The Sunday Ishmael: 08/03/2026

 My name is mrs ishmael and I'm a Northern Boomer. A Generation Xer called me a Boomer the other day, taking the piss, really. Set me thinking, though. All this inter-generational strife, stoked up by media, of course, has people believing that those folk born after the war and before 1965 really never had it so good. All nonsense, of course. In terms of material advantage, young adults now beat we northern boomers hollow (maybe the southern boomers fared better than us up north.) But these days, people have carpets that go from edge to edge of the room, not a rug on painted floor boards, they have fridges, freezers, TVs, a computer in their pocket, they go abroad on holiday to stupid places in the Middle East and need to be rescued, they all have cars, masses of clothes, so much stuff that they have a word for their inability to tidy up - Stuffocation, and TV programmes are made by Stacey Solomon showing them how to throw stuff away.

When I were a kid, although I was fortunate enough to be born into a middle class, professional family, we were poor in today's terms. Most people were poor. The nation had emerged from a crippling war in which our cities had been bombed out of existence - Hitler's slum clearance project - there was so little food that folk dug up their lawns to plant potatoes and kept chickens to supplement meagre rations - try telling kids now that their food could be rationed, instead of being delivered, cooked, to their door by a Deliveroo driver. Most kids' dads had done their war service - fought in the armed forces. Most kids' mums had done their war service by supporting the troops, working in factories to replace the men who had been called up, or working on the land as Land Girls. By 1942 all male British subjects between 18 and 51 years old and all females 20 to 30 years old resident in Great Britain and the Isle of Man were liable to be called up, with some exemptions. After the War, Boomers' older brothers and boyfriends did their National Service.

National Service as peacetime conscription was introduced by the National Service Act 1948 by Clement Attlee's Labour government. From 1 January 1949, healthy males 18 to 30 years old were required to serve in the armed forces for 18 months, and remain on the reserve list for four years. They could be recalled to their units for up to 20 days on three occasions during these four years. Men were exempt from National Service if they worked in one of the three essential services: coal mining, farming, or the merchant navy for at least eight years. In November 1960, the last conscripted men entered service: call-ups ended on 31 December 1960 and the last conscripted servicemen left the armed forces in May 1963.

I knew blokes who had done their National Service and loved it - get away from mum,  travel, adventure, Boy's Own Paper stuff.

At my Primary School, there were two prefabs in the grounds for all the extra kids (baby boom). Classes were big- between 42 to 48. No classroom assistants to help children with special educational needs or disability. There was an air-raid shelter behind the prefabs. The toilets were outdoor. Kids walked to school or caught the bus. Because we were middle class, my dad had a Lambretta 

and he would drop me off at school on his way to work in the morning, ridiculously early, but I had to walk the two miles home in the afternoon, dodging the psychopath village boys who enjoyed taking girls down a peg or two by the infliction of violence.

The only advantage that I can see that Boomers had over subsequent generations was that not only was higher education free, but you also got a Maintenance Grant for 3 years. Not many went to University, though - in 1969, 6% of young people went, up from 3.8% in 1960. And home ownership generally was not common. Rental was big.

So, having refuted the canard that Boomers had everything and therefore deserve to be impoverished and abused by Generation XYZ and Millennials, can we assume that the comfortable lives that the post 1965-ers have been given by a generous British state have resulted in a willingness to serve their country? Nope. You can ask, but they have no intention of rousing themselves from their lethargy, their mental elf and their video pretend war games.

A recent authoritative study reported by The Times, in partnership with YouGov and Public First into the views and beliefs of adults aged 18-27 revealed that only 11 per cent said they would go to war for Britain while 41 per cent said there were no circumstances at all in which they would take up arms for Britain. 

Which really is hugely concerning, given that Britain is at war and no-one seems to believe it. Fluttering ladies of a certain age tell me that Trump is a horrible man. And? They say that the pictures of bombed cities are dreadful. And? That displaced people are having an awful time. Yes, And? Hospitals and schools are being bombed. Yes, and your point is?

Their point seems to be that Trump should just stop it because it is nasty and they don't like it.

The problem is that we have Sir Keir Starmer, International Man of Law and Vacillation, heading up the Cabinet, abetted by Ed forfucksake Milliband and Yvette Hauteur-Cooper, who vetoed providing Trump with assistance when he needed it. Now Trump's got a grudge against Britain. And we're still at war - no, I know it has not been declared - they don't do that anymore. But the evidence is pointing in that direction. And we gave our munitions to Ukraine and so depleted the Royal Navy that we don't have sufficient boats to fight (or, at least, intimidate) on two fronts, as Trevor Phillips pointed out this morning. We sent the aircraft carrier to the High North (thank god, some protection for the Northern Isles) and couldn't manage to get our Dragon Ship serviced and off out of Portsmouth into the Med last week to defend our base in Cyprus, and of course, it couldn't go this weekend because Portsmouth doesn't work at the weekend. Sir Keir has promised to increase defence spending, as required to do by NATO and Trump - but that was basically a lie to shut people up, as the increase is scheduled for 5 years hence, by which time I sincerely hope that the British people have democratically sent him back to his law studies.

Britain was able to afford to introduce the welfare state and the NHS after  the Second World War because it didn't have to spend on its  own defence - relying instead on America to bear the lion's share of defending its NATO partners. Now that America has its champion, Trump, who basically has announced that up with this we are no longer prepared to put, what are our pundits and politicians saying? That America is no longer a reliable ally. No, I fear that Britain is no longer a reliable ally. 

Please can we have Kemi Badenoch for Prime Minister and Penny Mordaunt for Foreign and Defence Secretary?

Holding luxury beliefs about open borders and global fair play is a bit like being the driver of a luxury car. You can be the best driver in the world, but if you take your Jaguar or Mercedes Benz out on the road, you are at risk from the drunk, the incompetent, the testosterone-fuelled uninsured teenage boy racer. Attempt to apply your luxury post-modern beliefs to the current global situation and you will be run over  by such as the Iranian Ambassador to the United Kingdom, Seyyed Ali Mousavi, a suave fellow, of whose appointment it is said by iraninews.com that his experience and background in international legal affairs is expected to contribute positively to Iran's foreign policy objectives in Britain. Interviewed by Laura Kuenssberg today, he assured her that Iran is a peace-loving country and he chided her over her lack of delicacy in her line of questioning. She'd asked him about the 20 attacks on Britain by the IRGC  since 2022. And about Iran's nuclear capability. And its attacks on neighbouring Middle Eastern countries. And killing thousands of its own protesting citizens in January this year in Tehran. Mousavi's response was that more delicacy was required in asking about such matters. 

Stand up for Penny Mordaunt, Sword Bearer, who admiringly thanked Laura for her lack of delicacy.

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

There are four splendid anthologies of the writings of stanislav and mr ishmael, compiled by his friend, mr verge, the house filthster. You can buy them from Amazon or Lulu. Here's how:

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.

IIshmaelites 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

https://www.lulu.com/shop/ishmael-smith/flush-test/paperback/product-9yjvn7.html?q=Flush+Test&page=1&pageSize=4

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.

You have to take it where you find it.

 Poor old thing. He's only 79, yet he's shaking like a leaf, seems to have terrible trouble understanding basic questions and is stick-thin. Yet he was capable of mustering a proud little smile when an email was read out describing him as a stud and hung like a horse. He is suffering from Essential Tremor, he says. Sign of a misspent life.

Do have a look at this compilation of key moments of his  testimony, particularly at 9.52,  when former President Bill Clinton was asked: "Did you engage in any sexual activity" - in relation to his behaviour in a hot pool in a Brunai hotel. He said "No". The follow-up question should have been: "Mr President, do you know what sexual activity is?"

I humbly refer you to the following:

The Sunday Ishmael: 01/03/2026

 

Happy St. David's day. 1st March. Daffodils, you know. 

Prettier than leeks, and less pungent, the daffodil, especially the variety called the Tenby daffodil, replaced the leek as the national emblem of Wales in the 19th century. Previously, it was well known that your whoreson Welshman had a habit of sticking a leek into his hat, to distinguish himself from non-Welsh people. Here's a comedy Welsh soldier, Fluellen, in Act 4, scene 7 of Henry V:

"Your Majesty says very true. If your Majesties is remembered of it, the Welshmen did good service in a garden where leeks did grow, wearing leeks in their Monmouth caps, which, your Majesty know, to this hour is an honourable badge of the service. And I do believe
your Majesty takes no scorn to wear the leek upon Saint Tavy’s day".

Here's Yuri Andreievitch Zhivago amongst the daffodils, welcoming the Spring at Varykino, feeling the warm sun on his face after the long, agonising, ice-bound winter. Filmed by David Lean and released in 1965, the exquisitely beautiful sequences of the Russian countryside were not what they seemed. The spring scenes at Varykino — including Yuri running joyfully through the daffodils — were filmed near Madrid, where the entire faux‑Russian landscape had been constructed. The crew planted 7,000 daffodil bulbs specifically for that sequence. Unfortunately, nature misbehaved - the Spanish winter that year was unusually mild, so the bulbs started blooming far too early, and the crew had to dig them all up,

store them,  and replant them later so they would flower on cue for David Lean’s camera.

It’s very Lean: obsessive, beautiful, and wildly impractical — all for a few seconds of cinematic transcendence. This was before CGI, of course. Now a Director could summon a continent of daffodils - or an army of leeks, for that matter, in pursuit of his vision.

In his 1954 poem, Church Going, Philip Larkin's protagonist compulsively visits churches, a bit like John Betjeman:

Another church: matting, seats, and stone,

And little books; sprawlings of flowers, cut

For Sunday, brownish now; some brass and stuff

Up at the holy end; 

He wonders what will become of churches, once belief has fled:

When churches fall completely out of use

What we shall turn them into, if we shall keep

A few cathedrals chronically on show,

Their parchment, plate and pyx in locked cases,

And let the rest rent-free to rain and sheep.

Shall we avoid them as unlucky places?

Larkin, who died in 1985, didn't live to see what English churches have actually been turned into - antique wholesale warehouses, all-you-can-eat for a tenner Chinese/Indian/Mexican/Thai fusion canteens, mosques. There's also a thriving trade in converting churches into dwelling houses for committed Sodomite Satanists. Maybe I've been unduly influenced by my recent exposure to Pillion, a sad and depressing study of BDSM, reviewed in these pages on the 15th February, but, judge for yourselves:

They've shoved a bed up the holy end, retained the Communion steps so that subs can kneel fetchingly-

look closer:

 
Or what about this one?

Neatly arranged for a spot of flagellation.

While this one seems to have retained everything you'd need for a Black Mass luxe, with nibbles to follow:

What? I hear you gasp and splutter, what the actual fuck, as the young people say, but, it seems, according to surveys, never actually do. Well, I'm hoping to move house and so Rightmove sends me e-newsletters of "dream properties". The latest offering was of church conversions. Buildings, not religious conversions. I'm not a Christian, as you probably remember, although I was raised by nuns in the whole smells, bells and catechism tradition, but I find that I am offended. The Merriam-Webster dictionary defines blasphemy as: "the act of insulting or showing contempt or lack of reverence for God or to something sacred".

I'd rather these decommissioned churches became mosques. Or synagogues. Even though Christians seem to have lost the fire in their arses that drove their religion to sweep through the Roman Empire; Jews and Muslims have retained their belief systems - and all three have the same God of the Old Testament. People of the Book, innit, although the Christians and Muslims branched off with their own Prophets. Which caused two millennia of upset as each branch strove to exert their own supremacy, superiority, spirituality and dietary customs.

Which brings me round to the Middle East, after meandering down those green and leafy primrose paths and byways of conversation. Why would any sane person go to Dubai on holiday? No, really. What's wrong with Scarborough? Or Tuscany, if you are feeling adventurous. I've been to both and can thoroughly recommend them - although you have to be careful not to eat your chips outside in Scarborough because the seagulls are addicted and will rip you apart to get at your chips. Northumberland is lovely at this time of year - great carpets of snowdrops in church yards.

Dubai, though? There was this holiday-making totty on the politics shows this morning, baking her exposed skin in an effort to contract skin cancer and attention from the religious police; complaining about the lack of arrangements for her to register as a holiday maker, and be given immunity from the bombs.

What is the matter with these people? Where else are they demanding the right to go on holiday? Gaza, Iraq, Iran, Jordan, Lebanon, Israel, Syria? Why not Ukraine or Russia?

The Labour Government has been very careful to distance itself from the joint U.S./Israel attack on Iran and the assassination of 

Supreme Leader Khamenei, the army chief of staff, General Abdol Rahim Mousavi,  defence minister General Aziz Nasirzadeh, Major General Mohammad Pakpour, Ali Shamkhani, security adviser to Khamenei, Saleh Asadi, head of the Intelligence Directorate of the Khatam al Anbiya emergency command, Mohammad Shirazi, head of the military bureau, Hossein Jabal Amelian, head of SPND (Organisation of Defensive Innovation and Research) and Reza Mozaffari-Nia, a former head of SPND and former deputy defence minister.

I suppose John Healey, Secretary of State for Defence, has to weigh his words very carefully, given the indebtedness of Labour to the Muslim vote. And, now, I suppose, that applies to David Paulden, as  his ranks have been swollen by the addition of Hannah, the young English plumber (honest, not invent), 

who swept to victory in the Gorton and Denton by-election having had her election materials printed in Urdu and persuaded the imams to tell their male congregants to make their families vote for her - which they did by dint of entering the polling booth with them and telling them where to put their cross. "Family voting" they call it, and it is illegal, but I suppose they have immunity. Shame about all those yards of bright yellow hair which, doubtless, Hannah will have to cover with a headscarf when talking to her constituents. 

Left to Right (literally) John Healey, Priti Patel and David Paulden

Much though it irks, it looks like the Conservatives, for once, are the party of principle. Makes a change.

Shame then, that in the prophetic words of William Butler Yeats, in The Second Coming:

"Things fall apart; the centre cannot hold;

Mere anarchy is loosed upon the world,

The blood-dimmed tide is loosed, and everywhere   

The ceremony of innocence is drowned..."

It is all a bit of a worry, with the Middle East in turmoil as Trump's Armada focuses on regime change in Iran and Reza Pahlavi, the Crown Prince of Persia, waits in the wings to resume his historic Crown as, he assures us, a Constitutional Monarch in a westernised democracy. Like King Charles III. 

Didn't Israel do well, though?

I'll conclude with the ominous ending of Yeats' Second Coming:

"And what rough beast, its hour come round at last,   

Slouches towards Bethlehem to be born?"

It really is all a bit too, too, Revelations. Well, I suppose we have been warned.

There are four splendid anthologies of the writings of stanislav and mr ishmael, compiled by his friend, mr verge, the house filthster. You can buy them from Amazon or Lulu. Here's how:

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.

IIshmaelites 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

https://www.lulu.com/shop/ishmael-smith/flush-test/paperback/product-9yjvn7.html?q=Flush+Test&page=1&pageSize=4

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.

The Sunday Ishmael: 22/02/2026

 Call Me Ishmael: Taking the Piss since April 2009

I've made a slight alteration to the heading, as it occurred to me the other day that this blog is practically venerable - in April we will be 17 years old. 

Does Carrie not love Boris any more? This is how she sent him out to appear on Laura's politics show. Just look at the state of him.

Straining at the throat, his shirt collar did little to conceal the strange growth of hair starting beneath his ear and descending in a wedge to a point somewhere mid-jowl. He seems to have packed on the weight and thrown away his suits - his trousers were casual in the extreme. Didn't stop him from pontificating about Ukraine, deftly abetted by Admiral Sir Tony Radakin, GBE, KCB, former Chief of the Defence Staff, former  First Sea Lord, former Chief of Staff, Joint Forces Command, former Second Sea Lord, former  Deputy Chief of the Naval Staff, former Lord High Constable of England, and bit player  in the Coronation of Charles III and Camilla. (Yes, I know, very Gilbert and Sullivan).

If Boris is looking like a paraffin lamp, not so his second banana. Always very smart, the Admiral. At least, in his dress and shiny shoes. Maybe less so in the brain department. 

Why did Laura invite this double act onto her show? Apart from the Boris Infatuation Syndrome, of course.

Well, it is because we are rapidly approaching the fourth anniversary of Putin's Special Military Operation in Ukraine - as long as the Great War, and I suppose Laura wanted to know if the duo are sorry for making us Putin's Public Enemy Number One, giving away all our weapons to Ukraine, shipping Ukraine soldiery to the UK and training them in the use of said weaponry and providing a safe haven for Ukraine women and children and Ukraine draft dodgers.

Sorry? Not a bit of it. The dynamic duo were only sorry that we weren't bolshier when Putin took back Crimea, believing that would have sent "a strong message" to Putin. They are sorry that we didn't immediately take Ukraine into NATO and make it clear that Ukraine is a West-facing nation. They really are stuck in the nineteenth century. They believe that because Britain is a nuclear power, what Britain says matters. I rather do wish that someone would look at a map and realise the sheer brute size of Russia. And, by the way, Russia is a nuclear power. A bit bigger than us. Okay. A lot bigger than us. 

Anyway, Boris' latest brilliant idea to make Putin behave, capitulate and suck his dick is to send in non-combatant troops to Ukraine. Really? Unarmed soldiers? 

As Alan Clark reputedly said: "what business is it of ours what one lot of wogs is doing to another lot of wogs?".

 

Remember this? 

In his first six years in office, Blair ordered British troops into combat five times, more than any other prime minister in British history.  Probably at the behest of the United States. His wars  included Iraq in both 1998 and 2003, Kosovo (1999), Sierra Leone (2000) and Afghanistan (2001). He has a lot to do with the fuck up that is the current Middle East.

As of 2025, Tony Blair's estimated net worth is around $60 million. His wealth primarily comes from his political career, consultancy work through Tony Blair Associates, and various business ventures. He has own philanthropic organisation - the Tony Blair Institute for Global Change.

He is remembered as Tony Bliar, war monger. 

Shame that Boris appears to have adopted him as his role model.

Fortunately, governments change and we no longer have to do what our Tone and Boris tell us to do. Instead we have Trump pulling the strings:

Could we persuade Trump to annex the British Isles? 

I keep on trying to interest you all in Scottish politics. The tumble weed that blows through the Comments section following a Scottish Sunday Ishmael does nothing to dissuade me. I'm going to keep on keeping on and make you care - I suspect  Devolved Wales might be more of a shit show but it would be impossible for it to rival Scotland for corruption (allegedly).

The momentous events, dear boy, events, currently embarrassing the  Monarchy and Starmer in consequence of the Randy Andy/Mandy scandals, great fun though they are, (oh, sorry, we must focus on the victims), have cast into the shade the Holyrood scandal. Last Sunday I mentioned that Peter Murrell, the former chief executive of the Scottish National Party (SNP), and former husband of Nicola Sturgeon, former First Minister of Scotland,  who knew nothing about it of course and divorced the little shit the minute it looked like the turds were floating to the top, is accused of embezzling nearly £460,000 from the party over more than 12 years.

As if that isn't bad enough, and, lets face it, it is very bad indeed for the S.N.P. and their chances of anyone sane ever voting for them  again -  and Scotland is having a general election in two and a bit months' time, the Advocate General for Scotland stands accused by Russell Findlay, leader of the Scottish Conservative Party in Holyrood, of providing John Swinney, S.N.P. First Minister, with the information of Peter Murrell's multiple charges of embezzlement. Which information he immediately passed onto his spin doctor. Findlay interrogated Swinney at First Minister's questions on Thursday, whereupon Swiney got very cross, red-faced and shouty. He was rude.   Watch it here - stay with it - the whole thing is only 11 minutes long, and Swiney performatively loses his temper at around the 4 minute point.

There are four splendid anthologies of the writings of stanislav and mr ishmael, compiled by his friend, mr verge, the house filthster. You can buy them from Amazon or Lulu. Here's how:

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.

IIshmaelites 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

https://www.lulu.com/shop/ishmael-smith/flush-test/paperback/product-9yjvn7.html?q=Flush+Test&page=1&pageSize=4

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.

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

Small Prophets. On i-Player. Absolutely charming.

And About Time, Too

 

That's going to be a birthday to remember.

The Sunday Ishmael: 15/02/2026

Fuckin' aunt Nora - have none of these goons the slightest acquaintance with realpolitik? At least I am not alone in questioning the sanity of taking the nation to war in objection to what the Russian government chooses to do to a Russian citizen in Russia. Laura Kuenssberg  interrogated the dreadful Foreign Secretary twins Cooper and Patel,

suggesting that all this posturing about frog poisoning is to nudge the British public towards accepting an increase in defence spending. This was robustly denied, because it seems, that whilst other foreign governments can murder their own citizens without Britain raising a whimper, Russia is entirely different  because, Cooper alleges, they attack us daily and pursue their treasonous citizens onto our streets to kill them. Time for a little pragmatic politics, surely?

And, in Scottish news, Peter Murrell, the former chief executive of the Scottish National Party (SNP), and former husband of Nicola Sturgeon who knew nothing about it of course and divorced the little shit the minute it looked like the turds were floating to the top, is accused of embezzling nearly £460,000 from the party over more than 12 years. The charges include:

1. Embezzlement of £459,046.49 of SNP funds over the period from August 2010 to January 2023.
2. Purchase of a £124,550 motorhome using SNP funds for personal use.
3. Creation of false duplicate sales documents relating to the motorhome.
4. Use of £16,489 of SNP funds towards a £33,000 Volkswagen Golf.
5. Claiming £18,408.91 in expenses he was allegedly not entitled to.
6. Spending £159,757.39 of SNP funds at 82 retailers on items allegedly for personal use or others.
7. Spending £81,610.19 of SNP funds on Amazon purchases allegedly for personal use or others.
8. Claiming £12,500 on an SNP credit card in October 2020.
9. Claiming £112,050 on an SNP credit card on December 7, 2020.
10. One charge says he created a “false invoice” to provide party accountants, which led to “false and inaccurate” information being recorded in an “accounting system used by the Scottish National Party in an attempt to disguise the true nature” of the purchase of a Jaguar car. The indictment states that in August 2021, the car was sold to We Buy Any Car in Glasgow, and £47,378.76 was paid into Murrell's personal bank account.

The charges against Murrell are included in an indictment, pending a court appearance scheduled for next Friday. He is yet to enter a plea.

Murrell held the rather lucrative post of SNP chief executive from 2001 to 2023.   

There now. Isn't that nice.

We've been following the case in these pages as the police agonisingly slowly investigated the embezzlement of S.N.P. Party funds, in Operation Branchform, questioning Murrell, John Swinney, current leader of the S.N.P. and Nicola Sturgeon, previous leader of the S.N.P.

An Independence activist badgered the Police into investigating the disappearance of funds amounting to over £600,000 raised for another referendum on Scotland leaving the United Kingdom. Many goods were seized by the police in an unprecedented police raid on the home of Murrell and his wife,  and a very expensive motor home was impounded by the police from the driveway of Peter Murrell's mum. Here's a conversation as imagined by Stanislav, the young Polish Plumber between two imaginary characters on the eve of the police raid. 

A Thistle Jig of Shit.

Ah, a life on the open road, the wind blawin' up ma kiltie, I deserve it, hen, after a' these years, toilin' fer the peeple, lang oors in stuffy rooms, handies blistered frae pullin on the levers o state.

An' you, get ye oot an awa' frae the ungrateful bastards an accoontants an journalists (spits). 

Ah, but the matchie tartan face maskie was such a grand fashion statement, showed aff yer bog-brush hair-cut.

Nay, lassie, it won't be a £40 grand piece o shit, just load o plywood an teak-effect plastic shoved inside big, noisy Citroen diesel van, bangin an fuckin clatterin to wake they Labour voters, engine sound like stanislav shakin set of spanners inside biscuit tin, with shit cassette under feet. I'll no' have to go and stumble round in dark, thistly wilderness while you tak a wee dumpie in van and vicie versie. Look,  top o' range camper van.  Joined together in holy deadlock was fine when we was sitting pretty in Holyrood on top of all the money but is only for sick and health and rich or poor and not for content of bowels, we're no' Liberal Democrats.

Awa' an' bile yer heed, yer dam' stupid ex-Chief Exec, I'll nae go near yer mobile toilet. How would it look in car crash, shit flying all ower the shop an' bog roll, only not proper bog roll but that stuff, thin and cold, IZAL, good for fuck all, not even for wiping of arsehole; every bastard with mobile home has IZAL toilet paper. Is bad enough  take dump in van like fucking Englishman but then can’t even wipe Former First Ministerial pass clean but instead smear shit all over bottom, or finger go through and get all filthied-up with spread-out bit of shit, better would be with handful of grass from roadside and never mind IZAL trick bogroll.  Manufacturer of IZAL is rolling about on floor, laughing off bollocks at mobile home driver and boy scoot. 

But, ma sweet former First Minister, we can pull in by a lochside and you can make me a cup of smug tea and nae milk because I am watching my cholesterol and I drink Fairtrade tea because I like to think that everytime I have a cuppa some money is going to those huge traditionally-built women in Botswanaland, even though it isn’t. 

Ye can mak yer ain tea, if smirking gay crewcut Polis Scotland lets ye  oot o jail lang enough. I'm nae tea-wifie. Fred West had a fucking camper van an' look at him, spent his spare time choppin' people up, squeeze into box and bury under patio, like on Brookside. Fred was made mad  having to cope with life inside rubbish camper van, driving round Forest of fucking Dean, banging fucking head and choking on shit fumes and pots and pans falling out from cupboard every bend, no fucking wonder was serial killer.  Was very nice bloke by all accounts, apart from being raving lunatic and him and Rose killing people, mainly children. 

But, ma shouty wee dwarfie, it might become  politically expedient to hae an exit strategy an' become better acquainted with the beauties of the Heelands and Islands of oor  magnificent nation. 

Are ye serious, ye bald fat wee git? We havenae dualled the A9 yet. 

Ma dear wee gurrul, jes' as high as ma heart, the £110 grand camper van we'll be tourin' in has a bicycle compartment to hold a bicycle for me an' one fer ye. We can park by a loch and cycle through our Heather and Gorse lands, wi' nae worries aboot goin' to work....... nae need to rush the gorse.....

Ye want to join they band o' nutters who jump on a bicycle and pedal like demented hobgoblin speedfreaks  up the  highest roads in the country shouting Gimme A Fucking Heart Attack, I Can’t Stand Being A Teacher For Another Twenty Years!  Driving in Highlands is rubbish anytime  (we needed the upgrade money for trams in Edinburgh where the voters are) but filled-up in Summer with Herman lesbian Hells Angel and  demented lunatic nutters on bikes and smug bastards in camper vans is like something off Prisoner programme with Patrick McGoohan, dead now, of course, but was nearly a hundred and so never mind. An ye better get used to it - that Prisoner programme.

How can I put this, my wee Pigmy of stature but Giant propensities, we may need to get out of Dodge fast. In this case, Glasgae. A lonely mountainside, in pitch black, the twa o us an a wee pup, a Greyfriars Bobby, is looking like the better option.

Ye're going frae bad tae fucking worse, ye Fat SilverFox Retired Loony. Is not just poxy shit van clogging-up Afucking9 and can’t even stop in layby because of too many smug old bastards like you sitting  at table outside van, drinking FairfuckingTrade cuppa, not too strong and made with  pissmilk and handful of sweetener for heart and horrid old legs all fucked-up with varicose veins and every bastard can see because of shorts or kilties, even though brass bollocks would freeze-off from monkey, up there in Highlands. No fucker wants to see countryside all fucked up with horror show of pasty old bastards sunbathing in fucking public and probably piles hae got, too, all around arsehole, and maybe hanging-out, from sitting outside in kilties with fucking gale blowing up arse from Arctic fucking Circle and mean tight-fisting use of Izal joke bogroll (but isn’t roll but leaves of piss-thin hard shiny so-call toiletpaper) and good for fuck all is and not only hand goes through and gets covered-up in shit but fucking watertap in van is nae working as usual and nae matter if ye stand with airse cheeks as far apart as possible which is not very far, as we are nae Liberal Democrats, and keeping shitfinger hand up in air and trying hard not to do breathing-in and stomping on little foot switch to make water come and at least can wash fucking shit off from hand but instead of water coming from tap fucking hazard light is coming on instead. And radio. Is Radio Scotland an' is just dreadful noise of bagpipe, fuck me, sounds like massacre in cat sanctuary, run by mad old lady who is dead in living room from hypothermia from Westminster Fuck-Up Economy,  spent all money on Kit-E-Kat and cruel, wicked bastard at Scottish  fucking Gas has cut off power and local nutter with chainsaw bought from car boot sale  has seized golden opportunity an'  old lady’s assorted cats disembowlering is being, one at a time, by giggling nutter, Here, Kitty-Kitty, Here Kitty- Kitty so even cats not actually being mutilated to death is all freaked out and screeching and climbing up walls, Radio Scotland bagpipe concert is worse than massive cat massacre.  

Time is running out, ma wee Princess of the Steamie, Drastic action needs tae be ta'en an' I'm the man to rise to a Crisis, trust me. There's some lovely little villages in the hills around Inverness.......

What? Go down Clackmacfuckery Village Hall tae the tea-dance, tae listen to some fat old fucker playing a wheezy old accordion,  made oot o' shiny tin and plastic and sackin' and hunnerds o' fucking keys and buttons so many that playing it must be hit and fucking miss like an Oompah band from the Black Forest, but backwards. And watch decrepit old boys  in wigs and false teeth and kilties seducing old wifies and feeling-up  bony old airses before the bus comes tae tak them back to the Hame. The one wi' the Polish nurses. And would ye be doin’ me the honour of having the next Polka with me, Jings, but you’re a right bonny lass, indeed y’are, he leers, at a spindle-thin, one foot in the grave,  ninety year old,  the dirty filthy old bastard. Then it'll be back to the van frae Hell, hazard light flashing off and on, nightmare noise from radio, and can’t wash hand or wipe arse  and  would be better off dead, or at very least wanting to get back in fucking Polis Scotland's cells where there's a flushing toilet (the polis watch you take a dump in your cell in the toilet wi' nae seat and then hit the flush switch from ootside the door); so ye'll hae to go outside with yer kiltie tucked around yer waist and grab handfuls of grass and wipe arse and fingers like the fucking savage ye are and fucking van cost £110 fucking grand and every bastard knows that grass up airse is primary cause of piles, especially when is  not even fucking grass but fucking thistle. And people going past in proper car all shoutin' and hootin', Look at silly old Ex Chief Exec sticking thistle up airse, must be demented, maybe attempting suicide by anal lacerations off thistle, is fucking really mad, fuck me, don’t wanna get that dementia rubbish and run around like loony, with  kiltie up roond waist and  thistle and nettles up airse and shit on fingers.

 Best thing in situation like this is stick shitty fingers in ground and keep on stabbing until hand is covered in just dirt and not shit and can touch clothing, then remove kiltie and wipe off arse and when no-one is passin' in proper car, throwaway  in hedge,  only not where dog, Bobby, can go and pull out and start to eat and maybe get sporran stuck over head and normal bastard, going past in proper car is on mobile phone to cop and RSPCA,  Allo? Allo? ….Is polis? Right… SeeYouJimmy?.....   Is fucking pervert here, on A9,  and dog has got head in sporran  and poo….  Nah, is not skidmark,……is proper poo…dunno…..might be dogpoo…but might be yuman poo…bloke looks like fucking nutter an' thistle has sticking out from airse…I know….all sorts takes,….but fuck me, Jesus….an' shit has got all over hand….no….is not car…is van….with awning and elevating roof….is some foreign shit…..is  Niesmann + Bischoff, all filled up with plywood furniture and things that don’t work. Better come and arrest him,  aye, before he starts sticking yon fucking thistles up the puir wee  dog’s ….Aye, Edinburgh by the look o' him.

So, former First Minister wifie, will ye nae come and hae a wee lookie at it? I've parked it round ne maw's, discrete-like? 

That'll be a no, then? You'd rather go on our usual S and M holiday, dress-up in leather and rubber and plastic and smack my airse with thistles?

Now, that's beginning to persuade me - nae danger of falling-off bicycle, probably even have proper toilet in S and M hotel and nae shit cassette, sliding about, under drivin' seat;  is much easier than this shit and not cost £110 grand and then £3 grand for bikes to tie on back. No, bike on back of grossed-out plumbervan with inoperating integral sanitation and plywood furniture and trick toilet paper, is all bollocks.

Too late, now, anyway, hen.

 Grooming of the Nation

Which segues rather neatly, talking of airses and S&M, into my review of Pillion. Those of the readership who have been following my adventures for some time may remember that for a quarter of a century I was employed as a Probation Officer in inner city Birmingham, for several years in the Sparkbrook Probation Office. In the adjoining Sparkhill ward a convicted terrorist, Shahid Butt, is standing as an independent councillor in May's local elections. The constituency has a 91 per cent ethnic minority population with around 70 per cent practicing Islam. In 1999, Butt was sentenced to five years in prison in Yemen for terrorism after being convicted with five other UK nationals of conspiracy to blow up the British consulate, an Anglican church and a hotel in the city of Aden. Butt says that his confession was tortured out of him, and there were no actual bombings, just talking about it. Since returning to Birmingham in 2003, Butt has worked with the Home Office's anti-terrorism Prevent strategy and spent over 20 years counselling young people away from extremism - presumably on the basis of "who better qualified?"

Actually, I didn't set out to talk about Mr. Butt, who has an unfortunate name and a very unfortunate past, but looks like a nice man now that he is pushing 60.

No, I was actually setting out my credentials by way of introduction to my review of Pillion, a film featuring Alexander  Skarsgård and Harry Melling. I've had a lot of conversations with dangerous men, some in my office, some in prison, once while acting as a decoy for the police, to engage the perpetrator whilst the police crept up to snatch the little girl he'd abducted, once whilst being held prisoner in the kitchen of a council flat for the meagre contents of my thin wallet. I've provided a lot of dangerous men with a lot of coffee and cigarettes.

And I can assure you that not one of them looked like this:

If they did, there would be even more prison officers having sex with them and posting the videos on wherever these things are posted. And there does seem to be a bit of an epidemic of in-cell sex between guards and inmates.

Nope, Skarsgård is a fantasy. The camera loves him. He's big, blonde and Aryan. The reality is that abusive men tend to be deeply unattractive, undersized in an inner city rat-like way, inadequate, living on benefits, a bit thick and dead eyed. That's why they are abusive - their self-image is so low that it needs constant bolstering by controlling their victim, beating them up, (now look what you made me do), raping them, imprisoning them and pimping them.

Any other dangerous fantasies in the film? Depicting the anal penetration of a virgin by a substantial penis adorned with a thick Prince Albert, without also depicting the blood, shit and anal tears requiring an A&E repair job. A bit like Erica Jong's zipless fuck.

The reviews adore the film. Edgy, they say, a tender love story, sexy, an exploration of BDSM, and, worst of all, a comedy. It is not a comedy, unless you find buttocks and humiliation endlessly funny. If you find it sexy, then the film has done its job and corrupted you. 

Because it deals with homosexuality, audiences are blinded to the reality of the grooming, coercion and abuse - after all, it's blokes, innit, and the Sub has consented to his humiliation and abuse and he learns to enjoy the sex, (no kissing, though), sleeping on the floor, the group sex en plein air.

 Remember, though, there are acts that you legally cannot consent to. Like nailing your penis to a work bench.  In the Spanner case judgement - R v Brown [1993] 2 All ER 75

HOUSE OF LORDS, consensual sado-masochistic homosexual encounters which occasioned actual bodily harm to the victim were assaults occasioning actual bodily harm, contrary to s 47 of the 1861 Act, and unlawful wounding, contrary to s 20 of that Act, notwithstanding the victim's consent to the acts inflicted on him, because public policy required that society be protected by criminal sanctions against a cult of violence which contained the danger of the proselytisation and corruption of young men and the potential for the infliction of serious injury. 

If you are against me in considering Pillion to be a film which is likely to deprave and corrupt, switch the gender of the naive, lonely and vulnerably young man. There. He is now a young woman. Now you can see the abuse for what it is. Look at the submissive young men, serving their "masters" who they believe to be in love with them. Now see the girls, victims of Pakistani rape gangs. It is all about a corrupted sex drive, power, control, and jerking off because humiliation and contempt get your motor running.

I daresay my view is not widely held.

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

There are four splendid anthologies of the writings of stanislav and mr ishmael, compiled by his friend, mr verge, the house filthster. You can buy them from Amazon or Lulu. Here's how:

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.

IIshmaelites 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

https://www.lulu.com/shop/ishmael-smith/flush-test/paperback/product-9yjvn7.html?q=Flush+Test&page=1&pageSize=4

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.

The Sunday Ishmael: 08/02/2026

"From those to whom much has been given, much should be taken."

No, mrs ishmael, that's not quite right.

Okay. How about this? "To those who have taken much; up against the wall, motherfucker."

Even worse, mrs ishmael.

Oh, Mandy, you came and you took without giving......

The political and aristocratic classes have been having a rough time since the Epstein files were released. Morgan McSweeney has now been offered up in a bid to preserve Keir Starmer's leadership.

Isaiah 53:4

The inscription on the frame of The Scapegoat by Holman Hunt is a quote from Isaiah 53:4: "Surely he hath borne our Griefs and carried our Sorrows; Yet we did esteem him stricken, smitten of GOD and afflicted." 

Who he? 

An Irish bloke. He was born in Macroom, County Cork, Ireland. His grandda', Michael McSweeney, was IRA and won a medal for his service. His aunt was a councillor for Fine Gael and his first cousin, Clare Mungovan, was special adviser to the Fine Gael leader Leo Varadkar. He joined the Labour Party in 1997 and four years later was given the role firstly of intern receptionist and then in the party's attack and rebuttal unit in Millbank, where he input data into Peter Mandelson's "Excalibur" database. Mandy, of course, inspires love and loyalty amongst old Labour, on account of his grandfather being Herbert Morrison - maybe Mandy and Morgan bonded over their notorious granddads? Anyway, Morgan, whilst never standing for election, wormed his way into being Prime Minister-adjacent by becoming the fixer for Labour.  
In 2017, he formed Labour Together during Jeremy Corbyn's leadership, in order to replace Corbyn and remove the left-wingers, correctly identifying them as unelectable. He chose Keir Starmer to replace Corbyn as leader and led Starmer's successful Labour leadership campaign and then his successful campaign in the 2024 general election. McSweeney fundraised for Labour Together during his role as company secretary. He failed to report most of the donations the group received from December 2017 onward, amounting to more than £730,000. The undeclared donations as well as additional incorrect information declared by McSweeney were investigated by the Electoral Commission; Labour Together was fined £14,250 for over 20 breaches of electoral law in September 2021, which the Commission stated was "towards the high end of the scale". (Conservatives do sex, Labour do the money scandals).

In February 2026, it was reported that Labour Together paid the PR firm APCO Worldwide to spy on journalists critical of Keir Starmer. These included reporters from The Sunday Times, The Guardian and Declassified UK.  Paul Holden had previously revealed this in his 2025 book: The Fraud: Keir Starmer, Morgan McSweeney, and the Crisis of British Democracy. Here's the blurb:

 "Based on Labour Party files, including some never before publicly seen, this explosive investigation lays bare the intrigues, stratagems, and deceits that helped deliver Sir Keir Starmer to Downing Street. Paul Holden shows how Keir Starmer has been the frontman for a ruthless, right-wing political project headed by Morgan McSweeney, now chief of staff in Number 10 and arguably the most powerful man in Britain..... 

(His) machinations were made possible by financial donations that McSweeney did not disclose—a violation of the law that arguably subverted Britain’s democratic system....This is a sordid tale that includes hacked emails, anonymous smears, dodgy dossiers, cynical stitch-ups, and staggering hypocrisy. It traces the Labour Party’s transformation into a censorial, authoritarian machine, and sounds the alarm about the possible corruption of British politics by dark money."

The Times noted that "Those who question his authority inevitably find Starmer sides with McSweeney." According to Patrick Maguire and Gabriel Pogrund of The Times, "McSweeney and his acolytes saw themselves as insurgents within the Labour Party. As long as Starmer’s private office was functional, they could control the party’s politics themselves — without interference from small-minded Westminster villagers. They knew that Starmer’s real life — his true self — was not the work they shared with him. Their political project was predicated on this unpolitical leader doing as he was told."

As we've all noticed, Starmer is really not a leader. Nor is he at all popular. McSweeney was his puppet master, and, if he has really gone, who will give Starmer his instructions now? Not that the instructions were any good. Why did McSweeney want Mandy appointed as U.K. Ambassador to the States? Well, they have been chums for years. McSweeney was fully aware of Mandy's involvement with Epstein and thought that the connections Mandy had formed through Epstein would be useful. Starmer just did as he was told. McSweeney said the decision to appoint Lord Mandelson to the top diplomatic job was “wrong”, and said he took “full responsibility” for advising Sir Keir Starmer to go ahead.
But without his fixer, how long will Starmer survive?
Pity poor old Pat McFadden, wheeled out on the Laura Kuenssberg Show this morning, to staunchly declare that there was no point in Sacking McSweeney. Events have proven him wrong - clearly Starmer thought there was every point in having a Scapegoat handy.  Have you noticed how increasingly like a condemnatory bespectacled tortoise McFadden is becoming? 

He's only 60. Really. Honest, not invent. Must be  a hard life in the Labour Party.

If you needed any more proof, look no further than Brian Wilson (no, not the mad angel from the Beach Boys) the former Scottish Labour MP for Cunninghame North. Look at the state of him, as he appeared on the BBC's Scotland Sunday Show in his athleisure wear.

Right, okay, he never was a looker - see -

but now he looks like a resident on a day out from the dementia centre. The BBC had lured him onto the show to talk about the Mandy Scandy, and maybe he thought he could settle a few scores.

 For those of us without long political memories, Wilson was a trade minister under Mandelson in 1998. He got right into it, declaring that

 "warning signs" were not heeded in the decision to appoint Peter Mandelson as ambassador to the US,  "disregarding of subjective evidence" and he "certainly wouldn't have made him ambassador to Washington". Warming to his theme, Wilson said anyone from his "generation of government" would have warned against making Mandelson ambassador because of the "baggage he had accumulated".

Gary Robertson, clearly emboldened by Wilson calling Mandelson a baggage, decided to sneak in a parallel and attempted to interrogate Wilson, who is interim Celtic chairman, about the abuse scandal at Celtic Boys Club. In November 2016 dozens of former footballers revealed that they had been sexually abused as children. 

Former Celtic Boys Club manager James Torbett had been found guilty in 1998 of shameless and indecent conduct with three juvenile players between October 1967 and March 1974, when he was sacked, and imprisoned for 30 months. He then returned to the club and continued to abuse young boys in the 1980s and 90s, and was found guilty in 2018 of a further five offences against three boys and in 2023 of another four charges against a13-year-old.

Former Celtic Boys Club chairman Gerald King was convicted of five charges of using lewd and libidinous practises towards five victims between August 1984 and April 1989, and found guilty of taking indecent pictures of children in February 1987.

Frank Cairney, a former coach and manager, was found guilty of nine charges of sexual abuse in 2018, receiving a four-year jail sentence, and was due to stand trial on another three indecent assaults in January 2023 but was deemed unfit for trial. It was later determined by a judge that on the balance of probabilities there was no case to acquit him.

Jim McCafferty, a coach and kit man, admitted to 12 charges related to child sex abuse against 10 teenage boys between 1972 and 1996 in 2019. He had also worked with Hibs and Falkirk, and died in prison in 2022.

Last year the club settled 24 cases brought as part of a class action lawsuit by former youth players. 

Brian Wilson indignantly refuted any suggestion of a parallel between his club and the revelations of sexual abuse of female children by Epstein and his extensive circle of wealthy, powerful, male chums. Not Mandelson, obviously - as he said the other week on the Laura Kuenssberg Show "I'm a gay boi and didn't notice anything."

It was tense. I had hoped that Brian Wilson would rip off his mic and storm out of the studio. No such luck. He said: "I'm not going to talk about Celtic".

Gary Robertson then pushed a bit about the club's attempts to deny liability by arguing that the Boys Club was a separate entity and that it was therefore not liable.

Mr Wilson got tenser and went with the victim line: "I'm very happy to talk about societal issues, of course victims should always be taken seriously."

Sensing an opening, in jumped Gary and asked if that had always been the case at Celtic. Visibly agitated, Wilson responded: "Sorry, I think I was asked in here to talk about the Labour Party and Epstein. You'll only see the connection if you try to make it."

Well, yes. You won't see a connection if you refuse to see a connection. A bit like the Pakistani rape gangs preying on white girls in all our cities. If you don't look, you won't see it.

They are all giving lip service to the P.R. victim line - clearly imposed on politicians and royalty alike, even Prince Edward, who is, as far as we know, the least dishonourable of the Windsor Brothers. 

There are four splendid anthologies of the writings of stanislav and mr ishmael, compiled by his friend, mr verge, the house filthster. You can buy them from Amazon or Lulu. Here's how:

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.

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

https://www.lulu.com/shop/ishmael-smith/flush-test/paperback/product-9yjvn7.html?q=Flush+Test&page=1&pageSize=4

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.

In the Royal Academy exhibition catalogue Hunt wrote that "the scene was painted at Sodom, on the margin of the salt-encrusted shallows of the Dead Sea. The mountains beyond are those of Edom."

You remember Sodom? One of the five Cities of the Plain. God sorted them out good and proper.