The Curmudgeon

YOU'LL COME FOR THE CURSES. YOU'LL STAY FOR THE MUDGEONRY.

Wednesday, August 16, 2017

Let's Be Clear About This

There is no room for racism in the party of Winston Churchill, Enoch Powell, Norman Tebbit and Theresa May. There is no room for anti-semitism in the party whose policies are guided by the ravings of the Rothermere Daily Stürmer and the tax-dodging squillionaires who set up the Farage Falange. There is almost certainly no equivalence between those who say one thing and those who say the opposite, unless they both happen to be Boris Johnson. Theresa May thinks it is important - not vital, not morally imperative, and certainly not Anglican - to condemn the views of the far right, except insofar as such views are compatible with racist vans, corporate piracy and child imprisonment. Above all, there is no reason why a fluorescent orange rubber Boris Johnson remake shouldn't meet a relative of Edward VIII and Elizabeth Bowes-Lyon if such is the desire of the psychopathic tribble on his head.

Tuesday, August 15, 2017

Alternative Facts

Even in the United States, cancer sufferers who use fake remedies are more likely to die than those treated with actual medicine, according to research which is merely scientific. A team from Yale University found that almost four-fifths of cancer patients who relied on medical treatment were still alive after five years, compared with just over half of those who relied on placebos and confidence tricks. Nevertheless, "anecdotal evidence from some" - always an infallible source in these enlightened times - proclaims that cancer can be cured by homeopathic remedies. Our own Minister for Healthcare Profitability has himself been known to shill for snake-oil on occasion; although in his case it's unclear whether he is stupid enough to believe it will cure anyone of anything, or whether he is operating on the traditional British socio-economic principle that what doesn't work is often cheaper than what does.

Monday, August 14, 2017

Human Interest

Being wrongly accused of anything can be very upsetting, and being arrested must be yet more so, even if one is quickly exonerated (or, as often happens to terrorist suspects, "released without charge"). Having one's name splashed all over the newspapers, in connection with an ugly assault that could well have been something much worse if not for the exemplary conduct of a London bus driver, must be very upsetting as well. Indeed, by the reckoning of Britain's leading liberal newspaper, if one is an affluent white male banker on the end of such an accusation, the upset may be severe enough to be newsworthy; quite unlike the upsets of lesser breeds, who must be used to this sort of thing by now.

Sunday, August 13, 2017

A Touch of Gove

Among the coalition's more brilliant plans for Britain's schools was the idea that teachers who had been sacked or driven out of the profession could be cheaply replaced in no time by ex-military personnel. Piloted by the jabbering homunculus Michael Gove with his usual depth of competence, the scheme was a flop; but connoisseurs of British education will be happily reminded of Gove's glory by the case of seventeen army instructors accused of spicing up their charges' battle training with a bit of playground fun. The accused are thought to have participated in the crusades in Afghanistan and Iraq, which may have resulted in some confusion as to what sort of teaching methods are best suited to the master race. It may also have resulted in a degree of post-traumatic stress which, if the instructors are found guilty, will certainly be helped in a prison system that has also recently benefited from the golden touch of Gove.

Saturday, August 12, 2017

Moderate Migrant-Bashers

There are fears among the racist rabble formerly known as the Farage Falange that the next heir to the strutting Caudillo might lead the party into disrepute. Having been led in the past by a lying, thieving racist and by a lying racist, the Falange now has a choice of eleven candidates for the privilege of failing to win seats in Parliament and getting free publicity from the BBC. Participants in the freak-show include a liar named Jane Collins, a twit named Aiden Powlesland and a gay-basher with an equine fixation. In such eminently sane territory, it seems strange to talk of moderates; but apparently the Farage Falange has them, and they are disquieted by the favourite for the Caudillo's throne, one Peter Whittle, whose modest ambitions include remaking the party into a "cultural movement" to cleanse the nation of multiculturalism. But the moderates are even more worried about the candidacy of one Anne Marie Waters, an Islamophobe with chums in the British National Party. In the event of a Waters win, some senior members have threatened to quit the Grand Purple Conflab and, presumably, look for a more profitable home in the party's parliamentary wing as soon as the latter ditches Tumbledown Tessie in favour of someone less liberal.

Friday, August 11, 2017

Political Predators

Grouse, n. A flying creature bred at vast expense on very private land purely for the pleasure of having it shot down. Distinct from the fighter aircraft in that the grouse has greater nutritional value.
The Satanic Supplement


Despite its deplorable tendency towards non-English nationalism and Euro-wog fifth-columnitude, Scotland does occasionally have its uses. During the good old days, under the blessed régime of the sainted Thatcher, the province served as a testing ground for weapons later to be unleashed upon the rest of the country, such as the poll tax; and even now, after decades of one-party rule by the fiendish SNP, it retains an important function as the home of Britain's independent random-directional American nuclear deterrent. Arguably even more vital to the nation is Scotland's status as a playground for the financially virtuous, such as golf-playing orange toddlers under the control of head-dwelling hydrophobic tribbles, and also the more refined and noble breed who find the epitome of civilised pastimes shooting lumps of metal into artificially fattened birds. Naturally, given the uppity political atmosphere provoked by the recent referendum, mere experts are doing what they can to undermine this glorious tradition, by grousing that the management of moors for aristocratic blast-and-blather is endangering golden eagles, hen harriers and other rivals to more enterprising species such as the great Anglo-American dodo and the lesser Ruritanian peacock. Although industry representatives have denied the findings, which would certainly be the end of the matter for the jabbering homunculus that is Westminster's environment secretary, his counterpart in the fiendish SNP has had the temerity to take actual action, and has even threatened to employ more experts and thereby stir up yet more trouble. How such a laughably inefficient government can hope to attain independence from the world-bestriding Protestant Imperium of Westminster, Gibraltar and the Falkland Islands must qualify as one of the more occult mysteries of present-day politics.

Thursday, August 10, 2017

Keeping Small Businessmen Afloat

Buccaneering entrepreneurs in the migrant disposal business have attained near-Bullingdon heights of moral grandeur in their continued striving to protect British jobs. Rather than allowing the hordes to swarm into Yemen, where before dying of cholera they might potentially obtain British weaponry for nefarious purposes, the more advanced international transportation executives are simply shoving their excess cockroaches into the sea before heading back to Africa and picking up another load. It would take a true citizen of nowhere to find any objection to this business plan, which combines maximal economic efficiency with a minimum of red tape. In their primitive dusky way, the international transportation executives have even adopted the optimistic, positive-thinking approach favoured by Her Majesty's Government, by omitting mention of any British-sponsored wars and plagues and allowing deserving non-drowners to muddle through on their own meritocratic virtues.

Wednesday, August 09, 2017

Stitching Up is a Girl Job

Along with one or two other little matters, Her Majesty's Government has difficulties with the English language. Even the obnoxious disyllabic neologism whose definition was the Government's to determine has proved beyond its powers: from the android headmistress through the sniggering schoolboys to the thick-headed bullies and blue-rinsers, nobody knows what Brexit means. Thus it hardly seems fair to expect the same blathering rabble to understand what a conflict of interest looks like, even with the former Minister for Werritty burbling and squeaking in Cabinet meetings. A government that consulted fast-food companies about reforming the National Health Service is hardly likely to be sensitive to the subtleties of independent reviews; especially when the review in question concerns nothing more than building regulations and fire safety, viz. red tape. Accordingly, the Government has further demonstrated the quantity of toss it gives about Grenfell Tower by appointing, as chair of the said review, a former director of a body which promotes products containing the material which apparently made the tower so conveniently combustible. Dame Judith Hackitt resigned from that role a full twenty-four hours before the Minister for Mere Minorities appointed her to chair the review, so that's all right. Of course, Dame Judith herself had no part in approving products; similarly, I dare say there are many parliamentary expenses claimants who voted enthusiastically for all the Government's anti-NHS measures, have financial interests in private healthcare and yet somehow manage to refrain from performing surgery.

Tuesday, August 08, 2017

Back-Stabbed Into Peace

Greasy foreign doings are once again afoot among the Euro-wogs. The Spanish foreign minister, under pretence of taking pity on Britain's inability to point a nuclear missile in the proper direction, has cunningly sabotaged any pretext for sending an armada to rescue Gibraltar from the grip of the Brusso-Strasbourg-Madrileño axis. Although Britain has reacted with fury on several occasions, such as when the king of Spain suggested that a solution which was acceptable to all involved might be acceptable to the British, the prospects of starting a war over the foreign minister's statement appear depressingly remote. Fortunately, the Government's other major hope for a bit of bang to go with the bluster, namely a resurgence of the Troubles in Ireland, remains a plausible option even if British troops are not called upon to assist the Trumpster in dealing with North Korea, Iran, Venezuela or the Republican Party.

Monday, August 07, 2017

This Madness Must End

Consistent prioritisation of mental health services, and lots of extra squillions being spent each day we continue to defy the Euro-wogs about paying our dues, have ensured that a seriously disturbed young person can occasionally get a hospital bed provided their case is publicised by a senior judge and splattered across the front pages of our free, fearless and cantankerous Press. Despite this commendable progress from the bad old days of socialist inefficiency when healthcare had some abstruse theoretical basis in need, the judge in question seems to think that the Minister for Profitable Incarceration and the Clegg-pledging race-baiter at the Home Office are in some way responsible for the health of those who can't even be bothered to go private. The enemy of the people has even ordered a copy of his judgement to be sent to the health secretary; which only goes to show once again how far out of touch with the national priorities our unelected judges have become.

Sunday, August 06, 2017

Spiced Up

Among the more annoying tendencies of mere experts is the unwavering belief in their own correctitude purely on the grounds that mere reality happens to match their predictions. In mature and enlightened political cultures like our own, where democracy essentially consists of militarised advertising, such retrograde quibbles are entirely out of place, and may even put the quibbler at risk of becoming a pessimist, a nay-sayer and an enemy of the people. Nevertheless, Professor David Nutt, who was fired from the Home Office advisory council on drugs for his inadequacy in bending mere facts to New Labour policy, has evidently failed to take the hint. Along with other interfering do-gooders, including the police and crime commissioner for North Wales, Nutt is proclaiming that, as predicted, drug bans serve simply to drive the trade underground and make it harder to control, while the absence of red tape means that the drugs themselves can become even stronger and more buccaneering than before. Not one of the pessimists has noticed that the policy's ill effects are concentrated in, and therefore the fault of, prisoners and the homeless and young people in care: groups in whose welfare Her Majesty's Government has made emphatically clear that it has no interest whatever.

Saturday, August 05, 2017

Faith-Based Policy

Young men who run off to Syria to fight for Islamic State frequently know as much about Islam as the cadres of the Farage Falange know about Britain, according to research by the United Nations Office of Counter-Terrorism. The report states that ISIS dupes tend to be from disadvantaged backgrounds and have low levels of education, and to be motivated more by promises of a better life than by fanatical devotion to the Prophet. It is even claimed that the role of the internet is less to recruit and indoctrinate new blood than to confirm ideas which have already been suggested in personal encounters, and that a "practical, effective and proportionate response should start from a sound understanding of the root causes of the problem."

Little of this will be relevant to the security crusaders in Whitehall, for whom social and financial disadvantage is never a root cause of anything, but merely a symptom of lower-class laziness and depravity; and the idea that reporting schoolchildren to MI5 might cause the infantine resources to rethink their Britishness is of course absurd upon the face of it. The race-baiting Clegg-pledger at the Home Office will certainly not be interested in any report which implies that universal internet snoopery may not be the anti-terroristic panacea; although she may well take on board the idea that meatware-to-meatware interfaces should also be subject to rigorous surveillance, at least when the meatware is suspected of being halal.

Friday, August 04, 2017

We Must Speak Louder

Another foreigner with a funny name has dared to criticise Tin-Pot Tessie's hostile environment, and even to praise those citizens of nowhere who embrace the swarming hordes of non-Britishness. Though apparently not of the more overtly dangerous dusky female persuasion, the assistant commissioner at the UN High Commission for Refugees even had the temerity to urge an increase in Britain's cockroach intake, and to imply that Her Majesty's Government, of all the cool-headed realists in the world, might be tempted to use emotive issues for the purposes of cheap political posturing. He does not appear to have gone so far as to imply that the best way to prevent a refugee crisis might be to stop creating refugees; but clearly the United Nations, no less than the Euro-wogs, the beastly Russians, the Heathen Chinee and all those Yemeni health tourists, needs putting in its place.

Thursday, August 03, 2017

Taking the Piscatorial

In accordance with David Davis' Dunkirk-inspired Brexit policy of transitional capitulation, the jabbering homunculus that is Michael Gove has been informing foreign fishing persons that they can, after all, still come over here and filch our stocks. Being British, and having been governed for the past thirty-eight years by people who share Michael Gove's ideas about forward planning, long-term strategy and other red tape, we naturally have no industrial capacity to profit from keeping the Euro-wogs away, even assuming that the former Minister for Werritty can negotiate an international trade agreement to sell frozen cod to the Japanese. Accordingly, the jabbering homunculus has informed the Danes that they are welcome to Britain's leftovers, while assuring the plucky little Anglo-Saxons back home that taking back control means taking back control. It remains as yet unclear whether any of the pessimistic citizens of nowhere in the civil service have dared to inform the jabbering homunculus that, thanks to previous policy, Britain doesn't have much with which to enforce its self-made rules against any Viking incursions; or whether the jabbering homunculus is resolved to station himself on the beaches, like the great Danish king Cnut the Anagrammatic, and order the fish and the foreigners to behave.

Wednesday, August 02, 2017

Are There No Workhouses?

Given that Tumbledown Tessie pledged to re-house all survivors of the Grenfell Tower fire within three weeks, it should surprise nobody that, seven weeks after the event, more than two-thirds of the survivors remain in emergency accommodation. The Royal Borough of Kensington and Chelsea, they of the two hundred and fifty million in reserves that were too good to waste on health and safety, have inadvertently let slip that nearly two thousand properties in the area are vacant; but the owners are real people, whose hard-earned real estate is not for the use of proles who might lower the market value. Sajid Javid, the Minister for Mere Minorities, tactfully implied that the slow pace of prole warehousing was all the survivors' fault for turning down offers; their ingratitude is particularly galling as some of the offers were located outside the borough, thereby making emphatically clear the concern on the part of the Royal Borough of Kensington and Chelsea to ensure that they are not forced to remain in a gentrified area where they would only feel out of place.

Tuesday, August 01, 2017

Fine Work

Despite recent minor setbacks such as having to pay a billion and a half from the magic money tree in order to purchase the bare pretence of a democratic mandate, Her Majesty's Government remains as obsessively committed as ever to abolishing the hated public sector. Since privatisation saves money, increases efficiency and is nothing whatever to be ashamed of, the Courts and Tribunals Service has sneaked out the announcement that it is consulting with hired thugs about the possibility of outsourcing the collection of court fines. If the policy goes through, it could lead to the sacking of as many as a hundred and fifty people the redistribution of their salaries; quite possibly in favour of Tin-Pot Tessie's own favourite boot-boys, those deserving people at G4S. Nevertheless, in spite of all these advantages the Government has waited until the summer break to release the glorious news. One would almost think they had something to hide.