A Poisoned Well

Like certain other nations where religious lunatics hold the balance of power, such as the USA and the Recrudescent Imperium of Brexitannia, the Righteous State has suffered worse than most from the pandemic. Since obedience to the law is so important to the mass-murdering djinn who presented Himself to Moses as the one true god, it is conceivable that His wrath has been incurred by the ultra-Orthodox faction propping up the war criminal and alleged crook who calls himself the prime minister. If so, He is for once in agreement with secular citizens, who are suspicious of the Netanyahoo's latest strictures against mass protest, especially as the Likudniks originally tried to impose them regardless of whether or not a lockdown was in force. At the same time, on the advice of his holy men, the Netanyahoo has backed away from imposing local lockdowns because Yahweh, with His abiding and wholly understandable love of poverty and squalor, has placed so many of His chosen in poor and congested ghettos where His wrath can more conveniently consume them.

Journal of the Plague Year

continued, by a Gentleman

Heard ſombre Tidings yeſter Eve at the Bloater and Blueſtocking Coffee-houſe, where my Lord Splyce-Chyldebryde diſcourſed upon the wondrous Charm and Adventure of ſtudying at our great Univerſities, eſpecially when many auſtere and diſciplined Clericks are perforce cloiſtered for lengthy Periods with a ſubſtantial ſtudent Boddy. For it ſeemeth the Woo Han Peſtilence in the great Maliciouſneſs and Peſtiferouſneſs of its unnatural Oriental Cunning, hath contrived to infect many among the future Hope of our Nation, deſpite the clear prophylactick Advice of our noble Prime Miniſter, that the expendable Claſses ſhould return to their Labours and the Nation's Youth to its Schooling, while remaining ſeverall Yards apart except where the largeſt Pariſh in the Borough hath no more than ſeventeen Acres of unencloſed Commons at fore-wallopage, or in any other neceſsarie Circumſtances. It is now ordered alſo that the Publick-houſes muſt cloſe earlier by an Hour, which will indubitably confound the Heathen Peſtilence thanks to the abrupt precipitous daily Diminution in the alcoholick Content of every Engliſhman.

Gassing for Britain

Patriotic Britons will be proud to know that our great nation not only continues to attain world-beating environmental standards, but that it is attaining them in a gloriously independent direction compared to that required by mere international treaties. Under the rigorous regulatory régime which the beastly Euro-wogs were all set to emasculate with their Nazi-style punishment beatings and Stalinist bureaucracy, British oil producers are still allowed to run rigs on fossil fuels rather than sustainables. They waste enough gas each year to heat a million homes and put the UK in breach of its legally binding commitments to reduce emissions, so it is rather fortunate that Her Majesty's Goverment cares no more about domestic heating than about the global variety. As a result of this buccaneering entrepreneurialism, the UK's North Sea oil rigs emitted more carbon dioxide last year than the Norwegian and Danish regions combined, which will undoubtedly make those soppy Vikings think twice before raiding Westminster this year and carrying off the attorney general.

Bad Theology

Text for today: I Timothy 2 vii

A forger claiming to be the apostle Paul protests vehemently that he is telling the truth and not lying, thereby disobeying one of the Saviour's very few reasonable and moral commandments.

The author of I Timothy writes to his true child in the faith with various instructions on how to appoint church officials, how to grovel before the powerful on earth in order to preserve the good name of the Almighty, how to treat young widows, and so forth. Presumably with a straight face, he also warns against false teachers and false knowledge; and he even has the gall to invoke the Saviour's testimony before Pilate, which included the assertion that His only purpose was to bear witness to the truth (John 18 xxxvii).

There is of course nothing more natural when telling the truth than to plead that one is not lying. Nevertheless, in doing so the forger violates the Saviour's commandment to speak the truth simply and not to embroider it with oaths and protestations. The obvious spirit of hypocrisy in which Jesus gave the commandment serves to emphasise the whimsically mischievous mood in which God dispensed His divine inspiration into the author of the Pastoral Epistles, and subsequently into the editors who included them in the canon.

Still Not Shouting Loud Enough

As we are all aware, Britain is in the grip of a deadly plague, which has a significant impact on the economy and demands daily decisive action from the Government and continual vigilant watchfulness from the plebs. As we are all aware, the name of that insidious infestation is the beastly Euro-wogs. Despite all the Government and the great British public have done to make clear how unwelcome they are, vast hordes of these horrid creatures continue to work and pay tax on the mainland, unlike those paragons of Britishness who celebrate the approach of our low-tax lorry-park Utopia by moving to Monaco. Fortunately, the problem may soon be resolved thanks to the long, happy and occasionally almost functional relationship which Whitehall enjoys with those electronical Babbage computeratising mechanisms that have become so popular in recent years. The Ministry for Wog Control has such a grasp of this technology that it has decided to abolish paper, which is tainted by its likely origins among the Heathen Chinee, and thereby make the environment even more hostile for those Euro-wogs who still persist in failing to take the hint.

Grinding Slow

Upright members of the Congregation for the Perpetuation of Sex Abuse, known to its friends and dupes as the Universal Church of Rome, will be pleased to see that the centenary of Pope John Paul II's birth is being celebrated with astronomical vindictiveness in his native land. A graven image newly erected in Warsaw shows the delightful old paedophile-protector rampant with meteorite above a puddle of blood; this apparently represents the pious artist's devastating rebuttal, now that he's had time to mull it over, of an Italian sculpture which appeared in Venice a mere twenty-one years ago. The Venice piece was blasphemously titled La nona ora ("The Ninth Hour"), after the time of day at which the crucified Jesus finally understood His Father's sense of humour, and depicted the then-unsainted Pontiff crushed by a meteorite. The idea that God would ever stone an anti-communist to death for no better reason than condoning rape and child abuse is, of course, almost as tasteless as it is absurd.

Journal of the Plague Year

continued, by a Gentleman

Among the more laſting Regrets of any true Patriot, as the Summer embarks upon its inevitable Decline into the Autumn of its Yeares, and the Plaints of the Servant-claſses commence their annual Transformation from damning the Exceſs of Warmth to curſing the Diſcomforting Chills, is that the paſt Months have been so lacking in Warre. For the Woo Han Peſtilence hath ſo much further enfeebled the leſser Nations, that the Hour was ſurely right for their Conqueſt by a ſtrong and Liberty-loving People, eſpecially when the uppity Slaves made plain the Neceſsity for ſome uniting Diſtraction. But inſtead of boldly venturing forth with blazing Eſcutcheon, to ſend forth our noble Ideals againſt the ſtony Fortifications of Oppreſsion's bleak deſponding Swamp, we muſt needs ſit by in ignoble Iſolation while thoſe ſame leſser Nations rebuke our noble Prime Miniſter for the Sin of proclaiming the Virtues of Freedom. Our great Stateſman hath lately obſerved the ſimple Truth, that the Britiſh Affection for Liberty which inheres in our Royal Family, in the humane Diſcipline of our Methods of indentuted Servitude, in the glorious Atmoſphere of Uniformity and Buttock-thraſhing in our publick Schools, and in the claſsically liberal Britiſhneſs of our decently conſervative Britiſhneſs, will at the laſt enſure that we prevailed though with World-beating Caſualties among the expendable Claſses. Upon this plain and ſelf-evident Verity, an Italian Condottier or Gondola, whoſe Name and Style both run to ſuch Exceſs of Syllables that it were tedious to attempt Tranſcription, hath pronounced with much Indignation, as if it were our Country and not his own, that once languiſhed for untold Centuries beneath the Yoke of Imperial Rome.

Gove Works It Out

After only several months' warning of chaos on the roads if proper preparations are not made, the jabbering homunculus Michael Gove has issued an edict excommunicating the county of Kent from the United Kingdom and warning hauliers of chaos on the roads if proper preparations are not made by hauliers. Even the more optimistic and entrepreneurial subjects of Global Britain are beginning to realise what was meant when Gove and his chumlies predicted that the process of cutting Europe off from the mainland would be among the simplest in human history: namely that the process would be simple for Her Majesty's Government because everyone else would be doing all the work and shouldering all the blame. It's hardly surprising, therefore, that Her Majesty's Most Britannic and Extra-legal Independence Thingy should be disparaged by the usual treacherous malcontents, carping materialists and other residents of mere reality, even as Gove and his chumlies beat the beastly Euro-wogs at their own kingdom-splitting game.

Christ on a Bike

In Dostoyevsky's famous parable of the Second Coming, Christ is reincarnated in Spain and promptly arrested by the Inquisition. A fanatical Christian, and hence an enthusiastic hater of his fellow Christians, Dostoyevsky set his story among the Catholics; but it does not appear that the Russian Orthodox church has managed a similar situation much better. A failed traffic policeman has emerged as the Saviour's latest incarnation, only to be condemned by Russian scribes and Pharisees and handed over to the secular arm. On founding His church in 1991, the new incarnation originally claimed that the Virgin Mary was in charge of the country, presumably working through the receptively pickled instrumentation of Boris Yeltsin; but the vagaries of the divine plan have since dictated a change of personnel. The minions of Tsar Vladimir have condemned themselves out of their own mouths by claiming that the upstart emotionally abuses His followers and extorts money from them. Since the original Jesus spent most of His time scolding and threatening, and also derived one or two creature comforts from the substance of others, only those who will not see could be blind to the obvious implication.

Journal of the Plague Year

continued, by a Gentleman

To Weſtminſter Cathedral by Litter yeſter Forenoon, to attend the Baptiſing of our noble Prime Miniſter's lateſt Baſtard. Owing no doubt to the Fault of ſome unelected migratory Minion, I was denied Entry at the Door of the ſacred Edifice, with the piffling Excuſe that all Pews were taken up by previous Broods of Baſtards attending in hopes of profitable Employment in Her Majeſty's Service. I hear from my Lord Smyrkynge-Ephebophyle, who ſat within a dozen Rows of the Prime Miniſter's current Whore, that the Archbiſhop ſpoke with much Paſsion upon the Neceſsitie of reſtrayning the bodily Appetites of the Poor and Indigent, for Fear that they ſhould transform our green and pleaſant Land into a ſlimy pullulant Midden of beſtial Carnality, which virtuous Sentiment cauſes me ſome ſmall moral Diſcomfort, when I recall that my own Litter-bearers were ſtanding idle in the Street and prey to the Sin of Indolence. I have not yet been able to obtain ſuitable Blinkers to protect my Servants from Diſtraction in the Outdoors, and may ſhortly be forced to maſque their miſshapen Features with the ſevered and hollowed Heads of a pair of Horſes, in order that the uſual Blinkers may be ſnugly and ſatisfactorily fitted. This Meaſure would poſseſs the additional Advantage, of reſtraining their exceſsive and unforeſightful Breathing while a miaſmatick foreign Peſtilence is once more rampant in the Land. It hath ever been the Burden and Duty of the ruling Claſses to aſsume Reſponſibility towards the Unworthy, and our noble Prime Miniſter's lateſt Baſtard will have an hard Cheeſe to plough in this harſh World, with only the ſurly Ingratitude of his Tenant-farmers for earthly Recompenſe.

The Father of Teeth

Text for today: I Canines xciii-cxvii

Later, as they burned the great library, the Father of Teeth was brought before the commander-in-chief in his great tower and ordered to account for his actions."What actions might those be?" asked the Father of Teeth obligingly.
"Treacherous and inordinate fiend," fulminated the commander-in-chief inaccurately, "just look what you've done to our act of purification!"

The Father of Teeth looked down from the tower window upon the library spurting flame from every window and door and librarian, and saw that it was good. "I have always been a great devourer of literature," he said, displaying his best parchment-yellow paper-cutters, while the staples gleamed among his gums.

"You deliberately deprived us of books to burn," accused the commander-in-chief. "Your depraved and gluttonous appetites left us with nothing but an empty building full of shelves, to which we had to bring our own kindling on transports that should have been used for the wounded. You know why we burn books, of course?"
"Of course," said the Father of Teeth. "Like everyone else, you burn books to rid the world of corruption, to wipe out false knowledge and fake news, to destroy impious and ungodly doctrines, and to make room for those transcendentally virtuous and self-evidently reasonable teachings which, despite having the Creator of the universe on their side, have somehow managed until now to be continually repressed and bullied and silenced and distorted and insulted and their priests denied an honest living." He grinned again, and the staples glittered.
"And you know that our victory is inevitable?"
"The victory of fire is frequently inevitable," said the Father of Teeth, "from the fury of Surtur to the tardy fattening of a lower middle-class yellow star. In any conflict, the prudent though not necessarily the most interesting commander is the one who allies himself with the ultimate victor."
"I am not prudent," bellowed the commander-in-chief. "The fighter for righteousness and justice has no need of prudence."
"The one who allies himself with the ultimate victor," said the Father of Teeth, "will never again have need of righteousness or justice, however those vague and mutable concepts may be defined."
"Your nihilistic relativism is an outrage upon morality," sad the commander-in-chief, taking out an execution warrant. "I'm going to have you burned at the stake as a metropolitan élitist."

The Father of Teeth widened his grin just a little more, and cunningly flexed his gums. The staples flew out like hornets and lodged in the eyes of the commander-in-chief, to his considerable discomfort. Screaming and blundering, while his sentries outside pounded at the door, the commander-in-chief at last clawed his way to the window, from which he plummeted with the gravity due his rank to a rather messy landing upon the spears of the tower guard.

"What goes up must come down," said the Father of Teeth, as he forged the commander's signature on the warrants for his immediate release, his cash reward and his medals; "and every fire must yield to darkness in the end. Even for the just and righteous, there is much penetration in books."

Very Badly Served

Alas for the luck of our leaders!
What hope for our great British breeders
When lies to the nation
Bring less compensation
Than lying to newspaper readers!

You carers who bask in the fizz
Of claps for your non-profit biz,
You've got it so good
On free food-bank food,
You don't know what poverty is!

Upon this bright day in September,
Plebs, stir up your sympathy's ember:
He hasn't a bean
For someone to clean
And service the works of his member!

İskender de Pfeffel Sprogmore

Journal of the Plague Year

continued, by a Gentleman

The Woo Han Peſtilence having followed its cunning heathen Nature, and mounted new Attacks at the very Moment when our noble and far-ſighted Government hath removed all Precautions againſt Infection, I am reſolved heretofore to be more conſcientious in my Duties at helping to keep the new Culling of the Herd within the Bounds of reaſonable Propriety. Therefore the Bloater and Blueſtocking Coffee-houſe, which I have lately frequented onlie once or twice every Day between Meales, ſhall henceforth be my Dining-place for Breakfaſt, Second-breakfaſt, Elevenſes, Luncheon, Dinner, High-tea, Supper and ſundry Snacks and ſo forth. For I have oft heard it ſayed between Courſes, by my Lord Lylack-Bybwyne and many others of a ſimilar Complexion, that the Patroniſing of Eating-places by the better Claſses will be the ſaving of the Realm, as no mere migrant Peſtilence could ever dare ſneak up on an Engliſhman at Meat. And I cannot but confeſs the Fact, that the Spectacle of my Lord Lylack-Bybwyne at his Breakfaſt Trough of ſix dozen Oyſters and whole roaſted Heifer ſtuffed with forced Truffles and garniſhed with Tripe, to the refined and formal Senſibilities of an Oriental would likely appear a moſt intimidating Slaughter. Yet ſomehow the Woo Han Peſtilence hath cunningly and treacherouſly eluded ſuch gallant and heroick Protectors of the Realm in order to reſume its horrid Depredations. Therefore upon Concluſion of the Repaſt and of the invigorating Bouts of Unconſciouſneſs and intermittent Belching which followed, I wrote to adviſe the Prime Miniſter, that all Surgeons and their Nurſes and Apothecaries ſhould be denied Applauſe pending a full and complete Inquiry by a Royal Commiſsion into the Extent of their indubitable and moſt traytorous Negligence.

Stagnant

Fourteen per cent of English rivers have a small enough sewage content to be of good ecological standard, and none are of good chemical status: an improvement of nil or less since the Environment Agency's last publication of the data four years ago. Treacherously, the devolved governments in Wales and Scotland have acceptably clean waterways in over sixty per cent of cases, doubtless as a result of emulating the Nazi-Soviet bureaucracy of the beastly Euro-wogs. Since the Secretary of State for the Environment self-evidently has better things to do than worry about the environment, his ministry extruded a filly who admitted that the data did not make her comfortable and said that somebody ought to do something about it. During less unsettled times the Government did allow that it might get around to the problem by 2027, but as people aren't praising it enough the deadline has been blurred into the more comfortable "as soon as possible."

Plymouth Woe

Our great and glorious global realm has touted its continuing relevance to the modern world with some squeaking about its status as the birthplace of America. Four hundred years ago, the Mayflower sailed off in a sulk from Plymouth, England owing to some differences of opinion about the pronouncements of an imaginary Middle Eastern tyrant and His heir. Appropriately enough given that the voyage led directly to a pullulant market in smallpox blankets, indigenous Americans were not present at the ceremony; and many real Americans also stayed away in case God offered the same protection to celebrations of the Special Relationship as He habitually bestows upon Trumpster rallies and crowded churches. The tattered remnants of the rah-rah were mumbled over by dignitaries, wheezed over by a band (a military one, in acknowledgement of the peaceable nature of the pilgrimage) and fluttered over by the flags of the United Kingdom and the United States, neither of which existed in the seventeenth century; although the latter would eventually emerge thanks to God, Manifest Destiny and a healthily Johnsonian attitude towards the keeping of treaties.

Journal of the Plague Year

continued, by a Gentleman

Great Tidings this Weeke, to the Effect that deſpite the Machinations of the beaſtlie French no Limits ſhall be placed by Her Majeſty's Government upon the Liberty of the Nation to continue its great ſporting Traditions of Hare-courſing, Bear-baiting, Badger-ſuffocating and Grouſe-perforating, to ſay nothing of the ſacred High Church myſteries of Caſsock-lifting and advanced Clapper-pulling. So profound and laſting was my Relief, that I ſummoned my remaining Coachman and ordered inſtant Preparation for a Journey to the Moors. Although the Poſtilion was not to be found I ſojourned ſeverall pleaſant Days with my Lord Pynke-Swynefryte and his famous Collection of modern Blunderbuſses, though not much Game was to be had becauſe my Lord hath loſt ſuch Quantities of Beaters to the Woo Han Peſtilence, that thoſe remaining are ſcarce able to diſcover the Pheaſants in their Burrows, let alone catch and hold them ſteady before the Guns. The glad News of our continuing Britiſhneſs was alſo ſomething tempered by the ſurpriſing and unmerited Permiſsion for the lower Orders to congregate in Herds of half a Dozen or leſs, for alack! it is but a ſhort Step from the Herd to the Stampede, and after the recent Unreſt among the Slaves who can preſume to ſay what ſlippery Slope may not be lighting the Fuſe upon a ſudden and dretful Ocean Wave of Anarchy? When I expreſsed theſe Sentiments to my Lord Pynke-Swynefryte he preſcribed a Courſe of Lobſter and Cheeſe, to be taken at Bed-time in the Orifice of greateſt Convenience, an Inſtruction which I find paſsing vague.

Healthy Outdoor Activities

There have recently been rumours that, despite Government exhortations to defy the pandemic by eating in restaurants and sending children back to school, certain foolhardy members of the public have been eating in restaurants and sending children back to school. Naturally this has resulted in the virus beginning to spread once more; and since our test, trace and thingummy is so world-beating that nobody can see it run, the Government has instituted yet another set of rules about how many plebs are allowed to herd together before some curtain-twitching busybody can waste police time about them with a sufficiently clear conscience. Alas, the new regulations could potentially have inconvenienced those paragons of British fair play and kindness to animals whose idea of a good time is to fire metal pellets into whichever birds seem sufficiently harmless and slow-moving to merit the honour. The arguments over whether to apply the restrictions to these sporting types apparently went on long enough to delay any announcement as to how the more expendable classes might be affected; so if the Cummings administration's front-man seems a little distracted during the parliamentary debate over the Law-breakers' Legalisation Bill, it's probably because the Cummings administration has been dealing with something far more important than the pedantic misgivings of a few enemies of the people.

Bad Theology

Text for today: II Samuel 11-12

King David is attracted to another man's wife and, since she has conveniently purified herself of her uncleanliness, sleeps with her and impregnates her. Her husband, Uriah the Hittite, is away massacring the Ammonites, so David summons him and tries to induce him to go home and sleep with his wife; but Uriah refuses out of respect for the hardships being suffered by his comrades and by the Ark of the Covenant, though not necessarily in that order. Even after David gets him drunk Uriah does not return home, so David orders his commander to place Uriah where the fighting is heaviest and let him be killed. God is displeased and sends the prophet Nathan to announce David's punishment. For despising God and disobeying His orders, David's penalty is that the sword will never depart his house; and because David has scorned the Lord, his child from the adulterous union dies after a week of illness.

As in the case of Pharaoh during the Exodus, God punishes the sinner through the suffering of others, although in this instance He does not go quite so far as to boast Himself the source of the sin. Although He did not intervene to save the life of the virtuous Uriah, He is content to punish the entirety of His chosen people for Uriah's murder. God's anger at David's disobedience means that thousands will suffer and die in the kingdom's civil wars, while His annoyance at being slighted leads Him to torment a new-born for seven days before killing it. Eventually Bathsheba gives birth to Solomon, whose later sins of tolerance and their unfortunate consequences, long after David's death, must clearly be ascribed to God's chastisement of David rather than to any fault of Solomon's own.

Journal of the Plague Year

continued, by a Gentleman

I am much pained to note, that owing to the Applauſe-luſting Poltroonery of the medical Profeſsion, and to the Self-indulging Fooliſhneſs of the Food-conſuming Publick which flocks to Eating-places deſpite the moſt aſsiduous official Encouragement, and above all to the undemocratick Obedience of our School-greedy Youth, it appeareth the Woo Han Peſtilence ſtill holds our glorious Realm in the taloned Gripe of its hideous heathen Scimitar-nayled Migrant Chineſe Hands. I hear from my more ephebophiliack Acquaintances, that the Archbiſhop is much grieved over the Incapacity of our Citizens at proving worthy of his many Petitions and Prayers to the Moſt High, that He ſhould improve the Efficacy of His moſt juſt Chaſtiſement by applying it onlie according to His Will. Now the Hope of the Nation muſt reſt upon our magnificent Peſtilential Marſhalls, whom our noble Prime Miniſter hath formally empowered to enforce Whatever, as they ſhould ſee fit according to their own Britiſh good Senſe of all that is true and decent, their daily Pay being nothing leſs than the eternal Goodwill of a grateful Populace and the laſting Gratitude of Her Majeſty's Government. It is to be hoped that the Appliauſe lately forfeited by the traytorous Surgeons and idle Nurſes may now have found Recipients both worthier and more miniſterially approved.

Britain Helps Those Who Help Themselves

Given the Conservative leadership's charming insouciance over its promises to international trading partners, Conservative voters and the master race, there will be little surprise that Her Majesty's Government is now breaking its word to some foreign female piccaninnies. It's true that the Cummings administration's front-man once had a bit of a blather about giving girls a quality education, but anyone with a robust Johnsonian sense of entendre ought to know what that means. As Global Britain re-conquers the international stage, its spanking new Ministry for Wogs, Beads and Trinkets will be far too busy taming the Russian Bear, and teaching the Heathen Chinee a thing or two about international law, to bother with giving African children the kind of schooling which the Conservative Party probably considers too good for British ones.

Notwithstanding Godwin

It would of course be wrong and unfair to compare Adolf Hitler with Boris Johnson, not least because Johnson has twice as many testicles and Hitler had considerably more physical courage and was far less lazy. Nevertheless, Churchill's great contemporary and his tiny little groupie do have points in common, including silly hair, a penchant for racism and a touchingly starry-eyed relationship with the sound of their own voices. As has recently become clear even to one or two free and fearless journalists, they also share a certain insouciance on the subject of international treaty obligations; and it was doubtless this particular elective affinity which prompted the beastly Huns to begin preparations for the ticklish business of living encircled by the rogue states of Russia in the east and the United Kingdom somewhere in orbit around Planet Westminster. Typically for so methodical and humourless a race, the German government made efforts to inform schools, care centres and even asylum-seeker shelters in advance, rather than relying on G4S and the Blitz spirit to see the country through.

Journal of the Plague Year

continued, by a Gentleman

Thoſe ſupreme and perennial Exemplificators to Mankind of medicinal Expertiſe, perſonal Cleanlineſs and Sweetneſs of boddily Odour, who conſtitute Her Majeſty's Government, have been compelled to iſsue yet further Warnings upon the Perils of exceſsive Proximity, for clearly the dreaded Woo Han Peſtilence is no Reſpecter of entrepreneurial Pluck, World-beating Gumption, nor any other prophylactick Manifeſtation of homæopathick Britiſhneſs. The horrid Depredations of this Peril from the Eaſt have been much exacerbated by the traytorous Collaboration and fractious Diſobedience of the Young, who have diſregarded the wiſe Advice of their Elders and perſiſted in their Schooling, in blaſphemous Defiance of the democratick Imperative to ignore the Government. Such alſo is the Opinion of my Lord Splyce-Chyldebryde, who told me in Savile Row yeſter Eve, that the Quantity of Deaths among Parents and Governeſses hath led even the better Houſeholds unto a diſaſtrous Sparing of the Rod, the monſtrous Conſequence of which may be obſerved in Fear and Trembling when the unruly uncaned Mob deſtroys a thouſand Yeares of hard-earned Liberty, by interfering with the Delivery to a Truth-ſtarved Populace of ſundry enlightening religious Tracts and Pamphlets.

Limited and Specific Justice

New charges are to be brought against Nazanin Zaghari-Ratcliffe, who has the bad luck to hold dual citizenship in a nuclear-armed state with a long and brutal record of violence against other countries and a government run by xenophobic bigots, and also in the Islamic Republic of Iran. Zaghari-Ratcliffe was arrested four years ago on charges of espionage and criminal tuition of journalism, the latter of which was blithely confirmed by Britain's joke Foreign Secretary, a certain Boris Johnson. Iran denies using the affair as leverage to induce the master race to pay its debts; and given that the former party of law and order has just formally announced that it does not consider itself bound by international treaties, the Iranians' logic is difficult to fault. In any case, according to the rogue state's national religion a woman who can't make up her mind whether she is a lesser breed can hardly be worth a full ransom; so anyone who imagines that Her Majesty's Government cares what happens to Zaghari-Ratcliffe would be a very mad mullah indeed.

Not Quite Centred

Under the civilising tutelage of Britain's Ministry for Wogs, Beads and Trinkets, an encouraging tendency towards moderation and modernisation has been noted in recent years among Whitehall's favourite mediaeval fundamentalist head-choppers; but there is clearly some small way to go yet. The trial of those accused of murdering the dissident journalist Jamal Khashoggi has concluded largely in accordance with the requirements of British justice, in that nobody was found guilty except the small-fry. Better still, the media coverage befitted the Conservative Party's idea of a free press rather than Extinction Rebellion's; and an independent UN investigator was moved to express annoyance after the customary fashion of that unpleasant bureaucratic species, which has subjected our world-truncheoning G4S people to unconscionable harassment on the British mainland. Given these progressive signs, it is all the more regrettable that Khashoggi's relatives were so lacking in British values as to request that the death penalty not be imposed.

The Father of Teeth

Text for today: Gingivitis cxviii-cxxxiv

Eventually, however, the Father of Teeth arrived at a shabby compound surrounded by a snaggle-picket fence. As he drew closer he saw that the stakes in the fence were thigh-bones curiously warped at the top, and bound in place with strings of leathery sinew; and in place of a gate there was an opening where an old man sat on a three-legged stool. He had a book in his hands and a shotgun across his thighs, and his posture was uninviting. As the Father of Teeth approached, the old man closed the book, marking his place carefully with a flat black strip of tanned tongue, and rested his gnarled hands on the weapon.

"What is this place?" asked the Father of Teeth.
"This, O most ignorant stranger," said the old man, "is the last outpost of virtue, the only bastion against sinfulness, the final and ultimate guardhouse of tradition and truth in the entire world."
"Indeed," said the Father of Teeth, who had encountered many such places before and was never surprised at the next one, or even the one after that. "And what particular tradition and truth do you guard?"

The old man proudly raised his head, stretching his dewlap with a horrible creak and exposing his soiled white collar. "This is the Universal Choirboy Emporium," he said. "Yes, yes," he added as the glittering eyeballs of the Father of Teeth surveyed the silent yard; "yes, yes, it's all quiet now because they're chained up; exercise on Sundays would be no more excusable than bowel movements on the second Friday after Michaelmas. Not that they take much interest any more, even when exercise is permissible. Besides all their other derelictions, they are disgracefully overweight. The sins of the world have taken their toll."

Taking up his book, he waved it in tantalising fashion under the nose of the Father of Teeth, snatching it back hurriedly when the pages began curling and blackening in deference to the apocalyptic halitosis. "You see this?" the old man said, concealing the book inadequately among the black rags of his clothing. "This book, O most sinful and disreputable stranger, contains the sole true method for breeding choirboys, as handed down from Heaven in the days of virtue. It contains the ultimate secrets of how best to select for voice quality, ease of castration, and flexibility of sphincter, to say nothing of nurturing the spiritual qualities."
"Indeed," said the Father of Teeth. "But the results have become corrupted, is that not so?"
"The method was handed down from Heaven," snapped the old man; "to call the results corrupt is a logical contradiction. No, no; it was the world that strayed. For two millennia I have read the same words, employed the same laundresses, ploughed the same furrows and sown the same oats; and yet the fields are barren, the rivers are dry, the castrations are messier than ever and the sphincter quality errs with regrettable frequency upon the loose and leathery side. Listen, they awaken." A faint wailing, on a clear treble note, began to echo across the compound, interrupted on occasion by gale-force gusts of flatulence. The old man leaned forward confidentially, so that his thumb brushed casually against the catch of his shotgun. "Perhaps," he enticed, "you yourself might care to partake? The sphincters are loose and leathery, but they are also roomy and resilient, and you appear suitably calloused in all the necessary areas, your thigh-bones are in fair condition, and the infidel tax is reasonable."

But the Father of Teeth shook his head. "You forget that I am an ignorant stranger and a most impious sinner," he said; "I would not profane your merchandise with my uncleanliness, and certainly not on a Sunday."
"Dispensations can always be made," said the old man; "beleve me, I speak from experience."
"No doubt," said the Father of Teeth, "but I have seen enough of the Creator's work to know that very little is to my taste."

WIth a snarl the old man levelled the shotgun and fired straight into the Father of Teeth's third-brownest overbite, so that all the pellets lodged fast in the smaller cavities. The Father of Teeth picked the old man up and tucked him under his arm, and followed the sound of wailing and gnashing of sphincters until he found the breeding pits, where the old man added a new and indignant note to the general harmony after the Father of Teeth did something unspeakable with the shotgun.

Journal of the Plague Year

continued, by a Gentleman

Though one heſitates to aſcribe too great an Exceſs of Intellect to the barbarous yellow Hordes of the Far Eaſt, it begins to appear, that with typical heathen Cunning and Duplicitouſneſs, the Woo Han Peſtilence hath obſerved the Liberaliſing of our national Precautions in the Face of its uttermoſt Defeat, and hath with fiendiſh oriental Deceitfulneſs taken this Signal of our World-beating Strength as a Symptom of Vulnerability to renew its inſidious Aſsaults. Since that invincible Defender of the Realm, our noble Prime Miniſter, hath returned from his ſeverall Holidays, the World alſo hath retired embittered by our perpetual Superiority, with ſuch Threats and Imprecations from the beaſtlie French as I heſitate to record even in this private Journal, leſt it ſhould plant ſome horrid Corruption in the Britiſhneſs of Poſterity. And upon the ſame Subject, namely that of unpatriotick ſabotaging Villainy, our Sawboneſes with their Nurſes and Apothecaries are yet once more engaged in their habitual traytorous Blackmailing. Many have iſsued Threats, to the Effect that they will quit their Profeſsion within three Yeares, for ſuch is the petty Degree of their Decency towards our noble Prime Miniſter who condeſcended to allow himſelf to be cured by ſo faithleſs and ungrateful a Rabble. What do they want - Applauſe?

Economic Liberalism

A crude, sexist far-right lout has appointed Tony Abbott as the Recrudescent Imperium's viceroy on free trade, thereby intensifying Britain's recent orgy of post-colonial embarrassment by re-importing human waste from an eighteenth-century penal colony. Abbott is terrified of women, hates gays and thinks climate change might be rather jolly; but the Imperial Haystack is hardly the sort of chap to imagine that fillies, fags and floods will matter much in the sunny Brexitannic uplands. Most importantly, Abbott's government managed to finalise a couple of deals with the neighbouring Asiatic hordes and thereby take credit for years of hard work done by other people, like Tony Blair with the Good Friday agreements and Winston Churchill with the Second World War. Clearly this makes for spectacular prospects when advising a government with the Cummings administration's regard for inconvenient facts; especially as the corresponding years of hard work in Britain's case have largely been dedicated to calling our most significant trading partners Nazis.

DIsloyal Facts

To the surprise of few but the Conservative Party's grittier intellectual firebuckets, mere researchers have found that Tumbledown Tessie's hostile environment policy failed in its primary goal of inducing the ethnically inferior to cleanse themselves out of Britain. Instituted with the benign compliance of the Liberal Democrats during the régime of the glistening pink Head Boy whom moderate journalists consider a modernising centrist, the policy did bring about a number of reforms which neither the Conservatives nor their accomplices will consider altogether undesirable. Increases in poverty, ill health and racism have never bothered the party of Churchill, Thatcher and Enoch Powell; and the growing use of public-sector workers and private landlords as border patrol goons can only be a sign of efficiency to the centralising modernists who gave us Graybeing's probation service and Lansley's NHS. A spokesbeing for the Ministry of Wog Control responded by implying that the Government can hardly be expected to plough through more reports when it still hasn't finished failing to compensate the Windrush generation.

All Laws Matter

Although the criminals prosecuted by the International Criminal Court tend to be African and therefore of little consequence to the English-speaking peoples, the uppity nigrahs in charge have recently fallen foul of the World Cop by the grace of God. The Trumpster's head-tribble's secretary of state has announced sanctions against the ICC's chief prosecutor and a director of jurisdiction, lumping them in with terrorists and drug traffickers while simultaneously and paradoxically prohibiting US citizens from practising the art of the deal upon them. Not even Her Majesty's Government has been abject enough to support the Trumpster's head-tribble on this issue, doubtless not so much on principle as because most of the Cummings administration thinks the ICC is a skyscraper in World of Warcraft. The sole sidekick to remain with the programme is the Righteous State, which is understandably indignant that any sort of moral equivalence should be held to exist between abuses by the Palestinian security forces and the purely potential crimes of the Middle East's only rogue nuclear power.

Journal of the Plague Year

continued, by a Gentleman

It is indubitably a moſt ſad and melancholy Spectacle, to obſerve ſuch a Prince among Men as our noble Prime Miniſter, forced to anſwer for the divine Inſpiration of his Policy before a quibbling Legion of mere Party Popinjays and Pipſqueaks, againſt all democratick Principle and the Will of the Publick as manifeſted in his manly and majeſtick Phyſique. Thoſe naturall Qualities, by which he hath been deſtined for Greatneſs ſince his Father having come into Money, ſhine forth in the impoſing Preſence of his protruding Paunch, the ſhuddering Inflations of his mighty Dewlap, the watchful Gaze of his ocular Orbs flaſhing paſsionate and profound as fresh ſteaming Piſsholes in the untrampled Snows of Dawn. That ſuch an intrepid Maſter and Commander ſhould be forced upon the perilous Rocks of ſpineleſs partiſan Jellyfiſh, and ſuffer ſpraying in his very Face with the black Salt of poyſonous Back-ſtabbing Serpents, is more than any Man of ſuch ſenſitive Diſpoſition ſhould be called upon to endure, eſpecially while the Hook-noſed Wolf of economick Criſis and un-Chriſtian Diſloyalty waits howling and baying his mutinous Subverſiveneſs juſt beyond the toſsing Figure-head of our plucky Ship of State. Acocrdingly I have written ſeverall Letters to each Member of the Committee offering to ſerve upon various juſt and immutable Conditions, ſhould our Dear Leader decide to trim his Courſe to the Wind of Honour and ſcrape, with the immediate Reſignation of his Office, the predatory Barnacles from off his Eſcutcheon.