Sunday 7 November 2021

The Sunday Ishmael 7/11/21

 They don't half talk some shite, these people
Following the amusing attempt by Bo-Jo the Ho-Ho to protect his chum, Owen Paterson, from the consequences of being found guilty of an egregious breach by Chris Underpants, 
 Sir John Major (British Conservative Prime Minister 1990 to 1997 and lover of Eggsina Currie) has jumped right in to put some stick about. 
Time for a quick chorus of the John Major song, written by the great musicologist, mr ishmael during the Major years and sung lustily to the tune of The Ash Grove. Dearly loved by mr ishmael's apprentices in the antiques trade, the workshop would ring with the joyful cadences of young voices. It goes like this:
John Major, John Mayjor, John Mayjeur, John Majeueur,
John Major, John Major, John Major,
John Major!!
Go on, sing it - it's great. On my recent travels south, we had a chorus around the dinner table, with mr ishmael's favourite apprentice leading us all. I know, we shouldn't have favourites, but he was a delightful lad, a former altar boy, with a real love of music. After discovering Frank Sinatra, the sounds of hammering would be interspersed with a howled Trip to the Mooooon. After all these years, he hasn't forgotten the words to the John Major song. Extraordinary.
A brief interlude follows with mr ishmael's reflections on these people, who have not shuffled off into the sunset. Oh, my word, no.
 Johnny Underpants, doing his soapbox drone in The Solihull Dementia Sufferers Lunch Club. Oh yes.

Oh, yes; oh, yes; oh, yes.
Hear this, church-going spinsters, the very salt of England, bicycling home, on your Raleigh Back2Basics Ladies' cycles,  to a glass of warm beer and an interracial gangbang. 
These Milibands, they're right bastards. 
What, just one of them? Where's the other fucker gone, then? 
Well I never.
I have been not unsignificantly inaware of that.
But even if there's only one of them, he'll cause more trouble than that bastard, Portillo.
Oh yes.
Remember, voters of Britain,
a vote for Milband is a vote for Portillo.
And you might let those Torybastards in.

And today, the Filth-O-Graph has that model of public service, 
Edwina Shagbag, all dolled-up for the Ugly Whores' Ball, gobbing-off, not about doing the GreyManFuckShuffle, not about appointing the worst sex offender in history to run a fucking hospital but on how Tory activists, all seven of them, are going to dash about on their strong legs and jolly well get the slackers out to fuck, I mean vote. 

Edwina Currie, Jesus fucking wept. 
They have no shame, at the Filth-O-Graph, none at all, they'd join a shit-eating competition, and win, if they thought it would keep-out the not-very-red menace.  Christ, they'd eat buckets of it, lorryloads of it, rather than pay tax.
 (By the next election) Major'll be retired to the Channel Isles, watching cricket on skymadeupnewsandfilth and his doxy, Edwina, should be dead of the House of Commons Pox,
Praise God and may He send a plague of rotten eggs to rain on her funeral. And on theirs.
My Big Fat Gipsy General Election published 7/5/2015
Anyway, back to Sir John's recent contribution to the Paterson debate. I don't dislike Sir John. He wasn't born one of them - but somehow strayed into the Conservative Party, with his state education and three O levels, and was able to take advantage of Baroness Thatcher's eviction from office to get the top job. Maybe he's attempting something similar with Bo-Jo. He really doesn't like him, you know. He fired a round of fucks into Andrew Mitchell, then party vice chairman back in 1993.  In his autobiography, Mitchell tells us that Major summoned him to his office:
“The meeting did not start well. As I entered his office, he was standing by the fireplace. ‘Ah, Andrew, thanks for coming: what the fuck do you mean by putting Boris Johnson on the candidates’ list?'
 John Major is again stirring the Parliamentary broth, doubtless hoping the Tory dogs will fall, slavering, on the Bo-Jo throat, for perpetrating yet another embarassing Parliamentary U turn. The Back Benchers did not enjoy being whipped into supporting the indefensible.
 It went like this: 
The Parliamentary Commissioner for Standards, chaired by Chris Bryant, M.P.
Sorry - I just love the picture. Parliamentary Standards, forsooth!

investigated Owen Paterson, MP, paid employee of Randox, a clinical diagnostics company, since August 2015, and of Lynn's Country Foods, a processor and distributor of meat products including 'nitrite-free' products, since December 2016. At £100,000 per anum. That's in the region of £500 grand. On top of his M.P.'s salary and any other bits and pieces of income, expenses etc. Buy you a very nice house anywhere in the country, £500 grand, that would, apart from BloodyLahndunn, money-laundering capital of the world. (Honest, Not Invent. Ref. Pandora Papers). 
The Parliamentary Commissioner found that Paterson's behaviour was an egregious case of paid advocacy, that he repeatedly used his privileged position to benefit two companies for which he was a paid consultant, and that this brought the House into disrepute (they don't half talk some shite, these people - as if anything could bring the House into further disrepute). The rule prohibiting paid advocacy by MPs is contained  in paragraph 11 of the 2015 MP’s Code of Conduct.
Paterson made three approaches to the Food Standards Agency relating to Randox and the testing of antibiotics in milk in November 2016 and November 2017; he made seven approaches to the Food Standards Agency relating to Lynn's Country Foods in November 2017, January 2018 and July 2018; and he made four approaches to Ministers at the Department for International Development relating to Randox and blood testing technology in October 2016 and January 2017. He also breached paragraph 13 of the 2015 MP’s Code of Conducton declarations of interest, by failing to declare his interest as a paid consultant to Lynn's Country Foods in four emails to officials at the Food Standards Agency on 16 November 2016, 15 November 2017, 8 January 2018 and 17 January 2018. Finally, he breached paragraph 15 of the 2015 MP’s Code of Conduct, on use of parliamentary facilities, by using his parliamentary office on 16 occasions for business meetings with his clients between October 2016 and February 2020; and in sending two letters, on 13 October 2016 and 16 January 2017, relating to his business interests, on House of Commons headed notepaper. Paterson said sorry for using the headed notepaper, but believed that he had not breached the Code in any other respect, seeing himself as a whistleblower, saying that the majority of his approaches fell within the ‘serious wrong’ exemption in the lobbying rules, which allow an MP to approach a responsible Minister or public official with evidence of a “serious wrong or substantial injustice” which would otherwise breach the lobbying rules, as long as any benefit conferred is “incidental”. Hmmm - that would be an "incidental" £500,000.
So Paterson was found bang to rights by the Comissioner for Parliamentary Standards, Kathryn Stone, and sentenced to 30 days' exclusion from the House. When suspended, their pay is also suspended. It could have triggered the recall process for a by-election.
But, instead of a vote on a 30-day suspension, MPs found themselves being whipped into an amendment to appoint a new committee to look again at the case and the disciplinary system. Which they did. A new system could only have benefitted those MPs either under or threatened by investigation by the Standards Committee, for example, into their wallpapering and holidaying activities. In the public furore that followed, Johnson, ever alert to the public mood, hastily ditched his plan and Paterson resigned. 
Sir John Major hasn't held back: “I think the way the Government handled that was shameful, wrong and unworthy of this or indeed any government. It also had the effect of trashing the reputation of Parliament." He suggested that Johnson's working majority of 80 has led him to treat Parliament “with contempt”. Ministers had “behaved badly” in “ways that are perhaps politically corrupt”.
Jolly good stuff from Sir John, whose catch phrase was "the peas are rather good tonight, dear."
It will all slide off Johnson's back, of course.
Rather unpleasant is the vilification heaped upon Kathryn Stone, who said in her report: “ it stretches credulity to suggest that 14 approaches to ministers and public officials were all attempts to avert a serious wrong rather than to favour Randox and Lynn’s, however much Paterson may have persuaded himself (to the contrary)" Business Secretary Kwasi Kwarteng has suggested her future is in doubt and Paterson's chums have publicly criticised her investigation. Don't mess with the Tories, girl.
So, instead of embarking upon a 30 day suspension from Parliament, Paterson has joined the ranks of those Great Parliamentarians who have called in aid their wives, mental health, miscarriages and children to establish their probity. Here's his resignation letter:
"My integrity, which I hold very dear, has been repeatedly and publicly questioned. I maintain that I am totally innocent of what I have been accused of and I acted at all times in the interests of public health and safety... .....I am unable to clear my name under the current system. Far, far worse than having my honesty questioned was, of course, the suicide of my beloved and wonderful wife, Rose. She was everything to my children and me. We miss her everyday and the world will always be grey, sad and ultimately meaningless without her. The last few days have been intolerable for us. Worst of all was seeing people, including MPs, publicly mock and deride Rose’s death and belittle our pain. My children have therefore asked me to leave politics altogether, for my sake as well as theirs....I do not want my wife’s memory and reputation to become a political football. I intend to devote myself to public service in whatever ways I can but especially in the world of suicide prevention."
Utter Fucking Horrible Bastards.

Chris Underpants, Chair of the Parliamentary Standards (hah) Commission,

is now calling on Jacob Rees-Mogg, 

quaintly titled Leader of the House, and Bo-Jo's Enforcer, to resign: “He has created a crisis for Parliament by standing out and talking for 45 minutes in favour of a motion that was the direct, polar opposite of the rule of law. A Conservative MP has also told me that the ‘knobs’ of the party told the ‘oiks’ what to do, and the ‘nobs’ don’t necessarily have the best political antennae. And I think Jacob Rees-Mogg wanted to deliver an outcome because of a personal friendship.”
Ah, the art of the filibuster. A little tiring.
Of course, Chris Underpants has a long history in the House (and in these pages). He attracted comment by mrs. narcolept back on  the 26th February 2014 in CELEBRITY NEWS.
she said:
I am watching the BBC Daily Politics, today without Andrew Neil, and they are asking a celebrity hairdresser who plies his trade in London whether Scotland could cope with independence. And they have just described Chris Underpants Bryant MP as an expert on all things Russian. We are doomed, we really are. 
To which mr ishmael wrote (but never posted) the following response:   
The PBC's Parliament channel is probably its least viewed, attracting only lonesome, obsessive insomniacs such as we, the more usefully occupied segment of the population watching - if anything such - instead, the ghastly, sperm-faced, faux dominatrix, faux comedienne, the hideous, bloated, toupeed creepy-crawlie, the blustering, sneering, self important old whorebastard and Murdoch cocksucking pretence of a man, Andrew Neil and his laughably titled Daily Politics show. 
In one of those self sidebars I remind myself that at the time of the Murdoch-Thatcher takeover of much of Fleet Street and thus the public discourse, Neil remarked heroically that he didn't care about workers He Had A Newpaper To Produce.  Chance'd be a fine thing, like Murdoch, Neil's  never done any such thing in his poisonous, playboy life;  he and the likes of Larry Lamb, Trevor Kavanagh  and the excremental Kelvin McKenzie have jointly, for a few measly quid, trashed, corrupted, debased and cheapened most of what we could previously describe as public debate. 
 mr ishmael reported on the day-long debate in the House on the 3rd December 2015 which resulted in Britain joining the coalition of nations conducting airstrikes against Islamic State militants in Syria. MPs voted 397 to 223 in favour of sending in RAF Tornadoes. Jeremy Corbyn gave Labour MPs a free vote, which resulted in 66 Labour MPs backing David Cameron's government. Here is Chris Underpants' imagined contribution to the debate:
I can honestly stand before this house and promise that a vote for  bombing wog babies guarantees that terrorism won't win in the Oldham election, I personally guarantee it.  Yes, I will gladly give way to the gentleman for Spermy Underpants.
Tiny Speaker: 
I call Mr the Reverend Gay, Mr the Reverend Gay. 

Members on all sides WILL contain themselves, the right honourable exhibitionist WILL be heard......
Right Hon Chris Bryant (Labour) with his ministerial package

.......once he has covered himself up  
Who DOES he think he is? Mrs Speaker?

Oooh, thanks ever s'much, Mr Tiny Speaker, 
n'I'd  just like to record  that no matter what others  say, there's at least one of us thinks you're actually quite  a BigBoy.
But no, as a gay Anglican vicar from the dark valleys, Oh,  stop it, Hilary,  not those kinda  dark valleys, and just you take your eyes off my arse,  wouldya,  I would just like to ask the prime minister if those, like little ole me, always the bridesmaid, never the bride,  who vote for him will be entitled to round-the-cock, I mean clock security.  It's just that some of my party's members are starting to demand a say in what I do, actually in what I do, here, in this place, and quite frankly, Prime Minister, I'm starting to feel a teensy-weensy bit  uneasy, if you know what I mean, dear.  They're starting to say that going to war is something that matters to everybody, acting like flamin' great queens, if you ask me, they are, demanding a say in things they don't understand. Like all of us,  I didn't join the Labour party to take any notice of what its members say....
(Labour cheers, waving of order papers; 
singing: For he's a jolly good fairy, for he's a jolly good fairy... )

And so I simply ask the prime minister, if I do vote for his hunky war, and all those really fit pilots and Oh, the oily groundcrews, some of them stripped to the waist, with lubricating fluid on their nipples and spanners in their hands, to just go and bomb civilians, will he protect me from the anger of my constituents and other citizens?  I mean, it's not as though we work for them or anything,  is it, dearie?

Well, yes of course and the right honourable ladyman makes a valid point which I assure the house I shall ignore, although a stern police action against terror-democrats is always an option  open to we, we blessed few, here, holding the line against Decency. But I would say that these so-called members of the Labour party are merely sending members pictures of incinerated wog babies; we on this side of the house offer the real thing.

So, we are all agreed then,
or enough of us.

cheers, applause, shouts of: time for some bubbly

We shall join a war with no end, just because it is the right thing to do, for the Conservative party, to which we all belong,  against whoever we say  is the enemy at the time.  In this case, Mr Corbyn, opposite.  A war which we shall never win. Why not? Well, because  it's just fucking stupid, that's why not.  Nobody can beat these fucking lunatics. Even thick people know that, like me and the govament.

I commend myself to the house and  I rest my face, I mean case.
Extract from:  THE WARLORD OF CHIPPING SODOM published 4/12/2015
 In other news, I suppose it would be plain contrary to ignore entirely COP26, even though it is nothing but an environmentally insensitive platform for political posturing by "world leaders". 400 Gulfstream and other aircraft brought their precious cargoes of human capital to the conference - each aircraft emitting two tonnes of carbon an hour. Compare that with the 10 tonnes of carbon emitted per year by the average person.One of those world leaders, now known in Australia as "angry man shouting at clouds" 
believes that he has been to an event called the G26. Oh dear. 
The utter ineffectiveness, irrelevance, hypocrisy and generally whited-sepulchre-ness of this event can be deduced from the title. It means Conference of the Parties,  that is those countries who signed the United Nations Framework Convention on Climate Change, agreed in 1994. This is the 26th iteration. Tell me, has climate change slowed down at all since 1994?
But now we have St Greta Thundermouth. She's 18 now, still tiny and even more gobby, but she started her haranguing activities when she was 15. Pretty damn odd. I have a 15 year old relative, who is mainly living in a virtual world, populated by ps4 characters and scenarios, determinedly enraging his parents by having Deliveroo bring round BigMacs and Fries at 2:00am. Granted there's a gender, nationality and class difference - but, even so - she's an alien.
thanks, mr verge, for the image.
Setting aside that little detail, her showbiz lineage (opera singer mother,  actor father, singer sister - have any of them ever done an honest day's work?), her commitment to "this is my time in the limelight", and the fact that being feted as a God Emperor can only have done irreparable harm to her character; she is right. They don't half talk some shite, these people. St Greta calls it blah-blah-blah.
Shame that rage is such an ugly emotion:
We can only hope that the climate-change deniers are right - but they are not, I fear. It is actually more optimistic to hope that climate change has been caused by human activity (basically down to over-population), because something can be done about that. There is fuck all to be done about the natural stately progression of the earth through cycles of Ice Ages and periods of global warming.  If it is human activity that is aggravating it, we can follow mr ishmael's advice and nuke China.Whatever, it certainly seems to be a bad idea to be living onna Is-land, with a close sea-view.
Oh, did you notice that the renewal of the Coronavirus Act 2020 has gone through Parliament on the nod? On the 19th October 2021 the Commons considered the following motion: "That the temporary provisions of the Coronavirus Act 2020 should not yet expire." Too busy protecting the sinecures, perks and illegal second jobs of themselves and each other, our parliamentarians couldn't be arsed to turn up to debate the extension of the most illiberal piece of legislation ever passed in the House. Amongst other provisions, the original Act enabled the government to restrict or prohibit public gatherings, control or suspend public transport, instruct businesses to close, detain people suspected of Covid-19 infection, suspend the operation of ports and airports, close schools and childcare premises, enrol students and retired healthworkers into the NHS and assume control of death management.  
The debate was scheduled for only 90 minutes, and speeches were limited to 4 minutes apiece. Her Majesty's Loyal Opposition didn't oppose and it was nodded through without a vote. And so your civil liberties have been removed, ladies and gentlemen. The "temporary" Coronavirus Act will now remain law for an unspecified period.
mr ishmael's essays today are:
My Big Fat Gipsy General Election published 7/5/2015
response to Mrs Narcolept in Celebrity News, 26th February 2014
(Extract from) THE WARLORD OF CHIPPING SODOM    published 4/12/2015
 There's more fun and irreverence from mr ishmael and his young friend Stanislav in the two books: Honest Not Invent and Vent Stack from Lulu or Amazon. It is cheaper to buy from Lulu. Register an account with Lulu to save a couple of quid, as going straight into the link provided below seems to make paypal think it's ok to charge in dollars, and apply their own conversion rate, which will put the price up slightly for a UK buyer. Once the new account is set up, follow our link; a pop-up box asks for age confirmation - simply set the date to (say) 1 January 1960, and proceed. (If you type the title, the anthology will not appear as a search result until the "show explicit content" box - found at the bottom left by scrolling down - has been checked.  You may also see the age verification box, as above, at this point.) 
 The full title is "Vent Stack love from stanislav" by ishmael smith, and the cover you'll see is red with white titles and a picture of Buster the Previous Blog Dog having a green thought in a green shade. 

Link for the paperback:


shorter link, which might make it easier if you wish to paste it into an email and tell a friend:

 Honest, Not Invent is available in paperback or hardback.
Link for Hard Back :

Link for Paper Back

At checkout, try PROWRITINGAID15, WELCOME15 or TREAT15 in the coupon box, which  takes 15% off the price before postage.  If this code has expired by the time you reach this point, try a google search for " voucher code" and see what comes up.  
With the 15% voucher, the book (including delivery to a UK address) should cost £10.89
Caption Contest


Anonymous said...

"£100,000 per anum" sounds painful, if well-rewarded. Perhaps schooldays at Radley prepare you for that sort of thing.

As for the end-of-post caption contest, in the spirit of recycling that St Greta would approve of, I suggest her statuesque Invisible Man prostate exam come engraved with the words offered to Lady Di in these pages some years ago to accompany a photo of her audience with President Mubarak, who was playfully wagging a digit :

"Show finger like this, make promise be gentle, then shove in whole fist."

Och, Greta, you really are awful.


Mike said...

That's a winner Mr verge, can't improve on that.

Johnny Underpants was the Biden of his times. The ultimate sock puppet.

That image of Edwina, I never dreamed I would see it again, is scorched in my memory. I can only hope that that little mouse, Mrs Major, make Johnny's remaining years a misery. Another obituary I hope I live long enough to read. 2 O-levels you say. I would have to demand a re-count.

Mike said...

PS Mr verge: reminds me of a rather unsavory incident Down Here when a Manly rugby league legend, John Hopoate, tackled a player and put his finger up his bum. Some wag said that he was just choosing man of the match.

Anonymous said...

God's tooth, mr Mike - makes the old Wimbledon FC antics of Dennis Wise sound like tentative honeymoon foreplay by comparison.

As for GT - she wouldn't be allowed near a rugby league team. Much too vicious.


Doug Shoulders said...

Want to hear some global warming?
Here, pull my finger.

Greta can’t be criticised. How could you?
And watching Biden is like watching a car crash in slow motion.

Mike said...

Greta: "pull my finger and I'll give you a kiss.......please, pull my finger..."

mrs ishmael said...

Thank you, gentlemen, sterling efforts. I think I agree with mr mike, though - mr verge came roaring in from the off and lived up to his title of House Filthster. Holding the Title is a bit like being Poet Laureate or the Scottish Makar, expected to produce perfectly-cadenced and polished filth on demand. A hard job, but someone's got to do it.
Thanks, mr verge.

build back batter said...

glaswegian take-away offers deep-fried swedish shrimp

mrs ishmael said...

Now that's good, mr b b batter.Subtle.

build back batter said...

in accordance with local culinary tradition, mrs ishmael, it looks to have been pre-dipped in chocolate...