The Paragnostic

Crushed by a three year old

2010-05-29T01:30:00.002+01:00

I was making my tea today when the children from hell next door (OK - they're not from hell at all, but allow an old man some poetic licence...) accosted me.

Young Hugo, who is three and a half and increasingly self-confident, asked me - "Where is your lady?"

I was, to put it mildly, taken aback - my wife died some 18 months ago, and for young Hugo to have remembered her was truly humbling - she was a kind and beautiful person, but to have had such an effect on a two year old was a surprise to me, and deeply disturbing.

His big sister, who is nearly 6 (Chloe, you are going to be a truly great writer...) promptly killed the conversation by reminding Hugo that Laura was dead, even though I had just said she had 'gone away'.

I loved my wife, deeply and probably to excess - but the fact that she has had such an effect on these two young people makes me humble and privileged to have been with her, however mad our time together was.

Laura - the small part of the world that you influenced still loves you, and this particular lumpy bit will love you for ever.

St George's Day

2010-04-23T09:15:00.002+01:00

Well, it's that time of year again, time for council busybodies to object to the English displaying their Englishness, and for most of the English to ignore their national day.

Here's a fine bit of Englishness to cheer you (and me) on this fine Spring morning. It's an old Stanley Holloway monologue, written by Marnott Edgar in 1937, and it makes me smile - hope it does the same for the rest of you.

"THE MAGNA CHARTER"

I'll tell of the Magna Charter
As were signed at the Barons' command
On Running mead Island in t' middle of t' Thames
By King John, as were known as 'Lack Land'.

Some say it were wrong of the Barons
Their will on the King so to thrust,
But you'll see if you look at both sides of the case
That they had to do something, or bust.

For John, from the moment they crowned him,
Started acting so cunning and sly,
Being King, of course, he couldn't do any wrong,
But, by gum, he'd a proper good try.

He squandered the ratepayer's money,
All their cattle and corn did he take,
'Til there wasn't a morsel of bread in the land,
And folk had to manage on cake.

The way he behaved to young Arthur
Went to show as his feelings was bad;
He tried to get Hubert to poke out his eyes,
Which is no way to treat a young lad.

It were all right him being a tyrant
To vassals and fiolks of that class,
But he tried on his tricks with the Barons an' all,
And that's where he made a faux-pass.

He started bombarding their castles,
And burning them over their head,
'Til there wasn't enough castles left to go round,
And they had to sleep six in a bed.

So they went to the King in a hody,
And their spokesman, Fitzwalter by name,
He opened the 'ole in his 'elmet and said,
Concil-latory like, 'What's the game?'

The King starts to shilly and shally,
He sits and he haws and he hums,
'Til the Barons in rage started gnashing their teeth,
And them with no teeth gnashed their gums.

Said Fitz, through the 'ole in his 'elmet,
'It was you as put us in this plight.'
And the King having nothing to say to this 'ere
Murmured 'Leave your address and I'll write.'

This angered the gallant Fitzwalter;
He stamped on the floor with his foot,
And were starting to give John a rare ticking off;
When the 'ole in his 'elmet fell shut.

'We'll get him a Magna Charter,'
Said Fitz when his face he had freed;
Said the Barons, 'That's right and if one's not enough,
Get a couple and happen they'll breed.'

So they set about making a Charter,
When at finish they'd got it drawn up,
It looked like a paper on cattle disease,
Or the entries for t' Waterloo Cup.

Next day, King John, all unsuspecting,
And having the afternoon free,
To Runningmead Island had taken a boat,
And were having some shrimps for his tea.

He had just pulled the 'ead off a big 'un,
And were pinching its tail with his thumb,
When up came a barge load of Barons, who said,
'We thought you'd be here so we've come.'

When they told him they'd brought Magna Charter,
The King seemed to go kind of limp,
But minding his manners he took off his hat
And said 'Thanks very much, have a shrimp.'

'You'd hest sign at once,' said Fitzwalter,
'If you don't, I'll tell thee for a start
The next coronation will happen quite soon,
And you won't be there to take part.'

So they spread Charter out on t' tea table,
And John signed his name like a lamb,
His writing in places was sticky and thick
Through dipping his pen in the jam.

And it's through that there Magna Charter,
As were signed by the Barons of old,
That in England to-day we can do what we like,
So long as we do what we're told.

Bugger - I'm a Tory!

2010-04-13T23:57:00.000+01:00

Before I explain why I am now converted to Cameron's idealistic vision of a 'big society', let me explain precisely where I come from politically.

One grandfather was a boilermaker on the Newport docks - a hard man, unforgiving of impoliteness, ready, willing and able with his fists to avenge any slight against him or his own. My other grandfather was altogether different - a miner from the age of 14, a true Welsh firebrand, a man who had to forego a scholarship to grammar school in order to work down the pit and support his family.

My politics were shaped by both of these men who loomed large in my childhood - my school holidays were spent with one or the other from an early age, and I learnt a lot from each. My dad's dad, the boilermaker, was a natural Tory - the Daily Express every day and the News of the World on Sundays. His pride was in himself, not in his class - he made things happen and was never one to join a crowd. My mum's dad, on the other hand, was a true socialist in the Bevanite mould - one who believed that the best way to progress was for people to bond together, to work for each other and to provide for those in need.

Both men, in their way, worked for their families and their communities - the influence that they had on me as a child has, I believe, made me a good and caring person, if a little intolerant of interference and bullshit.

Anyway - back to the meat of this post, which is why I am now a Tory.

I cannot say that I subscribe to all the ideals that David Cameron stands for - I am an ardent anti-European, and probably far too sceptical of the global warming nonsense for comfort. But his presentation of the new vision that he has for Britain today really appealed to me - the rolling back of 60 years of statist intervention in favour of local influence, the culture of responsibility, the promise of reward for co-operative provision of services - all of these are truly Bevanite in their roots and their scope, and chime strongly with the Methodist within me.

I am puzzled, however, by the reaction of the media to Cameron's new vision - it is as if they are children, willingly abrogating the responsibility for running things to the grown-ups who know better. We are not children, and the politicians know no better than we do how to run things - we need only look at the past 13 years to see what entrusting our future to the lawyers, lecturers and trade union careerists who make up the Labour political class has done. It is as though the various journalists have become part of the New Labour Borg, unable to think independently and unable to conceive of action that is not centralised and dogmatic - unable to see that local provision can be cheaper and more effective than five year plans - blinded by tractor statistics and lies.

If Cameron truly believes what he says about devolving power to the people who know what needs to be done, and reducing the role of the state to that of a good manager, enabling the people to achieve their goals efficiently and without state interference, then I am all for it.

It would be nice, though, for Dave to tell us the truth about the cuts that will be needed - he did mention a 33% cut in Whitehall, but nowadays most of the Civil Service is outside London, and the burden of regulation on local councils has created more non-jobs with more unaffordable pensions than we can cope with.

So - I'm nearly a Tory, but need more honesty to finally convince me.

An interesting email

2010-01-17T13:49:00.004Z

I found this in my inbox today - I am unsure as to its provenance, but it rings true...

Return-Path: [d_head@dh.gov.uk]
Received: from 
 by ...  id k67L41CB000915
 for [...]; Fri, 15 Jan 2010 17:04:06
Message-ID: [10c4ac05df6.d_head@dh.gov.uk]
Date: Fri, 15 Jan 2010 17:10:16 +0000 (GMT+00:00)
From: David Mark [d_head@dh.gov.uk]
Reply-To: d_head@dh.gov.uk
Subject: Swine Flu Vaccines
Mime-Version: 1.0
Content-Type: text/plain;charset="UTF-8"
Content-Transfer-Encoding: 7bit
X-Originating-IP: 
To: undisclosed-recipients:
ATTN:
Dear Sir/Madam,

My name is Richard Head, from the Department of Health 
Procurement Directorate.

As you may know, some time ago we purchased 90 million doses 
of Swine Flu vaccine from Glaxo SmithKline and from Baxters.

To date, only 3 million doses have been issued, and as we forgot to 
take proper care when signing the Glaxo deal, we are left with 57 
million doses of vaccine that are currently useless.

In order to save our department's blushes, and to ensure the 
continuing payment of our well deserved bonuses, we would like 
to come to an arrangement with you and the rest of the British 
people to dispose of the excess vaccine by depositing it in your 
offspring and elderly relatives.

We are assured that the vaccine is safe, and will be instructing 
all GPs in the next few weeks to require that all children under 5 
and adults over 65, as well as those in poor health, attend their 
surgeries for mandatory vaccination.

Please respond with details of your young, old or sick relatives so 
that we can swiftly dispose of this embarrassing oversupply.

Thankyou for your support,
Dick Head,
DH Director of Procurement.

Anyone know whether I should reply? It sounds like a 419 scam to me...

Hobson's Choice

2010-01-14T10:56:00.003Z

Well, that was a crappy little spat at PMQ yesterday. I'm going to vote for Mr 'None of the Above' as I have every time since 1983 - it's simply a matter of making your own box at the bottom of the ballot paper and placing your X there.

Hat tip to Nell on Guido's site for prompting my very amateurish Photoshopping (well, Gimp-ing, but then friends don't let friends use Microsoft operating systems...).

Will Self is a Cunt

2009-11-13T13:04:00.002Z

It really pained me last night to see Will self (the overpaid witticist and smackhead knob) personally attack Dame Pauline Neville-Jones.

I happened to meet her in 1997, at the Commonwealth Heads of Government Conference in Edinburgh. She is a lovely, intelligent woman (though a bit posh), and we got royally pissed and sung 'Mack the Knife' on the karaoke.

Truly, Mr Self - you would be drinking through a straw for months if I met you.

Jacqui Janes

2009-11-10T11:42:00.002Z

Well, everyone else is posting on the subject, so here's my two pennworth.

My views on the monocular mentalist are well known - I have friends in Stan at the moment and am disgusted by the underequipment and the total logistical fuck up that puts them at risk.

To lose a son because there were too few helicopters in theatre, while knowing that because of crap procurement there are 9 Chinooks sat in Odiham, and because of crap planning all the Merlins aren't yet ready for deployment - Jacqui Janes has every right to be angry.

I've just listened to Labour Party apologists on the radio trying to say that it was a private conversation and that we should all feel sorry for the blind nutter. Sorry, folks, but this twat wants to be prime minister and tell me how to live my life - I'd quite like him to be competent, and at the
very least to learn to fucking spell.

I'm not a great Sun reader, but they have done a public service by highlighting the insensitivity and incompetence of the man who claims to lead this once great country.

And if I hear one more Labour stooge on the radio I'm going to hit someone.

One Year On

2009-10-30T12:21:00.002Z

It's exactly a year since my wife said her last words to me - she was in intensive care and sedated for the last three weeks of her life. Her last words were - "You did that on purpose, you bugger!"

Which is a lovely way to remember a remarkable woman.

We used to read poems to each other - here's a bit of doggerel.

Brian and Laura

What a fucking happy pair we were!
To sit, at night, with telly off-
Reading Wilfred Owen to each other.

For light relief some Sylvia Plath -
Never Ted, cause he's too dark.
Some Rupert Brooke - or Donne for those black days
When life cannot bring forth its spark.

And then again - there is John Cooper Clarke.

A New Take on the Peter Griffin Show

2009-10-24T12:13:00.003+01:00

I was out drinking with some Jamaican mates yesterday afternoon, and one of them broached the Nick Griffin subject.

"Did you see that Nick Griffin thing last night? Fucking disgrace, man!"

"How you mean?" I said.

"They never gave the poor bastard a chance - man, I was looking forward to finding out what these people stand for."

So well done the BBC and the Righteous - if my experience is anything to go by your ill-judged and ill-conceived mugging of that other monocular moron has just gained him sympathy from the West Indian community.

We need to debate with the BNP, but not at the level of personal attacks in a lynch mob atmosphere against the inadequate twat that leads them. We need to agree when they are right, and to not only destroy their argument but also to laugh at them loudly when they are wrong. That's one way to defeat fascists - the only other way is the UAF way and my views on life would not sit happily there.

There - I've said my piece. I'm just horrified but not surprised that the way Griffin was handled has backfired so far - only the two ladies treated him with any dignity, so Fuck You, Straw, Huhne and Mr Partisan Dimblebollocks, and thanks for the unfair and personalised attacks that make a fascist get sympathy from West Indians you utter, utter cunts.

Poor bloody Dodger

2009-10-18T03:43:00.002+01:00

One of my rats died on Friday night - not a big thing you may think, but the little buggers were my wife's pets and even though I didn't like them much they were my last tangible link to her.

I've kept them and fed them since she died, and to see little Artful Dodger dead in the cage yesterday morning really hurt - never again will he leap up to beg for food as soon as he hears my voice.

What a complete cunt life is sometimes.

FUCK!

You say it best...

2009-10-12T06:15:00.002+01:00

Is it just me that feels awkward about the mawkish, almost Scousey farewells given to Stephen Gateley?

He might well have been a nice chap and a fine man to have a drink with, but he was also a queer, a drunk and a fan of the old marching powder.

That shit will kill you.

Sorry, Gateley fans, but he got what he asked for.

Queer twat.

More Depressing Self Indulgent Shit

2009-09-24T21:12:00.002+01:00

I'm a depressive.

Worse and madder even than that monocular moron of the manse that has ruined our country.

So it's time to inflict another miserable poem on the world.

It's called 'To Save Time'

To save time
Life should, each morning
Just kick you in the balls.

To save disappointment
You should, each day
Expect to be disappointed.

To save yourself?
She should, each second
Be in your thoughts.

Some Days

2009-09-03T14:54:00.002+01:00

As proof that blogging is really all about vanity, I offer a little poem that sums me up in just 20 lines of doggerel.

Some Days

Some days, I just need
To sand the rougher edges of my mood
To smooth the spiky bits of life
In ways too often misconstrued.

Some days, I need a drink
To slow me down, or pick me up -
To make me comatose perhaps -
I don't do fractions - there's the rub.

Some days, I like to smoke,
A toke or three to take the pain away -
To induce dreaminess and peace
And cool the raging passions of the day.

Some days, I like to fight,
Creating confrontations on a whim -
To express my frustrations?
Yes, but also to get back at Him.

Some days, I vegetate,
To... but there is no reason there.
No voluntary action can be made
No sense, no will, no God, nowhere.

I think I might give it to my psychiatrist at our next meeting - it's easier than trying to explain to someone just out of their teens why a middle aged man is such a fuck-up as I am.

Homage To A Government

2009-08-31T21:46:00.003+01:00

I was feeling a little cynical and down this evening, so decided to cheer myself up by reading some Larkin and wallow in the joy of not being as miserable as he was.

This was a bad move, as I came across a poem I hadn't read since the third form at school, more than 30 years ago. It refers to Heath and to Northern Ireland, but applies equally well to the Monocular Moron of the Manse and Afghanistan, except that the last line should really be changed, because New Liebour have raped this country so effectively that all we shall be leaving our children is debt, unless we are either Liebour politicians or their banker friends.

It's called 'Homage To A Government', and sums up perfectly the despair we all should feel at the antics of these shallow, self-serving, half-educated Marxist scum that fooled the people into electing them to power.

Next year we are to bring all the soldiers home
For lack of money, and it is all right.
Places they guarded, or kept orderly,
Must guard themselves, and keep themselves orderly.
We want the money for ourselves at home
Instead of working. And this is all right.

It's hard to say who wanted it to happen,
But now it's been decided nobody minds.
The places are a long way off, not here,
Which is all right, and from what we hear
The soldiers there only made trouble happen.
Next year we shall be easier in our minds.

Next year we shall be living in a country
That brought its soldiers home for lack of money.
The statues will be standing in the same
Tree-muffled squares, and look nearly the same.
Our children will not know it's a different country.
All we can hope to leave them now is money.

Feel the love, New Labour parasites.

Talk to the Taliban

2009-08-31T16:26:00.004+01:00

With the new policy of McMental being to engage in conversations with the terrorists who murder our troops, I offer this small revision of the Dr Doolittle song, updated to reflect the wisdom of our absent Leader.

If we could talk to the Taliban, just imagine it
Gabbling to a goatherder in goat
Imagine prattling to a pashtun, waffling at a wifebeater
What a waste of our time that would be

If we could talk to the Taliban, learn their languages
Maybe take a Taliban degree
We'd study wifebeating and murder, opium and burqah
Bribery, corruption and Kharzi

We would converse in hatred and in ignorance
And we would curse our future prospects too
If people asked us 'can you speak to terrorists'
We'd say 'We're New Labour, can't you?'

If we could talk to the Taliban, learn their languages
Think of all the things we could discuss
If we could walk with the Taliban, talk with the Taliban
Lie and cheat and murder like the Taliban
And they would lie and cheat and murder us.

The one eyed scottish idiot really has no idea, does he - we should be fighting the Taliban and their allies in Burnley, Bradford, Leeds, Luton, Oldham, Birmingham - in fact wherever they are in our country. But he won't do that because he wants the Taliban block vote for New Liebour - he's hoping that more than 150 of the buggers will turn out to vote for him and his dhimmi friends.

Wanker.

In Gord We Trust

2009-08-07T11:52:00.003+01:00

Well, it looks like the technology proposed for the ID card has been well and truly compromised already - 12 minutes to crack it with a PC and a mobile phone, no less.

Where do I sign up, again?

Computer Weekly has the story here

Really and truly, this is beyond a joke - not only will this idiocy cost billions that we can ill afford, be an insult to every free Briton and herald the inception of Brown's New OstBerlin state, but it seems it's technologically incompetent even by the standards of the NuLabour shower of shit.

If the card itself is so insecure, how much confidence can we have in the back end database? I can foresee SQL injection attacks based on this hack - perhaps one day we could create a card that deletes all the tax records in the system, or makes all people with the surname 'Brown' ineligible for state provided services, or...

Bunch of arseholes, the lot of them.