This morning, my absurdity meter was showing as depleted, so I needed a quick boost. The TellyGiraffe provided it in spades.

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I’ll begin at the beginning. The time to stop living in fear of Covid was sometime last April, about the time Boris had had his 3 weeks to squash the sombrero (of which we are now into week 70-something). About the time we realised that the goalposts were being moved daily, the statistics measured differently each time the wind changed, masks not recommended, then recommended, supplies of toilet roll been normalised etc.

Admittedly, the time to resume living in fear came around the time that the ‘vaccines’ started to be coercively foisted upon us all, including those of us who remember some of the previous deadly errors by government, the NHS and the pharma companies, and involving co-opting public opinion against anyone with reservations about being injected with a novel, experimental drug that has undergone nothing close to the normal extent of trials and testing. But that’s a different topic.

Admittedly also, as I recorded at the time, while fears about Covid should on any rational reading have been minimal by this time last year, fears about falling into the clutches of the monstrous NHS were – and still are – very valid. It is a truly awful, inhuman and evil entity, from the GP’s reception, all the way through to its intensive care facilities. That it is outperformed on all major indicators by the healthcare system of a 3rd-world communist kleptocracy like Italy speaks volumes.

I can quite imagine the fear in the hearts of people who face having to resume doing a horrible job for their living, rather than getting magic furlough money, and of those who worked at home for a year and face a return to an awful commute, to an awful place filled with awful people.

But Michael Deacon doesn’t mean any of those things, does he? He means the one fear that was never legitimate after the first useful information emerged. The one that has been stoked by every traditional media outlet, perpetuated by the one-sided information available on social & new media, amped up liked a Spinal Tap Stratocaster.

The one fear that has revealed an enormous majority of the public to be bidable loathsome imbeciles, collaborators and snitches.

Which brings me to the second part of the headline: a duty to get out and spend.

Now, I’ve long since recovered from the folly of youth, and I live within my means without ever going into debt for any reason. Nevertheless, I’ve spent a small fortune in the last year. I bought a house, fixed it up, moved into it and my ongoing battles with entropy ensure that I’m never short of jobs to do, requiring tools, materials and parts, labour and expertise.

I don’t mind saying that I’ve spent most of that fortune (after buying the house) with Amazon. Not because I think Amazon are amazing, but because they have been the one supplier who has never played the ‘due to covid’ card on me. I’ve not had a delivery delayed. I’ve not had a gibbon or a Karen tell me to put a mask on or demand I rub some mystery sludge on my hands before I am granted the privilege of spending money with their business.

‘Oh’ they moan, Amazon are just a China shill and everything you buy from there is poorly made rubbish. Have you been in your local hardware store, or in a B&HomeWickes, a Currys or Argos or whatever recently? It’s precisely the same Chinese tat as on Amazon, just marked up by 30% and wrapped in a pretty bow.

Because thanks to the idiots we think of as ‘in charge’, the the western world ran its consumer ecomomy off a cliff last March, and the only suppliers left standing are in the Orient. And that is not because I bought my powertools from Amazon (Makita, since you ask) rather than B&Q who offer nothing of comparable quality. It’s because China has pulled a massive long con on the weak, foolish, cowardly, self-indulgent western leaders. They deserve some level of congratulations for this, and a couple of gigatonnes of warheads shortly afterwards.

Does Michael Deacon, or anyone in the media or government, seriously expect us to go and spend with gusto in the sorts of business who for the last year have treated us as if we should be thanking them for letting us into their ghastly shops?

Do they imagine that our favourite restaurants are just all going to fling open their doors and carry on as if nothing has happened? Or that somehow we will ignore that they’ve had to double their prices and halve their portions in order to balance their books?

Do they imagine that we are going to want to spend any time at all in environments where people are still cowering behind face nappies and scowling at anyone who doesn’t, even after the government drops the ‘requirement’?

Do they imagine that we are going to want to fly abroad, with the cost of (fake) tests galore, even after a full compliment of ‘vaccines’, risking having to quarantine or isolate on return?

Is it possible that some of the people who got a nasty financial shock last year are more focused on putting themselves on a firmer financial footing than they were before? That is surely a duty that we all hold to ourselves and anyone who depends on us. Is that recognisable duty to have sound household finances at odds with the ‘duty’ to spend, spend, spend? I rather think it is.

I’m not sure I recognise any other duties. Not to society (what society??), not to the government and certainly not to any retailer you care to name. Not to God (doesn’t exist/is a total dick – delete as applicable) or country (missing presumed dead/overrun with orcs and zombies – ditto). Not to the planet (big enough to look after itself) or to the animals (delicious but smelly), or to the human race (fuck it, peel it, salt it, burn it).

Not least because duties (if we must use that word rather than ‘responsibilities’) once correlated with rights – they were part of a package. But we have seen how easily our rights can be swept away under the flimsiest of pretexts. If you’re telling me I can’t visit my mother, I can’t be at my dying brother’s bedside, I can’t go to my grandfather’s funeral, and even if I can, I cannot comfort my family; If you’re telling me that I need a ‘reasonable excuse’ to leave my house and walk up the street, or that without a ‘vaccine’ I cannot leave the country; If you’re telling me I have no right to privacy or dignity or to travel without participating in medical experiments, then I have no rights whatsoever and I therefore assume no responsibilities (or even ‘duties’) to anyone but myself.

But I do understand if you think that the economy, and society and all that shit need to be saved, because you want a decent world for your children to grow up in. I just don’t care any more. I cared for years, while politicians only cared about promising free stuff to morons in exchange for their votes. Which was always going to end well, wasn’t it?

I’m sorry, parents of young children. The world you thought you were bringing new life into is gone. Your offspring are destined to be cookie-cutter drones, zombies or slaves, whether you intended that or not.


Nothing is sacred, nothing is safe…

You thought the mentalists would leave you something at least, didn’t you?

They wouldn’t ever make it to the unpopulated outcrop of rock on which your own personal preferences were stored.

I’ve been staring into the maw of the ravenous monster for more than 10 years, but even I didn’t see this coming.

Following an underwhelming glass of curdled nectar, I conducted an idle web search, using the following terms:

  • Has Mount Gay rum changed?
  • Has Jura whisky changed?

Two of the drinks I count used to count as rare treats have been vandalised by the scum of the earth. Let’s go over to Dan Crispbutty for the details.

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What? Nooooooooooooooooooooooo…….

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Fuuuuuuu….. what could be behind this? I bet you’re way ahead of me:

Trudiann Branker, Mount Gay master blender, said: “It is an honour to be at the forefront of the exciting changes that Mount Gay will see in 2020, and I’m proud not only to be the first female master blender in Barbados but to be part of the team that will take Mount Gay from strength to strength

Well… who could have seen that coming? Goodbye, Mount Gay… it was fun for a while. Ironically, I was first introduced to Mount Gay by a once notoroious mad black woman of Twitter.

Jura’s new range will be rolled out globally in an effort to ‘appeal to new drinkers’, in what’s being called ‘a new dawn’ for the distillery.

Graham Logan, Jura distillery manager, said: ‘This marks a hugely significant step for Jura.  A new house style of whisky is not for the faint hearted but it tells you where we are now and how committed we are to Jura, the community and our whiskies for the long term.

If you’re wondering if Graham Logan is a cuck, you need wonder not a moment longer.

Kirsteen Beeston, global head of brand for Jura, said: ‘Jura is on the brink of something quite remarkable… The new style of whisky was the first step on this journey and one which we feel is a huge step forward in terms of flavour and product consistency. There is so much richness with Jura and we now confidently feel we have landed on a proposition with real consumer resonance and a range of whiskies with strong appeal.’

Oh dear. A pattern is forming.

Today owned by Whyte & Mackay, which also owns DalmoreTamnavulin  and Fettercairn distilleries, Jura will introduce the lightly peated flavour across the entirety of its core range.

Bitch, if I wanted peaty, I’d have bought a peaty whiskey. Talisker, Lagavulin or whatever. But I didn’t. Because I don’t fucking like peaty and that is exactly why I used to buy Jura, you fucking vandal cunt.


One more for luck.

Absolut Vodka is still a unique character, in both design and taste. Still ridiculously curious about creativity, collaborations and art. And still the key player for the perfect mix in any social occasion. And since all vodka from Absolut is produced in Southern Sweden, our superb vodka tasted exactly the same then as it does now. Nothing has changed.

I don’t believe them. I drank an ice cold glass of neat Absolut blue the other day, and frankly, it could have been a tumbler of frozen bath water.

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Oh dear fucking CHRIST.

Its easy to laugh and keep walking when The Great One asserts that women never create, they only consume and destroy but this, I’m afraid, proves that he is absolutely 100% correct.

Just fuck all the way off. The most evil trick the progressives pulled was connoting the term ‘progress’ with ‘improvement’ whereas it almost never is.

Unrelated: Have you noticed that whisky, rum and vodka (mens’ drinks) all needed to be changed, but gin (a woman’s drink) has stayed exactly as awful and flowery and dull as it has always been?


I’m shocked. Are you shocked?

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You are shocked, aren’t you. I can tell. Because literally no-one over the last year has pointed out how the government and their advisogoblins have strung us all along at every step and show no signs of stopping now.

I have to admit, I was predicting further lockdowns from October through to next spring. I really didn’t expect them to try it on so soon.

Lockdowns are with us forever, under any pretence the gubmint cares to invoke. And evidently 95% of people will go along with it. Fuck those people.

I’m also shocked – I bet you are too – to learn of a study showing that 57% of the people admitted to hospital with covid-related illness had been vaccinated at least with one jab.


Finally, you’ll be as taken aback as me that Simon Schama has written a piece calling objections to the vaccine anti-semitic because something something gefilte fish mazel tov.

Wait for the inevitable argument that “blacks and asians in this country have far lower rates of vaccination because they – with some historical justification – distrust the government and the doctors. Therefore as a white, it’s your duty to be vaccinated in order to hit the numbers for herd immunity, thus helping to protect unvaccinated minorities. It’s be racist to do otherwise.”

Just watch.


A National Day of Reflection

I’ve not been reading the news or Twitter or any of that shit, so it came as a surprise to me to get an email at work telling me we’re having a National Day of Reflection to mark one year since the first covid lockdown.

So reflect I shall.

I shall reflect on a year that has been spent saving the NHS, so that fat nurses in empty hospitals can film themselves dancing like animated farm animals and post it on the internet. I shall reflect on the millions who have had life-saving NHS treatments cancelled or indefinitely postponed and I reflect on their abject despair, fear and bewilderment at a nasty cold being deemed more serious than their cancer.

I’ll reflect on the elderly who have died alone in care homes, denied the comfort of their family being at their sides. And on the covid carriers who were sent to the ill-prepared care homes by the NHS.

On the funerals whose normal progress has been curtailed and interrupted by novel protocols as an etiquette built over hundreds of years was cast aside in favour of a blank slate which, like any unoccupied ground, is prone to ugly, spiky weeds who will raise a bony finger and say “Actually, due to covid, you cannot be allowed to do that.”

On the sweeping totalitarian powers granted to the state, by itself, to newly determine where you can go, what you can do, which members of your own family you can sit in a room with. To override each adult’s own perception and determination of risk and their appetite or otherwise to take the risk on.

On the power to disregard all if this your cause happens to be trees or black people.

On the unprecedented campaign of psychological warfare that has been waged by the state on the people. On the compliant media who are now de facto state owned as the private sector slashed its advertising spend and the government has stepped in with a huge budget for ‘public service messages’. On the fear-mongering advertising campaigns. Look her in the eye. But not if she’s a 20-something woman with blue hair,  because that’s probably creepy and you’ll end up in the stocks. I digress.

On the supression of information about promising and inexpensive treatments and preventions. On the conflicts of interest, such as Patrick Vallance’s propects of personal gain from uptake of vaccines.

On the economic tsunami that is still over the horizon, but is inexorably heading for the shore.

On the official narrative that has twisted and turned as if no-one remembers that what was said last week is in complete contradiction to today’s absolute and irrevocable proclamations.

On the hundreds of billions of pounds that have been magicked out of thin air, thrown around like confetti, and quietly added to your tab. Even if you didn’t get any of the magic money.

On the economic and political power that has been ripped away from the common man, the small business and the local area, and taken into the hands of oligarchs and ‘public health experts’.

On the fact that the ‘vaccine’ ‘miracle’ that we’ve seen over the last year can absolutely only mean either that these vaccines have not been properly tested, trialled, scrutinised and regulated OR that for years people have suffered while waiting for new treatments to be approved when there was clearly no need for every innovation to spend 5 years in regulatory hell.

On the notion the Marie Curie Society – “Care and Support Through Terminal Illness” – which has organised this epic trolling event is either rubbing its hands together with glee at all the terminal illness customers it now has in its pipeline OR has manifestly failed to hold the government to account for all of the non-covid terminal illnesses it has caused this year. That this is another cynical PR exercise to paper over all that unpleasant failure and remind us all that they are angels who need our money to continue their ‘good works’.

On the revelation that if the ‘stiff upper lip’ ever was a thing, it certainly isn’t now. Wearing a mask in the street, in the field, on the moors. Wearing two masks, three masks, four masks, more. On the emergent instinct that it’s more dangerous to pass another person on the pavement than to jump into the road to avoid them.

On the division, distrust and contempt that has been sown throughout families and society; all at best a byproduct and at worst as the intended outcome of all the gaslighting that has gone on.

On the prescience and now redundancy of a hundred dystopian novels.

On the fact that the whole country has been shutdown and locked up to protect fat people and those whose time is up anyway.

On the start of all this, one year ago, when Boris Johnson appeared on the telly and said “Three weeks to squash the sombrero, eh chaps? It’ll be a jolly jape, so lets all just build a blanket fort and hunker down, then at the end nanny will serve jelly and ice cream for tea.” Meanwhile he was pushing emergency legislation through parliament that gave him and his shaved chimps total carte blanche to enact any and every hare-brained scheme from every inferior egotistical non-entity with the balls to step up.

On the final and irrevocable proof that most people are fucking stupid and/or fucking evil, and we are living in a Retarded Dystopia.

But I’ll leave you with one final and uplifting reflection: In 2012, we all laughed and pointed and shrieked when Diane Abbott tweeted “White people love playing divide and rule”. We’re not laughing now, are we?


Or, to put it another way:

Boris, the media and the idiot public made a fool of Captain Tom Moore

I’m sure that Tom Moore had no idea what was coming next when he decided to raise a couple of hundred quid for his local hospital to thank them for looking after him.

He would have had no idea that he would become the zeitgeist. No-one ever does, unless they’re a fame whore.

So he ended up emptying the nation’s pockets of more than 20 million quid that was then given to the NHS so they could buy new iPads for their executive leadership teams.

The NHS is the 5th largest employer in the world. The budget for NHS England – just England – in 20/21 is more than £200BILLION. The whole UK treasury tax take in 2019 was £634BILLION. Money taken out of your paypacket on pain of imprisonment. The NHS in England has eaten a third of the whole UK budget for the year.

And still people are having their routine care cancelled. You can’t see a GP, you can’t get a dentist/hygenist appointment, you can’t get your suspicous lump diagnosed, you can’t get your cancer treated, your heart disease identified or your stroke prevented. Meanwhile the internet is wall-to-wall fat nurses doing TikTok dancing.

Thursday nights saw millions of brain donors on their doorsteps banging pots and pans to thank the NHS for all this benificence. And so the media mobilised Tom Moore to shakedown the British public for another £20million to pour into the bottomless pit.

Did you give any money to this absurd campaign? You’re a dickhead. Look at your last P60. A third of that money you paid in tax? That’s what you already gave to the NHS last year.

Clap for the NHS, donate to the NHS. Mobilise the WW2 veteran to give £20M of extra free money to the monster. Fuck off.

Perhaps if the money he had raised went to people who lost a relative in one of the care homes that was infested with Covid thanks to the NHS. Or people who have terminal cancer which could have been treated if it had been caught in 2020. Or people who couldn’t be at their loved one’s side as they died, or couldn’t give them the funeral that would have honoured their lives.  Or people who lost their jobs and businesses, yet still had to find a grand down the back of the sofa to buy each of their kids a laptop for home-schooling because teachers were afraid of missing an opportunity to sit on their sofas watching Quincy.

And now, honorary Captain Tom has sadlidied at the tender age of 100.

He went into an NHS hospital. He contracted covid in the NHS hospital. He died in the NHS hospital with the covid he caught in the NHS hospital.

No doubt, if it weren’t for covid, he’d have lived to a ripe old age, instead of being cut down in his prime like that.

I bear no ill will to the old fella himself, but the monster that his little fund-raiser became and the current mawkish circus around his death makes me hate the government, the NHS, the media, social media and the British public that little bit more than I already did.

So if you come within a mile of me and start crapping on about Tom being a hero or clapping for ‘our NHS’ or blaming ‘covidiots’ for his death, I’m going to run you down in my car, and then I’m going to reverse over you to make sure the job is done.

Bring on the meteor strike.


Britain, you deserve this. Good and hard.

I always had a bit of a misanthropic streak, I’ll admit.

But for a long time it was sublimated by a desire to see the best in people, despite all evidence to the contrary. After all, one has to ‘get along’ in the workplace, in social settings and in relationships, which is difficult if every encounter assumes you’re dealing with a total fucking moron or a malignant sociopath.

But now that we have no society and the likelihood of going into the office ever again has fallen by the wayside, there’s really no reason to play along anymore, is there?

There is no relationship at all between observable reality and the Cathedral‘s self-serving version of ‘the truth’. You know it, I know it. We all know it. But there’s a dancing nurse on TikTok, the premiership transfer window is just about to close and the dog’s been sick on the baby again, so this will have to wait.

Even supposedly intelligent people have their own preoccupations, so are easily bamboozled by the blizzard of stats, models, announcements, rules, changes of rules, IT failures and opinions dressed up as fact.

And thus people pop on their blinkers and choose to believe that the government has it all under control, and they just need to do their bit and wear a mask. Our is not to reason why etc.

They ignore that when government takes away liberties, they never ever give them back. They ignore that the government is known to use behavioural psychology (‘nudge’) on us to manipulate us into thinking that what is is their best interests is also in our own best interests. They ignore that politicians’ only fundamental concern is power.

It doesn’t matter if the robocop police batter peaceful protestors or break up a 10 year old’s birthday party, or arrest a pregnant woman in front of her children and drag her off in handcuffs. It doesn’t matter if suspicion, mistrust and a culture of snitching is foisted onto a ‘society’ that is more and more fragmented every day even without this.

It doesn’t matter if muzzles do more harm than good in a non-surgical setting. It doesn’t matter if righteous citizens physically assault those who don’t wear a muzzle.  It doesn’t matter if people are unable to get routine dental care and health check-ups. It doesn’t matter if cancers go undiagnosed. It doesn’t matter if people who were already in an NHS queue have their treatments further delayed. It doesn’t matter if some of those people die. It doesn’t matter if suicide rates go through the roof.

It doesn’t matter if hard-working people are taxed to death to pay for all the handouts. It doesn’t matter if a lot of those handouts are going to the unscrupulous and the fraudulent. It doesn’t matter if large parts of the economy are destroyed forever. It doesn’t matter if an economic collapse leads to a financial collapse, taking millions of pensions with it.

It doesn’t matter if thousands died in care homes because the NHS discharged covid patients into care homes in its own narrow interests. It doesn’t matter if the dying are prevented from seeing their loved ones. It doesn’t matter if Christenings, weddings and funerals as we knew them are practically impossible. It doesn’t matter if children are treated in dehumanising ways. It doesn’t matter if students are forced to borrow tens of thousands of pounds for education they’re not getting and accomodation they’re being barracaded into, to prepare them for jobs that will never exist.

It doesn’t matter if the government forces you and your children to have a hastily brewed vaccination that’s at best useless and at worst deadly. It doesn’t matter if you remember Factor 8 and Thalidomide.

I could go on, but none of it matters.

If there was more than a handful of malcontents who were prepared to say “no, I’m not fucking playing this game” then we might have a shot at putting an end to all this malevolence.

But there aren’t, so we don’t.

“We can ignore reality, but we cannot ignore the consequences of ignoring reality.”― Ayn Rand

As a nation we will face the consequences. All of us. People will blame the politicians. But who keeps voting for them? People will blame the media. But who keeps paying to watch and read them? Who keeps buying the things their advertisers sell?

The only power any of us has is to refuse to the extent that it is legal.

You needn’t wear a muzzle – the exemptions are wide open and legal. But you still do, don’t you?

You needn’t pay money that funds the BBC, the Times, the Telegraph, the Spectator, the Daily Mail etc. But you still do, don’t you?

You needn’t spend money in establishments that are taking an unreasonable approach to all this. But you still do, don’t you?

You needn’t accomodate people in your life who have swallowed the official story hook line and sinker. But you still do, don’t you?

You needn’t vote for any of these political parties. But you still do, don’t you?

Even the sceptic community is a waste of time. Wall-to-wall pedants, pettifoggers and tinfoil hats, who continuously lose sight of the core issue and the root cause.

Humanity deserves no better than this. Therefore I’m out.


BTCC Silverstone – Part 2

Well, I have to confess that I was a little harsh on the ITV team and particularly on Paul O’Neill. Despite all previous signs to the contrary (the weekend when the W-Series was a support race for the BTCC being exhibit A), they did not make a meal out of Jade Edwards being behind the wheel of a car.

All told, she did okay for a first time out, and fair play to her for that. I’ll come back to this matter though, momentarily.

Rory Butcher’s crash in race 3 was a monster. Utterly heart-stopping. Thankfully he walked away, and with any luck tests will reveal no long-term damage to him.

I was gutted for Tom Ingram. After winning race 1, he picked up a puncture in race 2 and was punted off early in race 3 (I still haven’t figured out who punted him off, the only thing I can be sure of is it wasn’t Andy Neate. Looking at the DNFs who didn’t complete a lap, my money is on Crees). I’ll have another look when the footage gets uploaded to YouTube (there’s a Russian guy who posts all 3 races up, usually on a Monday, giving you a few hours to download them before YouTube catches up and removes them).

I really want Ingram to be in the title running come the last meeting of the season.

I’ve decided, for no rational reason whatsoever, that I don’t like Dan Cammish. No idea why. I was gutted for him when the title slipped from his grasp at Brands Hatch in the last meeting of 2019, but I’m afraid when he’s put alongside cheeky chappy Tom Ingram, and class 1 scrapper Ash Sutton, he’s not getting a look in from me. I’m not a massive fan of the idea of Turkington winning it again, either, but that’s just because want to see a bit of change.

That said, I’m very disappointed with what Alan Gow has done to the RWD cars with the boost limit. RWD cars are a mixed blessing. All things being equal, they are quicker off the line than FWD cars – that’s just physics – but they are much more challenging to drive and to get the best out of than FWD.

FWD was always about packaging and manufacture for consumer vehicles. It was never about going fast, having good balance of weight across axles and giving control to the driver. Put simply, FWD is for women. RWD just better. It takes understanding, technique and bravery to get the best out of. It’s for men.

The problem is that while RWD has an advantage in getting the power down, they are a handful: a little too much welly coming out of a turn, or putting a wheel on the grass, and the car will turn round on you… the only way you can combat that is to come off the power (and a dab of oppo, obvs), whereas in an FWD, the answer to the rear stepping out is to bury the throttle and – ping, easy – car straightens up, and the worst that happens is you understeer wide. So Gow has taken away one advantage the RWD has naturally, while leaving the FWD cars with their advantage. It’s creating a totally false level of competition.

There were plenty of successful FWD cars (e.g Cammish’s Honda, Ingram’s Toyota, Butcher’s Ford) that did well last season without this meddling, and I hope Gow and his team think again before next season because – and this is the problem with all kinds of market rigging such as affirmative action – whoever wins the season in an FWD car will forever live with the knowledge that he had an artificial leg up over the likes of Turkington and Sutton. And we’ll all know it too.

Now, we come back to the hot topic du jour – Andy Neate and Jade Edwards.

Andy Neate is a fucking hazard. His track record is appalling. He should not be in the series. It baffles me how he even has an MSA licence to compete at this level.

However, if he’d come together with Carl Boardley or Sam Osborne in all three races, no-one would be discussing it at all. There’d be no hue and cry on Twitter, just a smattering of piss-taking from the hardcore.

But there is a hue and cry on Twitter. Because Andy Neate bullied up a girl. Yes, really.

This is the fundamental problem with women coming into male spaces. It only takes one or two women to completely change the dynamic. In the current madness, we’re not getting an insight into what happens in the pit-lane but do you doubt that after race 1, Edwards was sat in her motorhome ‘literally shaking’ while her race engineer had to be restrained from going and battering Andy Neate?

Some (most) men are inclined to defend the damsel’s honour, irrespective of the fact that she’s entered into the fray based on an assertion of equality. They have the same right to compete as the men blah blah blah. But men do naturally have an instinct to protect and avenge those women they care about, doubly so if they have responsibility for that woman’s wellbeing (or wish to be considered for the position). This instinct is trampled upon by the equality scam – as if it can just be dismissed from our evolutionary package.

So in the women come – as ostensibly equal competitors – and immediately they are treated differently by men who think they will curry favour for this behaviour. The phenomenon is well documented in the manosphere.

I do think Neate should be kicked out of the BTCC as a culmination of his behaviour at Thruxton and Silverstone (particularly race 3), but it doesn’t matter that yesterday’s fun and games was with Edwards. I’d be of the same view whoever he’d fucked over yesterday.

A big part of racing as a novice is not just getting to the front and staying there, it’s identifying and avoiding those you’re sharing the track with who are going to be a problem because they’re useless or reckless or revenge-driven or just in a difficult car to drive. Sometimes it’s just better to let the idiot past, because within a couple of laps, he’ll have put it in the barrier and you can breeze right past.

If Jade Edwards has learned a lesson in that respect, the day won’t have been wasted for her. She acquitted herself better than Davros ever has.

Sadly, so long as women are crowbarred into male-centric environments, the problems will not go away. But if Jade Edwards gets a full time drive next year, I won’t mind so long as it means Esmee Hawkey doesn’t get a drive. She can stick to making YouTube videos about makeovers and yoga.


BTCC Silverstone – Part 1

Everyone rejoice. REJOICE! For there is a vagina-haver on the grid.

Jade Edwards is having a drive of a BTCC car, everyone!

You’ll know when she’s being interviewed, because as well as being on the only driver with long blond hair, she has ‘JADE’ in big print across the front of her face-mask, lest we think that is Jason Plato behind the mask.

She’s been involved in motor-racing since she was 10 years old. Her dad was in Touring Cars when Chitty-Chitty Bang-Bang was in it. Her last season in Clio Cup has been charitably described as everything from ‘solid but not spectacular’ to ‘unfortunate’.

And she’s had a stellar entry into the BTCC championship. She’s qualified… in last place, behind the pay-to-play cerebral palsy rolling-roadblock Nicholas Hamilton.

Look, I don’t care.. let her drive, let’s see what she can do. I wish her all the best and I hope no harm comes to her or anyone else.

BUT I do expect today’s commentary to be wall-to-wall simping, excuses making, ‘isn’t it marvellous’, ‘we do need to work to get a more diverse range of competitors’ and all the associated horseshit. None of these specious propositions will be confronted by the key question: WHY? Why do we need more diversity, inclusion, darkies, minge-owners, cripples, and the generally unsuited to this elite sport?

Lest we forget, she was considered by ‘her team’ not to be suitable to have her first outing at Thruxton, which is a difficult, balls-out circuit. No, they saved her debut until Silverstone National, which has…. 3 corners, one of which you don’t normally even brake for.

Good luck, Jade.

But, to Paul O’Neill and anyone else who craps on about how marvellous it is, die in a bin-fire.


UPDATE: Well, fair’s fair. She made it to the end of the race and finished ahead of Davros ‘Cookie Monster’ Hamilton. At one point she was in 19th place, having overtaken several cars, and then along came Andy Neate and punted her off the track… but she saved it and carried on, able to get to the end. Fair play.

I reckon Neate should be sitting out this meeting after he had accidents and incidents in all 3 rounds at Thruxton last weekend. Also, it’s time for Michael Crees to do the decent thing and declare ‘well, I gave it a go, but this clearly is not for me. Sorry for fucking up everyone else’s day all season long’.

Recruitment OSINT…

I don’t recruit people very often, but it’s a disspriting experience every single time.

On and off I’ve wondered if those who are regularly burdened with the task actually keep a little list.

If I had to do it regularly, I would keep one. It would include things such as a cross-reference of the complete list of SJWs, and I’d probably employ a firm that scrapes social media, looking for anyone with a tendency towards thinking the world owes them a single damned thing. BLM hashtags? Nope. Extinction Rebellion instagram likes? Next. Retweeting Antifa? I’m sorry, that position is no longer open. Living wage? Die. UBI? In a fire. You have pronouns? In the sea.

But also included would be timelines of more generic events that would necessarily colour my perception of applicants from an affected cohort.

Current example: the class of 2020. All of these kids got exam results without actually sitting any exams. This will not be a revelation to anyone who keeps up with the news (i.e. not me anymore). The implications are stark though.

We’re told that following a government U-turn on the way in which estimated grades were formalised into actual qualifications, entrants will be awarded whichever is the higher grade from (a) their teachers’ estimate or (b) the government computer’s calculation.


The government’s computer, earlier today, running ABACUS.EXE.

We also know that teachers are of random quality, averaging towards the turnip end of the spectrum.

So the best case scenario is that the class of 2020 got its qualifications graded more or less at random.

More likely, however, is that both the teachers and the computer marked minority and female candidates favourably, while doing the opposite to white working class boys.

We may well find that there are certain social groups who’ve done markedly better this year than ever before.

And that means every potential hire who slaps a CV on your desk with the date 2020 against one of their claimed qualifications needs to be viewed with deep suspicion. Doubly so if their name isn’t one you’d ever heard of 20 years ago.

Of course this is all fresh in our minds right now, but if you’re recruiting in 15 years time, will it click that 15 years earliler, your applicant got xir qualifications out of a tombola?

No, it probably won’t and that’s why we should all keep a little list. More CV’s in the bin, more wasted time averted.

Sorry, class of 2020, but you just got an early and thorough lesson in how everything the government ever does will end up fucking you over Now, do any of them even have the faculty of independent thought to learn the lesson, absorb it, ponder its implications and act accordingly? I seriously doubt it.



It used to stand for British Touring Car Championship. But what does it stand for now?

British Touring Covid Cockwombles?

British Twat Chops Championship?

Britain’s Terrified of Catching Cold?

Fucking COVID. Fucking cowardly fannies that have totally taken over our society, our government and our media.

Oh sure, the racing was still good today, but everything surrounding it? Terrible. Repulsive. No atmosphere, no crowd, no pit walk, no celebrating the win, wall to wall mask cunts, unintelligible interviews conducted remotely, like defusing a bomb with a robot from a control centre in Swindon.


Do you know what I see when you broadcast an image of a man wearing a mask?

They may be showing this:


But I see this:

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And just how is this going to be sustainable, without the hundreds of thousands of pounds of gate receipts, hospitality, merchandise and victual sales that the venues depend on, but aren’t getting a penny of? It’s possible the sport will never recover from this, even if we go back to the old actual normal by next spring. Which we won’t. The masks are going nowhere, and we will be expected to be grovellingly greatful for every concession that is made towards a simulacrum of actual normality.

The next person that utters the words ‘new normal’ is going to get a fucking pipe wrench in the face.

Yes I had a ticket for Donington, yes I was still optimistic I’d be spending the day trackside. Until the whole thing was kiboshed by the fucking government on Wednesday… 3 days before the event. Because spoiled middle-class women and super-annuated wealth sponge boomers are terrified of catching a cold, and Boris (PTSD Be Upon Him) is desparate to maintain the illusion that he has things under control and hasn’t committed the whole country to a penurious future merely due to arrogance, ineptitude and indifference.

And what’s left but to watch it on the TV, technically obliging me to put £150 in the pocket of those sanctimonious 5th columnist diversity cunts at the BBC?

Fucking come at me, TV licensing nonces.

Note, by the way that former champions – stalwarts of the BTCC – were not present on the grid today. Because of the effect COVID has had on the viability of the sport, neither Jason Plato nor Andrew Jordan is racing this year. But Nick Fucking Hamilton is racing, isn’t he? The rolling road-block… the black Frank Spencer… oooh Betty… first two races, into the gravel trap twice. Twice causing a yellow flag, prolonged by the fact that the crippled twat can’t get out of the car and out of danger – even when it’s on fire.

Do you remember F1 driver Pastor Maldonado? Do you remember how everyone pulled their punches and dodged criticising him for how shit and dangerous he was? No, you don’t do you, because it didn’t happen. Critics were unrelentingly brutal. But not with Nick Hamilton.

No-one is saying shit. He’s a danger to himself and others, and he is the cause of some kind of incident practically every fucking race. But no-one will point this out because of who and what he is. The half black, half crippled, half brother of Lewis Fucking Hamilton. Paying to play, with change found down the back of Lewis’s couch.

Here are his results from last season: He ran 24 races, qualifying 25th on average. His best finish was an 18th place but more normally, if he finished at all, it was right at the back of the field. Remarkably, he only DNF’d 5 times last year.

But here he is again in 2020, like a dalek on a staircase. He didn’t even manage to register a qualifying time this weekend at Donington. And yet it’s not viable for Plato or Jordan to be on the grid.

Well look, Nick Hamilton. I’m very sorry that life dealt you a shitty hand with that disability. It’s very good of your lucky and talented brother to bankroll your hobby, but it’s not going to work. The race track is no place for you, and you need to get off the circuit and out of the car before you kill someone.


It ain’t over ’til the fat abdullah sings

Remember Shamina Begum?

Remember her having her British citizenship revoked?

Remember stupid right-wingers doing the victory dance like a teenage virgin spaffing his load when his first girlfriend accidentally brushes her tit against his arm – which is to say grossly prematurely?

I wrote:

On the face of it, this is what I thought should happen. And people across the land will be raising a glass tonight to this decision. But lets just keep our trousers on for a moment here. She has a right of appeal. Even if she doesn’t get legal aid out of our pockets, you can bet the lefty wingnuts and the ummah will crowdfund the best legal representation.

So expect someone like Cherie Blair or Michael Mansfield to step up to the plate on her behalf. This will run and run and end up at a court that finds in her favour and against the government.

So I was ready and waiting to hear this:

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The UK Court of Appeals ruled Thursday that Shamina Begum, 20, who joined ISIS at age 15 can return to the UK to appeal her revoked British citizenship before the Special Immigrant Appeals Commission (SIAC).

The Secretary of State denied Begum’s leave to enter the UK to pursue her appeal before SIAC in June 2019. Begum then appealed the denial to SIAC, which was upheld. The UK Court of Appeals reversed and held that, to have a “fair and effective appeal,” Begum may return from Syria “albeit subject to such controls that the Secretary of State deems appropriate.”

And so the stage is set for the English judiciary to drop its trousers and allow Begum to return to Britain. Not – you’ll note – return home. Return to Britain. This is not her home. She has no natural right to be here, and any right by birth is certainly forfeit after she went and did the ISIS thing. But I digress.

Once she wins her judicial review, the gates will be open for hundreds of other ISIS fighters who were stripped of their UK citizenship to also return.

And the circle will be complete.

I may turn out to be wrong, I’ll be happy to be wrong. But I’ve not been wrong so far have I?

I voiced the same ‘woah, this isn’t a done deal’ concerns when Boris won the last election, and I was right about that too, wasn’t I? He’s been a spino-gelatinous disaster of virtue signalling, bed-wetting tyranny and doing ludicrous shit that keeps him in the good books of his stupid, vapid woman, like the massive fat cuck that he is.

Stop doing the fucking victory dance at half-time & pick up your damned weapons!




That is Lewis Hamilton’s reputed net worth in 2020.

He isn’t domiciled in the UK, so he won’t be making any contribution to the exchequer that might go towards paying back the magic money tree or bolstering ‘our’ NHS.

His $50M annual income seems to mainly come from two companies that became what they are on the back of Nazi patronage – Mercedes Benz and Hugo Boss.

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A wag may go as far as to suggest, hyperbolically speaking, that by the transitive properties of pathological grievance-mongering, Lewis Hamilton must be a Nazi. Literally Hitler.

Nevertheless, he feels able to sit in judgement of us all and he’s come to the conclusion that we’re racists who’d better start taking a knee before he comes after us (whitey). He specifically targets his F1 millieu, but we know he’s talking about all of us when he refers to racism in society.

Adam Piggott picks up on the theme and I concur entirely with him.

Insidious threats to get with the program or else. Hamilton knows who you are; he sees you. You better get your white knee down fast, honky, or there gonna be trouble in the old town tonight. He took to wearing a ball and chain around his neck while mooching around the paddock on the weekend. The utter absurdity of such a privileged individual carrying on as if slavery was something that only ended a few weeks ago and which he personally had to survive, is a complete insult to every other driver on the grid and to every fan of F1.

Many of the F1 races take place in countries which are less, how shall we say, inclined to pander to blacks. You won’t see BLM on the streets of Abu Dhabi, for example. And I doubt that the Russian grand prix will put up with this nonsense. I suppose when the cars go to those races that trouble makes such as Hamilton will suddenly suffer collective amnesia. If only such a condition could be permanent.

The six drivers who didn’t take a knee were, Charles Leclerc, Max Verstappen, Carlos Sainz, Daniil Kvyat, Kimi Raikkonen and Antonio Giovinazzi.

I doff my cap to the 6 refuseniks, but I predict that Verstappen will fold first, followed by Sainz.

Kimi is Kimi, Daniil is Russian. They’re not going to capitulate to this crap.

Leclerc and Giovinazzi have a lot of future opportunity to lose by refusing to toe the PR line, so I wouldn’t bet my house on those guys going the distance on this, unless their Italian teams provide them with top-cover, which would be fine in the short term, but not so much when they’re looking for their next contracts.

As far as Hamilton is concerned, I wrote about him last year. Many of the British public don’t like him (although I doubt too many feel like admitting that right now). He’s far from the first spoiled, petulant sports star to attract unflattering comments in pubs across the land.

It would suit him to think it’s coz ‘e is black – that way none of it is on him. He has gone to lengths to mark himself out as ‘not one of us’ with his immersion on the US west coast music scene and his bling. But far more it’s that he’s loaded, entitled, tax-dodging, arrogant, shows poor sportsmanship and – as it happens – we don’t like race-baiters.

There are plenty of black sportspeople in the UK that are widely admired and regarded with affection. Did you know, for example, that Mo Farah (Sir Mohamed Muktar Jama Farah, born in Mogadishu) is as British as you or me, so long as he’s winning things that we can mark in our column?

Irrespective of their colour, we only tend to fall out with sports stars when they get too big for their boots – they all rise and fall on the tide of public opinion.

Also, I wrote 4 years ago that BLM should be regarded as a terrorist organisation, and I think events have comprehensively born out that view.

We don’t negotiate with terrorists, Lewis.


UPDATE: Props to EdP in the comments who raised this important point:

Hamilton’s wealth is based on at least two companies which were founded on Nazi forced/slave labour: Mercedes & Hugo Boss.

I’ve added this into the main body of the text, but only fair to cite the guy who brought it to my attention.

If Hamilton thinks I’m responsible for slavery 200 years ago, then I think he’s responsible for dead Jews 80 years ago. Fair?

Are you ready to be race-audited?

You think I’m joking, right?

How confident are you that the books on your Kindle include the right number of BAME, female and LGBT authors? (Personally I have no books by women or black people. I’m pretty sure Douglas Murray is single-handedly representing the whole spectrum of benders.)

Or that your Linked-In connections correctly represent the racial and gender proportions in society? (You can be 95% sure anyone I’m connected to who isn’t a white man is either a recruitment consultant or a salesman)

Or that the podcasts you subscribe to in iTunes are suitably diverse? (Nope)

Have you watched the mandatory diversity programing on Netflix and listened to the requisite race porridge on Audible? (Fuck no, I cancelled them instead, but they have that data forever anyway)

Don’t expect all the rap and dance music on your Spotify playlists to count for anything, mind.

Given how riddled with wokeys these companies are, could you seriously convince yourself that there’s no-one in those companies running database queries to answer all these questions, and then grading you on a curve?

If you think this is never going to happen, I have a bridge to sell you.

Sooner or later, you’re going to have to defend your position. Yes, I do prefer the intellectual and artistic products of white western men who have a predilection for freedom and individual responsibility. What of it? How many Jeremy Clarkson books do you have, Mx Ngombwe? Hmm? Any Richard Dawkins, Charles Murray, Matt Ridley, Chris Brookmyre, Terry Pratchett or Douglas Adams? No, I didn’t think so. Watched anything by Chris Morris or Charlie Brooker recently? No? Off you fuck, then.


Stand Up For What’s Right

Tim Pool and his colleagues make a series of unassailable points.

It boils down to one thing: You have to stand up for what’s right.

When your streaming service goes woke, cancel it. (Hello Netflix, Spotify et al)

When your audiobook provider goes woke, cancel it. (Hello Audible)

When your TV goes woke, cancel it. (Hello, BBC TV Licensing scum)

When a brand goes woke, cancel it. (Hello Gillette, Nike et al)

When a retailer goes woke, cancel it. (Hello BurgerKing, M&S et al)

So far so easy, right? Here comes the big one.

When your company goes woke, fight it or walk away. Either your company or you is going over a cliff, so you may as well be on the front foot.

Of course not everyone is a troublemaker like me. Not everyone would stand up at a staff conference and ask the CEO how he reconciles his LGBT policies with the contract he just signed with the government of a middle-eastern country that kills gays.

When I did this the CEO’s reply made it clear, in front of everyone working there, that he would not allow LGBT policies to stop him from doing business with rich, brutal Muslim countries. Nor would his supposed embrace of female empowerment stand in the way. We all heard him tacitly admit that the woke agenda is very much secondary to making a profit, and it was getting nothing but lip service. The woke stuff continued to exist, in vestiges, but after a brief and hilarious flirtation with promoting unqualified women, it never interfered with business and it never to my knowledge impacted on hiring, promotion or firing. Even the lip service dwindled to nothing.

Don’t think, by the way, that questioning such contradictions should cause your company to stop doing business with unpleasant people and regimes. That’s not why you would call out these conflicts. If a company is offered the choice of cancelling business or wokeness and it chooses to cancel business, then you know immediately which way things are headed and you know that you have to get out before the inevitable happens and the cancer eats the company.

I don’t assert for a moment that my intervention singlehandedly stopped woke in its tracks in this multinational multibillion company, but it only takes a few well timed, respectful and very public interventions to change the mood.

But that doesn’t mean you can ignore it all and hope it goes away, or that you can afford to leave all this to more reckless or anti-fragile souls.

You can raise your objections within the company community, and you can do so in a way that if/when you face the wrath, you will know that your conscience is clear. That all you want is clarity, honesty, integrity and good faith. Equality of opportunity, meritocratic HR practices and freedom of political and religious conscience are no less than every employee deserves. Any time they discriminate in favour of one group, they are de facto discriminating against another, and it’s almost always you.

And even if you don’t have the stomach for a confrontation, you can start looking at your options for taking your skills, knowledge, experience and work ethic to some place that isn’t contributing to the undermining – and ultimate destruction – of your way of life.

Do it today. Tomorrow they will come for you. Have you got the stones to stand your ground and enact Vox Day’s SJW Attack Survival Guide?

Naturally, all of this is much much easier if you’ve been wise, and have done all you can to protect your interests. That means getting out of debt and staying out of it. Own all your things, bought and paid for, to the greatest possible extent. Minimise your overheads. Diversify your income streams. Start a side-gig drop-shipping catnip and cushions to middle-aged women. Consider insuring your income using a policy that would give you some security in the event that you are cancelled by your employer, either because of internal forces or their spinelessness in the face of external SJW zombies – check the clauses and exclusions before you buy a policy.

If you haven’t read the above survival guide, do it now. Think it through, be prepared. Read Vox Day’s 3 books on the subject (1) (2) (3).

You may not be interested in Woke, but Woke is absolutely interested in you.


Media Overload

You’d think, given that I’ve blocked all news media and social media from my internet connection, that I’d have a dearth of things to consume.

However, by being brutal in blocking channels and people on YouTube, I’ve been able to retain the use of this platform, as well as soundcloud.

First, Mencius Moldbug (Curtis Yarvin) is active again. If you’re of a libertarian/ancap/dissident-right leaning type and you don’t know who Mencius Moldbug is, you’re basically like a blues musician who hasn’t listened to Muddy Waters and Miles Davis, a physicist who hasn’t read Feynmann or a poet who hasn’t studied Shakespeare, Wordsworth, Keats or Larkin.

Go and find out about Moldbug’s seminal work of novel dissident thought, Unqualified Reservations. Do it now. Y’all come back, ye hear?

Anyway, he’s recently started a new book project that looks interesting at the same time as it punctures any hope of things heading in what I might consider a positive direction.

He’s spoken to Thaddeus Russell… worth watching if you’re new to this:

And for the cognoscenti, a great talk with Michael Malice:

Now, taking a turn to more earthly matters, the guys at Triggernometry have been doing a great job of almost daily streaming and interviews during the lockdown. Now that MSM attention has moved on from COVID to all those poor middle-class AntiFa dipshits and their useful BLM idiots, Konstantin and Francis did a powerful stream on Saturday, addressing the whole range of issues….

… US comedian and libertarian Dave Smith deivered what I think was his best ever episode of his podcast ‘Part of the Problem’ on this topic.

… and Tim Pool – an independently-minded US centrist – has some great coverage of the inner workings of the Seattle CHAZ zone. For those of a certain age who remember the episodes of Grange Hill where the 5th formers staged a sit-in, you’ll feel right at home.

If you don’t have time to watct the vid below, please at least feast your eyes upon the way these lefty LARPers have basically set up a camp, built a wall patrolled by armed men, and then asked mum to send supplies:

EaURxSzXsAM-wFv (1)

Vive le revolucion. Please send shoes. And comforters. And anyone who has ever been in a market garden.

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More here:

Tim also addressed (and endorsed) a series of tweets by the Triggernometry guys about where all this nonsense is headed.

And if that was a bit heavy, fret not.. here comes the light, sweet, fluffy dessert, courtesy of Richard Porter (Top Gear, Grand Tour) and Jonny Smith (Fifth Gear).

And finally, the finest American cheese course…

It should be noted that we are in an ever-more precarious position as we become more and more dependent on YouTube – an enemy platform – for timely information and commentary. It’s the only platform that content creators can use where they can distribute and monetise content in a way that integrates with most people’s modes of media consumption. Bitchute and other platforms simply don’t offer the rich functionality, the reach or the slick ways to convert creative and critical thought into rent payments and bottles of beer.

Platforms being built by Dave Rubin (locals.com), Vox Day (unauthorized.tv) and Gavin McInnes (censored.tv) will hopefully allow dissident content creators to consolidate under a protective umbrella where at present, with PayPal, Patreon and YouTube, they all risk deplatforming – many have fallen already.

Quite apart from anything else, when you realise that you’re paying more (in the form of $10 monthly subs) to hear a dozen independent voices than you would for a full Sky TV subscription and a UK TV Licence, you realise that such a consolidation is overdue and gravity will eventually prevail. Being able drop north of $100 a month just to be entertained in a way that doesn’t make us want to throw bricks at the screen is a luxury that many cannot afford, and represents a significant barrier to entry and a hindrance to onboarding newly enlightened people.

Whether any of the putative platforms we have at the moment will be winners from this remains to be seen, but such a shift seems inevitable.



Bring on the quickie divorce…

You might think that someone with conservative leanings would be horrified and appalled by today’s Tellygraff headline.

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I think this is an excellent idea.

Marriage used to be a package of ‘good things’. A safe, stable environment in which to raise children. Conferred social status. Tax benefits. Pooled resources. Lifelong companionship. Extended family. Benefits to mental and physical health. Channeling of hereditary infuence, power and wealth. And – gasp – women had the benefit of her and her children being protected by her husband, physically, financially, socially and morally.

A rose-tinted view to be sure, but it’s not really any of those things any more, is it?

Not since the thin end of the wedge was inserted a generation or more ago by feminists and pandering politicians. Not since invertebrate conservatives and churchmen capitualted to what was then seen as a piffling threat from a barmy and chaotic fringe movement.

In fact, with the ratcheting up of benefits accruing to women from the dissolution of marriage, and the sharing of the spoils, and the burgeoning ‘you go girl, you can have it all, don’t need no manfishbicycle’ culture that has become utterly mainstream, marriage has become something that, for men, is a very high risk, very low reward proposition.

2017 divorce statistics for England and Wales

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  • Initiated by Men: 38%
  • Initiated by Women: 62%

This latest step will help men realise that they are being shafted, stop imagining that their marriage will be different, because their wife is different. Not All Women Are Like That, right?

The easier it is to get a divorce, the sooner men extricate themselves from the clutches of marriage, the more men dodge the bullet in the first place, the sooner women can fulfil their destiny as fat, hairy, miserable, bitching, scheming, curtain twitching catladies.

“Where are all the good men?” they will cry, as their ovaries dessicate and their miniature poodle drops another dog egg in their Louboutin shoes. “Hashtag KillAllMen” they will tweet. From their iPhones, invented, designed, built, transported and delivered by men. Using machines, technology, science, techniques and processes invented by men.

All the good men are over there, dear. Working hard, inventing things, building things, maintaining things. Meeting with their friends at the pub, playing football, going motor-racing, taking the piss out of each other, going on tour, banging pneumatic 25-year-olds.

They see your game, wimmin, and they aren’t going to play it anymore.

Perhaps one of the reasons that women are embracing this lockdown in a way that actual men are not, is that it involves an extended period of sitting around in your pyjamas, talking endlessly on the phone, eating chocolate and watching Friends box-sets, paid for with money that fell from the sky.

Which is actually what most young women do when they’re not going out dressed like a Kardashian and acting like Jade Goody, or go-getting in their brilliant career as a copywriter in the packaging department of a company that makes bin liners. And moreover – much to their delight – the kibosh has been put right on all those things that men like to do. How gleeful they are.

So yeah. Fuck it. You started the fire under society 50 years ago and it’s been smouldering and slowly oxidising away in the breeze ever since. There’s nothing left to repair. Just a hulking pile of embers. Why not chuck a gallon of petrol on it and get it done so we can sweep it away and start again?