Rattling cages…

Following up on the email I sent to NICE yesterday, I have had a response from the project manager of this particular bogeyman.

It was very courteous, but obviously just spouted the official line that I’d garnered by digging through their website.

I responded, setting out my concerns more specifically, and more vividly.

I don’t expect to hear anything back, so I’ve written to my MP about it, via http://www.writetothem.com/

I shall update thee anon.



Blog Action Day – Teh climate: Oh noes.. it changes…

Once again, today, it’s all about global war, Ming. Some random thoughts.


I was alerted to this latest exercise in futility, mendacity and self-absorption by @KerryMP, so I naturally felt obliged to contribute.

In my household, which is me, myself and I, there are two cars, with a combined CO2 rating of 570g/km. I am taxed for this every time I buy petrol. Of which I buy enough to do nearly 30000 miles a year. Not complaining – I made that choice. Let me live with it, like an adult. Can I?


I fly from London to the north of England for a 1 hour sales meeting about once a week. Aside from the hell that flying has become, I don’t mind. It brings plenty of money into the company, which we pay out in corporation tax, national insurance and other taxes. The remainder is paid to staff, who pay income tax and national insurance. They then spend the money I’ve made on shite, on which they pay VAT. Is that okay with you?

I leave the tap on when I brush my teeth. I have a bath, not a shower. I have a water meter so I pay for that. Can I make that choice? If it makes any difference, I preserve water by pissing in the garden.

I burn all of my household waste, because the council are prevented by law from providing me with the service I am paying them for. Perhaps you could persuade them to start collecting my rubbish at proper intervals?

My local pub runs patio heaters every evening. They’re not cheap to run and the prices have risen in that pub. But there’s no choice, because the smokers all stay at home if they can’t smoke. What did you expect?

Last October, it snowed in London for the first time in 70 years. This January, it snowed in Dubai for the first time on record.  December, Chicago had most consecutive days of snowfall since records began in 1884… and for the UK is was the coldest in more than 10 years, with new year temperatures lower than in Iceland. Yup – it’s definitely warming up, isn’t it? Or perhaps snow is consistent with global warming?

Nobel prize winner Al Gore (who has made millions from emissions trading & carbon credits) says the ‘science is settled’. Nobel prize winner Barry Obama says ‘the science is settled’. The Cato institute doesn’t agree. The signatories to the Manhattan Convention don’t agree. Now not even the BBC agrees.

"Piers Corbyn from Weatheraction, a company specialising in long range weather forecasting, said … climate change was a “weapon of mass taxation.” “All the political parties want to use climate change as an excuse to raise taxes," he added.

Senior executive Tim Nicholson claimed he was unfairly dismissed by a property investment company because his views on the environment conflicted with other managers’ "contempt for the need to cut carbon emissions". In the first case of its kind, an employment tribunal decided that Nicholson, 41, had views amounting to a "philosophical belief in climate change", allowing him the same legal protection against discrimination as religious beliefs.

Thanks to global warming believers, the UK is going to experience severe power shortages over the next 3-8 years.

Thanks, to all you fucking idiots who had to find some other shit to beat us all with after the collapse of international socialism in the 90s.

Further reading:



24 hours later….

The bad news: I’ve just worked 24hours straight.

The good news: I’ve stuck two fingers up, on both hands at the Working Time Directive, and I’ve earned enough overtime to take a top class escort to a five star hotel in a European resort for a long weekend.

Oh and I have 3 bottles of vintage Veuve Clicquot in my possession. One in my hand this very minute.



Wanton and furious driving…

The counterpoint to the ire raised by the points discussed earlier, is that it provides the catalyst invoking me to cycle through my village breaking the 30mph speed limit.

Naturally, speed limits don’t apply to cyclists in the same way they apply to cars. Which is why any plod I passed would doubtless try to apprehend me and nick me for the eponymous offence of wanton and furious driving (S35 of the Offences Against the Person Act 1861).

Naturally, my cycling can but be impinged upon by the state. Specifically, the nagging thought that in exercising, I’m doing something of which they approve (though don’t partake of themselves). They are even conceited enough to think that my activity represents a success for them in their battle against whatever it is this week.

The things that drive me through this pain barrier are the spliff, the beer and the chip-butty waiting for me at home.

And I never wear a cycle-helmet.

I shall now go and ‘waste’ another 100 litres of water, by standing in the shower, wanking over thoughts of a painful, prolonged, bloody and screaming death for all state, government, quango and fake-charity cunts everywhere.


Oh good…





The thing that boils my piss about stuff like this, apart from the well documented nanny-state aspect is this: When you attack alcohol, you attack the symptom, not the problem.

Ask yourself why people in this country are such pissheads. May I suggest it’s because life has been enshittened and enmiserablised on every front.

Compared to 12 years ago, we are snooped on more, we are constrained more, we are coddled and infantilised more.

For every speed limit that’s been reduced, adding 10 minutes to my daily drive. (40 hours a year I’ll never get back).

For every escalation in the scaremongering around foods, drinks, smoking.

For the denormalisation that turns law-abiding tax-paying citizens into social outcasts (smokers, drivers of big cars, cyclists who don’t wear a helmets, people who don’t recycle, people don’t like a profusion of people who speak no English, people who eat meat, the obese, the free thinkers, the free speakers.

Every facet of life has been poked into, pointed and laughed at, ground down to make sure individuals are merely cogs in the machine of nation state.

And then there’s the destruction of the system of education, rendering generations coming through innumerate, illiterate and without hope or aspiration.

What Spam’s alcohol bullshit shows is that Dave has no faith in core conservative values, which would address the causes of these problems, rather than applying a sulphiric acid poultice to the symptoms.

I will not be able to vote for this man or his cronies, unless this all turns out to be complete bollocks.

Either way, recent analyses of our outlook for the future of Britain (see Boatang & Demetriou, Dick Puddlecote, Obo, Old Holborn, Devil’s Kitchen etc in the blogroll, right) look accurate, irredeemably bleak andirreparably fucking ruined by another twelve years of communist cunts laying waste to the social, judicial and commercial foundations of what was once a society and nation to be proud of.

It makes me want to cry into my pint of merlot.



A while back, someone wrote ‘SELFISH’ on the back of my car, in the grime with a finger.

I just thought, “you don’t know the half of it, you envious prick.”

The inscription stayed until the car next got washed (not one of my most frequent or favourite activities).

You’re damned right I’m selfish. Because who the fuck else is going to look after me and my interests? You? The government? Get the fuck away from me.

What’s more, I’m a hypocrite. A big fat stinking fucking hypocrite. I wear my hypocrisy like a badge of honour. Do as I say, not as I do, you impertinent shits.

And if you don’t like it, you can fuck off.


Who is this Paul Henderson tosser?


I’m not linking to it, but the erudite destroyer of anti-smoking brimstone, Dick Puddlecote, puts the pillock in his place. Read the whole thing, but be spurred on the by the denouement:

Just my opinion, and all that, but you sir, are a rancid, shallow fucktard who deserves to be fisted up the ringpiece with a sandpaper and broken glass-encrusted glove for using sick kids to justify your selfish and puerile dislikes. Just stick to talking about overpaid men in shorts in future, eh?

Seems fair.

On a related note, I became the proud owner of one of these the other day:


I commend it to thee.


Clarkson Sense….

It’s heartening to see viewpoints such as these propounded in The Sun – beloved by the malleable masses whose opinion must be influenced to ensure a decisive kicking-out of Labour come the next election.

A viewpoint that he and I share:

Brown’s Britain gives me rules rage

We used to get by on the phrase "mustn’t grumble", but now the whole country is starting to drown in its own bile.

I’m not angry though. I’m way past angry. You get angry when you hope to achieve something as a result. But I know that we can’t achieve anything, which is why the feeling I have is a shoulder-sagging despair.

This is how I get by in this terrible world Brown has created. By ignoring the nonsense.

By refusing to obey written instructions on an escalator to face the direction of travel.

By smoking where I can’t. By breaking the speed limit. By having muddy number plates. And by smuggling my toothpaste on to airliners.

It makes no difference to anyone else. But it makes me feel warm and fuzzy inside.

And it’s a better way of dealing with the despair than committing suicide, which is the only other option.

And again:

Get real, Mr Politician or you’ll find yourself sitting next to a Nazi

The main reason why the BNP will do well is because the main parties seem to have completely lost touch with what their supporters actually want out of life.

We have the Conservatives dreaming up policies to suit whatever mood happens to be prevailing at the time, when all their voters want is for the economy to be mended. So that taxes can be cut. And then cut again.

And then we have the fools and madmen in the Labour Party.

Does Gordon Brown, for instance, think that in the clubs of South Yorkshire, where I grew up, people want a smoking ban?

Does he believe that White Van Man sits down to watch Top Gear and thinks: "You know, this would be a whole lot better if Richard Hammond had a vagina"?

Does he think, even for a small moment, that the people who put a cross in his box give even a small toss about "the environment"?

Or that the foundry worker wants to finish his shift and "drink responsibly"?

And then there’s the question of immigration.

Of course, I can quite understand why the champagne socialists are worried about the plight of poor Ndjama.

His village has been sacked by rebels, he has nowhere to live and nothing to eat.

Of course they would want him to have a home in Britain.

Fundamentally, they are good people with big hearts.

But mostly they want Ndjama to come here because when he does, he’s not going to be living in their street.

So, Ndjama will go and live in someone else’s street and that person will be quite cross.

Especially when he goes to work one day and finds Ndjama at the wheel of his forklift truck.

The Labour Party say that immigration is good for Britain and morally the right policy to pursue.

This may be so. But those who put them in power, emphatically, do not think this way.

We are all tribal. We like being in a group and we distrust outsiders.

We have our family unit, our bunch of friends, the town where we live, the football club we support, and, especially if we are Scottish, the country of which we are proud.

The big-hearted, liberal-thinking chaps and chapesses who advise Brown and his gang of fiddlers may think this is backward and pre-historic.

They think tribalism could even be dangerous. And again, they may be right.

But you wouldn’t allow Man United’s fans to sit among the Barca boys in a stadium because it would end in a fight.

And if you let half of Africa come to Britain – no matter how morally correct this may be – you’re going to wind people up and gift the BNP your seat.

Then we’ll see how tolerant these champagne socialists are.

When they go to work and find themselves sitting next to a Nazi.

Now, the interesting thing here is that he mentions tribalism and the liberal left’s attitude to it.

Socialism is a tribal movement. The Labour Party is a tribal party. Any intelligent reading of his modus operandi tells us that Gordon Brown is one of the most stubbornly and fiercely tribal people we have in British politics.

Damn – a cry of hypocrisy would come in useful here… but I’ve burst that bubble below.


There’s something I need to tell you….

It’s been eating away at me for years. The few people I’ve revealed this truth to have reacted with horror and revulsion.

Are you ready? Sitting down? Good.

On 1st May 1997, I voted Labour at the general election.

It was an aberration – I’d never voted Labour before and by God I’ve never voted for them since. It means I was one of the 2.8 million people who voted for them in 97 and didn’t do it again in 2001.

For what it’s worth, and lest you think the Tories are any better, I was until that day a constituent of the toe-sucking slime basket David Mellor, in whose defeat I took great pleasure. He was replaced by some stuffed shirt Labour muppet, who was, in turn, defeated in 2005 by Justine Greening, handing Putney back to its rightful rulers.

There…. let the healing begin.


April 1st Protests – Strange bedfellows amass at wrong end of London…

I wrote a while back about the tragicomic interlude we’ll be treated to on 1st April in the City of London.
But the plot is thickening….

First of all, I have to say that I’m surprised to see that Old Holborn will be joining the fun – a move that in my mind will shove him across the line from admirable and legitimate libertarian protester to general troublemaker and dog-on-a-string advocate. But what do I know. There is something to be said for being a complete pain in the arse to the government and its footsoldiers, as OH did indeed promise to be this year. I don’t suppose I have anything vested in the libertarian movement that would be damaged by OH’s activities, being more a PWHPP candidate.

That aside, we do find out something interesting from OH, which is dissected by Landed Underclass.

Right, this just about does it.

I was wondering what exactly The Lone Voice was on about.

‘Earth hour’?

One of his commenters gives a clue:

8.30pm on Saturday, March 28, for 60 minutes….Every single light in my home and garden will be ablaze.

But then there was this, from Old Holborn:

…you may be aware that this Saturday 28th March sees the 2009 ‘Earth Hour’ – details at http://www.earthhour.org/about/
Unfortunately this otherwise entirely peaceful demonstration has G20 protestors threatening damage to any properties in London displaying lights between 8.30PM to 9.30PM on 28/3.

Having looked up the cited website, I find this:

Switching off your lights is a vote for Earth, or leaving them on is a vote for global warming.

This sounds so remarkably like former US president G.W. “You’re either for us or against us” Bush that I wonder whether the author patronises the same media advisers.

I am all for energy economy and self-sufficiency and all that, but I will not be dragooned into this futile and sinister demonstration of the social penetration of an highly questionable pseudoscientific dogma, nor, damn it, will I be terrorised into it either.

Quite. See the commenter who says every single light will be on in his house and garden? I think I’ll get a couple of these:

image image

I can burn fuel, show my support for global warming, and have an inpromptu soireé in my charming garden. I may have a fire too. Binmen haven’t taken my bin for 5 weeks now – should be plenty of lovely things to burn.

Do these muppets ever think about the backlash their pious pronouncements cause amongst the unlobotomised minority?


The source of all of this….

My 13 years as an inmate of the uniquely lentillious British education establishment taught me one thing. From a very early age, I could spot a walking waste of giblets at 50 paces. And it was called ‘Miss’ or ‘Sir’. I suppose these days, they’re known as ‘Jeremy’ and ‘Belinda’, or such like.

Consequently, I learned at around the same time that a good rule of thumb would be to do precisely the opposite to that advised by these leather-elbowed plonkers. These days, as is the way with much normal childhood behaviour, my preferred approach was medicalised in the form of something called ‘Oppositional Defiant Disorder’. (c.f. ‘The need to sit down and fucking shut-up = ADHD; Teachers are useless, so children are illiterate = Dyslexia).

It must therefore alarm ‘them’, that O.D.D. has been a pretty successful life-strategy for me. Review the pronouncements of the Righteous (© Legiron), then do the exact opposite.