The Father of Teeth

Text for today: Carnassials xvii-xxxix

Fleeing through the sewers, on the other hand, the Father of Teeth found his way obstructed by a fatberg of nauseating dimensions. Its bulging white bulk was studded and spiked all over with writhing scaly pseudopods, so that it resembled a giant albino amoeba, such as inhabit the intestines of all who uncritically swallow urban legends.

His path entirely blocked, the Father of Teeth inserted several sets of his most industrial gnashers and started demolishing the fatberg, whose flavour was no more agreeable than its mien. As he gnawed his way through, the scaly pseudopods grew ever more enthused in their thrashing and lashing, and finally the Father of Teeth chewed out a tunnel around one of them to see what it found so exciting.

The writhing scaly tentacle turned out to be attached to a wriggling armour-plated body, from whose sides protruded short flabby legs and which terminated at last in a long and spiky grin, glued and sealed shut by the fatberg's insistent embrace. The Father of Teeth gnawed the creature loose and flung it into the sewer where, having yawned the last clots from its gruesome gums, it swam lazily off in the direction from which the Father of Teeth had come. Seeing this, the Father of Teeth made haste to free as many more of the blind white alligators as he could find, hurling them all into the sewer so that they could follow the first and make their acquaintance with his pursuers.

Burrowing further into the fatberg, the Father of Teeth came upon other pseudopods, smaller and more numerous than those on the outside, and beneath their coating of white powder as pink and bristly as a dowager's chin. These new tentacles were attached to scrawny bundles of matted fur, with scrabbling feet beneath and sly smiles at the front. The Father of Teeth gnawed the blind white rats free by the half-dozen and flung them into the sewer like bouquets, and they swam after the alligators to make their acquaintance with whatever was left of his pursuers.

By now the fatberg was so fractured that the Father of Teeth could see its very core. At first it seemed merely a soft and glistening ball of throbbing offal, but on closer inspection the Father of Teeth discerned that the ball comprised many separate creatures, all pushed together and yet, now that they were no longer contained and constrained by the fatberg's affections, slowly and sluggishly pulsing apart. They were small and slimy, and some were shaped like fish and some like frogs, some with tails and some without, and the biggest of them had tiny hands and a huge head, its eyes complacently closed.

Muttering imprecations upon ontogeny and its phylogenetic copyright violations, the Father of Teeth kicked the remains of the fatberg into the sewer and hurried upon his way. The fatberg's core disintegrated rapidly in the fragrant current, whereupon the miscarried and mutated foetuses, driven by their insensate lust for nurture, set out in pursuit of their rescuer.

But Can They Pick Fruit?

If there's one thing Her Majesty's Government simply cannot stand, it is the sight of a rubber-stamp parliament with an overwhelming majority of party functionaries nodding through authoritarian measures under the rubric of national security. The insidious Heathen Chinee have conceived a dastardly plot to restrict the democratic freedoms of people who, until relatively recently, enjoyed the privilege of being ruled by a colonial governor appointed by Her Madge Gawblesser. This presents something of a moral dilemma to the beady-eyed thug at the Ministry for Wogs, Frogs, Huns and Hit-and-Runs: in facing down the Heathen Chinee, he must extend rights to beastly migrants. True, these particular disease-spreading hordes are British passport holders, albeit not through any fault of the present administration: they are permitted to pollute the mainland with their presence for only six months, which Her Majesty's Government is now threatening to extend to a defcon-busting twelve. There seems, as yet, no reason to fear a first strike with rights of abode, which would undoubtedly precipitate a severe crisis of conscience at the Home Office. Indeed, it is difficult to think of anything more calculated to grate upon refined British sensibilities, except of course hypocrisy.

Journal of the Plague Year

continued, by a Gentleman

It hath long been known as a defining Characteriſtick of your ſanguinary Extremiſt and Foreign-inclined, that the ſublime Subtleties of Engliſh Law and fair Play are altogether loſt upon him; and ſo it hath proven in the mad and rabid Outcry of vulgar Indignation againſt that loyall Servant of our noble Prime Miniſter, who went a Journey to Durham-town in order to avail himſelf of the Caſtle. The venerable and ſtately Pile being all ſet about with Signs and Notices, is notoriouſly ſtriking to the viſual Perception, and is thus a famouſly reliable Indication whether or no a Gentleman may be ſuffering from Blindneſs. Since the Time of King Æthelred it hath been known, that if any Man approach a Caſtle in Durham-town and do not bloody his Noſe upon the outer Walls of the Keep, then that Man is one who can ſee. A more reaſonable Precaution in a far-ſighted Officer of State would be difficult of imagining, and yet the Gentleman in queſtion is even now the hapleſs Victim of a Horde of foaming Radicals that wiſhes nothing more than to watch his Head ſpiked upon all the Pitch-forks hitherto reſerved for uppity Guild-maſters, Agents of the French, overly materialiſtick Schoolmiſtreſses and ſuchlike Conſpirators againſt the Realm.

Clearly the Mob is prey to that ethereal yet deadly Peſtilence which is ſpiritual Foreignneſs, and which conſiſteth in the Diſability of Perception I ſpoke of, whereby the vital Context of a given Action becometh inviſible to the Mind, or at leaſt ſuch Mind as the ſo afflicted may juſtly be ſaid to poſseſs. For ſurely no true Engliſhman, borne in Freedom and raiſed in Law and Order and corporally ſchooled to know his Place, will defend ſo outlandiſh a Notion, as that any given Activity undertaken by an Engliſh Gentleman or his duly accredited Servant, Vaſsal or Sponger, hath all the moral and legal Status of the identical Activity undertaken by one of leſser Breeding. Should any ſuch moral Anarchy ever chance to exert its baneful Gripe upon this Land, why then a mere harmleſs Pleaſantry directed at a ſhackled Nigger could be conſidered no leſs an Offence than the brute Reſponſe of that ſame benighted Savage, and the beſt-intentioned Slap upon the Buttocks of a Whore might be fraught with dire and diſmal Conſequences even for a Gentleman of the moſt refined and delicate Senſibility.

It is of courſe the rightful Prerogative and Privilege of the Prime Miniſter to diſmiſs his Servants at his own fair Convenience, and ſeverall times a Day for the paſt Week I have communicated to his exalted Perſon my continuing Willingneſs to give a fair Price for whatever publick Office may chance to fall vacant, ſhould it happen to be ſo humble as to be ſuitable unto my poor Deſerts.

Abstruse Concerns

Will there never be an end to the quibbling pedantry of the ideologically factual? An upstart cabal of scientific malcontents, which had the gall to purloin the name of the advisory body whose fertiliser is the lily-white Cummings, has attempted to victimise the Government yet further by undermining the drive to get Britain's expendables back to work. Primary schools for inessential children will re-open on Monday (the kind of schools which give us Head Boys like David Cameron and Boris Johnson have prudently postponed the great day until autumn), yet instead of rejoicing at the general opportunification the mere scientists are making dissatisfied noises about a lot of silly old facts. Among other irrelevances, they note the heightened risk to "families with children living in intergenerational households, or who come from a BAME or disadvantaged background," almost as though that were something for the patriotic white working class to worry about. By contrast, the prospect of getting Cummings out of a few of tomorrow's headlines seems to have received only the most cursory analysis.

Bad For You? Pernicious Nonsense

Given the axiomatic doctrine of the non-ideological virtuous, which specifies infallibly that private enterprise is more efficient than state control, it will come as no surprise that those charmingly cheeky people at EDF have submitted a plan, if plan is the word I want, to further the Conservatives' green recovery by building a nuclear power station in Suffolk. The company's previous effort, originally scheduled for completion three years from now in the wrong direction, is currently expected to be ready in half a decade's time and to cost only slightly more than twice the original quote. It remains as yet unclear what compensation the taxpayer will receive; although a subtle indication may perhaps be detected in the fact that EDF waited until two months into the pandemic, when even Her Majesty's Government had noticed it, before serving up their latest radioactive gumbo of pious aspirations and sniggering postmodern pledges. Among the more intriguing of these is the claim that the blanched pachyderm's presence "will provide a biodiversity net gain to the area." Just how extensive are the mutations going to be? Is it possible that by the year 2050, when the plant may well be almost halfway to completion, a Suffolk constituency may return a parliamentary expenses claimant with a head for each of their faces?

All in it Together

In countries populated by lesser breeds, whose constitution was not written for them by mediaeval barons, democracy can sometimes prove more fragile than under the thousand-year rule of our own Mother of Parliaments. Despite his healthy buccaneering instincts with regard to the Amazon, Jair Bolsonaro is receiving some deeply un-British treatment from various media organisations, which have withdrawn coverage from the presidential hovel in the face of some spontaneous expressions of free speech by the local gammon. At least one political journalist claimed that "Brazil no longer enjoys full freedom of the press," although nothing prevented the journalists from staying and being screamed at some more. In a mature democracy such as the Recrudescent Imperium of Westminster, the Falklands and Barnard Castle, of course, such uncouth scenes would never occur, except now and then on the doorstep of someone without the resources to sue. In a stable and functioning democracy, an appropriate relationship between truth and power must always be maintained; which is why Britain's bulldog politicians courageously flee anyone who asks a scary question, and why Britain's free and fearless media consistently ensure that the facts are held accountable to the wealth creators.

Journal of the Plague Year

continued, by a Gentleman

Theſe quiet reſtfull Days of early Summer, while the Warmth of God's Solar Balm gamely calls forth the induſtrious Maggot from the ripe Orifices of the deceaſed Ineſsential, there have been few Occurrences of note. The daily Rate of Demiſe among the Idle continues to riſe and fall, but none of any Conſequence hath died ſince the ſecond-largeſt Daughter of the Earl of Bagſward fell on her Horſe upon the Afternoon of Wedneſday laſt, rolling over the defenceleſs Creature and expiring ſome ſeventeen Hours later in dreadful Agonies. I am told it will be long ere the Horſe recover its Wits, and the Earl is much concerned leſt the ſurviving Females of his Houſehold ſhould follow the young Lady in her importunate Action and bring about a generall Demoraliſing of the Stables. Fortunately the Drawing-room Windows at Bagſward are very ſtrongly barred.

Meanwhile a Servant of the Prime Miniſter, apparently one of thoſe few Dozen with the Aſpect of a ſmacked Arſe inſtead of a crumpled mucous Membrane, hath made a Journey to Durham town in order to teſt his Eye-ſight, which ſeemeth a moſt ſenſible Precaution. With Quacks and Pamphleteers proclaiming from every Street-corner the pernicious foreign Superſtition that the God-given Inadequacies and Failings of the human Optick may be magically corrected with diſtorting Lenſes, what more ſenſible during a deadly Peſtilence than to drive a Coach-and-four three hundred Miles, pauſing only at ſundry Roadhouſes, Inns and Toll-gates and a Caſtle, and taking along for the ſake of ſimple Compaſsion a backward infant Child and a Wife whoſe puſtulent Buboes had that very Day begun to ſpurt their fragrant Matter in great adheſive Gouts of purgative Releaſing. I am ſure that the Peſtilence muſt now have paſsed its Peak and that the Bulk of future Sufferings will be confined to the Inconſequential.

Bad Theology

Text for today: I Kings 20 xxxv-xlii; II Chronicles 18 xxxiii-xxxiv

Having defeated him twice in battle, King Ahab accepts the terms offered by the king of Syria and makes peace. God commands a prophet, who goes up to another man and asks the man to strike him. The man refuses, whereupon the prophet condemns him to be immediately killed by a passing lion. Obtaining his desired wound from someone more obliging, the prophet disguises himself with a bandage and confronts the king with the inexcusable crime of having shown mercy when sacrifice was desired. The prophet relays God's word that Ahab's life will answer for the Syrian king's life, and Ahab's people for the Syrian king's people. Eventually Ahab is killed in battle by a random shot from a Syrian archer.

God's servant in this incident makes a pitiful figure. Although he is apparently descended from other prophets (such men were evidently not averse to sojourning with widows or spreading themselves over young girls), the prophet's name is never given; and rather than confronting the king face to face, as Elijah and others did regularly, he resorts to the shirker's trick of getting himself a light wound so that he can pass as a soldier honourably injured in battle: a disguise which would enable him to blend into the ranks should the king order his insolence punished. The man who refuses to aid the prophet in his deception is immediately struck down, while the impiously diplomatic king is spared only for as long as God takes to arrange his death by means of the same people to whose king he showed unauthorised mercy. God and His prophets do not rejoice in the truth, but tolerate only the most abject obedience.

In God We Trumpet

Presumably in response to some subtle theological prompting by his hydrophobic head-tribble, the Trumpster has proclaimed that sites of religious ritual are essential services to rank with schools, child-care programmes, transport and Macdonald's. Certain state governors and, regrettably, many congregations have demonstrated a deplorable lack of faith by abstaining from collective grovelling for the duration of the pandemic; perhaps because some agent of Satan led them to believe that the virus was sent not by God but by the Heathen Chinee. The Trumpster, whose popularity among evangelical Christians is much as one would expect for a garish bully whose promises don't come true, has decreed that "in America we need more prayer, not less;" thereby implying an inferior status for non-public prayer and casually overruling (besides the minor obstacle that is the Constitution of the United States) the Saviour's explicit orders that prayer should be quiet and private. Doubtless the Father will adjust the pandemic accordingly.

Journal of the Plague Year

continued, by a Gentleman

With the Forces of foreign Malignity and domeſtic Diſcord arrayed and poiſed to overthrow our great Kingdom at the very Height of its tranſcendent Magnificence and undiſputed Seat of Maſtery atop the global Market for ſpreadable Cow-paſte, every patriotick Engliſhman muſt give Thanks to the divine Providence for its infinite and ineffable Mercy in providing our Ship of State with a Captain whoſe great perſonal Beauty, Clealineſs of Mind and wog-baiting Brilliance of Wit are matched only by the dazzling Acumen of his Stateſmanſhip.

No later than this Week, the aforeſaid Leader hath been requeſted, by ſome low legaliſtic Species of Fellow, to relieve thoſe Foreigners, who maſquerade as Surgeons and Nurſes, of their Duty of Payment ſhould they be ſo lacking in Alertneſs as to fall ſick themſelves. Our Leader having urbanely refuſed this Indulgence towards the ſub-human Beaſts who pollute the Purity of our Britiſhneſs and devaſtate our national Economy with their alien Modes of Speech, not five hours later reverſed his Poſition, with a Cunning matched by Nobility of Mien and Firmneſs of Purpoſe rarely ſeen ſince the days of Caligula.

Now although the Pamphlets of the Malcontents are filled with the carping Cavils of peſsimiſtic Pontification, it is plain to the objective Apprehenſion that a great Victory hath been achieved, compriſing all at a ſingle fell Swoop the ſudden Diſcombobulation of the Parliamentary Oppoſition and the moſt ſatisfactorily ſanguinary Rout of the Beaſtlie Migrants. For it is very well known, that allowing the lower Claſses to retain any Exceſs of Monies muſt inevitably reſult in a veritable Plague of Vagabondage, Drunkenneſs, Fornication and all the other hideous Sins that are bred in the Idleneſs of the Ineſsential. This being ſo, the Removal of their fiſcal Duty from the beaſtlie Migrants can reſult only in a moſt apocalyptical Outbreak of Malingering, by which the inſidious Invaders ſhall blatantly betray their unnatural and diſruptive Preſence, and ſhall indubitably be dealt with in appropriate Britiſh Faſhion by the circumjacent hard-working Families.

It is a very Privilege to obſerve ſuch a Feat of Leaderſhip, the like of which is ſurely not to be ſeen more than once in a Generation, and inclines me the more to excuſe the continuing Dilatorineſs of our noble Prime Miniſter in anſwering my daily Petitions for due Advancement in his Service.

Thy Mercy on Thy People, Lord Shiva

Stuck in a plague-struck capital which happens to be the most polluted city in the world, and therefore disinclined to fritter away its money on healthcare or environmental protection, the god-bothering government of Narendra Modi has instead decided on a further Johnsonian demonstration that British values are far from lost upon the republic of India. A major new building is to be added to the parliamentary complex at Delhi, without heed for the red tape of heritage status, public consultation or anti-democratic trouble-makers who might hinder proceedings by pedantically calling attention to flaws which are merely basic and fundamental. While the building represents a radical centralisation of power in the hands of the prime minister, a part of the presidential estate will be opened up to show that, whatever may be happening in less favoured regions, there remains sufficient biodiversity to furnish the gardens of the rich.

All Too Traceable

Among the national religion's more robust points of doctrine is that adequate training is bad for business. It's bad enough that companies are still occasionally forced to pay their employees and avoid subjecting them to immediate physical danger, without imposing upon the world's most persecuted victims any kind of obligation to ensure the education of their serfs. Training is potentially a slippery slope: it leads to knowledge, and knowledge leads to experts, and we all know how unpatriotic and disobliging experts can be. Hence the general corporate preference for utilising, incentivising and opportunifying the untutored and inexperienced: they are far less expensive to maintain and to dismiss, and in the event of a complete disaster any wider costs can always be covered by the taxpayer.

Those brilliant people at Serco are famous and enthusiastic masters of this venerable and holy practice, notably in their recent extortion of taxpayers' money in return for tagging and monitoring dead and imprisoned offenders, who are less of a strain on the dividends because they don't move around too much. For that little number Serco received the usual reward, namely a slap on the wrist accompanied by a compensatory package of squillions contracting for Her Majesty's Government. One such contract, which presumably received as much care and forethought as all our other pandemic policies, was for the recruitment of some non-experts to assist in identifying people who have recently been in contact with victims of the virus. Sparing the shareholders as ever, Serco entrusted a confidential email communication to someone who didn't know the difference between cc and Bcc, so that three hundred recruits all received one another's addresses, along with Serco's prudent message instructing them not to bother contacting the help desk if they should happen to need any help.

Naturally, Serco has no plans to refer itself to the information commissioner: a leniency which the Minister for Profitable Incarceration has hastened to endorse while assuring a grateful nation that the usual sniggering apology is more than enough. Still, a serious issue is at stake: "It brings into stark relief the importance of privacy about confidentiality which underpins all of this," the minister said. If people can't trust the Government's very favourite boot-boys to keep their information confidential, such information could well be withheld; which, besides the trivial matter of a few thousand more deaths, might cause considerable disappointment among the private health companies to which the Conservatives hope to sell it.

Journal of the Plague Year

continued, by a Gentleman

Were I a beaſtlie Foreigner or a daſtardly Traitor, and thus more inclined to a moroſe peſsimiſtic Diſpoſition, I might begin to fear me that the cordial Effect of this Peſtilence, in weeding out the leſs patriotic Elements in our Nation and cleanſing the Air of poiſonous Exhalations from the Deſtitute, may yet be undermined by its unfortunate Conſequences for the generall Economy. I have this very Day received the bleakeſt Tidings from my Steward at the Potato-huſbandry at Filching, and alſo from the Honourable Euſtice Clarince Euſtice, the ſeventeenth natural Excreſcence of my Lord the late Marqueſs of Chancroid, who is honorary Beadle of the Pariſh where my Holdings in Beets and Aſparagus are at their mightieſt. What with the recent Deportations of ſubverſive foreign Labour and the inevitable Reconciliation of global Markets to meet our moſt reaſoned and Britannic Demands, there appeared hitherto every poſsible Anticipation of a moſt proſperous Harveſt, with greatly increaſed Profits and correſponding hopeful Proſpects for my Capabilities in the Service of Her Majeſty's Government. Alas, while one heſitates to defy Science and judge in advance of the Facts, it appeareth the Peaſantry at both Eſtabliſhments are a mere feckleſs idle Rabble, who have ſo far forgot their feudal Obligations as to die off in unſuſtainable Numbers without troubling to perform their Duties beforehand or breed ſufficient Diggers and Pickers to compenſate the Loſses. And the beaſtlie Foreigners have cunningly conſented to their Deportation juſt in time to avoid doing ſome actual Work inſtead of paſsing entire Days in fanatical Purſuit of the Nation's Downfall and ſpeaking of their barbarous alien Dialects. Where will it all end? The next Thing you know we ſhall become a net Importer of Slaves, and reſpectable Perſons will yet again be reluctantly compelled to foment racial Hatred againſt them in order to preſerve the Beauty of our ſocial Fabrick.

Prudent Buccaneering

As if the recalcitrant Euro-wogs and those greedy, grasping schoolteachers were not enough, the greatest economy on the globe may soon suffer yet another punishment beating thanks to the parlous financial state of Her Majesty's Government's favourite fundamentalist head-choppers. For the past several years, one of the UK's most reliable export markets has been the House of Saud's continuing rampage in Yemen, despite tentative doubts in some quarters as to whether British weapons and training are consistently being used, as specified in the instructions, by decent chaps doing jolly things. The pandemic has caused oil prices to come down faster and lower than a liberal who's been standing on principle, and there is some question how long the head-chopping House of Saud will be able to maintain its enforcement of British values at the present democratic level. Even more seriously, a reduced dependence on oil may result in a post-Trumpster White House deciding that other fundamentalist war criminals are at least as moderate and peaceable as the head-chopping House of Saud. Fortunately, given its new-found independence from the biggest free-trade area in the world, the Recrudescent Imperium of Westminster, Gibraltar and the Falkland Islands will be in an ideal negotiating position, especially with so many essential workers about to resume their normal, eminently punishable status as an unjustified expense for the taxpayer.

The Father of Teeth

Text for today: I Caries xcvi-cxviii

Eventually, however, the enemy surrendered and the conquering army, by the grace of its deities, marched in. The enemy's religion was a grotesque and dreadful cult whose beliefs defied everything from true doctrine to common sense, and whose priesthood was more or less evenly divided between fiendish fanatics and cynical charlatans. Their greed and cruelty was exceeded only by their intellectual dishonesty, and the supreme chaplain of the conquering army lost no time in converting the more unprincipled leaders to his own cause, while having humbler and more stubborn adherents re-educated by the dozen in all the public squares.

From his balcony in the capital, wearing his most dignified socks and an expression of appropriate humility, the supreme chaplain watched the nooses being prepared for the next round of theological reorientation. Throughout the edifying spectacle he marvelled at the greatness of the gods; for, despite marching over reeking battlefields strewn with grimacing corpses and shrieking wounded; despite the starving citizenry and their purely materialistic hatred; and despite the incorrigible bigotry of those surviving fanatics whose families had been tortured and executed and displayed piecemeal on the battlements as an incentive to rejoice in the truth - despite all these distasteful sights and sounds, and especially the smells, the supreme chaplain's faith had never wavered for a moment.

"That's because you have apes in your mind," said the Father of Teeth, materialising whimsically nearby out of the black void of his own cyclopean cavities; "the very fabric of your being is woven through with shrieking, jabbering, dung-pelting simians. When your reverend ancestors stopped swinging from the trees, the Creator of the universe graciously permitted them to remain in your soul."
"Why would the Creator do that?" asked the supreme chaplain sceptically.
"He disbelieves in evolution," said the Father of Teeth, "so he left them there to hinder yours."

Journal of the Plague Year

continued, by a Gentleman

When the Day ſhall arrive, when I commence writing that great Culmination of Natural Philoſophy and intellectual Britiſhneſs which will be my Life's Juſtification, I muſt be ſure to expend a Chapter or more upon that ſtrange Irony of Greatneſs, whereby the moſt powerful and virtuous Nation may be fatally conſumed from within by nothing more than the Preſence of a few refugees, and whereby the moſt deſerving Gentleman may find himſelf unable to ſurvive a ſingle Day in his own Houſe without a great Staff of Butlers, Valets, Footmen, Maids, Cooks, Laundreſses, Beaters, Nurſemaids and ſundry other lowly Creatures, including a ſpecial Team of Catheter-wielders ſhould his Orifices be inflamed or ſwollen to puſtulent Cloſure from the Gout, the French Sickneſs or the Weſtminſter Pox.

It is doubtleſs by the Operation of ſome ſimilar Principle, that our noble Prime Miniſter findeth himſelf unable to conduct his Buſineſs in the Houſe of Commons while deprived of his legitimate Birthright in the Applauſe of his loyal Subordinates. I have communicated my Willingneſs to offer my own moſt fervent Services at the uſual Volume, or even more ſhould it be required of me in theſe days of national Emergency, but Her Majeſty's Government is much occupied for the Moment with reſtoring the Children of the common People to their proper Station of honeſt and improving Labour. Indeed it is a Meaſure of the Severity of this Peſtilence, that many Chimneys have not been ſwept in weeks and my Lord Splyce-Chyldebryde, whom I lately met at Savile Row, complaineth that there is barely a Whore to be had below fourteen Years of Age.

Mustn't Grumble

The long and happy relationship between Her Majesty's Government and post-Babbage computer technology is being actively subverted by treacherous leftists. Not only are there ideological rumblings about the Department for Profitable Healthcare giving away patients' NHS data to private companies, but a gathering of militant boilermakers has warned care home workers to avoid using government software which would enable vulnerable managers to identify their class enemies and provide appropriate moral guidance. Is there no trust in Albion? Where is the Blitz spirit, or the Christian co-operation between nice people and their inferiors which made England so merry in the good old days of hanging, flogging and decent domestic service?

Or They Could Just Go Back Home

Perhaps the most frustrating aspect of the immigrant problem, beyond even the language barrier, the peculiar shades of epidermis and the reprehensible culinary habits, is the refusal of integration and community spirit. This unpleasant attitude is particularly prevalent among hordes swarming in from fundamentalist religious cultures; which may serve to explain why the descendants of some fanatical boat people are threatening the indigenous population of South Dakota with litigation for trying to protect people's health. The state governor, a "staunch" confederate of the Trumpster and his hydrophobic orange head-tribble, has had a sudden attack of reverence for the law because two of the local Sioux tribes have put checkpoints on roads leading into territory the invaders have thus far neglected to steal. Even in the few years since the invaders drifted out of habits such as scalping for bounties, trading smallpox-infected blankets and good old genocide, there have been one or two fraught moments, including an armed confrontation with some friends of the late Mr Hoover. As it happens, the state of South Dakota cannot take legal action on its own, although it remains as yet unclear whether the matter has been placed in the hands of the Trumpster or in the slightly larger ones of God.

Journal of the Plague Year

continued, by a Gentleman

Amid much Concern that the beaſtlie French and their Allies the Heathens of Woo Han may have ſabotaged the national Economy by their inſidious and premature Recovery from the Peſtilence, our noble Prime Miniſter hath declared that Perſons of more expendable Quality may return to their Labours, provided they can reach an Accommodation with their Maſters under the impartial Superviſion of whatever Troops may be at hand. The moral and material Perils of Unemployment and Idleneſs will thereby be much reduced, as Loafers and Shirkers will be induced to carry away the Corſes of any who drop in the Street.

Given the abyſmal Prophecies concerning the ſtate of the Economy, I have made my own ſmall Contribition to the national Recovery by rationaliſing the Wages of all the Servants. The more well-trained Demi-Beaſts of our lower Claſses reſpond to ſuch motivating Incentives with much Commonſenſe, as a good Horſe reſpondeth to the Laſh, and certainly during our Seſsions with the Riding-crop my Chamber-maid, though for the moſt part a lazy ſlovenly Slattern, may even be ſaid to have exceſsively belaboured the Area of her Reſponſibility. It is two Nights ſince I announced the Wage Reform, and I ſtill have to write ſtanding up.

Four Placemen of the Apocalypse

Despite the vaunted accomplishment of our civilising mission in the Middle East, it appears the Royal Air Force has recently resumed the crusade in Iraq, to the inevitable patriotic strains of near-total silence from our free and cantankerous media. Nevertheless, if Britain's military and intelligence chiefs had any illusions that the recent VE Day rah-rah demonstrated any greater respect for expert judgement than Matt Hancock's sniggering applause for NHS staff, we must hope that they have now been disabused. Like its most devoted acolytes, the Reverend Blair and his chums, the Conservative Party simply adores war; but that doesn't mean the Government has to listen to a lot of confusing advice from people who might subvert a perfectly good plan by knowing something about the real world. Accordingly, Britain's national security council has been suspended in favour of a cabal which Britain's leading liberal newspaper worries is "all-male", as if the presence of Priti Patel or Elizabeth Truss might provide a welcome Clausewitzian touch. The males in question are the Treasury spad; the thuggish Minister for Wogs, Frogs and Huns; the jabbering homunculus Michael Gove, who has read a book or two by David Irving; and Matt Hancock, the sum of whose experience in the national security business comprises dynamically waiting for the coronavirus to mutate into a form that only kills immigrants. Presumably on the orders of the prime minister, Dominic Cummings, the presence of the Secretary of State for Wog-Bombing has been deemed unnecessary; perhaps because it would bring the playpen dangerously close to expertise. The enemies of the realm are doubtless quaking in their jackboots.

Untouchable Standards

Since the dismantling of the first British Empire with almost no casualties worth speaking of, many of the lesser breeds have undergone reversion to their former barbarism and, by regrettable contrast to the mainland, have succumbed to spurious and corrupt leadership by the childlike, the authoritarian and the uppity. Fortunately, the Raj seems as far as ever from renouncing British values, among the more glorious of which are a rigid caste system, a penchant for Muslim-baiting and a pragmatically buccaneering attitude to red tape. Under the god-bothering régime of Narendra Modi, the mere preservation of the world as a habitable environment has been left in the capable hands of the probably nonexistent, where it is unlikely to inconvenience anyone important. Accordingly, multinational companies are not putting themselves to the expense of undergoing safety checks, and the Indian authorities are not putting themselves to the trouble of forcing the issue. Although full Britishness can never be truly attained by brown people with funny names and hilarious modes of speech, an occasional mini-Bhopal is surely a price well worth paying for such commendable proximity.

Bad Theology

Text for today: Deuteronomy 31 xiv-xxi

God informs Moses that he is about to die and commissions the génocidaire Joshua to lead the Hebrews in his place. God tells Moses that, once the promised land has been delivered to His chosen people, they will turn to foreign gods, and that as a result God will send many evils and troubles to devour them. God dictates a song to Moses in order that the Hebrews of later generations will know that He told them so.

As happens so often under His administration, from the Garden of Eden to the Revelation of St John, God flaunts both His awareness of human frailty and His own decided belief in punishment over prevention. Although He does not admit to it, there must be some question whether the God who hardened the hearts of Pharaoh and Eli's sons might have played a more active and sinister role in the Hebrews' backsliding, above and beyond the passive-aggressive jealousy apparent in His address to His dying favourite.

In a particularly telling touch, when God appears at the handover meeting to foretell the Hebrews' disobedience and His own violent and abusive reaction to it, He shows Himself as a pillar of cloud rather than as a guiding light: a clear, even blatant sign of His penchant for obfuscation.

Journal of the Plague Year

continued, by a Gentleman

Truly it hath been ſayed, by our Lord and Saviour among other notable Champions of Britiſh Values, that a rotten Tree cannot but bring forth bad Fruit; and so it hath proven in that earthly Reflection of the eternal Kingdom, which is Her Majeſty's Government, for a certain Phyſician hath been ſummarily diſmiſsed from his adviſory Poſition over an untimely Dalliance with a married Strumpet. The Phyſician in queſtion is a Promulgator and Propounder of that wicked and foreign Theory, whereby the Peſtilence derives from the Action of ſmall inviſible Particles of Noiſomenenſs conſpiring to invade a healthy Britiſh Body. The Lack of moral Fibre in the diſcredited Sawbones, by driving him to ſinful Incontinence and depraved Depths of carnal Luſt for a hot heaving Boſom and quivering alabaſter Haunches belonging to a reſpectable Family, hath ſurely diſcredited once for all this moſt pernicious alien Superſtition.

I have alſo heard it lately rumoured, that the prophylactick Meaſures against the Peſtilence are to be eaſed as far as opening up the national Gardens. This appeareth to me a moſt wiſe and foreſighted Policy, which will do much to prevent the Royal Parklands from being miſuſed growing Wheat to pander the Poor and Indigent and their ever more virulent Addiction to Bread. Alſo with the firſt Blaze of Summer upon us, the Piles of blackened and Maggot-ridden Corpſes which have feſtooned our fair City theſe paſt Months will at laſt have the Opportunity of attaining a proper and hygienic Uſefulneſs, thanks to the increaſed Demand for Fertiliſer.

Victory over Europe

Come, let us celebrate with duty's fun,
Not peace nor liberty, but that we won.
Britannia stood alone and singly fought,
With only wogs and Roosevelt for support,
And staunchly put those foreigners in place
Who dared to steal our throne as master race.
Without a grumble, Britain bore the brunt
As leftists lazed along the eastern front,
For those uniting values that fulfil
The triumph of our patriotic will:
Defending beaches, hills and streets and seas
Against the hordes of Jewish refugees.
Come, let us cheer that evil overthrown,
Which still remains too good to be outgrown.

Winnie Blather

Sick Man of Europe

Rare and remarkable as it may be for a racist to be incorrect on matters of international diplomacy, it cannot be denied that fears of Turkey's immediate entry into the EU were unfounded, despite their noisy promulgation during the referendum by cadres of the Farage Falange. Doubtless Turkey's continuing non-membership, to say nothing of its government's no-nonsense attitude towards unpatriotism and human rights red tape, goes far in explaining why Her Majesty's Government is dragging its feet over demanding compensation for four hundred thousand protective gowns which failed to meet safety standards. Matters were presumably also helped by the fact that the only money wasted was that of the obliging British taxpayer; and of course Her Majesty's Government is now fronted by someone whose Ottoman taint has clearly left him with an ancestral dislike of British prudence, pragmatism and conservatism.

Journal of the Plague Year

continued, by a Gentleman

I have received moſt diſcouraging Reports from the Bailiffs at my ſeverall country Eſtates, concerning the Effect of the Peſtilence upon my Tenants. Perhaps worſt of all is the News that many elderly and infirm Perſons are among the dead, with terrible Conſequences for the naſcent Cottage Induſtrie of home-produced Beef Paſte, in which it now ſeemeth my Intereſt will ſhow little or no Profit this coming Twelvemonth. At Scrotal a great Bottleneck hath cauſed horrid Diſorder among Pfeffel's Wild Oats until the poiſonous Tide was turned back with upright Pikeſtaffe and unflinching Britiſh Exaſperation. The Populace at Gammonleigh and Little Frumpage hath been ſo much reduced, that thoſe remaining can ſcarce keep up the Fields for paucity of Muckers, and at Furgle-up-the-Furrow there is like to be no Pressing of the Plums until next Michaelmas at the earlieſt. Likewiſe the Pigſwill-cludgers at Market Footling are ſo diſgruntled of late, that there is Talk among the Yokelry of going out and hanging all Papiſts, Jews and Crones within a mile of the Village Square, which will mean much Paper-work for me in drawing up the appropriate Permiſsions.

Indeed it would ſeem little ſave a univerſal Counſell of Deſpond, did we not baſk in the Leaderſhip of our noble Prime Miniſter, who hath announced this very Day that our Kingdom hath ſuſtained the greateſt number of Deaths in the whole of Europe, owing ſolely to the mathematical Fact of an Engliſhman having ſo many times the Worth of any Foreigner. Therefore in accordance with my patriotick Duty to ſupport the Economy through the preſent Scarcity of Drudges I am reſolved to raiſe the Rents in all my Holdings by next Quarter-day. This will neceſsitate my accepting a ſmaller Proportion of my Due from the Collaterally Deſtitute, and my Throat is already ſorely fatigued from dictating the requiſite Final Demands and the Charters of Eviction and Outfangthief; but in ſuch Times as these one muſt brace to one's Duties no matter the perſonal Coſt.

Let the Dead Bury the Dead

Although the Conservative Party has few problems with letting people die, a small parliamentary minority is at least anxious that the more deserving remains should be tidily disposed of. Spiritual consolation, like so much of the Government's policy during the pandemic, is more economical than PPE; and a group of thirty-six expenses claimants has petitioned the Church of England to resume appropriate use of that real estate which the Queen Gawblesser has graciously leased unto the Almighty. Among the supplicants are Theresa Villiers, presumably chafing somewhat at her status as the most forgettable Conservative environment secretary before the present one; and the disgraced former Minister for Werritty, the vole-brained Liam Fox, who has never yet passed up an opportunity to demonstrate how much safer the nation became when he gave up general practice for major profits.

The Sound of One Cheek Turning

Gay Jewish humanists are up to their usual tricks of censorship, denying the sixteenth Daddy Goodspeak any right to attack equal rights for those his Church considers inferior. So persecuted are the saints who disapprove of abortion and gay marriage that even a Grand Inquisitor Emeritus, once placed upon the Judaeo-sodomitic Index Expurgatorius, may find it virtually impossible to make his opinions known beyond the confines of the international press and the merely public sale of a very occasional full-length biography. It is doubtless thanks to these dreadful strictures that the Pontiff of Paedophilia's views on feminism, secular humanism and various other worldly inconveniences have hitherto received so little attention.

The Father of Teeth

Text for today: Incisors cxviii-cxxxiii

In the city before that, by contrast, everyone carried a shovel on their shoulder and Father of Teeth merely walked up and down the high street, greeting the citizens with the full range of his least appealing dentition. Reasoning plausibly that the Apocalypse was upon them, the people hastily unshouldered their shovels and dug through the pavement and through the soil, into the redeeming catacombs where their ancestors were entombed.

Thin-skinned and lacking the encumbrance of eyeballs, the ancestors were the embodiment of divine justice. They sat against the dripping walls with their knees drawn up and their smiles growing steadily wider. The people knelt before them and made obeisance and then waited, exalted or terrified each according to temperament, for transportation to the realm of a more glamorous underworld.

Amid showers of débris, the Father of Teeth descended grinning upon the congregation. "They are not smiles of welcome," he said. "It's just that their gums have shrunk."

Journal of the Plague Year

continued, by a Gentleman

As it hath ever been the Way of the Lord to mix Bleſsings with Griefs, and to ſhower down among His noble Gifts a ſalutary Meaſure of improving Inconvenience, ſo this Week of patriotick Milk and Honey hath been duly ſalted with the aſtringent and deſsicated Moral Condiment, that is Sorrow. I am informed that divers Members and ſundry Servants of the Bloater and Blueſtocking Libertarians' Clubbe for Cloſe Phyſical Contact and Daredevil Facial Manipulation are down with the Peſtilence, whereof three at leaſt have expired in unſpeakable Agonies of reſpiratory Diſcombobulation. The Myſteries of the Divine Will are truly not to be fathomed, though I cannot but count it a well-merited Mercy towards my Self, that none of the Deceaſed was in a Poſition to aid my Advancement.

The continuing Cordiality between Heaven and Her Majeſty's Government may alſo be obſerved in the appreciably lower Mortality among the deſerving Claſses, and the juſt and awful Deſcent of mighty Doom upon thoſe many Apothecaries, Phyſicians and Nurſes who fail to make due Diſtincton between hard-working Cuſtomers and thoſe more ſuitable for entruſtment unto the Divine Mercy. It is ſurely no more than mere Juſtice that ſo many medical Perſonnel have periſhed, ſince their Inſiſtence on armouring themſelves with protective Aprons beſpeaks a moſt deplorable want of Faith in our United Kingdom's celeſtial Ally.

Meanwhile, as my own Contribution to maintaining the Country's new exalted Levels of Calmneſs and ſocial Coheſion I have ordered all the Servants to ſtand at the front Door in full Livery each Evening and applaud their Betters, while meditating upon the ſupreme houeſehold Virtues of Conſcientiouſneſs and Thrift.

Meta-Patriotism

O rah for our sensible pride
That makes us all squishy inside!
Let's all make a fuss,
For people not us
Did wonderful things, and then died!

O rah for Britannia! I ween
We'll never more blush to be seen
As slaves to the cause
Of cultural wars
And waving of flags for the Queen!

O rah for our lack of all shame
In global Imperial fame!
Not racist of course,
Yet moral in force
From knowing the wogs are to blame!

O rah! let's proclaim it aloud,
This virtue with which we're endowed!
At last we may tell
With orgulous yell
Our pride in the fact that we're proud!

Reedy Ron Ratsmirke