Such a prescient, beautiful sentiment.

Monday, 4 October 2010


Not Having Got Out Much.

We set off in a rain lashed but still beautiful countryside. As we progressed Eastwards, the rain eased but the sky remained cloudy and overcast. We sat in a log jam of flotsam and jetsam and crawled a miserable and depressing journey through  the streets of London. The Battle of  Britain concert was fantastic.
We then wended our snails pace down the desperately swollen river of humanity, via the once proud monuments of a decaying nation and began a long, slow, constantly lumber blocked  river journey through hell. Cocooned in our hollowed out but secure charabanc log, we had hours to marvel at the sites unfolding.
Once exotic in their own lands, the aimless wandering, fressing, strangely garbed figures went about their empty lives amidst the squalor and dirt that used to be the preserve of those Nations whose population outnumbered the vermin thriving in their streets and hovels.
Here I saw little of the multi-cultural hard working families of the deluded and useless world of the political classes. Here little evidence of any new European dawn or dream of  greatness. A Shuffling, meandering tidal bore without any of the power of the natural energy of the Severn equivalent.
What on earth have we done? Transplanted the worst, the most desperate, disparate and poorest of the planet and plonked them into a strange and ever colder climate. They are only comforted by gathering into ghettos with their own historical links, occasionally sharing intercourse with their neighbouring  nationalities. This before retreating back into their own, strangely comforting, patch of misery. Sure there are communities. They share that human trait of really being in "this" together. Just as the Victorian slum dwellers sheltered in the familiarity of sharing that life of toil, disease and abject hope, anesthetised with drugs of choice.
Only a few years have passed since I last visited London but decline is palpable. The beauty long gone. Sure, there are a few monuments that reflect a better, more hopeful past. They, however sit as flickering beacons.  Long failing to throw light onto a pursuit of excellence that a proud people and nation once felt important. Something which has been subsumed into a cauldron of awfulness and filth. Those outward images were bad enough. What goes on behind those blackened, dirty and ugly facades I dread to think. One thing is for sure, it is not the elegant bars and rooms beloved of Parliamentarians and the wealthy, ruling elite. They believe, in their madness, that our towns and cities are edifices of their brilliant creation. Multi-cultural, seething hordes of happy and grateful citizens. The reality? An unexploded nuclear fission of rebellious and murderous intent. When it blows, it will be spectacular. Is 170 miles distance far enough away, I wonder? Of course when it happens first in London, the chain reaction has but a short distance from any haven. Suddenly "On The Beach" might be the only scenario to chase.
The concert was terrific, mind you. Trouble was it felt a bit like an audience with Nero!


  1. Interesting description, happily it did not reflect the London that I grew up in 40+ years ago though it was going that way as I left in 1990.

    I can't begin to count the number of times I walked safely home with mates pissed but happy and safely, never giving personal security a thought. Never once did I fear that the bloke over the road might stab me for accidentally catching his eye thus "dissing" him.

    Any decent person still in London only has himself to blame.

  2. It must be 25 years since I last went there. I thought it was a sh1thole then....

  3. I get upset about Londonistan. It is the home of my paternal ancestors. The East End was never prosperous, but it was my home. Now it's just a shitpit full of immigrants and I am very angry about it.

  4. Couldn't believe the state of Kings Cross railway staion on my last visit south. It looked the same as 30 years ago but with more grime. Hundreds of workers in hi viz jackets toiling to 'upgrade' it.
    Luckily I was only passing through and was only going across to St Pancras. How much did they spend on that dump ? £600m or something. What a waste of money. Just a big shed with shiny escalators. Oh and the train to the South West ! ha ha it was like Scotrail 20 years ago. I won't be in ahurry to rubbish Scotland so quickly again. Filthy grimy windows looking out at filthy grimy buildings covered in graffiti. Carriage full of 3rd world misfits with hundreds of screaming kids. Errrkkk.

  5. DoS, not my rose tinted specks then, was it! Sue, where do the ruling elite come from in their haze of ignorance? MicroDave and banned, it sure as hell isn't what anyone, not even the stupid sheeples of the left voted for. There again..........

  6. My family hail from Stepney (my mother was married at St. Dunstan’s), I was born in SW London in the early 50s and my family moved to Devon when I was 11. Over the decades I’ve returned to London many times for the usual weddings and funerals of a large extended family, and the witnessing of the descent of a once great capital into the unstable ill-defined stew of humanity it has become has been a saddening experience.

    My grandmother - an indomitable east-end matriarch who lived until she was three weeks short of her 101st birthday having lived on her own until 100 – would hold forth with splendid invective about ‘bloody immigrants’ ....

    “They come over...bleedin’ thousands of ‘em... you see ‘em gittin’orf the boats down the docks... one two three they’ve got a bleedin’ council ‘ouse - and my John’s been on the bleedin’ council list for twelve years and has he got an ‘ouse? No – but They bloody have." (pause for a parp into a hanky the size of a small English county) "And they sleep seventeen to a room you know... all feet to the middle.... I had one livin’ next door to me and how they treated their poor bleedin’ children – WELL.. I used to give ‘em an egg sandwich they was so bloody ‘ungry” I could go on...

    I should point out that my Uncle John served with distinction in Europe during the ‘last lot’, had a wife and three children, and died at the age of 50. He never did get a council house.

    I should also point out that in her confusion, my grandmother was remembering Jewish immigrants who arrived in London in the late 1800s when she started work. At the age of thirteen....

  7. Caratacus, I have no issue with the movement of peoples per se, particularly the persecuted. My beef is with economic migration that drags the host down whilst in many cases depriving the donor nations of talent to service the growth of the receiver. One thing is for sure, the state of many despotic nations might well be seen, in the future, as preferable to that which we have created here.

  8. OR - couldn't agree more. I have appalled various people over the years by saying that "democracy" is a staging post in the decline of a nation. The pinnacle of excellence is that of a nation governed by a benevolent despot.

    (As long as he's nice to me!)