At it like Rats in a Sack again.
Sir Mark Sedwill, the UK’s most senior civil servant, will announce his departure this week under Cumming's plans - woops, typo - Boris Johnson’s plans for a Whitehall revolution. Sir Mark was appointed National Security Adviser by Theresa May in 2017, a year later was made Cabinet Secretary and allowed to do both jobs. The Cabinet Secretary post is now a lost cause and the National Security post is under a Damocletian sword. Cummings told a meeting of political aides last week that “a hard rain is going to fall” after setting out Whitehall’s failures during the response to the coronavirus. The hard rain will see a scaling back of the Cabinet Office. A friend of Sir Mark said: “He has been viciously briefed against. The whole Gove-Cummings axis has been sowing discord between the Prime Minister and Mark Sedwill.” So that's why Cummings retained his post after doing nothing wrong under Lock Down. Good to know.
And Sir Keir is busy taking politics out of the equation, as he steers his party to the right
by removing Corbyn's slightly-left former Deputy and his own former rival for the leadership, Rebecca Long-Bailey, over some usefully-timed nonsense or other.
which made Corbyn cross.
Roll up, Roll up, get your Political Analysis here:
- They fight like rats in a sack
- There is no left and no right any more
- Which means there is no Opposition
- The independant and politically impartial Civil Service is now controlled by the big rats in political office
- Boris is a big girl's blouse and Cummings runs the country..........................................................
In a spirit of Ecumenicism this week's prize for Comedy Ecclesiatical Hat:
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Analytical and prescient, mr ishmail's musings in 1987 may provide a guide to life post Lock-Down as, yet again, the poor will be thrown out of work by the tanking of the economy, and again, as ever, those benefitting from the miseries of others float on the surface of the Great Latrine of State.
The Sturdy Beggar and
the Impotent Poor
Ishmael Smith 1987
The
first of the Poor Laws, passed in 1536, provided relief for “the impotent poor”
but compelled “the sturdy beggar” to work….New attitudes to poverty in the 20th
Century resulted in the introduction of national insurance schemes which
provided a comprehensive social security system that replaced the Poor Laws.
Long ago, there was full employment and we’d never had it
so good. Technology was relatively infantile and even the unskilled members of
society could earn a crust on the hod, on the shop floor or behind the bar. Then
as now, there were worthy folk, lacking in Social Work qualifications who
wanted to help those who had fallen from grace. The authoritarian became J.P.s,
the milder souls became prison visitors; some even managed to do both. All over
the land there were small, ineffective but harmless and meaningless Discharged
Prisoners Aid Societies. Manned – or peopled - by second-generation Guardian
readers, clergy persons and the occasional Judge, they doled out alms and
clothing to the ex-con. Sometimes they were able to secure gainful employment
for the defrocked vicar, the accountant caught cooking the books or the teacher
with his hand up a pupil’s skirt or trousers. In those days the phrases
blue and white collar worker were, like nancyboy and nigger and yid; legal
linguistic tender. The blue collar criminal could always find work; the motor
industry was booming as were construction and engineering. The resourceful
ex-con could always buy a set of National Insurance cards in a pub for a fiver
and then get a job without disclosing his past; or work
cash-in-hand while signing-on. The disgraced professional, however, faced a
different set of problems before he could put his past behind him. Burglary was
one thing, child molestation or professional misconduct were quite another; the
disgraced professional provided a valuable client group for the middle-aged,
middle-class Lord or Lady Bountiful to work with.
Times have changed. The Arabs decided they’d had enough
crumbs from the rich man’s table and grabbed the cake, the loaf and nearly all
the biscuits. This event, like any other disruption of global capitalism, meant
that the poor had to be squeezed a bit more; they had to feel guilty
about their low comparative productivity. Nobody, of course, said anything
about offshore investment or antiquated plant. It was all due to overmanning,
restrictive practices and Marxist union barons. When the poor would not respond
to the demands of the rich, inflation was invented. The Tory press rallied
round the pound in our pocket and a minority of the electorate returned a
government determined to see that the things which divided society remained
greater than those which united it. The only way for the rich to maintain their
differential was to throw a few million onto the dole. Suffering became the
handmaiden of efficiency, and, as we see daily, graft and corruption the
bedfellows of investment.
So-called high technology completes the tide of change.
Robots don’t go on strike. Since the discovery of fire and the wheel technology
has been hijacked by the powerful. The silicon chip – produced for pennies,
from sand – has certainly liberated people from the tedium of the factory and
the danger of the pit. But whilst the Fat Cat Hooray Henry, almost as a
birthright, “earns” a fortune on the Stock Exchange, the recently-liberated on
the dilapidated Council Estates balefully view the Pandora’s Box of consumer
goodies and the “lifestyles” enjoyed by the majority. The future is here, but
only for some.
Among the dispossessed some, righteously indignant,
oppressed by a racist, brutal and trigger-happy police force, and others aping
the greed of their betters, took to the streets.
Margaret Hilda Thatcher, Baroness Thatcher, LG, OM, DStJ,
PC, FRS, HonFRSC , Prime Minister 1979 to 1990
|
What was a poor girl to do? How was one to create the New
Jerusalem with all these uppity blacks and all these unemployed criminals
kicking up a stink? How could one hold up one’s platinum head in the world’s
councils with unprecedented civil violence erupting every summer? You know,
when one was abroad, as one often was, representing Britain, one found it
extremely tiresome having to explain about the wreckers within. Was one
presiding over a revolution?
As Prime Minister Thatcher and her Cabinet became alarmed about unemployment they dreamed up the Special Employment Measures Action Group, which funded a raft of programmes to prepare the young and the unemployed for jobs which didn’t exist. The pain of unemployment, which is as much to do with boredom, purposelessness, apathy and the erosion of self-respect and identity as it is to do with a poverty-line income led the once-proud worker and provider if not into debt, alcoholism and marital breakdown, then despairingly into the Micky Mouse world of Special Employment Measures, a shoal of red herrings, the cosmetic caring face of a savagely repressive, compassionless and short-sighted society, providing sinecures for yesterday’s yes men, failed captains of industry earning a nice little supplement to their pensions, the difference between four holidays a year and two and an opportunity to spend one’s declining years in good works.
Although the work is no longer there the long-enforced
values linger. Nobody in power seems able or willing to address the simple fact
that there will never be a return to full employment. There is simply no need
for it. Instead of resculpting our values and redistributing our resources we
sentence millions of our fellows to poverty and despair. In a recent televised “debate”,
The Ancient Scarman, the Establishment’s one size fits all, batteries not
included, multi-purpose placebo, assures us, quoting in one breath, Jefferson,
les sans culottes, and the worthless European Convention on Human Rights, that
everything’s ok really. Just a period of transition. We really are a caring society,
the evidence is everywhere, says his Lordship from his Gilbert and Sullivan
comic opera TV studio.
Leslie George Scarman, Baron Scarman, OBE, PC (29/7/1911 to 8/12/2004) Barrister, Judge and Law Lord. |
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The Stanislav Spot:
Stanislav, commenting on a post in which Guido Fawkes appears to have mispelled faint as feint:
A good recovery Lord Guido, but it was only a typo and you should have owned-up. We would all still respect you in the morning. Anyway that first bloke was a cunt for drawing attention to it. Stanislav know straight-up what Lord Guido mean. And is fucking Pole. Mean damning with faint praise. Only maybe finger is shake from cocaine and hit mistaken key. Maybe head fucked up with red wine and mix words, easy done. Happen all time. Worms come out all wrong. No need for big elaborate cut-and-stick rebuttal from dictionary to show CAN be damning with feint praise. Is like vanity number plate. If squint can read "I AM CUNT." But is not really correct spelling of I AM CUNT is probably LAM 644T and all twist up with screws and shit. Police should arrest, give good hiding and confiscate car; what else we pay them for ? Tell driver Yes, You IS Cunt and throw down nearest mineshaft.
Is one thing Mrs Alana Johnston make excuse himself for holocaustal slaughter of patients in shithole hospital run by greedy imbecile career fuckwits (like whole fucking country). Another altogether for Lord Guido twist and squirm like fucking politician and make cover-up, think nobody notice. Well Stanislav notice but not mention until now. Many people think Stanislav stupid fucking Pole, eat beetroot, drink vodka and cry about war, think Stanislav know fuck nothing. But is wrong, Stanislav know fuck all.
Anyway better watch out or get Lord Cover-Up Stevens of Northern Ireland and the Met uncover real facts of FeintGate. On second thoughts, no point; right Worshipful brother Stevens not recognise fact if bite on fucking nose. Stevens and fact is not acquainted. Not even feintly.
A good recovery Lord Guido, but it was only a typo and you should have owned-up. We would all still respect you in the morning. Anyway that first bloke was a cunt for drawing attention to it. Stanislav know straight-up what Lord Guido mean. And is fucking Pole. Mean damning with faint praise. Only maybe finger is shake from cocaine and hit mistaken key. Maybe head fucked up with red wine and mix words, easy done. Happen all time. Worms come out all wrong. No need for big elaborate cut-and-stick rebuttal from dictionary to show CAN be damning with feint praise. Is like vanity number plate. If squint can read "I AM CUNT." But is not really correct spelling of I AM CUNT is probably LAM 644T and all twist up with screws and shit. Police should arrest, give good hiding and confiscate car; what else we pay them for ? Tell driver Yes, You IS Cunt and throw down nearest mineshaft.
Is one thing Mrs Alana Johnston make excuse himself for holocaustal slaughter of patients in shithole hospital run by greedy imbecile career fuckwits (like whole fucking country). Another altogether for Lord Guido twist and squirm like fucking politician and make cover-up, think nobody notice. Well Stanislav notice but not mention until now. Many people think Stanislav stupid fucking Pole, eat beetroot, drink vodka and cry about war, think Stanislav know fuck nothing. But is wrong, Stanislav know fuck all.
Anyway better watch out or get Lord Cover-Up Stevens of Northern Ireland and the Met uncover real facts of FeintGate. On second thoughts, no point; right Worshipful brother Stevens not recognise fact if bite on fucking nose. Stevens and fact is not acquainted. Not even feintly.
Stanislav in conversation with mr anonymous:
Anonymous said...:(20:28 17/10/2017) "Stanislav": your "Polish" accent is slipping a bit, dear boy. I'm inclined to think Stanislav is either the Hitch or a Guido alter ego.
stanislav for real said... (21:51 18/10/2007) mr Anonymous - Fuck
off English cunt. Stanislav is real person. Not Guido. Not Hitch.
Everybody know Stanislav. Fix-up toilet cheap and help economy. In spare
time rant and rave like fucking nutter. Is ancient venerable Polish
tradition. Same as getting fucked up arse by Germans. Can't help if
english improve, is why come in UK, learn English, be doctor, like
Stanislav heroes, Gerry and Cilla McCann, not work, Just go in and out
of church for tv cameras; just live off public. Is great. Better than
politician scam. Only pension not so good and wonky scouse wife go
barking. Woof-woof, woof-woof. I is brilliant mother, woof-woof,
woof-woof.
Anonymous said... (23:06 18/10/2007) STANISLAV
Are you really Matt Allwright from the critically acclaimed 'Rogue
Traders'on bbc1(soon to be on channel sky2..probably) doing his
impression of the eastern european worker? you fraud mongering scamp..)
stanislav said...(2:21 19/10/2007) No,
is Polish plumber live in Scotland, best part of England and have some
time when not down toilet make effort learn about politics in new
country. Also has MRSA from shithole hospital run by Mrs Alana
Belsen-Johnstone, minister for extermination and is all fucked-up with
bug drugs. Can't therefore be BBC entertainer. All those cunts go
private. In Bupa, innit?
Call me ishmael said:
"Confiscate car.....Tell driver Yes, You IS Cunt and throw down nearest mineshaft."He used to make me laugh out loud, stanislav, weep rivers of tears. One guy said his wife had had to call him a fucking ambulance, he'd damaged his sides, laughing so much. His voice and subjects are anachronistic, here, and discordant, but fuck me, Jesus, he was a one-man Zeitgeist of Rage. I wish he was still around. (21/06/2016)
Advertising Break
Stanislav know Fuck All posted 21/06/2016
In conversation on another place posted Ocober 2007
Essays:
The Sturdy Beggar and the Impotent Poor written 1987 Stanislav know Fuck All posted 21/06/2016
In conversation on another place posted Ocober 2007