Anagrammatical Coronation Excess

 

                                                      

Welcome to the ceremony of the strangled hitch-hiker. 

Will canonical queers molt when his totty gets an upgrade? The ritual costs a few quid so keep an eye out for corporate sponsorship on the side of the carriage; apparently Tampax have paid through the nose to remind us that - 

onions tempt rampant playboy.

As for the venue, if bricks could speak the oldies here would cry "tint my sewers, babe", 

and we'd be honour-bound to drop our drawers and comply. 

Uber prices are crazy high on a day like this, but that's ok because the - 

acid-head once ate butthole jism - hurray! 

En route, roofers give Halal scone to very hot Duchess (and not for the first time, I'll warrant.) 

While we wait for the main event, 

Bob, a high church arse, recites pony fart, 

but don't worry, they won't be swearing 

on a Torah, to coin a phrase. 

Then it's up with the 

sect-drawn sword, 

and everyone agrees it's either otiose pussy or a dukedom all round.

Here are the ten anagrams that mr verge has provided for your brain exercise to keep at bay the Alzheimer's. Answers will be provided in due course.

strangled hitch-hiker 

canonical queers molt 

onions tempt rampant playboy 

tint my sewers, babe

roofers give Halal scone to very hot Duchess 

acid-head once ate butthole jism 

Bob, a high church arse, recites pony fart 

 on a Torah, to coin

sect-drawn sword 

otiose pussy or a dukedom 

Caption Contest

Mayday, Mayday

May Morning at Magdalen Tower, by Holman Hunt, in the Birmingham Art Gallery

Happy May Day to you all

The event starts early at 6 a.m. with the Magdalen College Choir singing a hymn, the Hymnus Eucharisticus, from the top of Magdalen Tower, a tradition stretching back over 500 years. 

The choir traditionally also sings a madrigal, Now Is the Month of Maying, 

following prayers for the city led by the Dean of Divinity. Large crowds of both students and Oxford residents normally gather under the tower, along the High Street, and on Magdalen Bridge. Students and fellows of Magdalen College gather in the college cloisters and on top of the other towers within the college grounds. 

This is then followed by general revelry and festivities including Morris dancing in Radcliffe Square between the University Church and the Radcliffe Camera, impromptu music, etc., for a couple of hours from around 6.15am onwards. There is a party atmosphere, despite the early hour. In fact, in some years there are all-night balls the night before, so some people, especially students, are in formal attire.

There is a modern tradition of students jumping from Magdalen Bridge, a tradition mocked by Max Beerbohm in his 1911 dark satire of Oxford life: Zuleika Dobson. The eponymous heroine turns the all-male Oxford University into love-struck fools as the undergraduates fling themselves into the river to die, aesthetically, of course, for love of their femme fatale. It ends with Zuleika boarding a train for Cambridge, which also has a river.

During the covid-19 pandemic lockdowns, May Morning was hosted online in 2020 and 2021. After two years of lockdown, May Morning began again in 2022. Approximately 12,500 people crowded the streets to welcome the return of the festivities.

MAY MORNING by VERA BRITTAIN The rising sun shone warmly on the tower, Into the clear pure Heaven the hymn aspired Piercingly sweet. This was the morning hour When life awoke with Spring's creative power, And the old City's grey to gold was fired. Silently reverent stood the noisy throng; Under the bridge the boats in long array Lay motionless. The chorister's far song Faded upon the breeze in echoes long. Swiftly I left the bridge and rode away. Straight to the little wood's green heart I sped, Where cowslips grew, beneath whose gold withdrawn The fragrant earth peeped warm and richly red; All trace of Winter's chilling touch had fled, And song-birds ushered in year's bright morn.

(starts well, drifts off into cowslippiness)

The Backlash. 

Age cannot wither nor custom stale our infinite contempt for the House of Windsor. I honestly think that these shining ones have no idea of the depth of hostility felt towards them, their institution, their greed and their flexible morality. Because they are surrounded by people who fawn upon them, bow low, give them flowers and wave flags in their faces, in a self-reinforcing, self-affirming loop, they really don't realise that they continue to hang onto power, privilege and untold wealth by the skin of their teeth and think that they can continue to shit in the faces of the poor with impunity, sharing the great latrine of state with the political sleaze-classes: "I say, do pass one the royal bog roll, Groom of the Stool, or the hair of some peasant boy will do, but only if it has been shampooed in royal elixir."

The Mail online is reporting today that both Buckingham Palace and Lambeth Palace were clearly taken aback yesterday by the strength of feeling provoked by the invitation to the people to swear allegiance to His Majesty, and to his heirs and successors - like Prince Gormless, Prince Nazi, the Grand old companion of paedophiles the Duke of York and all their brats and progeny. It all played splendidly into the hands of Republicans and critics of the ceremony generally, sparking an outpouring of comment and criticism on social media. 

Labour MP Clive Lewis told the Guardian that he thought the proposed oath would be 'either unwelcome or ignored by many'.

Republic, the anti-monarchist organisation, said it was 'an offensive and tone-deaf gesture that holds the people in contempt'.

The plan for the ceremony is that the King's Mistress of the Tampax, who was never-going-to-be-called-Queen-but-now-is, will become the first consort in history to be anointed with Holy Oil in full public view. While Charles will be oiled behind a screen in order to protect the solemnity of the moment, Camilla Parker-Bowles-Windsor has dispensed with the canopy previously used by sovereign's wives such as The Queen Mother and Queen Mary.

And all that fire-trucking about on top of Magdalen Tower this morning? It's what they do, down South.

The Sunday Ishmael: 30/04/2023

 

The Homage of the People has been introduced to the Coronation Ceremony to allow “a chorus of millions of voices” to be “enabled for the first time in history to participate in this solemn and joyful moment,” Lambeth Palace has said. 

The Archbishop of Canterbury will call upon “all persons of goodwill in the United Kingdom of Great Britain and Northern Ireland, and of the other realms and the territories to make their homage, in heart and voice, to their undoubted King, defender of all”. The order of service will read: 

“All who so desire, in the abbey, and elsewhere, say together:

“All: I swear that I will pay true allegiance to Your Majesty, and to your heirs and successors according to law. So help me God.”

It will be followed by the playing of a fanfare.

The Archbishop of Canterbury will then proclaim “God Save The King”, with all asked to respond: “God Save King Charles. Long live King Charles. May the King live for ever.”

As we know, those prayers are remarkably effective - the QE2 damn nearly lived forever, so maybe the republicans amongst us should just whisper the last sentence, so God can't hear that bit.

Ah, yes,  the Archbishop of Canterbury - that would be the same Archbishop Welby who resisted calls to resign after the publication in October 2020 of the Independent Inquiry into Sexual Abuse in the Anglican Church, which revealed that the church put its own reputation above protecting children abused by clergy. It recommended that the responsibility to keep children safe is removed from bishops because they give alleged paedophiles more support than their child victims. It also stated that sexual abuse continues: there were 449 reports in 2018. Hundreds of paedophiles have been harboured by the Church over almost 70 years, the report found, undermining its 'moral purpose' as a Christian institution. From the 1940s to 2018, 390 clergy or people in positions of trust associated with the Church have been convicted of sexual offences against children.  The Inquiry was set up by Theresa May in 2014 following the Jimmy Savile scandal, 

and amounts to a wholesale condemnation of the attitudes to sex abuse held by both bishops and more junior clergy.

Notice the handshake between Bishop Balls and Brian

The Inquiry said that Bishop Peter Ball, a friend of the Prince of Wales, who was jailed for 32 months in 2015 for sex abuse against boys carried out over three decades, had been allowed to continue unchecked after being first caught in 1993 because of the liberality of a former Archbishop of Canterbury, Lord Carey, who refused to believe the allegations against Ball or acknowledge the seriousness of them, regardless of evidence. The Inquiry said that Carey was outspoken in his support of the bishop, adding: 'He seemingly wanted the whole business to go away.' 

King Charles III, of course is notorious for his close friendships with paedophiles: an aide was quoted in the Mail in 2012 as saying: Saville's "bling and his tracksuits made him rather unconventional and I think that was appealing to Prince Charles. Like the fool in King Lear, he was allowed to say things to Prince Charles that other courtiers weren’t."

When Savile died, Charles led the tributes to him, saying his death had left him ‘incredibly saddened’. Savile is now known to have been a predatory paedophile who abused as many as 300 child victims. Charles apparently considers his friendship with Saville and his request to him to provide marital counselling to his wife, who was just  18 years old to his 31 at the start of their relationship, to be a bit of a mistake. Like his friendship with Bishop Balls. 

All water under the bridge, now, of course, as was the undertaking that the King's mistress, Camilla Parker-Bowles, would never be known as Queen.

Following the publication of the Inquiry into Anglican child sex abuse, Archbishop Welby admitted he understood why victims were asking for him to resign, but he insisted he was better staying in the role to continue his work.

The Heads of the Anglican and the Roman Church, enjoying an ecumenical laugh together

Since we are preparing to celebrate the coronation of King Charles III on Saturday, it is timely to revisit The Princes and The Paedos, by mr ishmael:

 Prince JugEars manages to evade any scrutiny whatsoever about his lengthy personal relationship with the late Sir Jimmy Savile. This excuse for a man who would be king can count himself lucky he’s not in the Tower or at the very least in the crosshairs of Operation Yewtree’s investigation into Savile-related crimes. The press should be in full, hot pursuit. 

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

Oh, Sir Jimmy, you are almost as funny as the Goons, did one tell you that one can do a rather good impersonation of Seagoon, oneself? It’s like that Ishmael chappie says, there really is no business like show-business. Unless it’s the royalty business. Or are they much the same?

 It wasn’t just so-called charity meetings, however, which brought Brian and Jimmy together. Brian absolutely doted on him - enough reason, right there, for him to be barred from the throne - allowing him unprecedented access to both Highgrove and Clarence House, where it appears that Savile wandered in and out at will, molesting staff, slobbering over them*, no doubt to the Prince’s great amusement. Brian had Savile sit in on interviews conducted to select courtier-ponces and secretary-slags, allowing him the final word on who was to be, whatever it is called, Principal Private Secretary to his Highness, some such propaganda post. Savile’s opinion was canvassed by Brian on NHS reform; seriously. Savile, lest we need reminding, was a semi-literate buffoon, patently a bully and clearly a man of - at the very least -  questionable character. Brian, nevertheless, permitted Savile to edit and amend royal speeches and correspondence; maybe he had a hand in the infamous Spider Letters, in that scandal of royal meddling, the story of which the PBC has so bravely buried, at Brian’s insistence, an odious secrecy in which successive Attorneys General have colluded. Brian, quite improperly, has been lobbying ministers to change their policies and now that the Guardian is trying to see the relevant letters it has been told that the half-wit’s princely meddling is a matter of national security and to fuck off.

 *“Dickie Arbiter, who handled media relations for the Prince and Princess of Wales while spokesman for the Queen between 1988 and 2000, said the suspected paedophile TV presenter used to rub his lips up the arms of Prince Charles's young female assistants as a greeting.”

“Charles reportedly sent him a box of cigars and a pair of gold cufflinks on his 80th birthday with a note that read: Nobody will ever know what you have done for this country Jimmy. This is to go some way in thanking you for that."

The Guardian, 29 Oct 2012

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

and welcomed him regularly into her family home.

One must wonder which areas of public policy benefited from Sir Jimmy's wise scrutiny, either personally or as amanuensis to the dunderhead Prince of Wales.  Savile often shrugged-off questions about his sexuality with threats of friends in high places, as well as low. They don't come much higher than  the residents of Downing Street and the palaces.

We are expected to believe that the highest, brightest, best-informed and-advised  people in the land suspected nothing, heard no alarm bells as they scampered about the corridors of power in the company of this repulsive creature, telling him god-knows-what, providing wholly inappropriate sinecures. A prince or a cabinet minister need only have picked up a phone to learn the truth about Savile; even back then there were rumours which should have deterred any intimacy with the Beast of Broadmoor; we are asked to believe that no one in the palace or in Downing Street thought to run a check on such an extraordinarily presumptuous, eccentric and menacing freak.

There are only two explanations for Jimmy Savile’s having enjoyed the royal and ministerial imprimatur: either, firstly, everyone concerned in Savile’s license and promotion is unpardonably stupid, naive, wretchedly incompetent and thus unfit for office (and this applies, also, to their courtiers, SPADs and bag-carriers) or, secondly, at least one prime minister but probably more and the entire house of Battenberg-Windsor are part of the Paedophile Establishment. There is no other reasonable explanation, for until, after his death, a few victims spoke out, the whole of showbiz, royalty and politics bust a gut eulogising Sir James. Now, they expect us to believe that those who take us to war, plan our futures, guard our treasure and manage our daily affairs as well as those who will so lavishly and comfortably rule over us were all fooled, beguiled by this gross mutant, Savile, as though he didn’t have Child Molester written all over him. The reality of course is that there are enough fellow-travellers in high place, in palaces, courts, constabularies, secretariats and newsrooms to make easy Savile’s path and, coincidentally, their own.

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

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

All engines, full ahead-astern

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

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

ran the fucking thing aground. 
The records show nothing of this, instead, First Lieutenant JugEars is compared favourably to Admiral Horatio Nelson, but I remember it well. In 1995, as  Prince Biggles, the fucking nincompoop,  was landing a plane of the Queen's Flight in the Hebrides, he royally crashed it.  The board of enquiry ruled that the official pilot, a common serviceman, and not Brian - who was actually flying the fucking thing - was to blame.

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

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

Best of all, if you can call anything about the royals best, Savile was appointed by Brian to ensure that in the days around her wedding to  Andrew, the bride-to-be, Sloane-slapper Sarah Ferguson, behaved herself so as not to embarrass the throne, as if such a thing was possible, greedy, grubby, cowardly fucking slags that they are. That’s right, it is a matter of record; Savile, protecting the reputation of the House of Windsor. At the request of the heir to the throne, who appointed his kingdom's biggest sex criminal to keep things proper, tickety-boo, and above board. 

Mr and Mrs Battenberg-Slag

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

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

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

 Discredit us, fuck me gently, way to go, Maggie.  But you get the point,  even Margaret Rose, thwarted in marriage by her big sister and thereafter a freeloading,  pisshead,  trampy wreck, even Margaret was incensed  at Sarah's haughty sluttishness.

  
 Brian, having consistently and contemptibly betrayed and bullied his own child bride,

 
 poor, mad Diana Spencer, driven her from her wits, 
such few as she possessed, 

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

 - not their marriage guidance counsellor, hers. 

Poor girl, married to a much older man, a pampered loser, a pig, a brat and an oaf who not only from the word Go! cheats on her with another man’s wife - it is, incidentally, in the armed forces,  of which Brian is many commanders, supposedly infra-dig, a duelling matter, to fuck a fellow officer’s Mrs - but also briefs against her in the shitpress and conspires against her with his loathsome courtier-dingleberries. By now the mother of his children, Diana is victimised by simpering palace cocksuckers and by Brian’s own wretchedly inept and grotesque parents. As if all this wasn’t enough mistreatment, her husband now seeks to deliver her into the hands of the United Kingdom’s most infamous child sex offender.         

 No wonder the poor woman went nuts.

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

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

The crash-landing incident happened on the Hebridean Isle of Islay in 1994. Prince Charles was at the controls of the Queen's Flight passenger jet when it overshot the runway. The crash left the royal plane face down in the dirt.

 Squadron Leader Graham Laurie, the pilot at the time, was later found to have been negligent in allowing the Prince to take the controls. There were no reported injuries. In a later Channel 5 documentary, Laurie said “with hindsight…I should have got him to overshoot and make another approach but I actually told him to land so he did exactly what he was told to do.” In the same programme, “plane expert” Keith Wilson said “The damage was well in excess of a million pounds - but then to be fair, any aircraft accident is always expensive.” In July the following year (1995) St James’s Palace announced that Prince Charles had given up his license to fly.

 *  *  *

 “The DJ was given an unlikely character reference by Charles's favourite uncle, Lord (Louis or 'Dickie') Mountbatten - the peer had reportedly known Savile since the 1960s - which further smoothed his path into the royal circle. (Since Mountbatten's death in an IRA bomb explosion in 1979, FBI files from the 1940s have emerged alleging that Lord Louis had “a perversion for young boys”.)

Daily Mail, April 6/7, 2022

*          *          *

Didn't he do well, Guys and Gals, to not only survive all that lot, to outlive scandals, to mount his mistress on the throne of Britain, to have the Stone of Destiny reverentially conveyed from Scotland to be placed beneath the Royal Arse, but, crowning jest, to have us all declaim on Saturday: "Long live King Charles. May the King live for ever.”

Last week, our colleague, mr mike, told us: "I should be in Irun in the SW corner of France for the off on Sunday. Walking along the north coast of Spain, then inland over mountains to Santiago. All being well, 31 days walking. I'm getting nervous now, imagining all manner of small ailments which can provide an excuse for failure. It will be my fourth Camino. When I did my first Camino I was unprepared for the mental element of it. Walking on my own for 6-7 hours each day through the countryside in silence induces almost a meditative state. Its quite profound. A lot of self examination. I'm not religious but I can say the experience is spiritual. At the end, I always go to the evening pilgrim mass in the great cathedral in Santiago. Although the service is in Spanish it is a most moving experience; beautiful singing; people literally in tears."

We hope for further bulletins to follow mr mike on his journey.

................................................................................

 The three volumes of  mr ishmael's Collected Works, selected, edited and anthologised by mr verge, the House Filthster, are now available.  

Honest Not Invent, Vent Stack  and Ishmael’s Blues are available from Lulu and Amazon. If you buy from Amazon, it would be nice if you could give a review on their website.

Ishmaelites wishing to buy a copy from lulu should follow these steps :
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.
Link for Hardcover :  https://tinyurl.com/je7nddfr
Link for Paperback : https://tinyurl.com/3jurrzux
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.  
With the 15% voucher, PB (including delivery to a UK address) should be £16.84; HB £27.04.