Evening, All

The Ilford chapter of the Metropolitan Firearms and Headbangers' Club has taken on social cleansing duties with all the Club's usual enthusiasm, by ambushing homeless people and confiscating their food and shelter. "The public rely on police to reduce the negative impact of rough sleepers," proclaimed the relevant chief inspector; the public these days, of course, is an exclusive and rapidly shrinking circle of privilege, which certainly cannot afford to include persons outside the housing market. Hence the necessity for the Metropolitan Firearms and Headbangers' Club to "assist [the verb is really rather charming, is it not?] in the removal of temporary structures, tents, and bedding from public spaces and other inappropriate locations"; which is to say, any locations, the idea of homeless persons having a place being self-evidently absurd unless it happens to be the kind of place one must be kept in.

Corporate Penetration

G4S, that paragon of efficiency and corporate sensitivity, has been awarded a three-year contract to run two sexual assault referral centres in the West Midlands. Such centres have hitherto provided mere medical examinations and counselling for victims of rape and sexual assault; but we all have to move with the times, and from now on they will doubtless progress towards a more streamlined and fiscally modernised service profile. Given G4S' prior record and their employment of Lord Reid, who enjoys the enviable distinction of being a slightly cruder and stupider New Labour home secretary than either Charles Clarke or David Blunkett, it cannot be long before the company starts paying the wealthier local personalities to go out and commit sexual assaults in order that the relevant targets may be properly met. G4S' managing director for forensic and medical sales responded to the predictable outcry of feminazi frustration with the claim that the company had been working in the area since 2005 and had developed substantial expertise. Of course, G4S had quite a bit of experience and expertise in security work before the Olympics; and I am sure we all recall what came of that.

Snoop Group

In the wake of the murder at Woolwich, and Daveybloke's subsequent refusal of knee-jerk reactions, a couple of New Labour jerks have reacted on his behalf. Lord Reid of G4S and Lord West of QinetiQ both overcame their commercial interests so far as to offer an objective view of the matter, and both advised in favour of reviving the snoopers' charter. The Deputy Conservative control-order fan Lord Carlile joined the chorus for democracy, proclaiming that "We mustn't rush to judgement" before giving the Government the benefit of his opinion that the police and security services must have "the tools they need that will enable them to prevent this kind of attack taking place". I'm sure nobody had thought of that. Jack Straw, never one to use a blade where a bludgeon will do, called the murder an act of "stone-age savagery", but does not appear to have been invited to make an ethical comparison with his own government's hobbies of kidnap, torture and international aggression. Despite Daveybloke's present reservations, it is perfectly possible that he will lend all these médiocrités grises a sympathetic ear; he is, after all, the bloke who promised no chaotic top-down reorganisations of the NHS, and he does have Nick Clegg for a partner.

Intellectual Suicide

Militant feminists have staged a fake suicide at Notre Dame, mocking and mangling the example of Dominique Venner, the right-wing historian who shot himself to death at the altar yesterday. Venner left a note proclaiming, "I believe it is necessary to sacrifice myself to break the lethargy that oppresses us. I offer what remains of my life in an act of protest", apparently at the immense danger posed to French and European culture by the institution of marriage. Marine Le Pen tweeted her respect, which doubtless made it all worth while. It is a pity that Femen have chosen to parody the gesture in such an undignified manner, which might well deter some of those who hold Venner's opinions from following his useful example.

Through Good Times And Bad

Rah rah; it's two thousand and five!
The Conservative Party's alive!
I'm the nice chap from Sales
Who'll keep us on the rails,
And stop us from taking a dive!

Whoopee; it's two thousand and ten!
Our snouts in the trough once again!
As a salesman I'm sold,
And now into the cold
Will go Cleggy and his little men!

It's twenty-thirteen; such a bore,
With the proles coming back to the fore.
Why do you blame me?
Why can you not see?
I'm a salesman, that's all, nothing more!

Davey Fitztony

No Taxation With Our Representation

Some representatives of Britain's most harassed and disadvantaged citizens have informed Daveybloke that enough is enough. The president of the Confabulation of Business Interests, Roger Carr, flanked by some of the country's most down-at-heel kleptocrats, has dropped in for a bit of a chat about why Daveybloke needs to stop urging them to mend their ways. "It is only in recent times that tax has become an issue on the public agenda," whined Carr earlier in the day at the Oxford Business School. As a result of that nonsense about all being in it together, we suffer "businesses that the general public know and believe they understand; businesses with a brand that become a perfect political football, the facts difficult to digest; public passions easy to inflame" and, it would appear, CBI presidents who can't string a proper sentence together. It is all very bad, no doubt; Carr even complained that the issue of tax avoidance "cannot be about morality", which shows a remarkable lack of appreciation for Daveybloke's continuing and strenuous efforts to ensure that it remains a matter of little else. Carr and his chums really ought to be grateful that Daveybloke has kept at bay such inconveniences as legislation, bailiffs, fines, the public interest and so forth; but gratitude has no place in today's market. "There are no absolutes," proclaimed Carr, quoting one of James Herbert's better novels; so if anyone would care to shoplift at Tesco or defraud the Prudential, now you know it makes sense.

Men of Honour

Egad! Referendum eftsoons,
And yet, through the next many moons,
My Eton-white arse
Will roast in this farce
Cooked up by some swivel-eyed loons!

O how can my Party be free
To buck up and follow poor me?
I must be incisive
And quick and decisive -
I'll shove Jerry Hunt on TV!

Poor Jerry's not such a bright lad,
But he is no back-stabbing cad.
And he's been through it all
And he knows how to stall,
And waffle, and sack the right spad!

Davey Fitztony

Pale Green

The greenest government ever has provided yet another eloquent demonstration of how much it cares about all that husky-hugging nonsense. Over the next few years we can expect increasingly severe and unpredictable effects, including floods, droughts, heatwaves, storms and, if the likes of Cuadrilla continue to get their way, earthquakes, explosions and mass water poisonings. None of these little inconveniences is likely to interfere with the Osborne economic miracle or the profits of the Bullingdon Club's oily little chums; so the Chancellor has refused to adopt any environmental targets beyond 2020, when it will all be someone else's problem.

The response of the Department for Environment, Food and Rural Affairs has also been more or less what one would expect: it has cut by eighty-four per cent the team of officials charged with working out how to cope with climate change. As usual, the slashing and burning is purely a matter of restructuring: a Defra spokesbeing droned out the standard communiqué that the cuts have taken place because Defra has overfulfilled its three-year plan and embedded the team's expertise in every aspect of its being. Hence, another and larger team will be necessary to dig Defra out of whatever hole it has got itself into by 2017; fortunately, this will be after the next general election and therefore quite possibly the fault of the next Labour administration.

The Scrotum At Bay

Nigel Farage, the leader of Britain's new official opposition by grace of the journalistic classes, has received a tumultuous welcome from some fascist scum north of the border. As with so many other issues, Scottish fascism appears to be a rather anaemic and half-hearted affair: the unfortunate statesman was shouted at and pointed at, for all the world like a wog out of place, and was eventually booted out of a taxi in which he sought political asylum. The fascist scum were apparently under the impression that Farage is a racist and a homophobe, just because racists and homophobes keep popping up in his party's membership. The fascist scum apparently wished to make known their traditional fascist dislike of racism and homophobia; so Farage himself diagnosed the fracas as "a kind of anti-English thing", on the grounds that the fascist scum also registered a dislike of the Union Jack, which is of course the English flag. Farage has called on the fiend Salmond to distance himself from the fascist scum, and at Westminster it is believed that a cross-party agreement is being drafted on the back of various envelopes for emergency legislation defining the act of shouting at Nigel Farage as a hate crime.

Operation Chastise

Berlin has rather tactlessly chosen the anniversary of 617 Squadron's famous victory to indicate a certain lack of willingness to join the Daveyblokey-cokey over EU police and counter-terrorism powers. The Government wants to opt out of a hundred and thirty-six laws and then opt back in to the ones that will not interfere unduly with the creation of the neoliberal police state. The opt-out seems to have been the easy part, as Britain now has to renegotiate the opt-ins with the European Commission and the twenty-six lesser nations which compose the Brusso-Strasbourgian evil empire. There are already complaints from senior officials that they have no idea what the mainland wants to renegotiate; which must be one of the few things which the Eurocrats have in common with Daveybloke and his mad old cat lady. The Eurocrats also say that the Home Office has not been in contact with them for more than six months, although it is not entirely clear whether this is viewed as a matter of concern or quiet relief. Presumably, contact with the Foreign Office is out of the question on the grounds that Willem den Haag is too busy name-dropping Angelina Jolie and waiting for Shaker Aamer to die. In any case, no doubt Daveybloke and his famous diplomatic talents will soon be called upon to veto the uppity Euro-wogs and remind certain people exactly who won the war.