaP5wjljQG8WSGWv4Xg8zbamkc0vGRs/w400-h300/Bullingdon.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" width="400" /></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Cameron second from left, back row. Johnson, right, front row.<br /></span><br /></span></td></tr></tbody></table><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"></span></div><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: large;">survivor of the great pig initiation scandal, (</span><span style="font-size: medium;"><i>illustration removed to comply with Blogger's good taste policy.</i> </span></span><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">"porcine fop boning a torn monarch" anag. Baron Cameron of Chipping Norton. ed. verge) and frustrated Romeo (who could forget his immortal chat-up line, "I want to push you into the bushes and give you one" or words to that effect).<br />And now he's dragged us into another Middle Eastern war, without even discussing it with Parliament ( issues of security).Here's another way of looking at Cameron's abilities:</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><img border="0" data-original-height="480" data-original-width="480" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGCNruV9MPZgnWxx06sPFw9C1FYC6q2BsPcIGb7CJH2tpU1WvIYmjrbMxTBgDyhG9NgK3jXE0FX7w_yczeH40U9sc23-UveItEJx6DthYUGP64xG5aTIM8fItPX9HbS8yojEn6ooUwZFnlo8jfhKQQjyuJgTy3hlklXPn1r7ufXaJTZmefy0MpiLMdiWw/w400-h400/cameron%20gif.gif" width="400" /></div><br /><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><span>The US is clearly telling the Baron what to do. My concern is that Parliament was not consulted before The Baron launched the US/UK joint military action against the Houthis on Friday. Had Parliament been recalled, it is just possible that someone might have piped up and said - Hang on a minute, is this a great idea? Really? Stephen Flynn, for example, the SNP Westminster leader. I don't usually have much time for him, but who could disagree with his comments to Martin Geissler today on The Sunday Show? He described </span><span style="background-color: white; text-align: left;">the UK government's decision to launch air strikes without consulting MPs as "farcical" and </span><span>said he was looking for answers on the UK Government's long term aspirations in Yemen: "What comes next </span><span style="background-color: white; text-align: left;"> and how does this feed into the wider regional picture, which we know is extremely volatile?" the Aberdeen South MP asked. </span></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="background-color: white; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">Volatile? Understatement, or what? I would have inserted the Houthi banner at this point, but have desisted, in order to comply with Blogger's community guidance, so here's the translation instead:</span></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #141414; font-family: times; font-size: large; text-align: left;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="text-align: left;">It translates, from top to bottom, as:</span></div></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><span style="background-color: #f8f9fa; color: #00c96f;">God is the Greatest</span><br style="background-color: #f8f9fa;" /><span style="background-color: #f8f9fa; color: #fd0000;">Death to America</span><br style="background-color: #f8f9fa;" /><span style="background-color: #f8f9fa; color: #fd0000;">Death to Israel</span><br style="background-color: #f8f9fa;" /><span style="background-color: #f8f9fa; color: #fd0000;">A Curse Upon the Jews</span><br style="background-color: #f8f9fa;" /><span style="background-color: #f8f9fa; color: #00c96f;">Victory to Islam</span></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">I suppose they'll add in another line now - <span style="color: red;">Death to the U.K</span>.</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><span>For those who have been living in a news-free zone lately, and who can blame you, t</span>he Houthi movement, officially known as Ansar Allah (Supporters of God), is a Shia Islamist political and military organization that emerged from Yemen in the 1990s as an opposition movement to the then Yemen President Ali Abdullah Saleh, who they accused of corruption and being the puppet of Saudi Arabia and the United States. The Houthis have now taken to piracy in the Red Sea, attacking shipping, claiming it is a reaction to Israel's response to Gaza following Hamas' invasion of Israel on October 7th 2023. And so it continues - attack, counter-attack, counter-counter attack, any old excuse for a good ruck, looting, raping and so on and so forth.</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">I wondered if it would be possible to send protected convoys of shipping through the Red Sea, you know, like in the Second World War, and charge China for the costs - on the basis that it would be enhanced Post and Package costs, and most of the goods are heading to the West from China. My chum reckoned that would be seen as escalation - <i>what?</i>- and dropping bombs on the Houthis <i>wouldn't</i>? Or the goods could go the long way round, round the Cape of Good Hope. Or, of course, we could buy local, and try wanting less stuff. All and any of that could only be an attempt at mitigation - the bit is firmly beneath the teeth of the Middle East and we're stuffed. America is being confronted everywhere by the consequences of its interference in the domestic affairs of foreign parts - the turned worm, and, unfortunately the UK is seen as its best chum, especially under the smooth and persuasive hand of the Baron of Chipping Norton, the great Rolls Royce.</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">A couple days ago, mr inmate sent me down a rabbit hole with his recommendation of the documentary <i>Creating Christ.</i></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><img border="0" data-original-height="180" data-original-width="278" height="259" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEikpsmqsAMXT_26f1vTe6rTNjEbaMtqksJWojyqcpE_yFNZLwP07Fp0-NRE2-hCsq2GLbyYZ8MSPgbbhl3kMUpxNK4hziyB17KsAbFAGWK5YNpF3Of3kBkaxr_mqQH0bkfy848p0lWrit_ugdHSwX-xURa1s1-KgjqcwhU7bwWEzERdEjop9agr0SHW7WU/w400-h259/creating%20Christ.jpg" width="400" /></div>You know how it is with YouTube - one thing leads to another and before you know it you've binge-watched the entirety of the history of the first century A.D. or Common Era, everything Mary Beard has to say about the Romans and a side order of the Minoans, courtesy of Bettany Hughes, when she was a fetching young classical historian photographed in deep cleavage, clinging dresses and diaphanous skirts against ancient sunsets.</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="413" data-original-width="736" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqp0wwRJLFWKjDwvcCqhedAHxAZ5-STz3mRcpvoiYrIe4bBih8lkE2lcpX3UGwVQuEEDfdf2D8ID1uzrYjf1MdWxxd1pQWfgiUMG_v6QQsFe97g-GW-snl7MA6d5NzZWNW0OfJCSO45Ey7g2p7L0DsISEKQbEdgU-yKz6h-JdqtK7VGCsxSwEOP2Kc054/w400-h225/Bettany%20Hughes.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" width="400" /></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">and she can speak classical Greek and Latin, honest, not invent.</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">What I've learned from my deep Youtube dive is that we're fucked. Those Middle Easterners are stone mad, addicted to religion, violence and politics, noisy bastards who enjoy killing, not shaving, ululating and worshipping a mean old God who has weird ideas about eating, sex and being revolting to animals and your neighbours. The Flavian Emperors invented Christianity as a religion of peace in order to draw off the pus and fever from the East and its opposition to the conquering Roman Empire - it worked for the north western European countries but the East remains just as cantankerous and opinionated as it was 2000 years ago. Like the multi-headed Hydra, cut off one head and another one grows. At the moment, we seem to be up against Hamas, Hezbollah, the Houthis, the Taliban, the Islamic Jihad and all their splinter groups. None of them are cults of peace and coexistence. None of them admire the Western ways of secularism, tolerance and making large profits. All of them seem to have sprung from, or exploited, idealistic students. None of them seem too keen on women.</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">mr ishmael would say nuke them all. <br /><br />When Harry Windsor was a mere ginger child, he was provided with a weapon and instructed how to shoot and kill wild animals, up there in the Highlands. His nanny, Tiggy Leggy-Totty-Burkey (four O levels and finishing school), instead of telling him that psychopaths start by torturing and killing animals before moving on to people, praised him for his manliness and wiped the hot blood of the just shot rabbit onto his forehead and cheeks, murmuring, there, darling, you're blooded now. A few summer holidays later and he's graduated to roaming the Cairngorms all day in the sole company of a grizzled old ghillie, stalking and shooting deer. When he killed his first deer, the old family retainer cut open its abdomen and stuffed Harry's head into the stinking hot body of the beast. When he finally let him out, he refused to allow Harry to wipe the guts and gore off his face, telling him that now he's properly blooded. They really aren't like normal people. Then they let him go to kill people in Afghanistan, in furtherance of America's wars. No wonder he's bonkers in the nut.<br /></span><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /> Laura Kuenssberg was dressed in an all-encompassing voluminous black neck-to-ankle outfit this morning, obviously not wanting to arouse the Baron's lusts. She put it to him that for his dodgy role in the dodgy Greensill enterprise, which he undertook after leaving political office, whilst putting his erstwhile colleagues and contacts to good use, he had earned round £10 million. The Baron muttered that he hadn't, so she asked him how much he had earned. Petulantly sitting on his dignity, he said I shan't tell you. I was a private Citizen, and that's private.</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">Laura didn't get much further with her interview of Sir Keir Starmer, who contrived to carefully and precisely say nothing very much at all, other than that he deserves to win the next election because he has completed a root and branch reformation of the Labour Party, thus alienating the left wing of his own party and disenfranchising anyone who would like to vote for a candidate who isn't yet another Shade of Tory. He also wouldn't confirm that, in office, he wouldn't forbid British arms manufacturers selling the weapons to the Middle East with which they will do their level best to kill us. He used to think that not selling guns to the Saudis was a good idea. No doubt he was grateful to the Baron this morning for his advice on </span><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">how to win the next election - "<i>you have to have a plan</i>". I fear that Starmer <b><i>is</i></b> the Tories' best election-winning plan. </span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: times;"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="font-size: xx-large; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="701" data-original-width="553" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgBQONk7050YWgGGPyJG_3ulTbLPa-YEuDzRUkvXNDfZrm1Xk0VegepR_o3P1_jmyVhC0Cl2rH8iSvQMTQ6_82CzPtDpjgVepOMeifID71ZknZ_RoOJPD1kchALDiP3D7XihFfsNIbA7Byi8h8fgI1EnNJ3-vmu_bw5SJ5TXN9ENajKKqDskpi5UPMS94/w315-h400/sunak%20and%20dog.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" width="315" /></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Anagram (editor verge): Sir Keir Starmer = <i style="font-family: "Times New Roman";">a terrier smirks - </i></span></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><span style="font-size: large;">The astounding thought occurs that perhaps, just possibly, Sunak will get in again, as the Baron seems to be delivering to him, under America's close supervision, his very own war. And we know how the Great British Public likes a war.</span></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><img border="0" data-original-height="291" data-original-width="474" height="245" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMVXk-HxOHnqpt1V1LHFV5AvcLuslqUk8THB5VDJzs1cVVjhmYsD7ThTTz7pysSDMvJP4C2MhDJEc35RXp72NggZ67mb17irDmBIz-6W2PoYnk1g-rphq6JVhg3e_YPRPOiGDFMhtiqsRAH2YkF0JlEPKP6hUk6ahbvgSfBAW0vzC2LGWO-Z7JOze3lvE/w400-h245/biden%20and%20sunak.jpg" width="400" /></div></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">Boris had his Ukraine/Russian war, and now Sunak will have his Middle Eastern war, personally delivered by his man, Cameron, the unelected Foreign Secretary. No doubt the Great British Public will rally round. </span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">Here's a couple of little pieces by mr ishmael, demonstrating that Cameron continues to stick to his winning strategy.</span></div><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><div style="text-align: center;"><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><span face=""Arial",sans-serif" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 19.9733px;">March 2011 :</span></p><h4 style="text-align: left;"><span face="Arial, sans-serif" style="font-size: 14pt; text-align: center;"><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span>NEW WARS FOR OLD<br /><div><span style="font-size: 14pt; text-align: left;">CAN I SPEAK POODLE? COURSE I CAN.</span></div></span><span face=""Arial",sans-serif" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 19.9733px;"><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;">I WENT TO ETON. WOOF-WOOF…</span></div></span></h4><p class="MsoNormal"><span face="Arial, sans-serif" style="font-size: 14pt;">As his Big Society delusion withers around him and his hybrid cabinet of malformed, smirking retards is seen to be nothing but a bunch of incompetent chancers, braying closet inbreds, greedy, pie-munching, vindictive fatbastards, slimy pinstripe spiv bullyboy cocksuckers and downright clodhopping nincompoops who have, in a very short space of time, fucked up the armed forces, sent the economy backwards and demoralised the entire nation, unelected prime minister, and not just here, under Gordon Snot’s ruinous misrule. He thought, the cheeky fucking bastard, that Prince Gormless, wandering about, shaking hands gormlessly and getting married to some gormless bimbo would do, would divert attention from his catastrophic depre-dations, but it won’t, not even with all the help that *kymade-upnewsandfilth can give him - in exchange, let’s not forget, for him placing Rupert’s spunkfaced phonetapper, Coulson, right at the heart of govament, his master’s eyes and ears. The inbred, shit-stupid, overprivileged ponce, playing at prime minister, thought a wedding would do it, but, more swiftly than we would ever have thought, he needs a war...</span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span face=""Arial",sans-serif" style="font-size: 14pt; line-height: 19.9733px;"> </span>TOWARDS AN ERUDITE ARTISANRY: May, 2010.</p></div></span><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><div style="text-align: center;">D.C. History Homework</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">"When I said we were the junior partner in 1940, of course, what I meant to say was that we were the only partner, or rather that America was the senior partner, not that we were simply the junior partner. Or something. I most sincerely had no intention of belittling those among our servicemen and women who helped President Obama win the Battle of Britain, none whatsoever. Look, I’m just an ordinary bloke, I even let people call me prime minister, I went to a very ordinary public school, my very ordinary wife gets paid three hundred grand a year for having her name on a letterhead and we have a very ordinary personal fortune of only a few tens, or maybe hundreds of millions of pounds. But all that’s very much, in a very real sense, just history, which we in the Coalition make up as we go along, and what we are concerned about, as the legally unelected govamint, is the future. Which is why we have to keep blaming the past Labour Govamint for everything. Y’know, punishing people for voting Labour may not be popular with them but that’s why I came into politics. And it’s all their own fault, if they hadn’t voted Labour I wouldn’t have to take their benefits and jobs and pensions from them and give them to some very needy merchant bankers. It’s simply no use blaming me. That’s what Mr Clegg, the Gimp, is for. But anyway we’re here to congratulate the Americans for defeating Churchill, or was it Mr Hitler? No use saying I’m a stupid, empty-headed, vindictive PR man who couldn’t beat a one-eyed man in an arse-kicking competition, or is it leg? One leg, or legged, whatever they call disabled people who are stealing from decent folks. No, no use at all. And I’ll tell you why. It’s because I went to Oxford. And the chap who taught me, Victor Bogbrush, says I’m absolutely brilliant, which, if you think about it, he would."</div><div style="text-align: center;">................................................................................</div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large; text-align: left;">This, and much, much more can be found in the four-volume</span><span style="font-size: medium; text-align: left;"> </span><span style="font-size: large;">Call Me Ishmael oeuvre, collected by editor mr verge.</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><div><br /></div><div><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRJCv9T1Bcq1AFtN1lgllwI1UnV6D1vSFcIIlK4GDHxh2AIm4ZvLVr35fOuHfIdaQZMam0fpwx4_T2KOJJOfkTpjdj-77dcyQtI6IJ3UVRMxaxYJ12yGgEBvJEB9w2Q74dpp0wYjJj2eI/w320-h212/thumbnail_COVER1+%25282%2529.png" /></div><div><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgB-6JNv0jzD-R6hVIQdseWlNzsQLWKPechwQLF-xBeWkTc2KBvQxd80TyV3YWU9LaKJXse5ACodyzCVXD4dj6Tauuh5V_qW3-aky-yLGAJoMA9jgq45-i8TSb1KkijC-XCS5HDiFBEO5s/s320/vent+stack.png" /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjdQlcfm-4zheOEcRYhuwdhvN3DhLeGtm_lQC_27iRcmVLSW44CpLdukXz8QTXTWfOLCzUEY2jsIVynLG9DlbzcCZtbaD13WF_XDyKjNpuEdecwGCEX9ypq4nAjH3gm7pXxVODPXhlKtXxMg48D41QCsTG_hVYJUMIZ7N_bSjdRdYMGRalX1IWsAoR7/s320/Ishmael" /></div><div><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEip2EzAoKCLON9L8HJyC277gD1ITzLx35xSCKihjE4TB61OSh9LSeBcqfZ9iJC-nbiwe9U3ZMyHAminiob0CmWfcHHu4r491WHBWKcz4U1ywHvGM11tl-yds2PLCJaMecibLj6MhGLKfVMuR0SiAAHwOttqy6tLWBip7Wgpl56dGFLiQt3ij_6tBtNcSp8/w283-h400/Flush%20Test.jpg" /></div><div style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-size: large;">Honest Not Invent, Vent Stack, Ishmael’s Blues, and the latest, Flush Test (with a nice picture of the late, much lamented, Mr Harris of Lanarkshire taking a piss on a totem pole) are available from Lulu and Amazon. If you buy from Amazon, it would be nice if you could give a review on their website.</span></div><div style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-size: large;">Ishmaelites wishing to buy a copy from lulu should follow these steps :</span></div><div style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-size: large;">please register an account first, at lulu.com. This is advisable because otherwise paypal seems to think it's ok to charge in dollars, and they then apply their own conversion rate, which might put the price up slightly for a UK buyer. Once the new account is set up, follow one of the links below (to either paperback or hardback) or type "Ishmael’s Blues" into the Lulu Bookstore search box. Click on the “show explicit content” tab, give the age verification box a date of birth such as 1 January 1960, and proceed.</span></div><div style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-size: large;">Link for Hardcover : https://tinyurl.com/je7nddfr</span></div><div style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-size: large;">Link for Paperback : https://tinyurl.com/3jurrzux</span></div><div style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-size: large;">https://www.lulu.com/shop/ishmael-smith/flush-test/paperback/product-9yjvn7.html?q=Flush+Test&page=1&pageSize=4</span></div><div style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-size: large;">At checkout, try WELCOME15 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.</span></div><div style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-size: large;">With the 15% voucher, PB (including delivery to a UK address) should be £16.84; HB £27.04.</span></div></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2040" data-original-width="1530" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiIrET6n0e0Qw0eWQD78cXHompFl38js_8qcgUPvctDaHi7QfXpAkr_TRaN3_mPZ0OqNaMnGqeNf0U0wYTOGYljZJaHKVaKbiRXredOWwBvmvqkYZuzDe10ni5Twp51BIlcxyj6PuZ45No2k6nyd5hoRRTgg2f_O3Uf2ejHpdmxRMpE9ZQgoKOug8VH9dc/w300-h400/orkney%20sea.jpg" width="300" /></div><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div></span><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div></div>call me ishmaelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14369028864168461729noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6065998731267025499.post-89071040891455365192024-01-07T18:35:00.002+00:002024-01-07T18:35:48.290+00:00The Sunday Ishmael: 07/01/2024<div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">I was away for Christmas, away from the Bracing Isles, staying with kind friends in Englandshire, who marvelled at my Pollyanna enthusiasm for what they perceived as miserable winter weather. How cold it is, they would say, But there's no wind, no rain, no snow, no hail, I would reply, the sky is blue in bits and that's the sun, I do declare.</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">Getting off the island was nail-biting stuff - would <i>The Hrossey </i>be cancelled, as so many sailings were being postponed? Would the crossing be one of those head-down-the-toilet jobs, with a diabolical sea state? Many Anxious Consultations ensued of Northlink Ferries Operational News and the BBC weather forecasts. </span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="768" data-original-width="1024" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEip4bHUxDV7u2GtjgCe9528lOJY06cVnsIDG-Ujtuxcc8PwzsclGtqOf_Dt_eNluyhwyPTM02qHJ0uSmkCtCCfu1dVFftevkBy064-GPks3_MH1_I_KMaPo2X3TB634hb8LBN5BRnQ0g0lS5Fl1OPVBF8TPCnv_tXB0dYSMs_7HLVj_r-Hlgecrl_2TdxI/w400-h300/Hrossey%20night.jpg" width="400" /></div><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">It was fine, actually - I had a perfect weather window for the midnight sailing to Aberdeen, had a good sleep and drove off the ferry at 7.15 a.m. into a snow storm, which was very pretty. Friends were not so lucky - they weren't going so far, just down to Edinburgh for Christmas, so they booked onto the Christmas Eve sailing from Stromness to Scrabster, on the <i>Hamnavoe, </i>which<i> </i>was cancelled due to the storm, so they transferred to the last sailing out of Orkney on the previous day and were benighted in a miserable little Inn (£60 for the three of them, including breakfast), gloomily watching <i>Die Hard 2 </i>and checking their phones to see if the snow gates were open. Which they weren't.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="416" data-original-width="740" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgD5I5sN67R_093eVKj_vRxCe_Y7yq2r9ux8nSLfWc8ey-lBbXnKHSBJ5pW3Ck1ba3-eUT0M2sHFFs_H7fOK9LcNVAww8snhyphenhyphen3lbS4C-dk7JLSS8_WTKiYYgP6YgHMNYzBoQKd6tbjPITPM1ukhyphenhyphen61AqnsBxaRNnWIOQQI-girMZCkyJYXvPc_0hOUHvzQ/w400-h225/snow%20gates.jpg" width="400" /></div><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><div style="text-align: center;">It's one of those marvellous romantic phrases, like "<i>the wolves are running, Master Kay"</i>, but <i>"the snow gates are closed"</i> means you have to turn around and go home - if you can, or try to find a remote Scottish hotel in which to remove your wet stockings. </div></span><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="372" data-original-width="474" height="314" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgA-bw7JB7LICNUz2RYj-zF4_KI9PAbZ9xz96EEnEodRTijsaWIXk4wRmSYOt2svPDi5mP_HBsqFjYRbiTXA9DJzCvI4vQcopDRQMQKQ9wdRG0LXY-YbBmneXwoVDCgmRXHKavkQyDTXJ-27hGPPp9LtNb7Ln7xEpkWQFHnQ42khrG36v-RcJdVar0pHtU/w400-h314/Thirty%20Nine%20Steps.jpg" width="400" /></div><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><div style="text-align: center;">My onwards journey was fairly uneventful - the snow soon turned to water, the sat nav on my phone behaved impeccably - I've given up on the car satnav because it is so old it panicked last time I drove across the magnificent new Forth Bridge,</div></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="665" data-original-width="996" height="268" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKfJ5rAF8fYjaklIaZEZ3vgPmRglO5uVKqVeNvoC3pYPs3Qb4uJQGhyphenhyphenTDk-QTmxJZbtEXsHBt4R82Jq0YfWNt4AU8GMaqyysccPPvsH-BvL91n_ViBt4pLxiQCWvDFlYo8-uoUMcONdRV9w-6TmWdOPVH_p7cGSBagId2IRyM9gwHivXuNxM5KPTEEEE8/w400-h268/new%20forth%20bridge.jpg" width="400" /></div><span><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">declaring <i>OFF Road, Off Road, Turn around when safe to do so,</i> clearly under the impression that I was driving into the river. The phone sat nav didn't even get upset when the road was closed by many police cars and ambulances following someone's ruined Christmas.</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">I felt quite the intrepid traveller when I arrived unscathed at my friends' home and ready for my turkey. I was not at all disappointed that the turkey was not prepared to Stanislavian instructions:</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><div class="ecxMsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: medium;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span lang="EN"><br /></span></span></span></div><div class="ecxMsoNormal"><span><span><span lang="EN" style="font-family: courier; font-size: medium;"><b>A FEAST OF JAMIE</b></span></span></span></div><div><span><span style="font-family: courier; font-size: medium;"></span></span></div><div class="ecxMsoNormal"><span style="font-family: courier; font-size: medium;"> Jamie Bloke says go down local turkey farm and kill bastard with own hands. Is right organic. First chase after turkey in mud and shit and grab bastard by legs. Mrs get one end and stan get other end and twist like fuck, pulling like tug of war, knack is to twist and pull just right and snap turkey neck. </span></div><div class="ecxMsoNormal"><span><span><span lang="EN" style="font-family: courier; font-size: medium;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="612" data-original-width="459" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJFAVGvb-OxRHcpyf-rDGLEBxT1l1SZa9zE_wlg6YXQsiI5p6YV_u8utwZaQ8rnzal32htnTd3zLtACK_I197XOfxZcME4wO4oh9yZ-KuccEFNgMFeF7ysQd8vvB-G2A8TgfR63GbFacRgjMwRa_Jf-zgqFbK98q7tPIsBxEh-K1e1DDMI93hp9tvcCJ0/w300-h400/angry-turkey-clip-art-16.jpg" width="300" /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"> Often bastard break free and bite and fucking squawk and shit and run around and is back to square peg one. Stanislav make rugby tackle on fucking turkey and bastard still won’t stop still and get killed. Go back in van and get biggest in set of Stilson wrench and chase turkey bastard all around, land blow on bird now and again but often is just fall on arse in mud and turkey shit. </div></span></span></span></div><div class="ecxMsoNormal"><span><span><span lang="EN" style="font-family: courier; font-size: large;"><b>Go back in van and start up engine.</b></span></span></span><img border="0" data-original-height="289" data-original-width="342" height="338" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEggBb__S-KWBFFlGTBf5ASfK80K2oOKqmvc5kkJuetyShb61iITbxOTcgYv1QxdV-ViFzRjAgZUgWSSWXcn8cnf1Ek51aOpaXPFtceRVupApdT-bISdzaAeG0H5p_0q9OoTxY0lCRuyF-iVEhMutbLY3DZ5AkOAAgvascZFX4nGjh2bQRcx9CtEDQr0awc/w400-h338/armed%20lumatic%20onboard.png" style="font-family: courier; font-size: large;" width="400" /></div><div class="ecxMsoNormal"><span><span><span lang="EN" style="font-family: courier; font-size: medium;">Not much damage in the end, is just bumper and headlight and radiator all smash up <br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="365" data-original-width="474" height="308" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjFWo8k4xaLlKiOxYZxWLGgyAc3OGFsnISKMTpcs7Jeu4XbHQyPb6d4bIwvsgReK9QnLRUwtocArBhwKkXdC3bZ9G0gpK8Oj8R1lTe364VJsAgSl-C2gIZP2DKGGXEwRmlrACyZk8tyxLhJPH_1Q26zd0j80poFUTAvF9uyi-wbyaJCwfdfqojfuDohYWs/w400-h308/turkey%20running.jpg" width="400" /></div></span></span></span></div><div class="ecxMsoNormal"><span style="font-family: courier; font-size: medium;"><span><span><span lang="EN">but turkey is good and fucking dead, crush between van and wall; not bite no other bastard. Pay farmer hundred quid for turkey and hundred quid for wall and hundred quid for field all ploughed-up and hundred quid for not phone cops and hundred quid for RSPCA. Fuck me, thought plumbers was bad. But five hundred quid for smelly old turkey about ten years old and made from leather and most is all fucking claws and feathers and shit. And have to pay cousin small fortune to fix up van with iffy parts off eBay. </span></span></span> </span></div><div><span><span style="font-family: courier; font-size: medium;"></span></span></div><div class="ecxMsoNormal"><span><span><span lang="EN" style="font-family: courier; font-size: medium;">Anyway, get turkey up on table and splash liberally with white spirit off Sainsbury or petrol from Sainsbury garage will do if not got any spirit and set on fire until feathers is all burn off. Is best open windows. If no spirit and no gas is best cover with grated firelighter and light from other room. No need for too fussy. Is Christmas and feather, like run out of money, is Xmas custom. Rub both hand vigorously down jeans and slap dead turkey on breast and stroke, going, mmmm just look at that, mmmm, just look at that. Only lightly season - put few handful of black pepper and couple of kilo of rock salt up turkey jacksie and pound or two of ripped up weeds from garden, hedge clippings from summer will do, and few tube of squeeze garlic paste off Sainsburys. Not bother with pull insides out. All adds to great organic flavour.</span></span></span></div><div><span><span style="font-family: courier; font-size: medium;"></span></span></div><div class="ecxMsoNormal"><span style="font-family: courier; font-size: medium;">Now is best part. Go in garden with wheelbarrow. If poor and not got garden, never mind, go down park, is open at Christmas, full of wino and incognito crack prostitute from Cabinet and children shoot and stab each other but never mind, is Christmas, eh, in prosperous, cautious, prudent Britain. Anyway, make plenty shovel of dirt in barrow and mix in smooth paste with couple of gallon of water from pond and season with several kilo of garlic smash with brick and few jar of strawberry jam from Sainsburys. Is good friends, garlic and strawberry, reassures Jamie. Make delicious mix of flavour on top of dead turkey.</span></div><div class="ecxMsoNormal"><span style="font-family: courier; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div><span><span style="font-family: courier; font-size: medium;"></span></span></div><div class="ecxMsoNormal"><span><span><span lang="EN" style="font-family: courier; font-size: medium;">Go back in house and prepare turkey for oven by putting in big fuck off dish and pour over tasty and flavoursome mud crust. Get brother-in-law, Waldemar, away from Christmas with Clarkson Video - Oh, this car go so fast my hair catch fucking fire, Oh, this car so slow get overtake by fucking glacier; Oh, Birmingham is shithole; Oh, you might think I am fat useless repetitive overpaid BBC cunt. But you’d be wrong. Waldemar help shove turkeybastard in oven, kick door with foot and weld-up tight with gear from van and roast at five hundred Celsius, Gas Mark 20, for several days. Maybe a week. Maybe fortnight. Remove when cooked.</span></span></span></div><div class="ecxMsoNormal"><span><span><span lang="EN" style="font-family: courier; font-size: medium;"> </span></span></span></div><div><span><span style="font-family: courier; font-size: medium;"></span></span></div><div class="ecxMsoNormal"><span style="font-family: courier; font-size: medium;">Must admit Turkey en croute with dock leaf and Bisto sorbet not best ever family Christmas dinner. </span></div></div></span><div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: x-large;">..........................................................</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">It seems that most people don't watch the News these days. Avoiding Learned Helplessness syndrome. Anyway, not having any News meant I had lots of time for my Christmas book: <i>The Plot </i>by Nadine<i> </i>Dorries. It weighs 520 g. Waterstones have it on sale - down to £19.99 from £25.00. Here's the blurb: </span></div><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><i>The explosive behind-the-scenes account of the plot to bring down Boris Johnson. You think you live in a world where the elected are chosen by the people. Think again. When Boris Johnson came to power in 2019, he did so with the largest Conservative majority since Margaret Thatcher. Rewriting the political map, he united a party and shattered Labour's fabled red wall. And yet, just three years later, he was ousted by the same members who had once greeted his leadership so rapturously. What had gone so wrong? The Plot is the seismic, fly-on-the-wall account of how the saviour of the Conservative Party became a pariah. Told with unparalleled access, from multiple inside sources talking with astonishing candour, it reveals the shocking truth about powerful forces operating behind the scenes in the heart of Westminster and those who became the architects of a Prime Minister's downfall. This is the story of a damning trail of treachery and deceit fuelled by an obsessive pursuit of power, which threatens to topple the very fabric of our democracy.</i></span></div><div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">Needless to say, I loved it. Believed every word. And it has to be true, judging by the extremely negative reaction of Tories, pundits, commentators, think tankers and the BBC. The Plotters are identified as Michael Spit Gove, Dominic Cummings, Dougie Smith, Lee Cain and an eminence grise called, for the purposes of the book and to avoid being sued, Dr. No. It should be possible for Ishmaelians to uncover his identity, because he is a Conservative said to have attempted to set fire to a house where a family, including a child, were sleeping in their beds. When a young woman rejected his sexual advances, he cut her little brother's pet rabbit into 4 pieces and pinned them to the front door for him to see when he came home from school. Apparently he has been arrested for harassment and embezzling and has been imprisoned. (That being his one redeeming feature).</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">Dougie Smith is identified as the organiser of sex parties for politicians, and his Wikipaedia page offers us this in verification: "</span><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">For at least five years from 1998, he ran Fever Parties, an organisation which hosted "five-star" swinger parties. A senior Conservative Party aide, he worked as a speechwriter for David Cameron and a Tory party headquarter's activist under Theresa May, before later working for Boris Johnson in an unknown role. In 2019, Nigel Farage, then the Leader of the Brexit Party, alleged that Smith was involved in intimidation and offering bribes in exchange for political candidates stepping down." On one occasion, a Conservative MP had sex on a snooker table with a prostitute, cheered on by 4 other Conservative MPs.</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">The purpose of all this plotting was the gaining and retention of power, and returning to the European fold. Apparently Sunak was chosen to be PM because he was wealthy, well connected and handsome. </span></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="266" data-original-width="474" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2YB0Zu4dprP_arYgXeqEDAXMApZ22iaeD34tbAMwsxej4UOrJENzNBlYU2kh3YK6vBIiEuFnlRSCdSR3CWlA2Io3HKzy8wXilnar3gW3XuLJgmFjzBRn9pdp2_yXdqtTMxyKmuMcz8Fu6F8f5S7OYJoy-67zOLjoGI2zFqzzZUSeZXA8yH8T_A0XzhP0/w400-h225/ready%20for%20rishi.jpg" width="400" /></div><span style="font-family: times; font-size: x-large;"><div style="text-align: center;">Really?</div></span><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="768" data-original-width="768" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMNx4EztabRnsySHM73WZq4mvu6Uwj0PXZF_yHoe4EuyrbaP2NvJECgIws8TH95GIxdHiTk1w3jNagyKXNFBKpspi3QHYDHKbnNsh7mWY8MtcU-U705-vZW1E2FUaDlEW9kuNQSVDKXEo2ZjHfhGIcDBE9tEF1zgVGL8d0ZIqrZV1AB-f4bd9msdT5GoI/w400-h400/sunak%20red%20ears.jpg" width="400" /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">Anyway, he's just a place holder for the Plotter's preferred Prime Minister. Kemi Badenoch. What the actual fuck?</span></div></div><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><div style="text-align: center;">Sunak was interviewed by Laura Kuensberg this morning. He is very hard to listen to, on account of his peculiar accent, and rapid delivery. And avoiding saying anything. Here's an example - asked about the Rwandaforfuck'ssake plan, he swerved into his Albanian deal in which illegal Albanians are returned speedily to Albania. Laura dragged him back to Rwanda, whereupon he claimed it was the same thing. If you enter the country illegally, you will be returned to your country of origin or to Rwanda. So Laura battered on, asking him if he would ever ignore a Rule 39 order - that's an injunction by the European Court of Human Rights, deployed in June 2022 to block the removal of migrants to Rwanda (yes, its been going on that long, and not a single migrant has been deported there, despite it costing us, the British taxpayer, £140 million in 2022, a further £100 million in 2023 and an anticipated £50 million in 2024. James Cleverly confirmed to Parliament that we are going to give Rwanda a further £50 million in 2026). <span face="Roboto, sans-serif" style="background-color: white; color: #111111; font-size: 20px; text-align: left;"> </span></div></span><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><div style="text-align: center;">Sunak slid around the question, avoiding saying he would ignore a Rule 39 order, but coming up with an inspired weasel phrase instead; he would not "let a foreign court stop our ability to remove people, once we have been through our process of parliament and our court system."</div><div style="text-align: center;">They've obviously spent so much on this one that there's no turning back - or, as Macbeth has it: "<span style="background-color: white; color: #282828; text-align: left;">I am in blood / Stepped in so far that should I wade no more, / Returning were as tedious as go o'er"</span><span style="background-color: white; color: #282828; text-align: left;"> </span></div></span><div class="ssrcss-11r1m41-RichTextComponentWrapper ep2nwvo0" data-component="text-block" style="background-color: white; border: 0px; color: #141414; font-family: ReithSans, Helvetica, Arial, freesans, sans-serif; font-feature-settings: inherit; font-kerning: inherit; font-optical-sizing: inherit; font-size: 16px; font-stretch: inherit; font-variant-alternates: inherit; font-variant-east-asian: inherit; font-variant-numeric: inherit; font-variant-position: inherit; font-variation-settings: inherit; line-height: inherit; margin: 1rem 0px; max-width: 36.25rem; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"><div class="ssrcss-7uxr49-RichTextContainer e5tfeyi1" style="border: 0px; font: inherit; margin: 0px; overflow-wrap: break-word; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"><p class="ssrcss-1q0x1qg-Paragraph e1jhz7w10" style="border: 0px; font: inherit; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"><br /></p></div></div><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">mr ishmael can have the last word here: <br /></span><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"> <b>"There comes a time, doesn't there, a time beyond crisis, when Ruin does its work. This is ours. It is the political caste which has thus delivered us, a pox on them all; cry Havoc! let slip the dogs of resistance".</b></span></div></div><div style="text-align: right;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: large; text-align: left;">This, and much, much more can be found in the four-volume</span><span style="font-size: medium; text-align: left;"> </span><span style="font-size: large;">Call Me Ishmael oeuvre, collected by editor mr verge.</span><div><br /></div><div><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRJCv9T1Bcq1AFtN1lgllwI1UnV6D1vSFcIIlK4GDHxh2AIm4ZvLVr35fOuHfIdaQZMam0fpwx4_T2KOJJOfkTpjdj-77dcyQtI6IJ3UVRMxaxYJ12yGgEBvJEB9w2Q74dpp0wYjJj2eI/w320-h212/thumbnail_COVER1+%25282%2529.png" /></div><div><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgB-6JNv0jzD-R6hVIQdseWlNzsQLWKPechwQLF-xBeWkTc2KBvQxd80TyV3YWU9LaKJXse5ACodyzCVXD4dj6Tauuh5V_qW3-aky-yLGAJoMA9jgq45-i8TSb1KkijC-XCS5HDiFBEO5s/s320/vent+stack.png" /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjdQlcfm-4zheOEcRYhuwdhvN3DhLeGtm_lQC_27iRcmVLSW44CpLdukXz8QTXTWfOLCzUEY2jsIVynLG9DlbzcCZtbaD13WF_XDyKjNpuEdecwGCEX9ypq4nAjH3gm7pXxVODPXhlKtXxMg48D41QCsTG_hVYJUMIZ7N_bSjdRdYMGRalX1IWsAoR7/s320/Ishmael" /></div><div><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEip2EzAoKCLON9L8HJyC277gD1ITzLx35xSCKihjE4TB61OSh9LSeBcqfZ9iJC-nbiwe9U3ZMyHAminiob0CmWfcHHu4r491WHBWKcz4U1ywHvGM11tl-yds2PLCJaMecibLj6MhGLKfVMuR0SiAAHwOttqy6tLWBip7Wgpl56dGFLiQt3ij_6tBtNcSp8/w283-h400/Flush%20Test.jpg" /></div><div style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-size: large;">Honest Not Invent, Vent Stack, Ishmael’s Blues, and the latest, Flush Test (with a nice picture of the late, much lamented, Mr Harris of Lanarkshire taking a piss on a totem pole) are available from Lulu and Amazon. If you buy from Amazon, it would be nice if you could give a review on their website.</span></div><div style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-size: large;">Ishmaelites wishing to buy a copy from lulu should follow these steps :</span></div><div style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-size: large;">please register an account first, at lulu.com. This is advisable because otherwise paypal seems to think it's ok to charge in dollars, and they then apply their own conversion rate, which might put the price up slightly for a UK buyer. Once the new account is set up, follow one of the links below (to either paperback or hardback) or type "Ishmael’s Blues" into the Lulu Bookstore search box. Click on the “show explicit content” tab, give the age verification box a date of birth such as 1 January 1960, and proceed.</span></div><div style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-size: large;">Link for Hardcover : https://tinyurl.com/je7nddfr</span></div><div style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-size: large;">Link for Paperback : https://tinyurl.com/3jurrzux</span></div><div style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-size: large;">https://www.lulu.com/shop/ishmael-smith/flush-test/paperback/product-9yjvn7.html?q=Flush+Test&page=1&pageSize=4</span></div><div style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-size: large;">At checkout, try WELCOME15 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.</span></div><div style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-size: large;">With the 15% voucher, PB (including delivery to a UK address) should be £16.84; HB £27.04.</span></div><div style="font-size: medium;"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2860" data-original-width="3060" height="374" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgY6KUc76yDm7JCcc3ekgevIiO_eslUI0dYmbbM7BWbD3p2ng3Bvnjj52xFnaoSEZO6-cJFcgfT2VQPHSL2vJkyzzCkNz6sgYxIivV1zboJgPo9V2sMgAMzyvsmh7U-kVwssL95LM9tZ4jdoYXofIJyE1KNWBqGFFZY4L3bSvRYo0qV4s0CWzvEakCBYI8/w400-h374/orkney%20boat.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" width="400" /></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I'm back in the Bracing Isles now. </td></tr></tbody></table><br /><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div></span></div>call me ishmaelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14369028864168461729noreply@blogger.com11tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6065998731267025499.post-53206666965737140892023-12-31T11:26:00.001+00:002024-01-07T14:42:26.558+00:00New Year's Eve: 31/12/2023<div style="text-align: left;"><div style="text-align: center;"><b style="font-family: times; font-size: x-large;">Should Auld </b><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><b>Acquaintance</b></span><b style="font-family: times; font-size: x-large;"> be Forgot</b></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: x-large;"><b><br /></b></span></div><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><div style="text-align: center;">New Year's Eve is a time to remember absent friends. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1733" data-original-width="2002" height="346" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgCbWBdpelUY43GLeiJJP0GrVwLMncO9DpkcXypIOPlS_iHdGn-7urqISWP9ZCw7gSRWLE9AHMHVCMI9DPM8kkamiteyUaAfLl2FX6t5r6NFIMxU2ocNR0r7umWQ8na2sK2kHTKi9n2U2ddfUAyXkmry0WI33P_lkxvS5Ygg0hx-hfWi5RWuig4gJzxfM/w400-h346/Harris%20Dec%202021.jpg" width="400" /></div><div style="text-align: center;">My little warm brown friend, mr Harris of Lanarkshire, passed away mid July this year. He had been my constant, loyal companion for many years and I would like to raise a glass to the dear boy, wherever his spirit may be. When mr ishmael passed away, I became oppressed by the anxiety that I might pre-decease Harris, and that he would have to find a new home. A friend offered to adopt him in that eventuality. Now, Harris was a chap with decided tastes who had been spoilt rotten by mr ishmael and I, so I thought it best to write out some guidance for his future person. A sort of Haynes manual. Here it is.</div></span></div><p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><b><span face=""Arial",sans-serif" style="line-height: 115%;"> Harris <o:p></o:p></span>Manual</b></span></p><p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="900" data-original-width="800" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1kDZb8FdCCxIcnLpvok90g61_Qa2S-qJRUxpGah5HCR7kp6HDrepq5xGKhHwwjtgGmRQm0GuZsMjhUqjWMeiF_Tw9Wa1AE4frFfdsMThRXJVzQmaxUS1MTlD2zlW9WU6WYYPx-8Qwsu4UKSxdLsV-yuMiREGIHENOUmpCDjrnVYy3S1xm_AvhcYc29s0/w355-h400/Haynes%20Dog.jpg" width="355" /></div><br /><div style="margin-left: 18pt; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><span face=""Arial",sans-serif" style="line-height: 115%;"><b>Food</b><br /></span><span face=""Arial",sans-serif" style="line-height: 115%; mso-fareast-font-family: Arial;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">1.<span style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal;"> </span></span></span><!--[endif]--><span face=""Arial",sans-serif" style="line-height: 115%;">Harris
usually eats 3 or 4 square meals a day – those square-shaped Caesar trays of luxury dog food. He prefers the </span><span face="Roboto, Helvetica, sans-serif" style="background-color: white; color: #111111;">Pâté</span><span face="Arial, sans-serif" style="text-indent: -18pt;">, cut up into cubes. He doesn’t like to get his face dirty by being
required to root around in his food. He likes his cubed p</span><span face="Roboto, Helvetica, sans-serif" style="background-color: white; color: #111111; text-indent: 0px;">âté</span><span face="Arial, sans-serif" style="text-indent: -18pt;"> on a flat plate, with no sudden noises whilst he is dining.<br /></span><span face=""Arial",sans-serif" style="line-height: 115%; mso-fareast-font-family: Arial;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">2.<span style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal;"> </span></span></span><!--[endif]--><span face=""Arial",sans-serif" style="line-height: 115%;">Harris
has a sensitive stomach - don’t let him eat sheep poo, of which he is very fond. When he manages to sneak some if your attention is momentarily distracted, he then needs to go on a chicken and
boiled sticky rice diet. He then graduates to Lily’s dog food.<br /><o:p></o:p></span><span face=""Arial",sans-serif" style="line-height: 115%; mso-fareast-font-family: Arial;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">3.<span style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal;"> </span></span></span><!--[endif]--><span face=""Arial",sans-serif" style="line-height: 115%;">Treats
– he does not like denta stix or grain based biscuits. He likes little dog
sausages, meat strips, fake bacon curls, oven dried strips of liver, and crispy salmon skin. (wild, not farmed).<br /><o:p></o:p></span><span face=""Arial",sans-serif" style="line-height: 115%; mso-fareast-font-family: Arial;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">4.<span style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal;"> </span></span></span><!--[endif]--><span face=""Arial",sans-serif" style="line-height: 115%;">He
likes a big drink of water at 9:30 pm, give or take 10 minutes, because he
hasn’t got a watch.</span></span></div><div style="margin-left: 18pt; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><span face=""Arial",sans-serif" style="line-height: 115%;"><br /><o:p></o:p></span><span face=""Arial",sans-serif" style="line-height: 115%;"><b>Allergies</b><br /></span><span face=""Arial",sans-serif" style="line-height: 115%; mso-fareast-font-family: Arial;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">1.<span style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal;"> </span></span></span><!--[endif]--><span face=""Arial",sans-serif" style="line-height: 115%;">Harris
has a pronounced dairy allergy and should not be given cheese, butter, milk or
yoghurt. It causes diarrhoea with heavy bleeding, so please avoid.<br /></span><span face=""Arial",sans-serif" style="line-height: 115%; mso-fareast-font-family: Arial;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">2.<span style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal;"> </span></span></span><!--[endif]--><span face=""Arial",sans-serif" style="line-height: 115%;">He is
allergic to grass pollen so should be kept out of long grass in the summer. It
gives him a very itchy skin.<br /></span><span face=""Arial",sans-serif" style="line-height: 115%; mso-fareast-font-family: Arial;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">3.<span style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal;"> </span></span></span><!--[endif]--><span face=""Arial",sans-serif" style="line-height: 115%;">Growths.
I don’t know if these are allergic in origin, but Yorkshire Terriers are prone
to them. They are little growths on his skin. He’s had a couple removed by
surgery, but has subsequently grown more. They are not malignant. They might be
mistaken for an attached tick, but don’t try to remove them, as it would be
very painful for the little chap and he would bleed profusely. They can get
crusty, inflamed and infected, so then it is a trip to the vet.<br /></span><span face=""Arial",sans-serif" style="line-height: 115%;"><o:p> <br /></o:p></span><span face=""Arial",sans-serif" style="line-height: 115%;"><b>Walks</b><br /></span><span face=""Arial",sans-serif" style="line-height: 115%;">Harris likes to run and he is as fast as
anything, but only let him run free in the garden because he is very wilful and
will run off. If you chase after him, calling Harris! he thinks it is very
funny and that you are playing a chase game with him, and will then run even faster. When out and about, best
keep him on a lead. If he does escape, the best thing to do is to call loudly
and decisively, Harris, stay. He will ignore it, but might hesitate momentarily. Lying down in the grass sometimes works, as he may come back to check if you have passed out, then you can grab him before he dances off.<br /></span><span face=""Arial",sans-serif" style="line-height: 115%;"><o:p> <br /></o:p></span><span face=""Arial",sans-serif" style="line-height: 115%;"><b>Words</b><br /></span><span face=""Arial",sans-serif" style="line-height: 115%;">Harris knows several words, although he
often pretends he doesn’t. The words should be in a clear, commanding voice. He
knows the following:<br /></span><span face=""Arial",sans-serif" style="line-height: 115%; mso-fareast-font-family: Arial;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">1.<span style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal;"> </span></span></span><!--[endif]--><span face=""Arial",sans-serif" style="line-height: 115%;">Harris
want a treat<br /><o:p></o:p></span><span face=""Arial",sans-serif" style="line-height: 115%; mso-fareast-font-family: Arial;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">2.<span style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal;"> </span></span></span><!--[endif]--><span face=""Arial",sans-serif" style="line-height: 115%;">Sit
(not very good at that)<br /><o:p></o:p></span><span face=""Arial",sans-serif" style="line-height: 115%; mso-fareast-font-family: Arial;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">3.<span style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal;"> </span></span></span><!--[endif]--><span face=""Arial",sans-serif" style="line-height: 115%;">Stay - and variations – stay in the car, stay in your bed, stay in the house. (this is not popular)<br /><o:p></o:p></span><span face=""Arial",sans-serif" style="line-height: 115%; mso-fareast-font-family: Arial;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">4.<span style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal;"> </span></span></span><!--[endif]--><span face=""Arial",sans-serif" style="line-height: 115%;">Walk (this is popular)<br /><o:p></o:p></span><span face=""Arial",sans-serif" style="line-height: 115%; mso-fareast-font-family: Arial;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">5.<span style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal;"> </span></span></span><!--[endif]--><span face=""Arial",sans-serif" style="line-height: 115%;">Come<br /><o:p></o:p></span><span face=""Arial",sans-serif" style="line-height: 115%; mso-fareast-font-family: Arial;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">6.<span style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal;"> </span></span></span><!--[endif]--><span face=""Arial",sans-serif" style="line-height: 115%;">Ball,
hand, fetch<br /><o:p></o:p></span><span face=""Arial",sans-serif" style="line-height: 115%; mso-fareast-font-family: Arial;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">7.<span style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal;"> </span></span></span><!--[endif]--><span face=""Arial",sans-serif" style="line-height: 115%;">Toy<br /><o:p></o:p></span><span face=""Arial",sans-serif" style="line-height: 115%; mso-fareast-font-family: Arial;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">8.<span style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal;"> </span></span></span><!--[endif]--><span face=""Arial",sans-serif" style="line-height: 115%;">Bed<br /> <o:p></o:p></span><span face=""Arial",sans-serif" style="line-height: 115%; mso-fareast-font-family: Arial;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">9.<span style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal;"> </span></span></span><!--[endif]--><span face=""Arial",sans-serif" style="line-height: 115%;">Bedtime<br /><o:p></o:p></span><span face=""Arial",sans-serif" style="line-height: 115%; mso-fareast-font-family: Arial;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">10.<span style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal;"> </span></span></span><!--[endif]--><span face=""Arial",sans-serif" style="line-height: 115%;">Go to
sleep<br /><o:p></o:p></span><span face=""Arial",sans-serif" style="line-height: 115%; mso-fareast-font-family: Arial;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">11.<span style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal;"> </span></span></span><!--[endif]--><span face=""Arial",sans-serif" style="line-height: 115%;">Be
quick ( when going for a pee)<br /><o:p></o:p></span><span face=""Arial",sans-serif" style="line-height: 115%; mso-fareast-font-family: Arial;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">12.<span style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal;"> </span></span></span><!--[endif]--><span face=""Arial",sans-serif" style="line-height: 115%;">This
is your dinner and you can eat it (when you put his dinner down, he usually
looks to you for permission to eat it.)<br /><o:p></o:p></span><span face=""Arial",sans-serif" style="line-height: 115%; mso-fareast-font-family: Arial;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">13.<span style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal;"> </span></span></span><!--[endif]--><span face=""Arial",sans-serif" style="line-height: 115%;">Harris
want to go out?<br /><o:p></o:p></span><span face=""Arial",sans-serif" style="line-height: 115%; mso-fareast-font-family: Arial;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">14.<span style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal;"> </span></span></span><!--[endif]--><span face=""Arial",sans-serif" style="line-height: 115%;">There’s
probably a lot more words, as he’s very intelligent. He knows that I am mum, so
you could call yourself that, and mr ishmael was dad or mister<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>- so that would be good for any new
significant male in his life.<br /><o:p></o:p></span><span face=""Arial",sans-serif" style="line-height: 115%;"><o:p> <br /></o:p></span><span face=""Arial",sans-serif" style="line-height: 115%;"><b>Communicating</b><br /></span><span face=""Arial",sans-serif" style="line-height: 115%;">Harris tries to talk, which is hilarious,
because he hasn’t got the right sort of vocal equipment for words. He tries to
do this when he wants to tell you something, or get you to do something, so you
have to check out what he wants. If you say, Harris want to go out? he will run to the
door. Most of the time he will just come up to you and gaze at you, impressing
his wishes upon you telepathically. This might be wanting to go out, or telling
you he’s had a pee or a poo in the corner and it’s all your fault for not letting
him out, or it’s eating time or playtime.<br /></span><span face=""Arial",sans-serif" style="line-height: 115%;"><o:p> <br /></o:p></span><span face=""Arial",sans-serif" style="line-height: 115%;"><b>Sleeping</b><br /></span><span face=""Arial",sans-serif" style="line-height: 115%;">Harris likes to have a bed in the major
rooms where people are sitting or working, and he has a fabric covered crate to
go into for peace and quiet, but he is accustomed to sleep during the night
with people. In the bed. He takes up a lot of room for a Yorkshire Terrier.<br /></span><span face=""Arial",sans-serif" style="line-height: 115%;"><o:p> <br /></o:p></span><span face=""Arial",sans-serif" style="line-height: 115%;"><b>Clothes</b><br /></span><span face=""Arial",sans-serif" style="line-height: 115%;">Harris has several tops and a
big hi-vis raincoat. If the weather is cold, he needs to wear his clothes
outside, as his own fur coat is quite thin. If the house is cold in winter or at night,
he has a tee-shirt to wear.<br /></span><span face=""Arial",sans-serif" style="line-height: 115%;"><o:p> <br /></o:p></span><span face=""Arial",sans-serif" style="line-height: 115%;"><b>Teeth</b><br /></span><span face=""Arial",sans-serif" style="line-height: 115%;">He has had some extractions, and a dental
chart is with his papers. He doesn’t mind having his teeth cleaned, but he just
chews the toothbrush and eats the toothpaste, so it is a bit of a waste of
time.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He does have his own toothbrush
and toothpaste.<br /></span><span face=""Arial",sans-serif" style="line-height: 115%;"><o:p> <br /></o:p></span><span face=""Arial",sans-serif" style="line-height: 115%;"><b>Vet</b><br /></span><span face=""Arial",sans-serif" style="line-height: 115%;">The only people Harris tries to bite
are vets, so it is best to tell the vet to put a muzzle on him during
examinations/treatments.<br /></span><span face=""Arial",sans-serif" style="line-height: 115%;"><o:p> <br /></o:p></span></span></div><div style="margin-left: 18pt; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><span face=""Arial",sans-serif" style="line-height: 115%;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1632" data-original-width="1224" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBwJIEexYoEJ_LTLg89gVaNooCi8YV3fDQasv9WcnfSKAgeggrsI0XHTntEg3o8yUav8nTTrW0rYZvzJtHxKL0GKRcGZ8MX6mst5xYaDkVYDreNVtS9MBwWO7rQihtfDunio8xL983rdlJnwgKXTIV7TvTGIP_lOH7PW8sK8T5bciuOMcm9KlX8crQUXM/w300-h400/harris%20and%20tree.JPG" width="300" /></div><div style="text-align: center;">editor verge stumbled across a comment by mr ishmael, on a Youtube video of Dylan's Pledging My Time Indiana: </div></span></span></div><div style="margin-left: 18pt; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><span face=""Arial",sans-serif" style="line-height: 115%;"><span face="Roboto, Arial, sans-serif" style="background-color: white; color: #0f0f0f; font-size: 14px; white-space-collapse: preserve;">God, his band must have all the patience in the world, or he must pay them a great deal. My dog, Harris, could scratch a better tune than this from a Strat, and he's only a bit musical. It used to be said that people would pay good money for a tape of Bob's kettle boiling. Five of them must be here. Pledgin my time . was an all -time great blues recording, this is Alzheimer's dribbling music.</span></span></span></div><div style="margin-left: 18pt; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><span face=""Arial",sans-serif" style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #0f0f0f; white-space-collapse: preserve;">If you are interested in following it up and determining if you agree with mr ishmael's judgement, here you go:</span></span></span></div><div style="margin-left: 18pt; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><span face=""Arial",sans-serif" style="line-height: 115%;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><iframe allowfullscreen="" class="BLOG_video_class" height="266" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/zXqGOF5le6E" width="320" youtube-src-id="zXqGOF5le6E"></iframe></div><span face="Roboto, Arial, sans-serif" style="background-color: white; color: #0f0f0f; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><div style="text-align: center;">For others of a more traditional musical cast of mind, here's some lugubrious New Year's Eve music:</div></span></span></span></div><div style="margin-left: 18pt; text-align: left;"><span><span face=""Arial",sans-serif" style="line-height: 115%;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-family: times; font-size: x-large; text-align: center;"><iframe allowfullscreen="" class="BLOG_video_class" height="266" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/6lMlGDZ5xBo" width="320" youtube-src-id="6lMlGDZ5xBo"></iframe></div></span></span></div><div style="margin-left: 18pt; text-align: left;"><span><span face=""Arial",sans-serif" style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: times;"><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;">Anyway, ishmaelites, goodbye to all that and welcome to the new year. More of the same, I daresay.</span></div></span></span></span></div><div style="margin-left: 18pt; text-align: left;"><span><span face=""Arial",sans-serif" style="line-height: 115%;"><o:p style="font-family: times; font-size: x-large;"><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div></o:p></span></span></div><p></p>call me ishmaelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14369028864168461729noreply@blogger.com13tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6065998731267025499.post-43600054134701726882023-12-30T16:53:00.000+00:002023-12-30T16:53:19.417+00:00Mr Mongoose's Christmas Answers<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="773" data-original-width="772" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEilJxGv_unUGvzvioIwkmMZY7XCEvp_livobyeW3nR5Wp-WlKwGkp2j94jrQ5g4iwbSNly_lRUrJ2QXsj7nmbwuSQW9EVSu7iEogdqcLkhNruzuUYqP6YNOjgM2z3MGoPYCIiBKRbF6KI4LGMJZdqj3B_gvA_LVN79csm232vk35poz8KuSm-xrd6EBveM/w400-h400/Grid%20-%20with%20answers.jpg" width="400" /></div><br /><p></p>call me ishmaelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14369028864168461729noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6065998731267025499.post-14738676279565366592023-12-26T12:46:00.000+00:002023-12-26T12:46:29.405+00:00Boxing Day: 26/12/2023<div style="text-align: left;"> <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="518" data-original-width="500" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEip5zaxC8k3bhA4LfcUX3EKCLlc7nsEGdtB-AcEXewkxVSmM0m3i0HyhKz1iFVDEqL735AmW6YaRqDA2poRGj4g2VA9tyzOMGVT54rEQSxi0DdVjG1AiDXyWYWxLUl51pcPiryRdFD6h44rRJ8hH0gbLsW9uV6eRRjcDOaiII6rKAGFtWSs7uIiZD0zV6U/w386-h400/Female%20Boxers.jpg" width="386" /></div><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">No, not that sort of Boxing. The name refers to the long, long ago practice of giving presents (boxes) to poor people on the day after Christmas. Nowadays, Boxing Day marks the start of the Sale Season, to hoover up any last bits of money you may have about your person after the December-long SpendFest.</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">In case you are tempted to visit the Do It Yourself emporia in pursuit of discounted paint to improve your lives, mr ishmael had some cautionary thoughts.</span></div><span style="font-family: times;"><div style="font-size: x-large; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="font-size: x-large; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><b><span style="font-size: x-large;">Me and the Dream Warehouse</span></b></div><div style="font-size: x-large; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="font-size: x-large; text-align: center;">1987</div><div style="font-size: x-large; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="font-size: x-large; text-align: center;">A Swiss Army Knife Story by the younger Ishmael Smith</div><div style="font-size: x-large; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="480" data-original-width="640" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJ_3rN5wdgMb1RwvMwaIZyK9hxT62iJbN-1_q-lGszsPAm-_jgN3R1JTr1tRO5hh7OxLo1r2ejuyMbHnu1kn4duWaRxHP3pUleXam8ThVvBIkbepWeZecg3ww9htCqoCHe2ETkftI4utUMrOx-NWBEhbm9VV6RX34GmLDNKCpoVCdrzoZyZFr5ubK9VeI/w400-h300/Swiss%20Army%20Knife.jpg" width="400" /></div><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;">There’s this place in Durritch. A Do It Yourself Megamarket. Bamfords. There’s acres of it. And they sell everything you could ever want in the do-it-, grow-it-, erect-it- and plumb-it-in-yourself line. Everything except Swiss Army Knives. The ultimate Do-It-Yourself implement and you can’t get one in Bamfords. I suppose, realistically, that a Swiss Army Knife stand in a D-I-Y store’d be as welcome as the pox in a nunnery.</span></div><span style="font-size: large;"><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">Twelve months ago Bamfords wasn’t there, there was just a sign saying Bamfords Is Coming Here Soon. Now you’re lucky if you can find a space in the carpark. Doesn’t matter what time of day you go at, they’re open from eight ‘til eight and the place is always heaving. Where did everybody go before?</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">Maybe, before Bamfords, Durritch was just one great big pigsty. You know how Billy Connolly goes on about the poor foreigners just hanging around for centuries waiting for someone to come and discover them? Well, maybe Durritch was like that. Everybody just gazing dolefully at their peeling wallpaper and fading paint, hoping that the wiring wouldn’t catch fire and that the window frames wouldn’t fall out; and everybody hoarse from speaking unnaturally loud so they could be heard over the dripping taps and the wheezing cisterns; and stumbling down their cracked and overgrown paths wishing like hell that there was somewhere they could buy some cement and weedkiller and maybe a gazebo or a pool to brighten the place up a bit. Well they’ve got it now and they’re lapping it up.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">People, employed people, nearly always couples, hire Transit vans to go to Bamfords. It’s like Aladdin’s cave. They come away with greenhouses, bathroom suites, fences, paths, pools, emulsion, gloss, varnish, chipboard, screws, nails, hammers, barbecues, miniature conifers and sacks of Somerset peat. One day I’m going to drive down to Somerset just to see if it’s still there; seems to me that Bamfords are selling most of it off to the citizens of Durritch.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">The people who come by car all seem to drive fairly old motors, S to X registration mainly, so they can’t be really well-off. Enough credit with Access to buy a bathroom suite, and drive themselves crazy installing it, but not enough for a D or an E reg motor. They just want to have a house which pretends that they’re rich. Proper rich people don’t need to improve their homes, they’re generally OK; and if they did need to decorate they’d get some little man in to do it for them. So you have all these crazy home owners, up to their nuts in debt, loading their old bangers up with junk and going off home to live in a dream world. It’s pathetic, really; they’re like junkies; it’s like they all want to be Ben Cartwright, presiding over their own little suburban Ponderosas. And they all want a slice of the dreamcake you’re really buying from Bamfords under the sparkle and glass and smartness and glow; that strangely-familiar dream, balanced shrewdly between our yearning for oldworld craftsmanship, our thirst for new technology and our envy of other cultures.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">The trouble is that, like AIDS, the home-improvement thing is catching if you’re not careful. It’s been murder since the kids found out about Bamfords. We have to make a family pilgrimage almost every week. The two girls head straight for the dream kitchens, opening and closing all the perfectly-aligned unit doors (why do they never align perfectly when you get them into your own house?), messing about with the microwaves, trying to flush the dummy toilets, turning on the unconnected taps and looking at me like I was Paul Getty. Mark zooms in on the battery-operated power tools. Look, Mummy, it’s only sixty pounds, he’ll say, clutching Black and Decker’s latest electronic gizmo. And all my friends’ parents have one. He says this looking disdainfully at me as if to say all his friends’ mothers aren’t shacked up with unemployed, diabetic, hippy writers. Little bastard.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">Helen, by this time, has beaten a strategic, marxist retreat and is regrouping in the garden section. Isn’t this pergola heavenly, she’ll say. What the hell’s a pergola? She points at some wooden structure that resembles a mediaeval gallows; a rough-hewn, timber-post frame. Whaddawewant with one of those? We could sit under it. We could do what? In the garden…. We could sit under it. But it’s got no roof. And it’s got no walls. And it’s full of splinters. Why do we want to sit in one of those? We’ve got a house haven’t we, for sitting in? Whassamatterwith you? I’m gonna stop getting The Observer if this is what it does to you. But we could grow things over it. Grow things over it? Whassamatter with the garden, for Christ’s sake, the flower beds, why don’t we grow things in there, like real people, or in the allotment, or in some tubs? And so it goes on. Helen wanting a lumber yard full of bijou, creosoted, rough timber eyesores and fountains gushing from concrete, infant penises; the girls wanting a teak kitchen and a Jacuzzi – we got a bidet what more do they want? And Mark wanting a veritable arsenal of deadly but otherwise unnecessary power tools. When you’re unemployed going to somewhere like Bamfords is the act of a masochist.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">But, like most things, it’s also quite educational. One day I asked a cashier how many different items they carried. Dunno. A lot, I think. Is there anyone who does know? Well, Customer Service might help you. I went over to Customer Service. Excuse me, can you tell me how many different items you carry, please? Oh, about fifteen thousand. Is that all? Does that include all the nails and screws and pins and staples and bolts and nuts and washers; there are literally thousands of them, look, just down that aisle, copper ones, brass ones, iron ones, steel ones, round heads, flatheads, countersunk heads, masonry nails; hundreds of different sizes, different threads…. Well, she says, since you put it like that, it probably is more. What about the seeds, look, down there, there’s thousands of them. And what about the shrubs and plants and bushes and trees. And the wallpapers, look, hundreds upon hundreds of them. And the lightfittings, there’s a whole floor of them; chandeliers, coachlamps, reading lights, spotlights, standard lamps, outdoor lights, underwater lights, bulbs, plugs, flex, insulating tape. And the tools. And the paints and the varnishes and the shelving systems and the timber and the little concrete boys and the gnomes and the fertilisers and the Tomorite and the slug pellets and the netting and the bamboo. And the bricks and the cement and the slabs. And all the plumbing stuff, the pipes and the joints and the hoses. And all the curtains and the fixtures and fittings. And the glass and the putty. And the lawnmowers and strimmers and hot-air paintstrippers. And the fences and the chains and the burglar alarms and the electric kettles and the percolators. And the baths and the toilets and the kitchen units. Gotta be more than fifteen thousand wouldn’t you say?</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">Well, yes, she says. Is there anybody here who does know for sure? You see I want to write a story about this place and it’d help if I knew exactly how many items you carry. Well, the manager would know. Could I possible see him? Well, you could, only he’s off sick. I’m not surprised.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">My friend Felix has a theory about these Do It Yourself emporia. I think he developed it while he was at Cambridge, so it might be a bit suspect. He says that one day Bamfords will sell the ultimate dream product. But only to regular, direct debit customers. There’ll be a green one. You’ll paint it all over the outside of your ultimately-improved home and it’ll never, ever be vandalised or burglarised. And it’ll never catch fire. It’ll keep out all the unemployed people. And all the sick people and the old and the poor. All the people who don’t have a home to improve.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">And then there’ll be a black paint. You’ll paint that all over the inside, even over the double-glazed windows and the Carolina doors and the Laura Ashley wallpapers. And, as long as you stay inside, you’ll never ever die. Now, there’s a dream home for you. That’s what the dreams are all about. Home improvement, build your own mausoleum and live in it.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">Meantime, as my friend Bob Dylan said, life outside goes on all around you. We had the General Election recently. We live in a safe spanking seat here – they still thrash the kids in school, they’re going to keep right on doing it up until the very second that it becomes illegal – but we thought we’d try to do a bit to discommode the New Right. We went out on the Thursday calling on Labour sympathisers and reminding them to vote. They all had. People seemed desperate to be rid of that awful woman. That’s why we were out. We were desperate, too. Not for Kinnock’s sanitised and undemocratic Labour Party particularly; and certainly not for Tweedledum and Tweedledee, as was. We just wanted a change.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">At midnight we took Mark down to the Town Hall to see the democratic process get itself a little leaned on. I said he could have the next day off school, this was more educational than any of the nonsense he’d hear from his teachers. The rest is pundit history; overtime payments for Day, a gold-plated Mars Bar for Dimbleby, a good long rest for Peter Snow and speech therapy for Alistair Burnett. Our spanker was returned with an increased majority and Mark saw the braying, hatchet-faced, Tory women and the arrogant, conceited, drunken Tory men celebrating another five years of national home improvement. Thankfully Mark has the vote next time around; if he can get time off from his YTS.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">Mrs Thatcher owes it all to Bamfords and Smiths and B&Q and all the other plastic money dream warehouses. When people spend every penny and every spare second on customising their tatty little homes, on papering over the cracks in their brittle little family lives, they’re not going to want politicians telling them to think about people with no homes, no families, no lives to speak of. That’s exactly what we’re trying to shut out or we might as well invite the Russians in, having them stomping over our thick-pile carpets and burnished pine floors in their dirty boots, sticking pictures of Lenin up over the Laura Ashley. We’re just too busy – look, it’s 7:15, just time to go down to Bamfords and pick up your Georgian-look polystyrene cornice moulding and a Dickensian plastic door-lantern, here’s value at £24.95 – and we’ll keep on keeping too busy to listen to the people knocking at our teak-finish plywood ready- warped doors…until they come knocking at our double-glazed windows with petrol bombs.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">There was this poet. Byron or Shelley I think. It was one of those poets who wrote odes to places he’d seen on his Grand Tour of Europe; you know the kind of stuff, bits of gay, Greek mythology jumbled-up among a rhyming tourists guide to the Aegean. Whichever it was, anyway, he wrote a home improvement poem. It has the words: My name is Ozymandias, King of Kings; look on my works, ye Mighty, and despair. These words were on the plinth of a statue of a long-dead Emperor. All that was left of the statue were the legs. Just a pair of legs standing in the middle of the desert. This Ozymandias, one imagines, was the great granddaddy of do-it-yourselfers. He had wanted future generations of Bamfords shoppers to gaze in wonder at his plumbing and shelving and wallpapering. But his entire Empire-sized home-improvement, had, with the passage of time, crumbled to dust.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">You can’t buy poetry in Bamfords. Not even for cash.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhe-C8YvFttdLecTnGIIEiCEj0nAQ6-vJIhCEbuFgtGblcJvU2tLfgxXOA2xPaqVaBqjFGGSYlfEpXWljmhvsyh5C-BlgFm1Fmis_TEQZArRD4yiKwVRzuiEA3AMw_kCEPXi5hELHmvNZZJRHx-A8COHh7vGyjCmjdZPl7VJzgEI1GFl8r5ydNz0PhKZoQ/w640-h480/Garland%202.%20jpg.jpg" width="640" /></div></span><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div></span> call me ishmaelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14369028864168461729noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6065998731267025499.post-80949207021737458072023-12-25T10:35:00.000+00:002023-12-25T10:35:07.275+00:00The Real Meaning of Christmas: 25/12/2023<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgABkgeqlbVBgOcxUeV8IIzssnzNq1FzLlkNt0kUVGHkDH0NwqNB51mwtGuwCPs1n3UfsLDRJ2T0IQEm_8A7J8zca6ZMeNa3sIBgBBdiCU1eGyFbOsnrEOs4d_JtA6nkcP1zrkYkmHd9zZcRYONGLxC3ikczYq06lf7Ws1Nqii-VdZvMM3kzkAEKcYj1Po/s474/garland5.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="290" data-original-width="474" height="392" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgABkgeqlbVBgOcxUeV8IIzssnzNq1FzLlkNt0kUVGHkDH0NwqNB51mwtGuwCPs1n3UfsLDRJ2T0IQEm_8A7J8zca6ZMeNa3sIBgBBdiCU1eGyFbOsnrEOs4d_JtA6nkcP1zrkYkmHd9zZcRYONGLxC3ikczYq06lf7Ws1Nqii-VdZvMM3kzkAEKcYj1Po/w640-h392/garland5.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">Nothing to do with the birth of Jesus Christ in Bethlehem some two thousand years ago, of course - it was convenient in the roll-out of Christianity to the northern lands to adopt the existing winter festivals and rename them. Our secular nation has almost entirely reverted to the true meaning of Christmas - revelry, feasting, firelight and sex. </span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">Mr ishmael was a spiritual man, and here he is musing on religion. </span></div><div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><b>Me and
God</b></span></span></div>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">1987<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">A
Swiss Army Knife Story by the younger Ishmael Smith</span></div>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="480" data-original-width="640" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6rden2M02zYRkuvL-ESFdN1BLgpzVAU0IJsJWDPCQVYImev8iknZ-H93hezPOAAgIuUUhmFR3PKmUVA879vOSHe19hZ9H10SCiqJO0WSnwAW8_LwBNLlvbtA4oLMnMr_G2L2rLnecDad-NwI5UlS7U60MK7fe3u8zrblUfJcNHTRcAizcpMYbXYGEHKk/w400-h300/Swiss%20Army%20Knife.jpg" style="font-family: times; font-size: x-large;" width="400" /></p><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><div style="text-align: center;">I read a novel once. It wasn’t so much a novel; it was more an encyclopaedia of philosophy, past, present and future. The author of this book must have read everything there was to read on the subjects of man, God and existence. No, it wasn’t the Hitchhikers’ Guide to the Galaxy, nor the Secret Diary of Adrian Mole. It was an intellectual juggernaut of a book. It rolled all over me and I can feel its tyre tracks yet. It was also a very moving book for it described man’s search for meaning and how he was unable to find anything in the existing philosophies. Not just some of them, all of them, he took them all to pieces like some sort of metaphysical watchmaker and found a flaw, an imbalance, in every last one of them. So, quite properly to my mind, he invented his own. He called it the Church of Reason. He tried preaching it in the University where he taught. But, sure enough, he wound up, very quickly, in the loony bin with electrodes in his head, needles in his bum and one of those nice back-to-front jackets.</div><div style="text-align: center;">Now, as we all know, there are worse places to be than the loony bin. You could be in school, for instance. You could be in Redditch, like me. Or you could be working on a Community Programme, overseen by yesterday’s yes men, failed captains of industry, supplementing their company pensions by telling you how noble it is of you to be shovelling community shit or shuffling community papers for seventy pence an hour. You could even be working in a probation office chastising poor people for their poverty. (You only ever see poor people, misfits and child molesters in a probation office. No self-respecting thief or bank robber would be caught dead talking to a probation officer.) No, give me the loony bin any time. You meet a better class of person. You get much more sense from somebody who thinks he’s Napoleon than you do from the average Senior Probation Officer. But, even so, I thought it was a bit strong to be getting the liquid cosh and the electric personality annihilation so beloved of psychiatrists simply because he had a different point of view on the meaning of life and God and everything. So, ever since I read the improbably-titled Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance I have tended to keep God himself firmly at several arms’ length.</div><div style="text-align: center;">In fact, if God were to appear by my desk this morning I’d be out the back door and over the fence quicker than a thunderbolt. It seems to me that everybody who has anything to do with the Almighty finds themselves in big trouble. Did you ever read about the Monsignor from Knock? There was this Priest in an otherwise God-forsaken Irish village situated in a bog at the top of a mountain in County Mayo. Whether it was the local poteen, a leprous distillation concocted from potatoes and known to strike unseasoned imbibers permanently blind, or whether it was an actual miracle is a matter for speculation. What is known, however, is that the inhabitants of Knock started reporting that the local statue of the Virgin was doing everything short of coming down off the plinth and breakdancing. Tears, nods, gestures; everything. The good Monsignor started hearing the sound of heavenly cash registers and, quicker than you can say “Holy water, pound a bottle”, he’s off to Dublin. Monsignor James Horan, once there, persuaded the Government that they had to build an International Airport on the top of his mountain. This was in Ireland, don’t forget, so the Airport was duly constructed, but, sadly for the Monsignor, the citizens of Knock and the Irish Exchequer, the anticipated jumbo-loads of camera-swinging, dollar and yen laden tourists failed to materialise. So, perhaps peeved, perhaps dispirited, but certainly with the impoverished Irish Government breathing down his neck the Monsignor set off for that other shrine, Lourdes. Maybe he went for inspiration, or perhaps, more cynically, he went to check out the competition. Whatever, when he arrived at Lourdes, a place of pilgrims and miraculous healings, he promptly and permanently dropped down dead. It wasn’t a miracle. There was no resurrection. He was seriously dead; Knock, Knock, Knocking on Heaven’s door. He was as lifeless as it’s possible to be outside of school, Redditch, the Community Programme and the probation service.</div><div style="text-align: center;">Now I can’t help but feel that the untimely demise of the previously healthy and relatively young Monsignor was something in the nature of a Sign. So, if God can do that to someone who works all the hours He sends on His behalf, then I’d just as soon have nothing to do with Him, thank you very much. I have enough trouble with the Access people chasing me all over the country without having to be looking over my shoulder for the fiery finger. I don’t want anyone appearing to me in a dream and telling me to go and slit my kid’s throat. I don’t want anyone to smite my enemies for me; I’d just as soon take ‘em to Court. And the last thing I want is Eternal Life. Seventy years of this’ll do me fine. Don’t misunderstand me. I have nothing against Christians. Some of my best friends are Christians. This whole God business is like homosexuality. It’s ok by me. I just don’t want it made compulsory.</div><div style="text-align: center;">God, unfortunately, does not confine His attentions to mere Christianity. Wherever there are people to be frightened, blackmailed or otherwise coerced from their wits you will find the Almighty and His Ambassadors. You would think that with the whole of creation to mess about in and all of eternity to do it in that He’d leave us alone for a millennium or two. But no. God, like some aging whore, is happiest when people are fighting over Him. It used to be the Christians torturing and roasting one another in the name of God. Then, once they’d invented chastity belts, they bankrupted Europe and went off on their mad Crusades. What they didn’t realise was that the Wily Turk was every bit as fanatical as them and that when it came to a spot of religious bloodletting the Saracen would have their heads on a minaret quicker than they’d have his outside a pub. So, suitably chastened, they came home to start back in on each other again with the thumbscrews and the hot lead enemas. Then, God be praised, they found the New World, joined forces and went out to torture the savages into accepting the one true Faith. They succeeded, of course, there’s nothing like a hot, crisp roasting at the stake, or, better still, a good massacre, to bring heathen peoples to the Lord.</div><div style="text-align: center;">After that, things went a bit quiet on the Christian Front. Oh, there’s still a few thousand in Northern Ireland ready to kill and maim on the Lord’s behalf and I suppose there’ll always be missionary types wanting to go off into isolated parts and corrupt a timeless culture with all that heaven and hell stuff, but, in the main, God seems to have stood his Christian forces down. No such luck with the Muslims. They’re at it everywhere, in Afghanistan they’re fighting each other and the Russians; in Iraq and Iran they’re just plain old-fashioned fighting each other and everybody else. And every last one of them wants to gang up on the Jews. The Jews, themselves, will shoot anybody who looks at 'em the wrong way. In India you’ve got the Sikhs fighting the Hindus. They don’t mind getting killed because they all believe that they’ll go straight to the bosom of Allah, Jehovah, Vishnu or whatever alias God’s been using with them, there to sup milk and honey, goat meat curries or whatever God’s got on the menu for them.</div><div style="text-align: center;">Perhaps you can see why I take a dim view of God and his activities. Some people will argue that God’s ok really. It’s just that man doesn’t understand his purpose and that up there, in one of his many mansions, God’s really pissed off about famine and war and AIDS. And that God really cares. Those kind of people will, given a chance, grab the nearest New Testament and start giving you all that “not the slightest sparrow” stuff and inviting you to services and telling you they’re gonna pray for you. I know because this happened to me quite recently. It was the Day the Jovas Came.</div><div style="text-align: center;">I knew they were in the area because the kids had, in the cruel fashion of children, been joking about them. Mark and his mate, Andy, had been knocking on the door saying, “Morning brother, we’re the Jovas, we’re here to save you.” And scoffing generally at the idea of Christianity. Now, I’m a liberal sort of fellow most of the time, except when it comes to Harry Secombe, and I figured that anybody who received such a consistently bad press as the Jehovah’s Witnesses couldn’t be all that bad. Like anybody else I’d heard all that stuff about them letting their kids die for lack of blood transfusions and how once you let them in they start hitting you over the head with the Bible telling you to repent. And about how they provoke you into saying something fairly unchristian to get rid of 'em. But then I knew, also, that the statespersons of this world and their Admirals and Generals weren’t too fussy about who they bombed and napalmed; men, women, children – doesn’t matter just as long as they’re communists or enemies of democracy. So, no matter what I say about God Himself, I wasn’t going to prejudge the Jovas just because they don’t hold with technology and tend to ramble on a bit. And anyway, it gets lonely sitting here at the word processor. If they’d taken the trouble to come and tell me about heaven it’d make a change from double glazing and loft insulation salesmen telling me how I couldn’t afford to be without their wares. When they came there were two of them. One white and one black woman. They both had nervous smiles.</div><div style="text-align: center;">Good Morning. We left some literature. Before. With your wife. We were wondering if you’d had time to read it.</div><div style="text-align: center;">Well, no. I don’t believe I did. You wouldn’t believe the amount of stuff that comes through the letter box. What was it about?</div><div style="text-align: center;">Well, it was about the state of the world. All the divorce and everything….</div><div style="text-align: center;">Yes, said the other one, and we were wondering if you’d been able to find the Lord.</div><div style="text-align: center;">Find the Lord? Well, actually I’ve spent the last hour trying to find my Swiss Army Knife and it’s nowhere to be seen.</div><div style="text-align: center;">They started to laugh a bit, then stopped themselves.</div><div style="text-align: center;">But surely you can’t compare your whatever it was knife with the Creator of heaven and earth…?</div><div style="text-align: center;">Well, no, not exactly, it’s just that I’ve gotta change this plug and I don’t reckon I’m gonna do it by praying at it. You know, right now the most important thing in the world to me is finding my Swiss Army Knife. You know, if you had one yourself and come to depend on it like I have you’d know what I mean. 'Slike if you all of a sudden lost your clothes then getting them back’d be uppermost in your mind and you’d leave the spiritual stuff 'til later. I’m not being blasphemous or anything. It’s kinda render unto Caesar. You ever seen one? They’re really good. They’re red, about this big and they’ve got all sorts of clever little tools in them. Mine’s got a wirestripper and a couple a blades and a corkscrew and a bottle opener and a couple of screwdrivers and some other things that I don’t understand. It’s like a miniature tool kit. And strong. Got the Swiss flag on it.</div><div style="text-align: center;">Oh yeah, says the black girl, my husband has one. His has scissors on it. I know the thing you mean.</div><div style="text-align: center;">Yeah, that’ll be the Officer’s model. I don’t know why but the officers in the Swiss Army seem to get knives with hundreds of blades and things. Magnifying glasses. Pliers. Everything. And the troops just get a little knife like mine that can do maybe a dozen or so things. I wouldn’t fight in an army like that, would you?</div><div style="text-align: center;">Well actually I don’t believe in armies…</div><div style="text-align: center;">No of course not. Me neither. I don’t think they do, come to that, no need for them to go off fighting, not when they’ve got everybody’s money. Look, why don’t you come in and help me look for my knife. You know, have a coffee or something.</div><div style="text-align: center;">They were in like a shot, faster than Moses crossing the Red Sea and when they saw my desk their eyes lit up. Among the row of books there are several bibles.</div><div style="text-align: center;">Oh, you read the Scriptures then, the one said.</div><div style="text-align: center;">Yeah, all of them. Look there’s a Koran here. Some Islamic stuff – The Prophet, the Way of the Sufi, it’s really good, you ever read it? There’s the I Ching, a book on religions of the world, the Sayings of Confucius, and the Bible. Yeah, I read them all. Some of the time, not all of the time. Sugar?</div><div style="text-align: center;">They looked at one another as though they’d fell amongst thieves and there wasn’t a Samaritan in sight.</div><div style="text-align: center;">What do you think about homosexuals…all this AIDS business?</div><div style="text-align: center;">As one, they replied:</div><div style="text-align: center;">It’s an abomination</div><div style="text-align: center;">You see what I mean? None of this greatest of these is charity nonsense for them. None of this cast not the first stone. I already told you some of my friends are Christian; well, some of them are gay. Some of them are both. And here’s these people. In my house, drinking my coffee, reading my bibles.</div><div style="text-align: center;">Saying that my friends are abominable.</div></span><span style="font-family: times;"><div style="text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1423" data-original-width="2136" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5kl88RWMMVKzi3XEUfcZ_HuJ3BTrAmsbUAxDZz69DmWD_6WYtSc5DzBJ2SI1g2gOyWSYxHfVH6HsWKRdABoRswktWoYAWGjk-ag5Tk5cUzwnUkzRosHSJ4zzbo0E3YzqLDr1K2tngLjrpamFPEKZnbcPpEDcQFQHCkp3Ioxs87nOd6-hwLQg9NIMnRqY/w400-h266/GreenMan.jpg" width="400" /></div><br /><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><b><span style="font-size: x-large;">Merry Christmas, Ishmaelites everywhere</span></b></div></span><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"></span></div><p></p>call me ishmaelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14369028864168461729noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6065998731267025499.post-15626825932855161702023-12-22T17:55:00.000+00:002023-12-22T17:55:35.154+00:00Mr Mongoose's Christmas Crossword<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="806" data-original-width="804" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhewN6l7gcsazeEztfChuWAMIEaqOfumoHVbrJdTS0aSkoQc7yYCZ1rDq6ytcQSM81hUKjuXeTjSY0x4Dt0rkSV4i7wRS_aVxUg8PFzrDfzZnGVh91i5HtL-K9OPeZ-mIM9xzEc_HYddaMf5WQCOELjS3fGfz6vO3g0QZy301nvLRNOxzxnaD7aXCPubXc/w399-h400/Christmas%20crossword%20grid%202023.jpg" width="399" /></div><br /><p></p><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /><br /><b>Across</b><br /> 1 & 29 <span> </span>a Yuletide exercise for cruciverbalists. (9,9)<br /> 6 <span> </span>Non-kosher fare acting for 9 slaughterers. (5)<br /> 9 <span> </span><span> </span>Biblical native shattered realities. (9) <br /> 10 <span> </span><span> </span>Lows european elk. (5)<br /> 11 <span> </span><span> </span>Iron, carbon and aluminium produce such matter. (5)<br /> 12 <span> </span><span> </span>Cut out attractiveness for speed command. (9)<br /> 13 <span> </span><span> </span>This Knight had pips. (6) <br /> 14 <span> </span><span> </span>Magical beasts damaged feet at College. (8)<br /> 17 <span> </span><span> </span>Hung maps sort of moss (8) <br /> 19 <span> </span><span> </span>Almost "touching" the untouched. (6)<br /> 22 <span> </span><span> </span>Tyrant built from this fuel minus oils. (9)<br /> 24 <span> </span><span> </span>Ground a lust in American city. (5) <br /> 26 <span> </span><span> </span>Pick-me-up acting in a moment. (5)<br /> 27 <span> </span><span> </span>Bundling you might see at the Oval. (4,5)<br /> 28 <span> </span><span> </span>100 ergs/gram input - output receiver. (5)<br /> 29 <span> </span><span> </span>See 1a</span><div><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /><b> Down</b></span></div><div><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><b><br /></b> 1 <span> </span><span> </span>A bachelor boy until his dying days. (5)<br /> 2 <span> </span><span> </span>Undeveloped construction said the psychiatrist. (9)<br /> 3 <span> </span><span> </span>French girl concealed by coy romantic. (7)<br /> 4 <span> </span><span> </span>Servant covering setter got hurt. (6)<br /> 5 <span> </span><span> </span>Inanimate. Like a traffic Policeman. (8)<br /> <span> </span>6 <span> </span><span> </span>Magnificent pigeon in charge. (7)<br /> 7 <span> </span><span> </span>Mother or yours truly came originally from the </span><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">south island. (5)</span><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /> 8 <span> </span><span> </span>I heard Redgrave and his lad had a rocket. (9)<br /> 13 <span> </span><span> </span>Oval landmark ground megastore. (9)<br /> 15 <span> </span><span> </span>Musical hunchback. (9)<br /> 16 <span> </span><span> </span>One catsuit developed a disordered spectrum. (8) <br /> 18 <span> </span><span> </span>A club for Marx. (7)<br /> 20 <span> </span><span> </span>Narrow. Strip first and dip without hesitation. (7)<br /> 21 <span> </span><span> </span>Racing body over country embarrassment. (6) <br /> 23 <span> </span><span> </span>Wickedness overdose transmission for the bishops' gig. (5) <br /> 25 <span> </span><span> </span>In this old-fashioned day and age revolutionary pined. (5)<br /> <br /></span><br />Tip - print out the page and complete the grid by hand.<p></p></div>call me ishmaelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14369028864168461729noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6065998731267025499.post-64463101847643865852023-12-21T21:48:00.001+00:002023-12-21T21:48:08.604+00:00Well, that's another year up the Judge's Arse.<div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><span style="background-color: white;">Solstice comes from a Latin word which translates as “sun stands still”.</span> The winter solstice in this year of Grace, 2023, the moment when the Earth's axis is furthest from the sun will occur around 03.27 GMT on December 22nd. <span style="background-color: white;">As the Lifers say, "that's another year up the Judge's Arse."</span></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">It is the longest night of the year. People used to encourage the sun to return by lighting fires - </span></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="background-color: white;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="279" data-original-width="498" height="179" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVPZb6n29KwOaBImejdvo7Me_Ywf2qUiF92BPhuljjzUZl_S5xtz0Yr161Yp2p9bq5ANfFeS6zD3jdM6VlLWO9hSIxq4va6-DrIXNb1xL1wpKL_oGxykKDGkRM3rgtStQggPa0xn_OkxGLHSp828Fh31kBgFDfkp5GT23Gxji9SkxBskHDIoEFpb96yWk/s320/Yule%20log.gif" width="320" /></div></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">the Yule log, feasting and drinking (feasting and drinking seem to be central to all early religious celebrations). However, here in Orkney, it has been blowing a gale for weeks, probably months and possibly years. So I don't think there'll be any pagans dancing round the Ring of Brodgar or the Stones of Stennes this year. Most unlikely that the setting sun will light up the Maeshowe chambered tomb</span></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="background-color: white;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="500" data-original-width="375" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjtbCohKUI4jVSb_wCbsHL233Lj4H6VpkWRz3AKhtG-DDHkjXYV4X-ocDR2BG7nOqcMP2EGCAPXokpDm7ZY9VYQC9f0Varz_b3LVdd6v2P9WuRgHa-vIpmjudbwn2scVApLLhvGn9ee5qGDMQFd7-qc5qrmkBlJKXIehwU5QjxNX5Hz7IuoTfZI1W6zhSc/w300-h400/maeshowe-solstice.jpg" width="300" /></div><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">as it's been sleeting, hailing or snowing for days, probably weeks and </span></span><span style="background-color: white; font-family: times; font-size: large;">possibly months.</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><span style="background-color: white;">All the more important to encourage the sun back again. Maybe light a candle against the dark?</span></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="316" data-original-width="474" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhexbB1A07HzumnvhsG1NGvb2AN7KLzovMQBATZ0HSDjWJij4udSpkRnxz_1y3q4Ro3926nDmOOoRLdVhHdaKrDyUJG2u8VzkGSH2hOA0jy2C_TM-d8H-_5hF7IipKtwninH5EB_X1-FCCfro_KjnF6r7hEQR089q8E4pxHOwlibIYnb2eNFeAKddex95w/w400-h266/candle.jpg" width="400" /></div><br /><span style="background-color: white;"><div style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: medium; text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;">mr ishmael: ......</span></div><div style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: medium;"><span style="font-size: large;">There was a point in living memory, maybe before the Labour Party got it's Equity card, when the changing seasons still retained some power over us, when they were marked and celebrated; hints of the pagan, of riotous, Jesus-free sexuality, of the elemental; Maydays and Solstices, Harvest Homes; ancient, starborne, prehistoric survival rituals - which had been colonised, hi-jacked by Pope Nazi's predecessors, parceled-up with Feast Days, Saints' Days and Guilty Days - marked periodic awarenesses of the cyclicality of creation, of death and renewal, or of, as the Noncing Monsignors would have it, the craft of the Divine Watchmaker; you know, He who's gonna forever roast your arse if you don't do as we, His kindly minders, say. Dominus vobiscum.</span></div><div style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: medium;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: medium;"><span style="font-size: large;">These Stone-Age festivals, these seasonal forebodings, joys and obeisances formed a truly British, truly European - or Northern White - culture, long before John Bull and immeasurably more valid, more connected than the morbid, touchstone, tribal posturings of the SNP, the BNP, Plaid Cymru, Ulster's pestilential Kneecappers and sour-faced, joyless Orange undertakers, all rooted not in Earth, Water, Fire and Air but in hangings, arson, rape, torture, mayhem and martyrdom, Christian Age alpha male shit.</span></div><div style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: medium;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="600" data-original-width="800" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOiNuv7PFkR4AM9fIX1Sma3I1Vcb9C3AHIGHLsqosV40wm35AwwWDzzMj_nN5hh5xf_eIlzSWH1vJeuyjDIcmePFCNfISPYkHTZv1-LZzPMEkPY3GR4-PqN_F-CwL6Qq8xv9yahvbEiy8aymzTriSDxF84YzA2lojGyVYm00WK9g3uoWL7T_f4NGDkHlQ/w400-h300/Green_Man_-_St._Magnus_Cathedral_-_Kirkwall.jpg" width="400" /></div></div><div style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: medium;"><span style="font-size: large;">As the Green Man carved surreptitiously by apostate joiners in ostensibly Christian Saxon and Norman Churches hung-on, in hiding, these pagan seasonal customs clung, too, Bowdlerised and adapted, the Furry Dance, the joyful Mayday cock-worship, a clandestine, Earth-worshipping Resistance movement; the ringed stones of Wiltshire and Gloucester and Orkney attracting all sorts, freaks and Wiccans and libertines but many more just vaguely aware of bigger, eternal patterns, of a pre-programmed, stellar air-conditioner, whirring through Time, ventilating Life.</span></div><div style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: medium;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: medium;"><span style="font-size: large;">For the longest time, perhaps until the gaudy arriviste iconoclasm of Thatcher's brigandage, we - maybe unknowingly - heard the old prayers and feared the old gods. </span></div></span></span></div>call me ishmaelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14369028864168461729noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6065998731267025499.post-13274612910898841802023-12-17T19:09:00.001+00:002023-12-17T19:09:07.095+00:00The Sunday Ishmael: 17/12/2023<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1944" data-original-width="2155" height="361" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-QyJw1OZ45iD_i-yYp1q4NChhh5YlJobgsQnGNU-0SSBT3e49q6RnhBcM5cVr5JqHw5o3u8ZXjoeD7l2_BsMl8ier82bBOwrmn923_oxy9GcmKXG8e7wVR9cP2UsgD_m1WsbnFGkE4VU6xErsHbCNL3A5fD2QhAJ5HLAGwskAzskxVVATt6Dm8H_BYKE/w400-h361/Baroness%20Mone.jpg" width="400" /></div><br /><p style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; border: 0px; line-height: 1.8; margin: 0px 0px 12px; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; text-align: left; vertical-align: baseline;"></p><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><span>You'd think, with all his money, that chubby hubby, Doug TummyBellyBarrowman could afford to buy a shirt and jacket combination to cover his straining hairy paunch. But maybe the infamous "advisers" alluded to by Baroness Moan in the Laura Kuenssberg Show this morning suggested he appear on telly looking fat and poor all the better to personify the couple's chosen victim identity. Those "advisers" presumably were the same ones that instructed the Baroness to lie through her teeth about not having any personal advantage from the two massively generous PPE contracts awarded by the government in 2020 - the first contract valued at £80.85 million for the supply of </span><span><span style="background-color: white;"><span> 210 million facemasks, the second valued at £122 million for the supply of 25 million surgical gowns.</span><span style="text-wrap: nowrap;"><span> </span><span>B</span></span></span><span style="background-color: white;">oth contracts were awarded without competitive tenders under the Covid-19 emergency regulations that waived normal requirements. The Baroness told Laura that she phoned Michael Gove and said she could help out. Matt Hancock, au contraire, Minister for Health at the time, described her lobbying as being extraordinarily aggressive and threatening. Despite repeated, emphatic, consistent and determined denials through their lawyers, turns out that the beneficiary of these contracts, PPE Medpro Ltd., is a company close to the heart and wallet of Chubby Hubby TummyBellyBorrowman. Last month, a </span></span><span><span style="background-color: white; color: #202122;"><span>representative acting for Barrowman confirmed that half the money required upfront was "provided by the Family Office of Doug Barrowman", part of the Knox firm ultimately controlled by Barrowman which manages his private wealth.</span><span style="text-wrap: nowrap;"> </span></span><span style="background-color: white; color: #202122;">The representative also said that Barrowman "was the chairman and leader of the PPE Medpro consortium that supplied the </span><span>UK government”. And £60 million is the profit that is sitting in the coffers of the Knox Firm - at least, until the Government enquiry and police investigations have concluded and the Covid profiteers have had their unholy profits (or returns on a high risk investment, as Chubby Hubby put it) sequestered by the State.<br /></span></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><span><span>They can't have done themselves any favours, Mr. and Mrs. Mone- Barrowman, with their stage-managed interview with Laura. Despite their determination to present themselves as innocent victims of something or other, inadvertent glimpses into their tortuously complicated financial arrangements were revealed. "<i>It's not my money, its his. If he divorced me or died, I wouldn't have any money, because its his." <br /></i></span></span></span><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><span><span>"<i>No, there's no yacht. What Yacht?</i>" </span></span></span></div><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><img border="0" data-original-height="181" data-original-width="303" height="239" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiF0JmIAK16d2-CMMApHNxMzjmCOrK2eNsZL7aAmrIPDRV6cL5xvHa6zEQnN91Cl2iQh9TpgmKoVAj1u1yu_txXn-Vvm89qWpRJ_9Y4XR09WsxLBw6dT4MPqqMAkojrtfjrSoVX9I6VuxNR2FD6nnkUouX3fsw6Rkzt2s3CZ9x6vTUIiiwypkGjSJ5Oy9U/w400-h239/Baroness%20Mone's%20yacht.jpg" width="400" /><br /></span><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><span>The one you posted a picture of yourself aboard - <i>the Lady M</i>, For Fuck's Sake.<br /></span></span><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><span><span>The Baroness, a creature of Baron Call Me Dave, has form for mendaciousness and dodgy practice. Basically a pushy Weegie, a 15 year old school leaver with no qualifications, Mone, by her own admission, invented qualifications to secure a marketing job with the Labatt brewing company. She was subsequently made redundant. </span></span><sup class="reference" id="cite_ref-Observer_3-4" style="background-color: white; color: #202122; line-height: 1; text-wrap: nowrap; unicode-bidi: isolate;"></sup><span style="background-color: white; color: #202122;">Mone's company, MJM International paid a substantial sum of money into a controversial </span>tax avoidance<span style="background-color: white; color: #202122;"> scheme, criticised by then- </span>Chancellor<span style="background-color: white; color: #202122;"> </span>George Osborne<span style="background-color: white; color: #202122;"> as "morally repugnant".<span style="text-wrap: nowrap;"> It had to be bad for Bukkake George to find it repugnant. </span></span><span style="background-color: white; color: #202122;">Mone said she had "not done anything wrong" in relation to tax avoidance and that her ex-husband had "dealt with all the finance". Seems both her husbands are a bit nifty with the cash.<br /></span></span><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #202122;">What else? Oh, yes, </span><span style="background-color: white; color: #202122;"> </span><span style="background-color: white; color: #202122;">in</span><span style="background-color: white; color: #202122;"> 2006 MJM entered the weight loss market, with Mone promoting a weight loss pill called Trim Secrets, </span><span style="background-color: white; color: #202122;">falsely claiming the product had been proven in clinical trials. However, when questioned further, she said that approximately 60 users had completed a questionnaire but she was unable to produce the results.<span style="text-wrap: nowrap;"> </span></span><span style="background-color: white; color: #202122;">A spokesman for the</span><span style="background-color: white; color: #202122;"> </span>British Dietetic Association<span style="background-color: white; color: #202122;"> </span><span style="background-color: white; color: #202122;">said "there is no scientific basis or rationale for these products, they are making claims which are unfounded and feeding into public confusion." Could try giving ChubbyHubby the Trim pills.</span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #202122;"><br /></span></span><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">Anything else? </span></div><ul style="text-align: left;"><li><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">An </span><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"> incomplete £250 million residential development in Dubai, </span></li></ul><ul style="text-align: left;"><li><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">a bitcoin disaster, </span></li></ul><ul style="text-align: left;"><li><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">milking her baronetcy for publicity purposes whilst hardly ever showing up in the Lords - By early 2022, Mone had made only five speeches in the House of Lords and asked 22 written questions. In December 2022, her spokesperson said she was taking a leave of absence from the House of Lords with immediate effect "in order to clear her name of the allegations that have been unjustly levelled against her". She had not spoken in a debate since March 2020 and had last voted in April 2022.</span></li></ul><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">Then there's the Employment Tribunals:<br /></span><ul style="text-align: left;"><li><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">Hugh McGinley settled out of court with MJM after making a claim of constructive dismissal. He told a tribunal hearing in 2014: “If staff got on the wrong side of Michelle Mone, their lives would be made hell.”</span></li><li><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="color: #141414;"><span style="font-size: large;">S</span><span style="font-size: large;">cott Kilday, operations director at MJM International, had his office bugged and Mone listened to the tapes for signs of disloyalty. He won his case for unfair dismissal in 2014 and </span></span><span style="font-size: large;">was awarded £15,920 in compensation. </span><span style="font-size: large;">Employment judge Shona MacLean said: “The fact a recording device was placed in his office was, in the tribunal’s view, conduct likely to destroy or seriously damage the degree of trust and confidence an employee is entitled to have in his employer.”</span></span></li></ul><p></p><div style="background-color: white; margin: 0.5em 0px 1em; text-align: left;"><ul style="text-align: left;"><li style="color: #202122;"><span style="color: #141414;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><p style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; border: 0px; line-height: 1.8; margin: 0px 0px 12px; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">In 2006, Claire Woods was awarded £10,680 in compensation for discrimination against her on the basis of her pregnancy. </p></span></span></li><li><div style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; border: 0px; line-height: 1.8; margin: 0px 0px 12px; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><span style="color: #141414;">Mone's former office manager Mark Ali lodged his claim with the Employment Tribunal alleging </span><span style="color: #202122;"> </span><span style="color: black;">bullying</span><span style="color: #626262;"> , </span>harassment, sexual discrimination and failure to pay wages.</span></div></li></ul><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">But what about the 25 million surgical gowns? Not fit for purpose. Never been worn. Stored away on rather a lot of shelves somewhere.</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="background-color: white; font-size: large;">Just can't fault Baron Call Me Dave's ability to pick a wrong 'un.</span></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="background-color: white; font-size: large;">What <i><b>could </b></i>he have seen in her?</span></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: times;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1415" data-original-width="736" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRtndThkRNjUdGXfo3COfu4GH1VCEZ-0qkhJdqUNpZN1Y2eIdJBtzigZHdPs_SljirOnOiQFnNEfz1FNn8B3m4IE9Hf-38RgopK986XhJmtcKwPmcz7RK4fCfAPq161pmnzqG-ci8Oq6agHAzdA_3j2IVccurdfgPS_-JU91wTL1UJOE51wDGnu6L9ZP4/w208-h400/michelle%20mone.jpg" width="208" /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: times;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: times;"><div><b><span style="font-size: large;">Malapropism Contest</span></b></div><div><b><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></b></div><div><span style="font-size: large;">Nobody had a go at this contest, which is a big disappointment, cos I think they are funny. They are both the inadvertent invention of mr ishmael's dyslexic assistant, who was keen on well-known phrases or sayings to add colour to his every-day speech, but inevitably got them tangled up. They entered the lexicography of our family and I've almost forgotten the correct phrases. Anyway, here are the answers:</span></div><div><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7PloUm8rlQnTZhYA_ToZVhkyUnj4lbrK_9tez-unx0qQ_9_SO2vK_-bdCBCuk3z1D5EnMjSM4nyjO-iCknFKNYZPrOtqWsh-2ShvhxiTGGMCbuurxedquVfqXE2Fj5x6hqUGHdXymmjhUEuEwY7gW-B_hI66pGy4UvNM6Bby8FVqGxnHJN2Dc56NfZTE/w320-h240/square%20pag.gif" width="320" /></div><div><div><span style="font-size: large;"><b>It's back to Square Peg One.</b> This is a neat amalgamation of <i>square peg in a round hole </i>and<i> back to square one. </i>The meaning of being a square peg in a round hole is that of </span><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="text-align: start;">a </span>person<span style="text-align: start;"> whose </span>character<span style="text-align: start;"> makes them </span>unsuitable<span style="text-align: start;"> for the </span>job<span style="text-align: start;"> or other </span>position<span style="text-align: start;"> they are in: however, those familiar with pegged furniture know that a square peg in a round hole usually secures a snug fit, as the peg, or wedge, well-soaked prior to insertion by way of a mallet, will, on drying out, hold things together in a most satisfactory way. Meanings often shift in this way. Take "bodger" for example - these days a bodger is someone who makes a mess of things, whereas a bodger used to be a skilled craftsperson who made chair legs. "Sophisticated" now means "h</span></span><span style="background-color: white; color: #111111; text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;">aving, revealing, or involving a great deal of worldly experience and knowledge of fashion and culture:"</span></span></div><div><span style="background-color: white; color: #111111; text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;">It used to mean a sly liar - like sophistry</span></span></div><div><br style="font-size: x-large;" /></div></div><div><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_BAF_xLSf45KD1PQhZAI4m2q-RrbcyoGPyi9OsW88-J3EotSivhw3lojEXmYtuhyphenhyphenvvJBK_xUyRAIYUcybQsCibOqT7NtFS0sIvHLyD6vahmN9j5K0otnYCGZof3kQNMiYQAXRvapFzi7Bs901rlOsrQF_xv388nFoEQh6yN5dlllGyD03RMABStaatbA/w320-h320/cat%20and%20mackerel.jpg" width="320" /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;"><b>It takes a Cat to Scratch a Mackerel.</b></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;">This one is sheer delight - the correct phrase is: <i>it takes a sprat to catch a mackerel, </i>the meaning being that you have to sacrifice a little fish to catch a big fish.</span></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div></span></div><br /><span style="background-color: white; font-size: large;"><b>Cry God for England, Harry and St. George!</b></span></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="background-color: white; font-size: large;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="background-color: white; font-size: large;">In other matters, turns out Harry was right and Mirror Group Newspapers are a <b>bad lot. </b>He's been a</span></span><span style="background-color: white; font-variant-ligatures: common-ligatures; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">warded £140,600 in damages after the judgement ruled that several articles were the product of hacking or unlawful information gathering. </span></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="background-color: white; font-variant-ligatures: common-ligatures; text-align: left;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgPSSa_DKSrSuz2O0MZvpO8ag9NpYcQOfHmkkRcAWJFUHr_KxyZkgNhmeKYVZnTpkjDgzM57VvuoEcqz9hyphenhyphen1o42TM0QWk-QS-80SwftuB5mNHtl7h6s5woGZqxVbH0zhQkeobykURDNCr46GM7MGrg9mbA_i_dr5wrD7W7w9qGN3EKsPyZ5E14xN4Bszhs/s736/Harry's%20hell.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="414" data-original-width="736" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgPSSa_DKSrSuz2O0MZvpO8ag9NpYcQOfHmkkRcAWJFUHr_KxyZkgNhmeKYVZnTpkjDgzM57VvuoEcqz9hyphenhyphen1o42TM0QWk-QS-80SwftuB5mNHtl7h6s5woGZqxVbH0zhQkeobykURDNCr46GM7MGrg9mbA_i_dr5wrD7W7w9qGN3EKsPyZ5E14xN4Bszhs/w400-h225/Harry's%20hell.jpg" width="400" /></a></div></span><span style="background-color: white; font-family: times; font-size: large; font-variant-ligatures: common-ligatures; text-align: left;">His lawyer read out his triumphant statement, announcing that it was a Great Day For Truth. Careful, Harry - it rather puts one in mind of Jonathon Aitken's sword of truth; and it really didn't end well for him:</span></div><b><i><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">"</span><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">If it falls to me to start a fight to cut out the cancer of bent and twisted journalism in our country with the simple sword of truth and the trusty shield of British fair play, so be it. I am ready for the fight. The fight [is] against falsehood and those who peddle it. My fight begins today. Thank you and good afternoon."</span></i></b><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br />This is why Aitken took up his trusty sword - on 10 April 1995, <i>The Guardian</i> carried a front-page report on Aitken's dealings with leading Saudis. The story was the result of a long investigation carried out by journalists from the newspaper and from <i>Granada Television's World in Action</i> programme. <i>The Guardian</i> also alleged Aitken, when Minister for Defence Procurement, procured prostitutes for Arab businessmen. <i>Granada's World in Action</i> programme repeated the accusation in a television documentary called <i>Jonathan of Arabia</i>. Aitken called a press conference at the Conservative Party offices in London, at 5 p.m. that same day denouncing the claims and demanding that the <i>World in Action</i> documentary, which was due to be screened three hours later, withdraw them. </span><span face="sans-serif" style="background-color: white; color: #202122; font-size: 14px;"> </span><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">The documentary was transmitted and Aitken sued. The case collapsed in June 1997 (a month after he had lost his seat in the 1997 general election) when T<i>he Guardian </i>and <i>Granada</i> produced, via their counsel George Carman QC, evidence countering his claim that his wife, Lolicia Aitken, paid for the hotel stay at the Ritz Hotel in Paris. The evidence consisted of airline vouchers and other documents showing that his wife had, in fact, been in Switzerland at the time when she had allegedly been at the Ritz in Paris. The joint <i>Guardian/Granada</i> investigation indicated an arms deal scam involving Aitken's friend and business partner, the Lebanese businessman Mohammed Said Ayas, a close associate of Prince Mohammed of Saudi Arabia. It was alleged that Aitken had been prepared to have his teenage daughter Victoria lie under oath to support his version of events, had the case continued. </span><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">Aitken was charged with perjury and perverting the course of justice and, after pleading guilty on 8 June 1999 to both offences, was sentenced to jail for 18 months of which he served almost seven months. </span><br /><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">You've just got to be careful when you take to the law. Here's mr ishmael on the notorious Aitken, in an essay from the latest anthology curated by editor mr verge, Flush Test.</span><br /><br /><br /><br /><span style="font-family: courier;">Jonathan Aitken, the disgraced former Tory cabinet minister who was jailed for perjury, will be rehabilitated into the political frontline tomorrow when he takes charge of a task force on prison reform that will help formulate Conservative policy. the Guardian, Nov 11, 2007</span><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"> </span><div><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">You don’t imagine, do you, that Aitken knows anything about the real hardship faced by ordinary people who land on the Go To Jail square, who lose their homes and families, come out without a pot to piss in? This is just a way back into the corridors of power and greed. Do you really think that Aitken’s self-publicity about writing letters for cons qualifies him to pronounce on penal reform? (None of them, you know, can write, or tie up their shoe-laces without some bent, corrupt-in-the-blood toff like Aitken extending the hand of phony christian charity, miserable fucking self-aggrandising Godless heathen bastard.) Some poor bastard who’s had a lifetime of kickings from the screws, thrown out time after time with a hundred quid to build a new life and family and home, maybe he might have something useful to say. Upper class penal reformers like The Howard League and the unlamented Home Office sycophants at NACRO have succeeded in keeping the nick much as it was in the days of the Victorian penitentiary, only without the penitence. Another cunt like Aitken poncing a position and a wholly undeserved public voice on the backs of the poor, the lost and the mentally ill who constitute a large part of the jail population will help ensure things stay much as they are. The remedy to the prison crisis is straightforward enough for anyone with the political will. Legalise drugs and cut more than half of crime at a stroke. Even the cops say this is overdue. Employ graduates in the nick - as in the probation and social services - for those who must be incarcerated and whom we really don’t want to reoffend on release. Properly resource the probation service after a decade of it being fucked about by populist clowns like Himmler Straw and the mouthy gabshite Blunkett. Devise meaningful and productive community sentences for lesser offences and do some of this fucking “investment” that the mad cunt Brown blethers about in mental health services. Stop using the nicks as cheap hospitals for disturbed people. </span></div><div><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">There. Job done. Remedy from Polish plumber. Perhaps Mr Nit-Picking Fucking Anonymous will forward it to Ian and Duncan Smith’s Independent Think Tank, in which it will, no doubt, promptly fucking drown. Aitken has done his time, and given his breach of trust and his cynical use of his own children, a custodial sentence was quite appropriate. He shouldn’t be further punished but his crimes were so fucking obnoxious, so absolutely inexcusable by hardship or illness or need or disadvantage that he has no business pronouncing or “advising” on public policy. The Rehabilitation of Offenders Act is, as the great Polish playwright says, honoured more in the breach than the observance. Exclusions abound and it is virtually meaningless; it is nigh on impossible for a former convict to have a normal life ever again and this may be, in the scheme of things, understandable and even proper. What is not understandable or proper, however, is Lord Jeffrey Arsehole and the arsonist Lord Mike Watson* of Scotland retaining seats in the legislature, or the lying cunt Aitken being involved, at any level, in something as important as penal reform - and in whatever else he most assuredly hopes it will lead him to, the vile bastard. </span></div><div><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;">* Baron Watson of Invergowrie was expelled from the Labour Party in 2005 when he was imprisoned for setting fire to the curtains in an Edinburgh hotel’s reception following the Scottish Politician of the Year Awards. (Gotta say it : honest, not invent.) Readmitted to the Party in 2012; made Labour spokesman on Education in the Lords by Jeremy Corbyn in 2015. - (editor verge)<br /><br /></span><span style="font-size: large;">This, and much, much more can be found in the four-volume</span> <span style="font-size: large; text-align: center;">Call Me Ishmael oeuvre, collected by editor mr verge.</span><div style="font-size: x-large; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="font-size: x-large; text-align: center;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRJCv9T1Bcq1AFtN1lgllwI1UnV6D1vSFcIIlK4GDHxh2AIm4ZvLVr35fOuHfIdaQZMam0fpwx4_T2KOJJOfkTpjdj-77dcyQtI6IJ3UVRMxaxYJ12yGgEBvJEB9w2Q74dpp0wYjJj2eI/w320-h212/thumbnail_COVER1+%25282%2529.png" /></div><div style="font-size: x-large; text-align: center;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgB-6JNv0jzD-R6hVIQdseWlNzsQLWKPechwQLF-xBeWkTc2KBvQxd80TyV3YWU9LaKJXse5ACodyzCVXD4dj6Tauuh5V_qW3-aky-yLGAJoMA9jgq45-i8TSb1KkijC-XCS5HDiFBEO5s/s320/vent+stack.png" /></div><div style="font-size: x-large; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="font-size: x-large; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="font-size: x-large; text-align: center;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjdQlcfm-4zheOEcRYhuwdhvN3DhLeGtm_lQC_27iRcmVLSW44CpLdukXz8QTXTWfOLCzUEY2jsIVynLG9DlbzcCZtbaD13WF_XDyKjNpuEdecwGCEX9ypq4nAjH3gm7pXxVODPXhlKtXxMg48D41QCsTG_hVYJUMIZ7N_bSjdRdYMGRalX1IWsAoR7/s320/Ishmael" /></div><div style="font-size: x-large; text-align: center;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEip2EzAoKCLON9L8HJyC277gD1ITzLx35xSCKihjE4TB61OSh9LSeBcqfZ9iJC-nbiwe9U3ZMyHAminiob0CmWfcHHu4r491WHBWKcz4U1ywHvGM11tl-yds2PLCJaMecibLj6MhGLKfVMuR0SiAAHwOttqy6tLWBip7Wgpl56dGFLiQt3ij_6tBtNcSp8/w283-h400/Flush%20Test.jpg" /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;">Honest Not Invent, Vent Stack, Ishmael’s Blues, and the latest, Flush Test (with a nice picture of the late, much lamented, Mr Harris of Lanarkshire taking a piss on a totem pole) are available from Lulu and Amazon. If you buy from Amazon, it would be nice if you could give a review on their website.</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;">Ishmaelites wishing to buy a copy from lulu should follow these steps :</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;">please register an account first, at lulu.com. This is advisable because otherwise paypal seems to think it's ok to charge in dollars, and they then apply their own conversion rate, which might put the price up slightly for a UK buyer. Once the new account is set up, follow one of the links below (to either paperback or hardback) or type "Ishmael’s Blues" into the Lulu Bookstore search box. Click on the “show explicit content” tab, give the age verification box a date of birth such as 1 January 1960, and proceed.</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;">Link for Hardcover : https://tinyurl.com/je7nddfr</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;">Link for Paperback : https://tinyurl.com/3jurrzux</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;">https://www.lulu.com/shop/ishmael-smith/flush-test/paperback/product-9yjvn7.html?q=Flush+Test&page=1&pageSize=4</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;">At checkout, try WELCOME15 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.</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;">With the 15% voucher, PB (including delivery to a UK address) should be £16.84; HB £27.04.</span></div></span><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="786" data-original-width="400" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEijHdbvVpcsLCvewci4g6SY4P9yHaq1E_vn9w9nXYQFoTiF-690VE9ZJc5rt_DhLuk2AD5PF3OCb9jwNogXDPlo0yBYd-cUcF0v9EOfKBCwzvxOTBPjPda-wefRmnETszoSthBGcDRa8KyDCy9whjyybwxWxzbn4UTsfLOCwNY3KeL68u63XFqLvgiHQtM/w204-h400/kilt%20rear%20view.jpg" width="204" /></div><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><div style="text-align: center;">It's the Scottish Budget on Tuesday. Hope they can afford to buy these chaps some underwear.</div></span>call me ishmaelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14369028864168461729noreply@blogger.com17tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6065998731267025499.post-51312428987028344402023-12-10T18:25:00.004+00:002023-12-11T08:31:39.203+00:00The Sunday Ishmael: 10/12/2023<p> </p><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><div style="text-align: center;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiztGk1k0XM8YBacW1RxmPu5OWmjUf5pgHLB9cdmBaVOK-cyQwneBYpf9ThZEE8HKcU18FrIoNVtJ-2twVsRjnDXSjoHJ2Vb62TquOC7UkNPofhyV9MynkiA7ii4IIPAxr0Tg_PPkKJ_6PElV4ET5djdTmLMHKxyCufMgwDAVaYZz27XjjjCSN1qpcFo3w/w400-h400/cameron,%20putin%20and%20cash.jpg" /></div><div style="text-align: center;">Woops, he's done it again! Had an Idea. An Idea, moreover, thoroughly approved of by Bill Browder. Who he? He's the CEO and co-founder of Hermitage Capital Management, which was once the largest foreign portfolio investor in Russia. 10 years ago he had $4.5bn under management, and was the largest single foreign investor in Russia. Browder’s primary investment strategy was shareholder rights activism. He took on large Russian companies such as Gazprom, Surgutneftegaz, Unified Energy Systems, and Sidanco.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">So what's the Baron's Idea? International support for Ukraine's war with Russia is fading, as the conflict drags into its second year. In the United States a Bill to provide more than $60 billion in lethal aid for Ukraine was blocked by Republican Senators. So; Baron Call Me Dave, Britain's Foreign Secretary, has decided that the £278 billion in Russian bank accounts, frozen as a key part of the international sanctions to punish Russia for its invasion of Ukraine, should now be stolen. In his own words:</div><div style="text-align: center;">“Instead of just freezing that money, let’s take that money, spend it on rebuilding Ukraine and that is, if you like, a down payment on reparations that Russia will one day have to pay for the illegal invasion that they’ve undertaken. I’ve looked at all the arguments and so far, I haven’t seen anything that convinces me this is a bad idea.”</div><div style="text-align: center;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhII6b5KXYKycdlwa8hA7OFag62C6x2xkeFcMQvkf_zpYfvJWt18fQldiGo947GT6oqg_vG0TBpGrcVVsHRc0wwtcHpGz6V4VOnUlXpK-9PtuwsXeEdw34QzWzlbGnnRg6xO_JdDgNOLVSlb4mxKZXRzEEjz6EOsEMar3Fh1yjQ3LB4iZNWH2Nrprz3uQ0/w400-h400/Putin%20and%20cash.jpg" /></div><div style="text-align: center;">Okay, Baron, how about that for an argument?</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">I daresay the Baron, before he was a noble gentleman, looked at all the arguments against inserting his privy member into the decapitated head of a pig (allegedly) and didn't see anything that convinced him it was a bad idea. Most of the less privileged classes would have recoiled in horror, saying "you want me to do What? Stick my dong in That? And it's not even cooked?"</div><div style="text-align: center;">Most of us have no problems in grasping the concept that Putin would be pretty hacked-off if Britain steals £278 billion from him and his chums, bearing in mind the fact that Boris Johnson has already made us into The Great Satan with his schoolboyish enthusiasm for joining in with a war that has nothing to do with us and which it is inevitable that Putin will win - <i>me too</i>, he squealed, <i>let me play, too, take their minds off Covid</i>. But of course, Boris is a fellow Bullingdon Boy and he probably looked at all the arguments and didn't find anything to convince him that taking on Russia was a bad idea.</div><div style="text-align: center;">Have you seen the size of the place?</div><div style="text-align: center;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJmn2epowbUUNKbXnZ72NJwUQIw8u-zYWn-SSzsYJwxE23tQlUqNMnPVv9x6EmC_9Z_tM0Q6_0FBJxBpI5a3BmCV6hKpz13jikEmjB-Q_ff3CGzRxWnNiH_bZwpbTJcDvS0M65C_4lb1VGkOuzBAEjwpsBu4vmriGkqLaNsJHTWjk_5oH7ibyNSSZM3p8/w400-h278/russia-map-1.jpg" /></div><div style="text-align: center;">So why is Bill Browder so keen on this Grand Theft Rouble? He's got skin in the game. Basically, he's on the run. In 2013, he was tried in absentia in Russia for tax fraud, convicted and sentenced to imprisonment. Interpol has so far rejected Russian requests to arrest Browder, saying the case was political. He has written a couple of books about his experiences with Putin's Russia:</div><div style="text-align: center;"><img height="267" src="https://cached.imagescaler.hbpl.co.uk/resize/scaleWidth/952/cached.offlinehbpl.hbpl.co.uk/news/OTM/billbrowder-20140530095511444.gif" width="400" /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>Freezing Order</i> and <i>Red Notice</i>. In November 2009, lawyer Sergei Magnitsky was beaten to death by eight police officers in a cell in a Moscow prison, having been imprisoned following testifying against Russian officials who were involved in a conspiracy to steal $230 million of taxes through a tax refund scheme. Browder and his team tracked the money as it flowed out of Russia through the Baltics and Cyprus and on to Western Europe and the Americas, through battles with ruthless oligarchs in post-Soviet Union Moscow, to the heart of the Kremlin.</div><div style="text-align: center;">He was on the Laura Kuenssberg Show this morning, opining that Britain and the US must win their proxy war against Russia, or Russia would next attack Estonia, a NATO ally. Which would require NATO to officially, rather than surreptitiously, join in and thus kick off World War Three. Given his particular experience of the ruthlessness of Putin's Russia, you'd think he would urge caution and not cheer on Baron Dave-I've considered-all-the-arguments..</div><div style="text-align: center;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg2ZXyZirxzITFFmycvnFqLVVjeT7WCXJzTZuEru3JpkiOnGNgUT73myRkPj9-Ic61a6iOYvYPK-uAZAfwU3_67DEyQV0-U-vSu2ufH9Y0w6GroewNUzRXbK7kh9iBu_6q-qPdGIkfmNu2T6p6hx6nUDL4NXLw7OgCY7PIWwOadEhy80sYWPHjrCbRCVQA/w400-h400/Cameron%20and%20machine%20gun.jpg" /></div><div style="text-align: center;">Here's a few thoughts from mr ishmael about the Baron and his Good Ideas:</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">"There is no doubt in my mind about HamFace’s undergrad deviance; end, as they say, of story. I imagine at bedtimes poor Mrs Cormorant is compelled to dress herself from head to foot in suede and utter ecstatic oinks, the whole grisly charade applauded by a quartet of masturbating Old Etonians. Sadly, Cameron, a catastrophically over-promoted airhead, himself starting to pout and mince and play to the gallery of reptiles, combing his hair this way and that, dragooning bloated self-satisfied geriatrics to his cause, adds to the national woe; he is good, as we say in Scotland, for fuck-all; his strategy is Hang On Sloopy, Sloopy Hang On. While the country slides into a sea of shit, David MustaphaWar Cameron, seeks a Thatcher Falklands moment to divert attention from his stupefying, hand-waving, shirt-sleeve, shit-brain, good-for-fuck-all and increasingly bad-tempered maladroitness, before pissed-off British citizens take to the streets burning the useless prat in effigy and with any luck in person, rightly blaming him for EU-led treachery, for inflation, rocketing fuel prices, unemployment, repossessions, the gerryman-dering of boundaries, the rigging of the constitution, the wholly unmandated destruction and privatisation of public services and the shameless, self-interested kowtowing to the financial terrorists who got us all into this shit, all over the fucking world."</div><div style="text-align: center;">...........................................................</div><div style="text-align: center;">The Scottish Sunday Show, compered by the manly Martin Geissler, led this morning on the rejection by the Court of Session of the appeal by the Scottish Government against the UK Government’s Section 35 order imposed to put a stop to the Gender Recognition Reform (Scotland) Bill. The legislation harmed women's rights and was the result of a poor policy process, insincere consultations, partisan lobbying by Stonewall and the Equality Network and evasive debates. The Scottish Government was given legal technical advice to the effect that the legislation was unlawful and that the UK Government would step in. Of course, that's fighting talk to the SNP and so the Bill to allow gender self-identification was passed by a majority. The rest followed, as night follows day, and the Court of Session has vindicated the UK Government's decision to stop the legislation in its tracks. Rather than allowing for a period of reflection and acceptance, the SNP has dressed this up as an attack on devolution itself and is considering how it can go about overturning the legal decision.</div><div style="text-align: center;">A bit like Shifty Sunak's legislation to work around the Supreme Court's judgement against the expensive plan to send a handful of illegal migrants to Rwanda For Fuck's Sake.</div><div style="text-align: center;">Dear Jonathon Sumption, a former Supreme Court Judge, said Shifty Sunak's plan was "profoundly discreditable. If the courts are told [by an Act of Parliament] that they've got to pretend that Rwanda is safe, whether it is or not, then that will work domestically, but it won't work internationally. It will still be a breach of the government's international law obligations. It will be a breach of the refugee treaty. It will be a breach of the rules of customary international law which the government has been promoting and saying covers this obligation for some years." He reckons that Shifty Sunak's proposed legislation, over which Chubby Jenrick</div><div style="text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="267" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGG96iGZEp5sB12y2ZlHSzPHI4x96hyphenhyphen6MNmpySl_1fwxB52NkJqnAWxltFppGLp2WoSXk_x3h0RD-WxYl_4hIrsqlAYnTmqYDeM9eqUWxMLCvazU6NJxInPS9ZVrS6Rub5r55ZVnbvejm6ezgClSgTG9xpTfcCMEvf_n_9FkwHtdU3mLSqlkjn5gJjc5w/w400-h267/Jenrick.jpg" width="400" /></div><div style="text-align: center;">has resigned his post as Immigration Minister, not because it is diabolical but because it is insufficiently rigorous, will not make it through the House of Lords because it is shite. He didn't say that, of course - he's very careful with his <strike>worms</strike> words - he said:</div><div style="text-align: center;">"It would be constitutionally a completely extraordinary thing to do, to effectively overrule a decision on the facts, on the evidence, by the highest court in the land."</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">Back to Scotland - Section 35 of the Scotland Act 1998 is a legal provision that allows the Secretary of State for Scotland to veto a bill passed by the Scottish Parliament. The veto can only be used if the bill is incompatible with international obligations, defence, or national security. The veto is considered a matter of last resort. Shows how incredibly seriously the impact of this gender self-identification Bill on the three other nations within the United Kingdom would have been. The Bill included these provisions:</div></span><div style="text-align: center;"><div style="text-align: center;"><ul><li style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">The age limit for applications to be cut from 18 to 16</span></li><li style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">The requirements for medical reports, including a gender dysphoria diagnosis, will be dropped</span></li><li style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">The period applicants are required to live in their acquired gender will be reduced from two years to three months (and, after an amendment to the legislation was accepted by ministers, to six months for 16 and 17-year-olds)</span></li><li style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">The addition of a three month "reflection period" before a gender recognition certificate is issue</span></li><li style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">Applications will be handled by the Registrar General for Scotland instead of the UK panel</span></li></ul></div><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><div class="ssrcss-11r1m41-RichTextComponentWrapper ep2nwvo0" data-component="text-block" style="background-color: white; border: 0px; color: #141414; font-feature-settings: inherit; font-kerning: inherit; font-optical-sizing: inherit; font-stretch: inherit; font-variant-alternates: inherit; font-variant-east-asian: inherit; font-variant-numeric: inherit; font-variant-position: inherit; font-variation-settings: inherit; line-height: inherit; margin: 1rem 0px; max-width: 36.25rem; padding: 0px; text-align: start; vertical-align: baseline;"><div class="ssrcss-7uxr49-RichTextContainer e5tfeyi1" style="border: 0px; font-feature-settings: inherit; font-kerning: inherit; font-optical-sizing: inherit; font-stretch: inherit; font-style: inherit; font-variant: inherit; font-variation-settings: inherit; font-weight: inherit; line-height: inherit; margin: 0px; overflow-wrap: break-word; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"><p class="ssrcss-1q0x1qg-Paragraph e1jhz7w10" style="border: 0px; font-feature-settings: inherit; font-kerning: inherit; font-optical-sizing: inherit; font-stretch: inherit; font-style: inherit; font-variant: inherit; font-variation-settings: inherit; font-weight: inherit; line-height: inherit; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; text-align: center; vertical-align: baseline;">Ellie Gomersall is a strong supporter of the legislation, which she says would make her life easier and more dignified. <span style="background-color: transparent;">The impact on the wider UK would be that, once Scotland</span><span style="background-color: transparent;"> granted a Gender Recognition Certificate, that person would be legally entitled to be treated as being a member of the chosen gender wherever they travelled or lived. We have already rehearsed in these pages the effect of this on the rights and safety of biological women. Here's one of them:</span></p></div></div></span></div><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;"><div style="text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYnkuohzLDKAFrWXDOX1b_TlBMkooo-0oUK8V0IsdKNnH_GkQZ_0606dP280a2spJwWxApXh-oZZDk0_5JZuq-COUhUdYlBFmOyD_G4QfirsTEG7YCynYaEHcv7cqOC-_P403jr22Nx3eUvuxjdOYSgY2zpdYwc0qWRIuxpp_4-n0fMrVolhoQ8888cPU/w400-h240/trans%20footballer.jpg" width="400" /></div><div style="text-align: center;">Needham, fourth from the left.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">Football player, Francesca Needham, 30, was said to have left her opponents 'terrified' to play against her after Needham broke another player's knee while blocking a shot, citing "safety concerns". Needham is a big, strong transwoman who was born a man.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">Speaking up for the dignity of the Scottish Government on the Martin Geissler Show was Ellie Gomersall, a distressingly ugly transwoman who is, by her own admission, leading an undignified life.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtNWERxPpdoogiTHyfCwxwTTR7s17PrJYRuXUpngFW3kMdlOLukHb-l1fhXTNUKlQJ-o8-jei6zc7wXODg9MroWO9RsewGZG1u6OJfYei_tvfEpSLABunDjq6_Ld_EwL0aFcHjkybaS7skKqkiIvG740UXQrRf4C5_rWl_pmRLdhjRIEKbxznQ29Zeas4/w400-h264/Ellie%20Gomersall.jpg" /></div><div style="text-align: center;">We're not going to hold his/her ugliness against him/her. God knows there's enough formidably ugly biological females around. And I have no doubt that his/her undignified life is a matter of deep distress. (S)he says "I think ultimately the only person who can really describe my own identity, my own gender is me," explaining his/her inability to change his/her birth certificate because (s)he has been unable to acquire a gender recognition certificate - because (s)he has been unable to obtain an initial appointment, let alone a diagnosis of gender dysphoria or the required medical reports, at Glasgow's Sandyford gender identity clinic, one of four facilities run by NHS Scotland. So (s)he wants the law changed. Sounds like there's a great many trans people in Scotland if the four clinics are so over-run that Ellie couldn't get an appointment in five years. It's only a small country, remember. Population of 5,463,300 in 2019. No, its not the ugliness or undignified life. It's the fact that this person has made a career out of gender issues, first in the National Union of Students, then in the Young Greens. Grievance Politics.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><b>Wot's on Telly</b></div><div style="text-align: center;">Dr. Who, with David Tennant. Very stylish, very funny, incredibly gay, written by Russell T. Davies, so it's grooming of the nation stuff. The budget seems to have run to helicopters and explosions. No more shaky scenery.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>mr ishmael</i>: "Across the board, many adults are Woganised, infantilised, unable to bear their own silences, unable to entertain, comfort, amuse or stimulate themselves, millions addicted to the children's programme, Dr Who, pretending to watch it because it is challenging, philosophical, science fictional, tackling difficult issues, when all they are doing is lusting after whichever character</div><div style="text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3RisN6Dqoe3qFOEqc4nGTO-TBBNRpoa3xwM9WQVKGBgM2-qwJjB1l8klZwAAqiWMlXlxVjaEwirfh5m8kecCQzIp8gHHFtfDBrdDGOKhFZCPOpaU5G0xTWgGUN_XJfMDITALsFtAz_JE/w277-h640/kg.jpg" width="277" /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="301" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEijMBj5ec4z7mb_h17GRakBoFomYrUPOQzxrqpM0nBc4EWIn4tSb7ZtGVaxwD-EZfXdPdBgGNOdYITcwoNsPwyDrM_8IfuKGGCe2JlzzTmrrYpfvg0N-nR71FBl0n7lVWteg4-7L61eDok/w400-h301/kg1.jpg" width="400" /></div><div style="text-align: center;">is the current Dr's current jailbait cyber-minx,</div><div style="text-align: center;">IS he gonna fuck her?</div><div style="text-align: center;">Kleptocrats robbing and raping us, angry millions on the move in our direction, ice-caps melting and we lose ourselves in spells and wands and wizards; in Time lords and Daleks; in retreaded galactic wars of empire.</div><div style="text-align: center;">..................................................................</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><b>Malapropism Contest</b></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_BAF_xLSf45KD1PQhZAI4m2q-RrbcyoGPyi9OsW88-J3EotSivhw3lojEXmYtuhyphenhyphenvvJBK_xUyRAIYUcybQsCibOqT7NtFS0sIvHLyD6vahmN9j5K0otnYCGZof3kQNMiYQAXRvapFzi7Bs901rlOsrQF_xv388nFoEQh6yN5dlllGyD03RMABStaatbA/w400-h400/cat%20and%20mackerel.jpg" /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">It takes a Cat to Scratch a Mackerel.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7PloUm8rlQnTZhYA_ToZVhkyUnj4lbrK_9tez-unx0qQ_9_SO2vK_-bdCBCuk3z1D5EnMjSM4nyjO-iCknFKNYZPrOtqWsh-2ShvhxiTGGMCbuurxedquVfqXE2Fj5x6hqUGHdXymmjhUEuEwY7gW-B_hI66pGy4UvNM6Bby8FVqGxnHJN2Dc56NfZTE/w400-h300/square%20pag.gif" /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">It's back to Square Peg One.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">.......................................................................................</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">More extreme political satire can be found in the four-volume Call Me Ishmael oeuvre, the work of editor mr verge.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRJCv9T1Bcq1AFtN1lgllwI1UnV6D1vSFcIIlK4GDHxh2AIm4ZvLVr35fOuHfIdaQZMam0fpwx4_T2KOJJOfkTpjdj-77dcyQtI6IJ3UVRMxaxYJ12yGgEBvJEB9w2Q74dpp0wYjJj2eI/w320-h212/thumbnail_COVER1+%25282%2529.png" /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgB-6JNv0jzD-R6hVIQdseWlNzsQLWKPechwQLF-xBeWkTc2KBvQxd80TyV3YWU9LaKJXse5ACodyzCVXD4dj6Tauuh5V_qW3-aky-yLGAJoMA9jgq45-i8TSb1KkijC-XCS5HDiFBEO5s/s320/vent+stack.png" /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjdQlcfm-4zheOEcRYhuwdhvN3DhLeGtm_lQC_27iRcmVLSW44CpLdukXz8QTXTWfOLCzUEY2jsIVynLG9DlbzcCZtbaD13WF_XDyKjNpuEdecwGCEX9ypq4nAjH3gm7pXxVODPXhlKtXxMg48D41QCsTG_hVYJUMIZ7N_bSjdRdYMGRalX1IWsAoR7/s320/Ishmael" /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEip2EzAoKCLON9L8HJyC277gD1ITzLx35xSCKihjE4TB61OSh9LSeBcqfZ9iJC-nbiwe9U3ZMyHAminiob0CmWfcHHu4r491WHBWKcz4U1ywHvGM11tl-yds2PLCJaMecibLj6MhGLKfVMuR0SiAAHwOttqy6tLWBip7Wgpl56dGFLiQt3ij_6tBtNcSp8/w283-h400/Flush%20Test.jpg" /></div><div style="text-align: center;">Honest Not Invent, Vent Stack, Ishmael’s Blues, and the latest, Flush Test (with a nice picture of the late, much lamented, Mr Harris of Lanarkshire taking a piss on a totem pole) are available from Lulu and Amazon. If you buy from Amazon, it would be nice if you could give a review on their website.</div><div style="text-align: center;">Ishmaelites wishing to buy a copy from lulu should follow these steps :</div><div style="text-align: center;">please register an account first, at lulu.com. This is advisable because otherwise paypal seems to think it's ok to charge in dollars, and they then apply their own conversion rate, which might put the price up slightly for a UK buyer. Once the new account is set up, follow one of the links below (to either paperback or hardback) or type "Ishmael’s Blues" into the Lulu Bookstore search box. Click on the “show explicit content” tab, give the age verification box a date of birth such as 1 January 1960, and proceed.</div><div style="text-align: center;">Link for Hardcover : https://tinyurl.com/je7nddfr</div><div style="text-align: center;">Link for Paperback : https://tinyurl.com/3jurrzux</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">https://www.lulu.com/shop/ishmael-smith/flush-test/paperback/product-9yjvn7.html?q=Flush+Test&page=1&pageSize=4</div> <div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">At checkout, try WELCOME15 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.</div><div style="text-align: center;">With the 15% voucher, PB (including delivery to a UK address) should be £16.84; HB £27.04.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRA7giLBWttr4BJI2Z8uG0mYWi0qiZWNUOO0nkqcwD4bRf1_ahGbeiGjDIU7r0GhHfdv9WfGNJ_C6aBD1bhaJazy2C2evOkjye_NGRXIqM-SGjdlo3lbSwrNCGW29Z-ROm2OyN1jLei0ooROo9jULEur4FCFEueXGFC-SsOO0KfiLlDXFRvXi51lyKnPY/w400-h400/kilt.jpg" /></div></span>call me ishmaelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14369028864168461729noreply@blogger.com12