Take No Prisoners

Although the Minister for Wog-Bombing huffily denied that using untrained squaddies to replace striking environmental hostilification operatives would not make Britain's borders more permeable, it appears that mere facts are taking their usual uncooperative stance. Armed forces personnel do not have the powers to detain anyone they suspect of criminal activity, and yet the number of people held for further checks at Heathrow has inexplicably dropped ninety-five per cent as compared with the corresponding period last year. There was a slight increase in stoppages at Manchester airport, possibly because a visit by the Minister for Wog-Bombing provided some anticipatory incentivisation. Patriots will no doubt rejoice that the zeal of Britain's Ministry for Wog Control, while naturally not extending to the provision of adequate wages and working conditions, is such that the greatest armed services in the world (viz the British) are traitors by comparison.

Shadows With Claws

An extract

THE VALKYRIE
Bedroom; west wall.
Directly in the line of sight of anyone sitting up in the bed.

An apparent effort at a mythological variation, painted in the same glistening hyperreal style as the "Street Encounter." In the right-hand half of the picture a man is slumped against a pillar. His back is to the viewer and only his left side is visible. Darkness and mist obscure the background; the floor is smooth and polished, gleaming with a grey light; the ceiling, like the top of the pillar, is outside the composition. The man is evidently injured and possibly unconscious: his head hangs limply to the left while his arm is held stiffly across his body, apparently pressed against an abdominal wound. There are no overt signs that he has been involved in a battle, or even that he is a warrior; but the bulky angularity of his shoulder suggests a military greatcoat, and the gunmetal surface of the pillar is grazed and pitted as if by repeated violence extending far back in time. Some critics have also seen in the darkened area of the floor around the man a spreading pool of blood, rather than the indeterminate shadow which appears to the more conventional view.

Facing the man from the left side of the picture, at an equal distance from the centre, is an armoured female figure. She is crouching on her feet and hands, leaning slightly forward in an attitude suggesting mild curiosity. Her limbs are bare except for greaves on her lower legs and a bracelet above her right elbow; bracelet and greaves have the same blue-black colour and battered, ancient texture as the pillar. The rest of her armour consists of a similarly battered thigh-length mail shirt, belted at the waist; from the belt hang sundry items of equipment including a knife, a claw-hammer, a leather water-pouch, and what on casual inspection looks like a pistol; careful inspection shows that the weapon is a small electric drill. In contrast to the state of her armour, all the tools are well cared for and polished to a steely shine. She wears no helmet; her greenish grey hair falls in seaweed clots over her shoulders and forehead. Her arms and face are pallid, with a tinge of blue; possibly some unearthly effect of the light, possibly not.

Her head is thrust forward and held slightly to one side: an attitude that might almost be called quizzical were it not for the expression on her face. That expression has been much debated, but no-one has detected irony there, let alone humour. The face itself is unobjectionable, if a little angular; there is nothing unnatural in the shape and proportion of the features, and the means by which the artist achieves his effect have caused almost as much argument as the meaning of that effect. The posture of the head, the dead-straight gash of the mouth, the depth and flatness of the eyes, all contribute to its peculiar quality.

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New Lynch Mob, New Catch-Phrase

In keeping with Conservative efforts to co-opt employers, teachers and landlords as wog control assets, Team Starmer has extruded something called Steve to preach utilising victims of crime as agents of punishment. "Community sentencing" (forced labour, in Oldspeak) is to be expanded, and crime victims will be incentivised to fill up their copious free time by serving on "community payback boards," which of course sound hardly sinister at all, and performing the supervisory work which a less enlightened society might consider an excuse to employ adequately paid and trained professionals. Most important of all, Team Starmer's thing called Steve is resolved to update an advertising slogan famously spouted by the Reverend Tony of the Most Servile Confabulation of the Stocking-Top, a few years before he took up war crimes.

We Shall Fight on the Giant's Causeway

It's unusual for declassified documents to reveal much to a politician's advantage; there are few national security imperatives more pressing than the need to bury the indiscretions of the mighty. As ever, the Johnson in Waiting has proved to be the exception: while nominally deputy editor of the Dotty Toryguff in the nineties he opposed the negotiations over Northern Ireland which led eventually to the Good Friday agreement, favouring instead a "security-led policy" (war, in Oldspeak) which appealed neither to security experts nor to the whining nonentity then in residence at an empty 10 Downing Street. The agreement, of course, is one of the many little inconveniences which need to be swept away in order to clear the path to the sunlit uplands of independence from the ghastly Euro-wogs; so the Johnson in Waiting has displayed commendable consistency in helping to wreck it a quarter of a century later.

Beefed Up and Chickened Out

Shocking though the news may be to anyone who hasn't opened their eyes for the past few decades, it appears that market forces and individual freedom alone may not be sufficient to ensure socially responsible behaviour. A Government restauranteur recently proclaimed it politically impossible to tell people to change their eating habits, and a clinical trial demonstrating the anti-farmer, un-American and nanny-state potential of climate impact labelling will doubtless meet the same moderate and sensible dismissal from administrations eager to maintain the electoral coalition of gammon and Ronald McDonald. Warning labels on foods with high climate impact led to an increase of twenty-three and a half per cent in the number of people choosing more sustainable menus; on the other hand, the United Kingdom's less nuanced but more tabloid-friendly policy of simple starvation does have the advantage of being politically possible.

Just Lying Around Doing Nothing

What would a Winter of Discontent be without a few unburied corpses? Mere experts have warned that cemeteries, like everything else in Britain except the Conservative Party and the Press, may soon be unfit for purpose. Several local authorities have run out of coffin-space, and the problem has been exacerbated by the hundred and seventy thousand expendables who recently fertilised the spiritual rebirth of Matt Hancock. The Victorian-era laws governing the disposal of corpses forbid the recycling of grave-space, presumably in order to prevent any embarrassing anatomical confusion when the dead are resurrected for Judgement; and successive governments have quailed at braving the likely fragrance of the media reaction to any attempt at an overhaul. Naturally there is a bright side, with funerals subject to a bereavement-bonus postcode lottery and local councils suffering yet further financial difficulties; but it seems that Hard Decisions™ may soon be necessary once more. Whether the Government will favour resurrecting the dead as working zombies, while the moderate and sensible opposition advocates forcing the poor to eat their late relatives, or vice versa, thus far remains to be seen.

Not Peace, But a Sword

Rather than corrupt His chosen with comforts merely material, the new-born King has sent forth a pair of unctuous old hypocrites to lecture the world in righteousness. Speaking from the central balcony of a Renassiance palace of piety, the Pope urged less subtle souls to look beyond shallow glitter, even as the titular head of the world's biggest unbroken abuse ring invoked the faces of children longing for peace. Elsewhere, while making due obeisance to Baby Jesus and His family with no resources save the gold of the Magi and the protection of an omnipotent génocidaire, the Archbishop of Canterbury was careful also to praise the Old Queen, who took a churchly attitude to tax breaks and sex pests while lifting nearly as many fingers as the heavenly tyrant to relieve the suffering of those less well-connected. Both urged an end to the war in Ukraine; though despite the opportunity it would have afforded for ecumenical harmony with the Orthodox heresiarchs, neither was quite Christian enough to demand that Ukrainians turn the other cheek.

One-Sided Truce

Ambulance workers have suspended a strike planned for 28 December, though from entirely improper motives. Far from expressing their gratitude to the Minister for Victory over the NHS for being open to discussion about everything except their actual grievances, the beastly barons of the GMB have cited public support as their motivation. "We know the public will appreciate being able to enjoy Christmas without any additional anxiety," proclaimed the union's national secretary, thereby once more denying the economic truism that chronic anxiety and self-righteous rage are the only possible motivations for the great British worker to leave the tattoo parlours and widescreen TVs behind and start earning a living. Whether the Minister for Victory over the NHS will reciprocate by calling off any scheduled assaults remains as yet unclear.

On the Bright Side

While our more thoughtful journalistic citizens shake their heads in sad consternation at the Government's unconstructive attitude to pay negotiations with strikers in the hated NHS, the more entrepreneurial wing of Britain's healthcare industry is demonstrating the advantage of intransigence. Ambulance journey consumers are increasingly motivated to utilise the services of private profiteers, at rates ranging from several hundred pounds to more than a thousand. Obviously this is far more efficient than taking money in tax and allowing unelected bureaucrats and civil servants to spaff it away on paramedically-inclined van drivers; especially as taxation is crude enough to affect the moneyed even when they are in the best of health.

Stronger Together

If Brexit has you feeling sour,
Leave patriots to give us power.
If you support the striking workers
We grown-ups do not favour shirkers.
If you're a renter not a buyer,
Our demographic's pay is higher.
If you think change is overdue
We do not need the likes of you;
And if you're poor and under thirty,
Your vote would only get us dirty.

Sir Rodney Caution, KCB

Let Them Drink Sewage

Thanks to the efficiency of the private sector, moisture consumers in the south of England may find themselves without the luxury of running water for the next few days. The unexpected advent of cold in the winter-time, followed by an irresponsibly precipitate thaw, has caused the relevant infrastructure to react with uncompromising Britishness; while efforts to supply bottled water have been managed with all the efficiency one would expect from moisture provision companies with healthy profits. Naturally the local parliamentary expenses claimants, one of whom is a former Secretary of State for Spivs and Sloganeering, have made all due haste to disclaim any responsibility and to warn non-shareholders not to come crying to them. It will be a sad day for British pluck and gumption when members of the ruling party carry the can for a situation which that same party has spent decades bringing about.

Health Planning

While overstretched services and danger to patients constitute a necessary and meritorious corollary of fiscal restraint, efficiency savings and controlling inflation, they attain a subtly different order of convenience when they occur as the result of strike action. Comfortably pursuing their now thoroughly accessible dream of being the administration that does for the hated NHS what the sainted Thatcher did for the mining communities, Fishy Rishi and his chums are sitting back, rubbing the hands whose well-manicured applause should be enough for anyone to live on, and waiting for deaths, injuries, chronic pain and other plebeian discomforts to be splurged across the right-wing (viz. the British) media. Meanwhile, conscious of the advantage in demonstrating foresight, and no doubt vaguely aware of the need to avoid excessive gloating in public, one hapless ministerial flunkey was extruded to warn the common folk against contact sports, running on ice, and other such vulgar rough-housing.

Absent Enforcement

In spite of appearances, it seems that the further reaches of scumbag press hysteria can occasionally have consequences. A professional thundergusset gave vent to some particularly fragrant eructations about the Duchess of Sussex in the Murdoch Sun, provoking twelve thousand complaints and the removal of the piece from the scumbag tabloid's website; in light of which the chair of the country's main press regulator has decided to forego a cosy dinner date with the tabloid's owner. Baron Faulks, one of whose middle names is Lawless, was meant to be toddling over to Rupert's in order to strengthen yet further the present healthy relationship between the Independent Press Standards Organisation and the Supreme Leader. As a result of the volume of complaints against a certified non-Muslim, Faulks decided that on this occasion his six-figure salary might be better earned elsewhere; which was certainly jolly rigorous of him.

Scabs With Guns

In an intervention of unprecedented unpatriotism, the chief of the UK defence staff has warned that Britain's armed forces cannot be relied upon to protect the Conservative Party against the consequences of its assault on the public sector. While the use of military personnel as strike-breakers will not impede the training of assassins for the head-chopping House of Saud or other, still worthier projections of British moral power, Admiral Sir Tony Radakin stated that it would still be "slightly perilous" to regard Britain's bravest as being on a par with volunteer workers, unpaid carers and other useful idiots. When the best armed forces in the world cannot be relied upon to shoot the governing wing of the British Neoliberal Party towards V-NHS Day, surely the last of England cannot be far off.

Available Now

Earlier this year I was called up for jury service at the Old Bailey. As it turned out, I was not in the end required to attend a trial, and was released after a few days which were spent mostly sitting around in large chilly rooms, reading inscriptions on walls and looking at statues of dead monarchs. Although the staff did everything they could to make it as un-Kafkaesque an experience as possible, a sinister mutant form of the episode has duly emerged for perusal in paperback and PDF at unfeasibly reasonable prices. As with Spider Rider, Crimes Against Reality and several others on my unfailingly available backlist, that fine cover image is by Giovanna Ceroni.

A Different Class of Worker

Negotiations in which the UK Government was not involved, and which one side coincidentally described as "cordial and constructive," have resulted in non-inflationary above-inflation pay awards for workers at a car factory and drivers for an oil company. The blatant lack of regard for the perils of overpaid plebs can doubtless be blamed on the fact that the oil company is based in the USA and the factory belongs to the German manufacturer Rolls-Royce. Despite this abuse of the magic money tree, given the relative value of luxury automobiles and fossil fuels as compared with nurses, rail workers, postal workers, civil servants etc., no immediate moral indignation is expected from the UK Government.

Gunboat Diplomacy

Even a Conservative government occasionally has to make some sort of show at governing, and it seems Fishy Rishi has become vaguely aware that the Irish Question remains as vexed as ever. Tumbledown Tessie's erstwhile accomplices in the DUP are off in a huff because Sinn Féin very selfishly received too many votes in the local elections; while the beastly Euro-wogs still appear to think that the United Kingdom is bound by treaty obligations even when the treaty was signed by Boris Johnson. If there is anything Fishy Rishi understands, it's bribery and kickback; so the Government is throwing the troubled province a sop by reviving the Freedom of the Seas. Three new naval vessels are to be assembled at Belfast, and will presumably enter dinghy-hunting service in the Channel some time in the 2060s. The signs are already as auspicious as one would expect: the lucky shipyard is notable for having built the Titanic, and has cranes named after a blind man who caused a building to collapse and a giant who was destroyed by a teenager with a pebble.

He Couldn't Even

The story goes that, shortly after the Second World War, several German and ex-German orchestra conductors were talking together and someone mentioned the name of Wilhelm Furtwängler. Although a denazification court cleared him of antisemitism and several people testified that he had risked his own safety to protect them from the régime, Furtwängler remained controversial for his decision to stay in Germany as a "non-political artist" under the tolerant eye of the Propaganda Minister. One of the conductors angrily burst out: "Furtwängler! That ghastly old Nazi!" Very gently, someone else said, "Maestro, you really shouldn't say Furtwängler was a Nazi. You really shouldn't say that." The angry conductor quieted down, but was heard to mutter, "Well, there you go. He couldn't even be a Nazi!"

Naturally, there is no particular reason why Fishy Rishi, overpaid Gewinseltenor of the badly-staged, heavy-handed opéra bouffe that is the present Government, should have reminded me of that anecdote. He is, after all, British.

No Time to Lie

The parliamentary watchdog nominally in charge of overseeing Global Britain's intelligence and security agencies has complained that the agencies are not keeping to deadline in responding to inquiries. To indicate how serious is the snoopers' abuse of their customary blank cheque, the intelligence and security committee has expressed concern that it may not be able to assure the public or Parliament that the agencies are infiltrating and sabotaging no more than the appropriate environmentalist groups. Worse yet, the Government may be missing out on vital propaganda concerning the mad mullahs of Iran, who have threatened at least ten people in the UK with extraordinary rendition; although it remains unclear whether the threatenees are actual members of the master race as opposed to potential deportees. In light of the growing threat from "subjects of interest" such as Russia, China and that minority of extreme rightwing terrorists who neither fire-bomb asylum seekers nor draw their salaries from the taxpayer, the Government has stated that it does not feel any more bound by its promises to the committee than to its own word on other subjects. Indeed, the extent of the Government's regard for the intelligence and security committee can perhaps best be gauged from the fact that Chris Graybeing was recently a candidate for the chair.

Lies, Damned Lies, and Infogove

Efficiency savings and vital aid from the private sector are presumably in order for the UK Statistics Authority, which has shown itself unduly concerned with mere facts. Even as Britain lies frozen under a doomsday shroud of the dreaded dihydrogenated monoxide, a rebellious Scot has dared to call in question the brightness of the sunlit uplands. The traitor cited a visual rah-rah splurged by the jabbering homunculus Michael Gove, to the effect that £800 billion worth of new trade is one of the reasons why we can't pay our nurses properly. As one would expect from the kind of Murdoch flunkey who autographed the Bible and doesn't know what an average is, Gove did not deign to specify his sources, and counted as "new" trade that would have happened with or without the hurriedly-bodged and hyperbolically-boasted deals which followed the UK's cutting the Continent loose. The chair of the Statistics Authority not only agreed with the Rebel dog, but suggested that Gove correct the record, thereby demonstrating a concern for pedantry over patriotism which goes beyond the culpably expert and skirts perilously close to the fanatical.

Coming Soon

Standard Practice

Since those with nothing to hide have nothing to fear, especially when Fishy Rishi has yet to appoint anyone to oversee ministerial interests, ministers from the party of Boris Johnson and Owen Paterson have balked at accepting all twenty of the recommendations for a new code of conduct which have been drawn up by the standards commmittee. For whatever her word is worth, the leader of the House of Expenses Claimants is pledged to raise no objections to tightening the rules on lobbying, and depriving members of a limited selection of their accustomed kickbacks; but ministers are objecting to the idea of declaring hospitality worth more than £300 within a specified time limit, as is required of the Commons herd. Since discrimination has no place in public life, the Government also objects to the idea that public servants (our lords and masters, in Oldspeak) should speak and behave in a non-discriminatory manner.

What Would Christ Have Done?

Amid some sanctimonious boasting about the Church's good works, and noting with exemplary Blairite moderation that concerns about the pollution of communities by migrant hordes are legitimate and understandable, the Archbishop of Canterbury has criticised the Government's more hysterical rhetoric on the subject. The CEO of the famously female-friendly and LGBTQ-tolerant Church noted that treating people as problems denies their essential value and dignity, while his recommendation that families should be reunited explicitly flies in the face of the Saviour's repudiation of family ties in favour of doctrinal purity and His recommendation that the dead should be left to bury the dead. The Archbishop even went so far as to proclaim that "a hostile environment is an immoral environment." Even if we discount the Saviour's gross insult to a petitioner from outside His own community, this teaching will come as a surprise to the Archbishop's supremely moral Employer in heaven, who created an entire realm in which His enemies could be tormented for eternity.

Britain's Brave Boys in Braverman Border Battle

Meanwhile, back in the comfortably padded bunker that is the Ministry for Wog Control, the security of Britain's borders remains the non-negotiable number one priority; which might be more reassuring if it were possible to believe that the relevant Secretary of State can count up to one. Having deployed the customary tsunami of rhetoric against a fictitious invasion of our southern coast, she now plans to defeat the gathering outvasion by those unreliable elements who selfishly indulge their penchant for foreign parts and lesser breeds without having the common decency to own a private jet or a taxpayer-funded yacht. The Minister for Wog Control has proclaimed that, should immigration staff go on strike, "some of our military colleagues" will be brought in to replace them, but has also cast doubt upon the ability of the best armed services in the world to shoulder this glorious burden. In order to ensure that they possess the unassailable authority of the non-expert, the Ministry's military colleagues will be granted a few days of training in place of the few weeks usually given to the civilian ingrates; and of course even a military débâcle of Afghan proportions would be preferable to compromising the security of Britain's borders by providing acceptable pay and conditions for those employed to maintain the security of Britain's borders.

He is My Brother and Sister and Mother

While Christians continue to shriek "groomer!" at non-heterosexuals and trans people, it appears that their own collective eye may have acquired another beam. A radical breakaway fundamentalist Mormon cult leader with the charming cognomen Rappylee is accused of sexual abuse and trafficking of children, though naturally on a slightly smaller scale than those cults which have attained the status of genuine religions. The FBI claims that the prophet insisted his sex acts were the will of the Heavenly Father; which in a genuinely Christian country would of course be a final and unanswerable defence. Whenever children, women and men are enslaved and abused, whatever abuses may take place, the Heavenly Father without whose sanction a sparrow cannot fall to earth has known since the beginning of time that they would occur, and has decided that without them His Creation would be less perfect.

Coke of Another Colour

In keeping with the Conservative idea of a modernising agenda, the jabbering homunculus Michael Gove is giving consideration to a new coal mine: an idea supported by several expenses claimants whose knowledge of the sainted Thatcher's attitude to the industry is perhaps not extensive. The old bag regarded miners with much the degree of favour that the present party reserves for teachers, NHS workers, railway staff, public transport operators, woke environmentalists, lefty businesspersons, rah-rah-denying historians, fellow Conservatives and wogs. Thus the resurrection of coal mining at a time when Global Britain is ordering the lesser breeds to leave fossil fuels alone is not only a blatant instance of crypto-socialist Heathite deviationism: it comes dangerously close to hypocrisy for its own sake, rather than for the sake of the Party and its donors. Hence several persons and Alok Sharma are protesting against the idea, and thereby veering dangerously close to the present planet. After Brexit, the culture war and twelve years of poor-bashing and cripple-kicking, there can't be many who would accuse today's Conservative Party of sacrificing ideology to mere pragmatism; yet occasionally, by the law of averages if nothing else, a random squeal from one of the factions may, to the charitable ear, resemble something approaching an engagement with vulgar reality.

Healthy Revisionism

Few people now living know what a Stephen Dorrell is, and even fewer care. Nevertheless, as a minister for NHS-kicking under the whining interregnum that occupied Downing Street for seven years after the sainted Thatcher's resignation, the nobody's nobody was apparently the best the Conservatives could manage in the way of a denial delivery system against the continuing self-exculpation of the wretched Matt Hancock. The diaries of everybody's nobody are being administered in homeopathic doses via the Rothermere Daily Stürmer, and in the absence of a presence Dorrell and a Liberal Democrat were extruded to say they didn't believe a word of it. Dorrell even went so far as to speculate that Hancock, who served in a Boris Johnson cabinet and broke his marriage vows and his own government's rules by groping his bit on the side in full view of a video camera, might possibly encounter some sort of difficulty should it come to lying under oath. If nothing else, the Dorrell intervention demonstrates the superiority of terminal capitalism at the vital business of re-writing history. Under the totalitarian régimes against which Mr Churchill so valiantly memoired himself, those who failed to do their part in doctoring the past would often vanish without trace; whereas our own system enables history to be promptly and efficiently edited by pre-existing nonentities.

Cheap and Plentiful

The Conservative Party chair, whose dedication to public service famously extends to billing the taxpayer for heating his private stables, has invoked the sainted Thatcher's Enemy Within malediction upon striking public sector workers. Although ministers' doors are always open provided that union barons avoid the subject of pay and confine themselves to discussions about the weather and how jolly well the Government is doing, the home-heating extremists and child-feeding fanatics continue in their obstinate refusal to thrive on the nation's applause and see off the fiend Putin with a demonstration of democratic harmony. Whatever Britain's other difficulties, it appears that growth in the traitor market continues healthily unabated.

Varieties of Vergangenheitsbewältigung

It is a sad spectacle in the capital of a nation which once bestraddled Europe with its sensible and moderate attitude to enemies within and the Russian Bear; but apparently Berlin has succumbed to the woke. Streets named after colonial officials are being re-named after those who resisted them; which is understandable in a way, since German colonialism had none of the paternal decency and benevolent restraint which was demonstrated by those representing the master race in India, Tasmania and Ireland. Of course the land of Mr Churchill, who famously trounced the Nazis with only a little help from his American chums, continues to maintain its memorials to the likes of Robert Clive, and to emit squeals of righteous historical horror when a slaver is discommemorated. It remains a fascinating paradox of British liberation that the Euro-wog snowflakes could threaten such a culture of robust pluck and fortitude to the extent that it felt impelled to cut the Continent loose.

Tomorrow Tallinn, Wednesday the World

As the Parliamentary Labour Party is all too aware, being a government in waiting is more than just a matter of complaining that immigrants aren't being deported quickly enough, or promising to manage far-right policy more efficiently than the Conservatives, or even lying one's way into leadership. In addition to these noble pragmaticisms, one must ensure, in accordance with the eternal values of sensible moderationism, that the best armed services in the world (spoiler: the British ones) are not unduly distracted from their world-beating vocation. Hence the shadow Minister for Wog-Bombing has been lecturing the incumbent lest the eminently sensible and moderate practice of using troops as strike-breakers should leave Britain's Baltic bulwark in the hands of the allies, rather than of the master race proper. Under such circumstances, and with his own armed forces famously in tip-top form, who knows what the fiend Putin might attempt? Fortunately, one or two anonymoids were on duty to provide reassurances that British troops would not be forced to bail out the NHS if the Ministry didn't feel like it.

Northern Swearing

We are all aware that nationalism without Britishness is nearly as bad as Britishness without nationalism; but when ungrateful colonials and the beastly French are added, the mix can become truly toxic. The government of Quebec is threatening to take advantage of the Old Queen's demise in the furtherance of its fanatical agenda to make the province more foreign. One party has already introduced a bill to allow legislators to swear an oath to, of all things, the people of Quebec, almost ninety per cent of whom admit to having no personal attachment to the British monarchy. Evidently Quebec is still too backward and provincial for its public to be edified by any local equivalent of the Rothermere Daily Stürmer or the Murdoch scumbag stable; but British patriots will no doubt find their compassion stirred at the thought that it may soon put itself on a moral par with the Bahamas.