Sunday 19 June 2022

The Sunday Ishmael: 19/06/2022


Pictured on their home world of Planet Sauros

Hiding in plain sight - the grandheir to Britain's throne has released this picture of his spawn clustered around him, baring their horrid little sharks' teeths at us, all the better to gobble us up. That one on the left has quite the piranha look about her.

A Happy Father's Day to the fathers of our nation, wishing you foi gras, champagne and black caviar, with a side of truffles. Or at least a bacon sandwich.

Looks like the Conservative Leaders have declared open war on the working class, provoking a summer of strikes and riots, as major distraction from the Lockdown Blues - Lockdown Fucked the Economy, I Got no Job, and I never got to say goodbye, the Partygate Tango - While you bastards were living it high and the Inflation Quickstep - them bread prices have done reached the sky.

Here in Smart, Successful Scotland, where the electorate has no clue that the Scots Nats are spending way far more than they raise in taxation, because Gnasher has told them that the Westminster thieves, bandits and philanderers have lied, obfuscated the statistics, and kept the whisky revenues, the public sector pay offer for 2022 reveals the pecking order of preferred occupational groups: the NHS has been offered 5% and local authority workers 2%. 
The rail workers have been offered 5%. We've got Grant Shapps, Secretary of State for Transport and not short of a bob or two with his salary of £71,673 plus £84,144 MP's salary, plus expenses, complaining that rail workers have got a fucking cheek asking for a pay rise to match inflation when they already earn more than nurses (who we all know are angels). With inflation running at 10% and predicted to quickly reach 11%, any pay settlement less than that is  effectively a pay cut. Pay people enough to maintain their standard of living and inflation spirals upwards. Johnson and his chums are happy to have the labouring classes take the hit in the interests of the nation's economic health because they can go to Food Banks. And Community Fridges. And Charity Shops. It's not as if the Johnsonians could - infra dignitatem. 
Keir Starmer, himself not short of a bob or two, has got the Johnsonians bang to rights: "But here's the truth, Boris Johnson and Grant Shapps want the strikes to go ahead. They want the country to grind to a halt so they can feed off the division. Instead of spending their time this week around the negotiating table, they are designing attack ads. Instead of grown-up conversations to take the heat out of the situation, they are pouring petrol on the fire. Instead of bringing people together in the national interest, they are stoking division in their political interest."
It is going to be Boris' Margaret Thatcher summer.
Thank you for coming.
And why couldn't he pick up the phone and just call the belligerent, oops, brave and beleaguered dwarf  Zelensky? 
Shorty Zelensky with a chum

Shorty Zelensky with another chum
Nope, Boris figured there were more votes in a Ukrainian photo opportunity than in going to a conference of Northern conservatives in Doncaster, reckoning they were going to lose in Wakefield anyway. And what has he promised now? He's going to have the British Army train 10,000 Ukrainian soldiers every 120 days, to assist them to keep fighting this proxy war against Russia, whilst simultaneously waging war on his own working class, who are being required to pay for the War of  Popular Boris.
Definitely Boris' Margaret Thatcher summer. And we know what happened to her. 
Just when you think they've gone for good, here they come again:
Here they come again - (somebody's got to bleed for them to live)

Thanks, Van. Anyway, here he comes again, like rain falling on my window pane, Baron Hague of Richmond, PC, FRSL, Life Peer, MP for Richmond (posh bit of Yorkshire) from 1989 to 2015, former  Leader of the Conservative Party, Secretary of State for Wales from 1995 to 1997, Leader of the Opposition from 1997 to 2001, serving David Cameron as First Secretary of State  from 2010 to 2015, Secretary of State for Foreign and Commonwealth Affairs from 2010 to 2014 and Leader of the House of Commons from 2014 to 2015.  He's not short of a bob or two, either - in 2015 Hague purchased a £2.5 million country house, Cyfronydd Hall, in Powys, Wales.
Baron Hague, Remainer, ("Brexit campaigners are peddling fantasy economics"),  Cameron's chum, and opposed to Johnsonian politics,  has been putting the boot in.
 “What is going to happen now, I imagine that Boris
Johnson will say ‘it’s business as usual’ and the Cabinet will rally around... (but) more than 40 per cent decided really on their own to vote against him. That is very difficult then to proceed as party leader...... This is like trying to drive along the M1 with two flat tyres. You can say you are at the steering wheel but is it really viable, you are not going to get to the end of the motorway."

Baron Hague was quite correct - the Prime Minister told reporters in Downing Street: “I think it’s an extremely good, positive, conclusive, decisive result which enables us to move on, to unite and to focus on delivery and that is exactly what we are going to do.”
 The public widely regarded Hague as a bit of a wally, from his first embarassing speech in 1977 at the Conservative Party conference:
but the Tories loved him and he was Margaret Thatcher's darling.
At a time when it was a political disadvantage to be gay, unlike now, when it is compulsory, widespread rumours of his sexual orientation led him to refute the stories by revealing his wife's gynaecological records, thus rousing mr ishmael's ire. Even Sasha Swire in her Diary of an MP's Wife condemned him for breaching his wife's privacy and dignity to call in aid her miscarriages to prove his heterosexual credentials.
Editor mr verge has found this piece of Stanislavia from November 2007:

stanislav said...

Was Stanislav's Highland neighbour and famous Polish folksinger Dr Bob Dylan who popularise long "a" but only in song not in speech. Sometimes in song use long "a" for effect - "ay bullet from the back of ay bush... I am ay lonesome hobo ay rolling stone.....etc" Bob just do long "a" for scan and metre and maybe evoke miserable Old Scotchcunt ballad from eighteenth century "I am ay man of constant sorrow," "ay question in your nerves is many seas must ay white dove sail ...blame it on ay simple twist of fate." Is just poetic license. Is fucking hundreds of example. But not always. Plenty of Bobsong with proper, short "a." If not, some song run in fucking hours not just twenty minute. Long "a" in Bob's case is not a speech impairment. Unlike some people.
Young Master Hague, from Yorkshire, drink fifteen pints of lunchtime beer with manual workers and have mystical experience and make all fucking hair fall out. Become consume with desire in being prime minister and cuntus inter pares, even if bald as coot. After fifteen pint shitsplatter, Sweet William, sitting on pile of cushion and listen to John Wesley Harding, hear Maestro Bob sing "I am ay lonesome hobo without family or friends. I have tried my hand at bribery, blackmail and deceit....." and ever since, William is uplifted that sad young mommy's boy is not alone in big bad world, in homage to Bob cannot say short "a" ever again. Is fixed in mind. Everything is long "a," deep, profound. Just hang on there ay moment, you old codgers, I will still be ay young man when you are all in ay hole in the ground, by 'eck."
 Thanks to hearing of Bob Dylan, develop confidence and go in government eventually. One night after few Glenfiddick, prime minister say This little bald arsehole, he talks like a pompous prat -ay very good day to you, prime minister; I will be making ay statement in the house - 
See the source image
sounds like Jimmy fucking Saville, not a minister in my government, fuck him off, bury him in Wales. They all talk shit over there. Dwarves and child molesters and sheep shaggers. He'll fit right in there. Right away prime minister, said Chief of Staff Powell, or Pole, as he would have it. Consider the pompous little cunt buried. In Merthyr fucking Tydfil or some other arsehole slag heap of a place.

And so Sweet William go in Wales, and like all ambitious politician, make Brown marriage with womanperson, even if longing, deep inside, for ay very real accord with ay very nice, athletic, toned man; to make work-out in gym, make judo and karate and kung fu and share hotel room bed to save money, being, in ay very real sense, a Yorkshire-tight-bastard.

Official wife Ffffffion probably say William, you look like a cunt, try this nice baseball cap. 
transl. "I am horny"
Yes, that's right put it on backwards. You know how to do backwards, it's about the only thing you do know. But Fffffffffffion, says Sweet William, this is ay piece of gangster apparel, is it not, Mr Speaker, will not ay dark person approach me, Mister Speaker, with ay phrase not dissimilar to Yo, pussy whipped jive ass mothafucka? And me ay prime minister-in-waiting? You'll wait a long fucking time, now stop talking like a cunt and wear the fucking hat, and I am not Mr Speaker, ya mad bastard.
And so begin terrible decline of lonely young slaphead. Get ridiculed, whole nation fall over laughing at pompous Yorkshire cunt in baseball cap, pretend to be niggerbastard from ghetto on Detroit, not wimp nancy from fucking Barnsley. Get thrown from party leader's job and replaced by more slaphead, Ian and Duncan Smith, another mad cunt, The Quiet Man is TURNING UP THE VOLUME. Fuck me, is not exactly Go punk ahead, if you are lucky, and make my fucking day, is it ? Famous words of great Polish law enforcer, Filthy Harry.

Fucked up arse by party, Sweet William take long "a" pomposity show on road with Tony Cup Of Tea-Benn - father of Plagues Minister, Rosemary Benn and grandfather of Spoiled-brat Prodigy Benn - and make fortune. Both sit around and talk like fucking Moses. Do Rotary, Freemasons, Round Table, but not, after teenage experience, working mans club, fuck, no; memory still hurt after thirty years. Talk about life at top, major decisions taken as Wales Secretary, sheep, leeks, rugby, daffodils and Tom Jones, that's it. Oh, and Shirley Bassey. And Ron BadgerMan Davies only he came later. It is, Mister Speaker, ay most significant position in ay government to be ay secretary of state for sheep and vegetables or should that be ay vegetable, Mr Speaker, and it is one I commend to the House as ay small example of my towering experience in British politics, Mr Speaker.
 And now Sweet William is back on opposition cunt bench, smarting a little, surrounded by Flashman types but, nevertheless, cosied up to Mr David Two Dicks Willets - (how's that happen? Is birth defect, or surgical augment ?) - ay most distinguished foreign secretary-in-waiting, Mr Speaker.

As I said to my Spad, Sebastian, only this morning, Mr Speaker, Have ay nice day, dear one, have ay very nice day. The times, indeed Mr Speaker, they are ay changing, as we say up North. Icky thump. That'll be fifteen hundred pounds. Plus VAT.
For mr bungalow bill -
To rest my eyes on shades of green....... 
We've had a hot wind blowing these last couple of days, which has crisped leaves and withered flowers, but I captured these photos of  cow parsley and laburnum at their best last week.


Ishmael's Blues is not yet available for purchase, but Honest Not Invent and Vent Stack, anthologies of the work of mr ishmael and stanislav, the young Polish plumber - can be purchased  from Amazon or from Lulu. 

Lulu Link for Vent Stack:

 Lulu Link for Honest, Not Invent

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. 
Ishmael's Blues - coming soon



Bungalow Bill said...

Beautiful again, Mrs I, thank you.

It comes back at you in some of these pieces, just how good he was.

Nice one about the kiddy Windsors who are already being abused, of course, for our delight.

I see the latest dunce in charge of our soldiers is gearing up for a land war against Ivan. Fucking hilarious. We really are Vulgaria; Dick Van Dyke arise and save us.

ultrapox said...

hey chaps, why worry about stag-flation, when we can have stag-parties?

having so enjoyed the vip-treatment laid on in kiev for his first visit, boris bunk-up has apparently snuck back for seconds...

mrs ishmael said...

Thanks, mr bb, much appreciated.
We have witnessed a gradual process of public opinion being shaped to accept a war against Russia. Presumably General Go-Lightly JockStrap of the Queen's Soldiery could not make such comments without Cabinet approval. Scary times.

Excellent photo, mr ultrapox. I shall try to snaffle it for a Caption Contest.

Mike said...

Mrs I: I read that the new Chief of The General Staff, General-Admiral Sanders says his No 1 goal is to ensure the UK armed forces are capable of defeating Russia. Gilbert and Sullivan immediately comes to mind - the Major General. I also read that the UK is "slimming down" its armed forces to <75k (mostly diversity and awareness staff) and can barely field 2 divisions. Is this a ploy to kill Russians from terminal laughter?

mrs ishmael said...

Buster, the former Blog Dog, and my heart's desire ( shush, don't tell Harris), goaded beyond endurance by an imagined slight, failure to give precedence on going through a doorway or just sick of him, would recklessly leap onto the back of our Bearded Collie, sink his teeth into Barnie's neck and attempt to shake him, this being the method by which Yorkshire Terriers snap the necks of rats. Doesn't work with an opponent ten times your size.