Sunday 18 September 2022

The Sunday Ishmael 18/09/2022

 So, President Zelensky has declined to attend the Queen's funeral, instead sending the wife. He is staying home, overseeing key pieces of anti-Russian propaganda, most recently the exhumation of Ukrainian corpses from their marked graves. A more dignified response, and one more likely to have helped to foster a peace process, would have been to have landscaped the area as a memorial to the war dead, instead of pulling decomposing bodies out of the earth and saying - Look! Atrocities! 
The funeral has also been snubbed by the Chinese, as President Xi Jinping is also staying home, sending his deputy instead. 
It would have been an excellent opportunity for diplomacy, had someone in our lot had the foresight and wisdom to invite President Putin. Imagine the possibilities that would flow from Britain brokering a diplomatic solution to the present bloody stale-mate in Eastern Europe. Our U.S. masters would not have allowed it, however, and it would have upset the British public, whipped into anti-Russian loathing by those clever fellows in London, swollen with the success of their Project Covid Fear.
That chap, Tony Radakin, Chief of the Defence Staff,
is he simple? Interviewed on the Snooty Kuenssberg Show this morning, he earnestly explained that
"This was an illegal invasion of Ukraine at the outset. It’s illegal to attack civilians". This concept that war has laws that aggressors will obey and that infringement will result in indictment before a War Crimes Tribunal, seems lifted from the world of The Boys Own Paper and Bulldog Drummond. Tony, history is written by the victors. Modern warfare changed those sweet old war laws that allowed the Sir Bufton-Tuftons and Generals Go-Lightly Jockstrap to know that they were morally superior, that God was on their side and that it was just fine to send millions of working class husbands, dads, fathers and sons to die agonising deaths or survive with ghastly injuries because they would never face a War Crimes Tribunal, because they obeyed the war laws.
Anyway, Simple Tony Radakin went on to carefully explain:"Putin is failing in all of his military strategic objectives. He wanted to subjugate Ukraine - that’s not going to happen. He wanted to take control of the capital - we saw that that was defeated earlier on.We saw that he wanted to weaken Nato - Nato is now much stronger, and we have Finland and Sweden joining. He wanted to break the international resolve. Well, actually, that strengthened over this period and he’s under pressure.” Despite this litany of Putin's failures, Simple Tony had to concede that: "it’s going to grind on for a long time... I think we’ve got to be very cautious.”  
Great idea. Let's stop egging on Zelensky. Invite Putin to the funeral. Let's be the grown-ups in the room. 
On the previous thread, I drew attention to the condition of the British mourners filing past the coffin allegedly containing the mortal remains of Queen Elizabeth the Second. Halt, lame, wheeled, grey-faced, obese, etc. Turns out they were in the special, vulnerable, fast-track queue. Not representative of the state of the nation's health, at all, just representative of the British ability to spot an opportunity - " eh, our Charisma-Chardonnay, there's an elbow crutch in the cupboard left over from your Nan before she passed over - get it out, I'm going to pay my respecs."
   I tell you something that thoroughly annoys me about these mourners, interviewed for t'telly. They are all saying how she gave her life to serve the nation for 70 years. Oh, no, she didn’t. No giving about it. Sold it – for herself, her heirs and hangers-on – and very expensive it has been, too. This latest frolic must be costing me a pretty penny. And what’s this about service? Quite an easy job, really, compared with my jobs, that is. A bit of how are you, have you come far, what do you do, and cut the ribbon.  Terrific pay and conditions, very, very nice food and clothes, lovely houses, fabulous holidays, never lonely, lots of dogs. She’s never had a chair thrown at her head, been in and out of prisons, Nitromors’d Victorian furniture in the snow, held down a tent in the pouring rain and howling gales, got lost in Bloody Birmingham, etcetera, etcetera. Mind you, I'm prepared to concede that my career path has not been that of Most People. I still have nightmares about getting lost in Birmingham, trying to find Winson Green, but the exam nightmares wore off a few years ago.
Talking of clothes, which I often do, being an amateur textile artist, didn't you love the Ruritanean outfit they dressed Princess Anne up in? 
Those white trousers were a huge mistake. As were the Wellington boots. And the hat. And the Cockade. Thought I was watching an episode of Sharpe, so I did. Couldn't they have found her a nice skirt and black fascinator? It's not as if we don't know she's a girl.
Oh yes, you'll say, it's easy to mock. Yes, that's right, it is.
But while we laugh (or I do) the barbarian gazes from the shadows, and on his face there is no smile. 
 The PR adage: it's a good day to bury bad news seems to have dictated the timing of the release of the decision by the Prudential Regulation Authority and the Financial Conduct Authority, without explanation for the decision, nor apology for the delay, that no action will be taken against directors and senior managers of HBOS, which collapsed in 2008, wiping out shareholders, costing thousands of jobs and forcing a £20.5bn taxpayer bailout. The HBOS Ten, headed by former chairman, Lord Stevenson and Chief Executive, Andy Hornby, remain absolutely "fit and proper" to hold senior roles in the financial service industry. So, out of 63 Directors and 27 Executives across the four bailed-out banks, only 6  executive directors have been banned or fined. Nothing to see, here. Move along.

We've had many monarchs remembered for their defining characteristics: Alfred the Great, Ethelred the Unready, Richard the Lionheart, Edward Longshanks. Now we have Charles the Unpleasant:
King Charles the Unpleasant and the Intrusive Pen Tray

King Charles the Unpleasant and the Leaky Pen

No, it's not because he's upset about his "darling mama", it's just the way he is. Remember his description of Nicholas Witchell to Wills and Harry back in 2005, during a photo opportunity in Klosters: "I can't bear that man. I mean, he's so awful, he really is".
What a thing to say to your sons about a poor old man. 
And, as head of the Royal Hypocrisy and Sycophancy Unit, BBC's Royal Correspondent, Nicholas is wheeled out to say suitably solemn and reverential things about the royal shower at every event of state, knowing all the time exactly what Charles thinks about him and remembering the three of them snickering about him. 
Apparently, the late Queen's greatest achievement, according to petite, retired Archbishop John Sentamu,*
Still got a weakness for a purple shirt, even though he's retired and everyone's wearing black.
was to seamlessly transition the British Empire into the British Commonwealth, with nations queuing up to get in. Peaceful, co-existing, linked in a great family, commonality of purpose, just like India and Pakistan. 
police pelted with bottles as they try to keep Hindu and Moslem men apart
Large-scale disorder broke out in Leicester on Saturday, with  fighting on the streets between men from sections of the Muslim and Hindu communities. Seems it started with a cricket match, on the 28th August and shows no signs of ending. Men eager to participate are travelling to Leicester for a good ruck.
A Hindu man said: "The police are allowing Muslims to march in our area chanting anti-Kuffar slogans."

Definition: Kuffar is a highly derogatory Arabic term used to refer to non-Muslims, though it is usually directed less against "People of the Book" (Christians and Jews) and more against others (Hindus, Buddhists, Shintoists, etc).
A community spokesman said "We need calm - the disorder has to stop and it has to stop now. There are some very dissatisfied young men who have been causing havoc". 
"Against kuffars make ready your strength to the utmost of your power, including steeds of war to strike terror into the (hearts of) the Enemy of Allah and your enemy, and others beside, whom you may not know, but whom Allah does know. Whatever you shall spend in the Cause of Allah, shall be repaid to you, and you shall not be treated unjustly." (Qur'an: 8:60)
If you haven't heard much about this running battle in Leicester, it's because there's a funeral on. For a Queen who presided over the Commonwealth.
Whilst mentioning the difficulties of policing civil wars in the streets of our cities between men who identify with the conflicts of the South Asian subcontinent rather than with their own British homes, in this most perfect of Commonwealths; in London they have a new Metropolitan Police Commissioner, Sir Mark Rowley, who, we are told, is "tougher than he looks".
Which is alarming, because he looks as if he wants to bite your face off.
Editor mr verge has found a little exchange between a former police officer and stanislav from November 6, 2008:

Retired Old Bill said “…The current De Menenzes enquiry is exposing this, with revelations of incompetence, corruption and deceit so outrageous that in the past there would have been wholesale sackings and resignations in the police, Home Office and government. How is it that we have become so accepting and unresponsive to such travesties of justice?”

stanislav said…  When was that, then? Birmingham Six? Guildford Four? Barry George? Lockerbie? Met Vice Squad? West Mids Regional Crime Squad? Bent coppers have always been permitted to retire “on health grounds” and keep their pensions, thieving fucking bastards, a deal between them and the politicos, also thieving fucking bastards.

Do fuck off with your old bollocks, Old Bill has always done government’s bidding and shoved some poor bastard in the frame, guilty or innocent. Cunts, all of you.

That the new media makes it a little more difficult for Old Bill to cover his tracks does not make your case that this shit never went on before. You should fuck off to the Costa del Crime with your bank robbing chums and leave justice to people who understand it. Nobody ever got to be a senior police officer without walking past a cell where some poor bastard was getting a kicking, without verballing someone up, doctoring evidence and telling barefaced lies in court. Off down the Lodge with you now, nothing for you here, pompous hypocritical cunt. Evening all.


*And this piece on Sentamu by mr ishmael is worth re-posting:

I was in York Minster on Easter Sunday and his grace, Archbishop John, was glad-handing the pilgrims on their way out. Acting in my capacity as a member of the counter-press, I asked him if he was sticking to his pledge of not changing his underpants until Bob Mugabe had been lynched, boiled-up and eaten. Bless you, my son, he grinned.  I couldn't smell his underpants, even though it was a hot day and he was well wrapped up in archbishop clothes, so who knows, him and his Saviour, I guess. I wouldn't be at all surprised if he was wearing underpants made of cloth of gold, handsewn by some scrubbed and shrivelled Anglican nuns, especially for him, fringed with diamonds, and had been bullshitting the Faithful all along, about him and Uncle Bob and his self-denial of bodily hygiene.  I mean, being an archbishop, he wouldn't expect to be walking around York, all greasy and shitty in the down below department. He certainly didn't look as though he hadn't changed his underpants for five years.  I missed his sermon but saw, instead, right afterwards, the Choral Matins, locked behind iron gates in the  Quire;  there were only about a hundred of us, virtually outnumbered by choristers and deans and precentors and crippled, old sidesmen demanding money.  I gave them a tenner, what his late revoltingness, the phoney reverend, Ian Syphillis Paisley, used to call a silent donation, and was glad to get out of there alive.  But the music was fantastic, I had never heard any of it, psalms and anthems in settings by Victorian devouts, as it was happening in the beginning, is happening now and will carry on happening, alleluia, amen. And there were only a couple of readings by the dean and some other dude, short and to the point - Do as God fucking tells you. That'll do until Christmas, save to reflect that a life ordered by the Church calendar obviously has its leisurely attractions, its comforts, especially when the regular rituals are performed in such a setting, glass and wood and stone, its shapers' hands long coffin dust, its restoration and repair as constant as Time.

Note: 2017
The archbishop of York, John Sentamu, has put his dog collar back on live on air, a decade after he removed it in protest at the regime of Robert Mugabe in Zimbabwe.
Sentamu cut up his collar on The Andrew Marr Show in 2007 in protest against the rule of the then president, who was forced to resign earlier this week after 37 years in power. He said at the time that Mugabe had taken people’s identity and “cut it to pieces”, so he would do the same with his collar.
Back on the Sunday morning BBC One show 10 years later, Marr handed him the pieces of his original collar: “Nearly 10 years on, I’ve got them for you, they’ve been sitting in my desk. They’re in a slightly crumpled old envelope, but here they all are. I said I would give them back, so I’ll give them back.”


 Now Available

If you would like more from the originator of Call Me Ishmael,  look no further than  Ishmael’s Blues - which is now published, in both paperback and hardback editions; both editions are immediately available from  The paperback is also listed on amazon. Honest Not Invent and Vent Stack, the first two books in the sequence are also 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 :

 Unless you’ve done this already, please register an account first, at 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. 

The book’s full title is "Ishmael’s Blues – further Chronicles of Ruin", and the cover you'll see is red with white titles and a picture of blogdog Buster retiring from the fray, cat gloating from a safe distance. The cover is the same for both editions.

Link for Hardcover :

Link for Paperback :

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 " 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.


Bungalow Bill said...

Beautiful closing to Mr I's piece, Mrs I. Typical.

Bungalow Bill said...

PS your own summary of The Princess Royal Sir Anne's getup is rather fine too, if I may say so.

Mike said...

Its the pretend medals that annoy me most. There was a picture of the grandchildren standing vigil. There was some young grandkid, looked about 15, who couldn't be bothered to comb his hair amongst the vigilantes. He was wearing a row of medals FFS. Does anyone know who he is?

The organs of the state (royalty, military, police) are all parts of a machine to keep the plebes doing what they have been doing for hundreds of years: that is working, paying tribute, not complaining, and thanking them for their "service". It will become more visible in its coercion next year as the economy crashes. Any dissent will be crushed.

ultrapox said...

my instinctive reaction to the queen's passing was "didn't she do well?"

now, of course, i know the expiration of someone's mother is no cue for raucous peals of laughter...

but nor too, for that matter, is state-sanctioned genocide a particular source of amusement.

yes, when our seriously ill mums, grannies, and aunties were all cruelly thrown out of hospital and then left to die during the needless 2020 lockdown, was it not rather remarkable that not one of the ruling reptiles, in either the royal family or parliament, lifted so-much-as-a-fucking-finger to stop the brutal british establishment's expedient and systematic - yet somehow unquestionably humanitarian - mass-murder of its citizens?

charles' bad pen day was an absolute shocker, what? perhaps, at some distant juncture during his long and undistinguished reign of error, the former arms-dealer and royal saudi playmate - become king - will learn of the invention known as the 'ball-point'.

verge said...

An expat friend emailed at 4pm (UK time) to say "this isn't live, right? I must be watching a recording." I had to explain that it was indeed a live feed, and that they were watching Part 2, the sovereign having two funerals, presumably to correspond with the double birthday malarkey. (What's Latin for "wring out your dead"? Might make a good motto for the State Hearse livery - in your own time, Brian.)

Mike said...

I'll offer a contrarian view.

I watched the whole thing, into the early hours of a Sydney morning. So much could go wrong, but it didn't. What was also compelling, for those of us of a mature age, it that we were clearly witnessing the end of an era. Change will now certainly come about.

Now, one can hold a view on the place of monarchy and particularly the current crop - I do, and that is why at the outset I debated whether even to bother watching it at all. I continued watching because I marveled at the dedication and performance of the mostly working class lads and lasses, who showed pride, dedication, and the ability to perform at the highest level. Imagine those lads carrying that heavy lead coffin up the steps, in perfect unison, then later lowering it slowly on outstretched arms with muscle power alone. We will not see anything like this again, anywhere in the world.

It was an appropriate end of an era; a Britain of the 1900's which by longevity extended into the 2000's.

Here endeth the lesson.

mrs ishmael said...

It was, indeed, compelling, mr mike. The British Establishment does ceremony and ritual incredibly well, aided by those magnificent buildings. I even had a goose-bump, lump in the throat moment when the bearers took up the heavy coffin - their sweet, serious, boyish faces determined to do it right, not to stumble, and another when all the sailor boys and girls took up the harness to the gun carriage in one hand, whilst the other hand tightly gripped that of the sailor next in file. Bending to the task like war horses, heavy with the honour and responsibility. They're trained, you see, groomed and rehearsed, setting aside individuality to be part of a whole. Even so would they turn their weapons on the enemy, or even their own people, like a lethal corps de ballet, at a barked order from their sergeants.
When the coffin was reverentially and carefully placed in the hearse, I thought I could away and cut my lawn, but the procession had its own dignity and the flowers thrown by the crowd onto the hearse was a whole Diana reminiscence. Mind, I couldn't sit through the whole double funeral, as mr verge has it - as he said, the determination to wring every drop of emotion out of the pageantry was exhausting- but did pop back to see the removal of the sceptre, orb and crown from the coffin. They didn't drop them.
I don't think the gun carriage will be needed for Charles the Unpleasant any time soon. He really must be fit as a flea - he bore up so well to a long day of walking and standing that he was able to crack a few jokes with Welby at the conclusion of the second funeral. Apparently, there was a third funeral in the evening just for the family. Stamina.

Mike said...

Indeed, Mrs I. The sophisticates can mock, and despite all the Gucci attention seeking black clad ladies, nothing speaks louder than the matelots clasping hands and hauling their monarch. Heart of Oak. I feel a youtube coming on, and Sharpe to boot (Hakeswill shortly to get his comeuppance):

Mike said...

The UK economy is now being trashed. Funny money for subsidies for energy, tax cuts etc.. Where does that money come from? Borrowing is expensive as interest rise. Tax? The pips have already squeeked. Printing new money is massively inflationary. The numbers are now historically off the scale. And winter hasn't even arrived. At this rate, Charles III will be ordering a coffin.

And just now, Putin confirmed that Russia is mobilising, partially but with 25M reservists to call upon: ergo, the West is truly fucked.

Mike said...

Food and drink warning!!

Anonymous said...

Good grief, mr mike, not something for delicate stomachs nor eyes. Do you think it's doctored mischief? Maybe he's allergic to incense, or saffron, or rancid yak butter. "Defender of all the faiths", wasn't it? Haven't heard that one lately, though.



Mike said...

I'm not a medical expert, but it looks like oedema (fluid retention) to me, possibly caused by kidney failure. I believe this could also cause high blood pressure and circulatory issues (red face). Given he would be getting the best possible medical care, and likely on drugs, this looks serious. Not sure what the prognosis is, but at this point it would look irreversible (if it could have been reversed it would have by now).

Anonymous said...

Stand by for a cascade of DNA cracks about its being pointless asking the Duke of Scratchings for a kidney if he needs a transplant.


mrs ishmael said...

Why, yes, mr verge, as they have aged, the two half-brothers and the half sister look increasingly like Prince Philip, (which is tough for Anne), whilst pompous, portly Andy is the cuckoo in the nest. Apparently, enraged by Charles' love affair with Camilla, who he considered too common to be admitted into the Firm (really?), he attempted to persuade his mum to disinherit Charles in favour of the then-teenage Wills with himself acting as Regent.