The Lions' Share

We shall remember those who fought and died
For our security and Britishness
And honour and low taxes, nothing less.
I wear my paper whatsit with due pride
So all will know that I am right on-side
To guard the realm from future nastiness;
Because we would be in a dreadful mess
Should soldiers kill again when someone lied.

A donkey's bray towards the prides he slew;
A charitable crutch for those who tamed
The beastly Hun! Now let our nation see
Your proud concurrence with compassion's view
That all the widows, orphans and the maimed
Should live on charity, and not off me.

Tessie Grubber

Rehabilitating Recidivism

Compassionate Conservatism, as formulated and practised by the late Head Boy, decrees that everyone above a certain income bracket deserves a second chance; and it appears that the dead-eyed warden of HM Prison UK is prepared to show similar clemency in the case of the environmental criminals who have spent the past few years steadily poisoning the plebs. Pollution levels from nitrogen dioxide have been illegal since 2010, much to the indignation of Tim Farron, whose party during the Conservative administration of the time was evidently out the back mending a puncture on Boris Johnson's bicycle. The Government was defeated in court over the pollution levels eighteen months ago; it promised to mend its ways and has now been hauled back into court and defeated again because it has continued to break the law. In line with the present religious orthodoxy, ministers relied on projections which accentuated the positive and didn't do the country down, while treating with appropriate disdain the nasty, pessimistic, unpatriotic opinions of people who merely knew what they were talking about. Fortunately, as in the cases of Coulson, Hunt, Fox and others of similar fragrancy, the provisions of compassionate Conservatism decree that mistakes are there to be learned from, and even promoted for; especially if they are the tough, ambitious, patriotic sort of mistakes that can lead to fifty thousand excess deaths a year.

Within Measurable Distance of its End

I am sure we all remember the War on Terror, with its concomitant necessity for ridding Iraq of the weapons of mass nonexistence and for removing Saddam Hussein, than whom few things could be worse except, possibly, various things which the forces of Western civilisation actually managed to achieve. Among the more spectacular results of that particular crusade was the emergence of the Fighting Islamic Sons of Tony, from whom Mosul is expected soon to be liberated by "Iraq's most elite counter-terrorism division", as Britain's leading liberal newspaper gung-hoes it. Civilian casualties are expected; not because civilians inevitably get killed in wars, but because the enemy stands accused of using them as human shields, in order to hinder the projectiles of democracy upon their liberating trajectories and possibly mess up the whole business yet again. The assault also has a certain wider significance, in that it will undoubtedly be seen by the forces of Western civilisation as an excuse for more wog-bombing, if it fails; or conversely, if it succeeds, as an excuse for more wog-bombing.

Days of Wormauld Pleen

The sun is up, the wind is keen;
These are the days of Wormauld Pleen.
Children's rhyme

My latest concerns a man who wakes up one day to the sound of someone pounding in terror at his front door, only to discover that his terrified guest is the company psychological therapist; and from there matters only get worse. The book is now available, as paperback and as PDF ebook, and should be bought in quantity, read with alacrity, star-rated with enthusiasm and reviewed with unseemly flattery. In addition, for anyone who may have missed it, my backlist remains as available as ever.

After All, We're Not the Foreigners

The Commons Committee for Wogs, Frogs and Huns has advised the Government not only that it should throw more money at the ghastly BBC, but that it should fund, of all things, translations from the foreign. As part of the Osbornomic miracle, the financial responsibility for BBC Monitoring was shovelled off onto the corporation, in order to save taxpayers the expense and annoyance of a Foreign Office that knew what the foreigners were getting up to. Now that the Foreign Office has been reduced to a joke department kept aloft by the blathering of the Imperial Haystack, there seems little incentive for the Government to restore funding. Fifty-two per cent of the British people (viz. the British people) have spoken; and if the world has anything worth saying from now on, it will just have to do so in the British language.

Though I Be Rude in Speech

God, as we know, has strong opinions on many subjects, while taking a liberal and tolerant attitude to others. He has no objection to taking a little wine for your stomach's sake, for instance; but if you take too much and are witnessed by your son in a compromising attitude, that son shall put forth only hewers of wood and drawers of water for the white folks. Equally sanely, God doesn't mind an occasional rape, massacre or genocide, but He does not take at all kindly to profane language. Hence, the Almighty has warned the president of the Philippines to stop his epithets, or else be killed in a plane crash. Summary executions in the name of the War on Chemical Heaven remain, however, acceptable in His sight.

Omens and Portents

Given recent annunciations by the Ascended Incarnation of the Reverend Blair concerning his imminent personal redemption of the political centre, it can surely be no coincidence that the tomb of his second-best chum Jesus has allegedly been unearthed by conservationists in Jerusalem. The location where the Saviour's body was, "according to tradition" (or, in Standard English, quite possibly not), placed after his martyrdom to the chocolate egg industry has been uncovered by Greek archaeologists funded by a music-industry widow and the infidel prince Abdullah II of Jordan. It lies beneath the Church of the Holy Sepulchre, custodianship of which is shared between half a dozen squabbling factions of the risen corpse's self-proclaimed followers. In order to keep the loving brothers from one another's throats, since the time of the pre-Blair crusades the keys to the church have been left in the keeping of Muslims.

Words of Honour

In the interests of taking back control and returning sovereignty to Parliament, the dead-eyed warden of HM Prison UK has been conducting private meetings with foreign car manufacturers, and has apparently persuaded them to invest in Britain on the strength of some assurances which neither side has deigned to disclose. Presumably Nissan have been granted honorary non-wog status along with whatever feudal rights over the white working class are deemed appropriate for the aspiring North Korea of the Atlantic. The chief executive of Nissan had expressed doubt over whether the investment would go ahead without some sort of financial compensation for any tariffs "imposed after Brexit" (in Standard English, tariffs to which the North Korea of the Atlantic may expose itself by flouncing out of the club which includes avoidance of said tariffs as a privilege of membership). Nevertheless, it appears that the chief executive of Nissan has consented to be appeased by tea at the Vicarage and Greg Clark's word of honour, and that the rest of the automotive industry will be happy to satisfy itself with the best possible deal which Mad Tessie and her minions have been announcing more or less daily for the past few months. Evidently the National Health Service's three hundred and fifty million a week remains safely ring-fenced, unless some scary Zac-baiting Muslim has made away with it.

Don't They Know Leadership When They See It?

Despite the moral and intellectual leadership of frack-happy luminaries like Amber Rudd, the country's biggest windfarm operator is considering divesting itself of its interests in oil and gas. Worse yet, Danish Oil and Natural Gas propose to invest the proceeds of the sales in renewable energy projects, rather than in something sensible like fracking Lancashire, or a blanched Sino-French pachyderm with infinitely extensible completion deadline and matching price tag. Instead, Dong Energy is seeking to consolidate the grip on Britain's wind which has gradually and insidiously come about through decades of rule by sandal-wearing metrosexuals. The company is majority-owned by the Danish government, which is also unscrupulous enough to run a welfare state in a country whose citizens, despite being Euro-wogs of 1973 vintage, look just like real people.

Your Ash is Mine

Ever since the Saviour failed to draw any precise distinction between the flesh and the spirit, the Catholic church has been doing its best to clear matters up with the faithful, who are self-evidently too stupid to work out the difference on their own. Having graciously permitted cremation since 1963, the Vatican has now decided that its congregation might require a bit of guidance on how to dispose of the results. Dead meat being more sacred than organic ashes, burial and rot are still the preferred option; and some people are taking undue advantage of the Church's liberalism by doing unauthorised things with the remains of their loved ones. Accordingly, the prefect of the Inquisition has proclaimed that practices such as scattering, keeping at home or conversion into memorial objects are all forbidden, since they lead to "pantheistic, naturalistic or nihilistic misunderstanding" and all manner of heretical naughtiness. Instead, ashes should be kept, doubtless at no more than reasonable expense, in a place that has been properly mumbled over and thus rendered holy, in virtuous contradistinction to the hideous blasphemy of Matthew 18 xx, which implies that the mumbling might sometimes be unnecessary.