Such a prescient, beautiful sentiment.

Sunday, 11 November 2012

Oh Dear.

Sadly As Expected.

The Slog, aka John Ward has an excellent piece this morning which mirrors my own expectations of our paedophilia led establishment. One which pays lip service to duty and the sacrifice of those we endeavour to remember today. Few of the fallen could have ever realised how their sacrifices would lead to the unholy and ghastly mess we now enjoy (sic) in The Country for which they gave their lives.

Even as I post, our soldiers continue the service so memorably done by those before them. Their forebears as blithely unaware of the scale of perversion, selfishness and ugliness of character most post war government Sir Humphries and our erstwhile powerful charlatans and people in high places, contain. 

People of my generation and of the Profumo set are not unique. Only the climate and attitudes of the day have changed. For the worst. I have often spoken of the likes of Mandleson and Dunblane, Operation Ore and a despair at the excesses such people indulge in. All of them protected by layer upon layer of "minders". Most of whom happily feast on the crumbs their demonic masters toss them. Crumbs more prominent in their immoral thinking than duty or honour.

So, on this marred and tainted Remembrance Sunday should we not also think of those swaggering head honchos, hypocritically laying wreaths? Should we not think of the betrayal of all that these poor wretches died believing in? Our melancholy sadness for the fallen must fuel and burn our anger at how we are still betrayed by those who serve a different master than most decent people.

We should clamour for the early and accurate exposure of the perpetrators, preying on, not just young children, but on our trust and largesse in failing to demand justice. Jug Ears this morning sucking up to Fatty Pang Patten. Two midgets exchanging secret signals for the mutual benefit of both. All about them. Not one jot or mention of the many hundreds, if not thousands, of crippled victims out there.

Victims scarred beyond imagination but whose damaged minds don't equip them for the para Olympic celebrity which many of our BBC and establishment figures relish in being pictured supporting. I forecast only a few days ago there would be many smoke screens puffed out to shield and deflect the unwanted gaze of truth. 

The resignation of Entwhistle was a larger scalp than I might have imagined. I suspect that sacrifice was offered up by the secret circles we know exist, as a sacrificial lamb, with the least capability for collateral damage! Note well the number of windbags from the political camps, too. The know alls with gas enough to cover every situation with the arrogance of a Mandy and float a million hot air balloons. 

So spookily quiet. All of them running scared for good reason. Yet it would seem the most they have to fear is Cameron's pathetic response to Schofield's, for once forensic, ambush. Where are the likes of Gordon Brown to answer the questions about his nocturnal jaunts from Downing Street? Who will challenge Mandleson's known involvement in Dunblane and his erstwhile probable head procurer, Robertson? Who will demand those 100 year frozen documents be released?

Crocodile Shoes, this morning.cosying with groper Marr. Yet more waffle and Privy Councillor knowing, careful tip toeing around truths she will be in possession of. Secrets that could blow our whole rotten establishment apart. Nope, cover up, endless enquiries, sackings of inconsequential post holders, all heavily underway and the fire fighting dousing down even the most outspoken of victims. As I always say, we never are told the truth and that reality is horrific beyond imagination.

The machinery of paedophile power is in full flow. Still more than comfortable that they are safe and secure. Victims intimidated or bought off, the limp media about to be shafted by Leveson and all will soon return to "normal". New care homes for kids will be opened as little more than farms for their particular abhorrent delectations and insatiable, pathetic needs. How can they be stopped? Only the good Lord can know, it would seem.

"Let the victims of life and battle,
Be remembered as one cause.
Their sacrifices and their pain,
Be shared by all, still to pause,
And be ensnared by grief.

For us to remember, we need to know,
What really lies behind the bloody walls,
Of those who get to ask for clarion calls,
Then happily retire to miss the woe,
Unleashed so carelessly.

Yes, remember all who died in war,
Hail the dignity with which, in trampled mud,
They met their gory ends,
But ne'er forget they also gave,
For those who never bow 'til  grave."


  1. You can start with a campaign to ban the Cenotaph Rememberance Sunday exhibition in Whitehall, it revolts me to see politicians at that service, and the shite from the BBC wearing the compulsory poppy, when I saw Blair ,Brown and co, at the Cenotaph I vowed never to wear a poppy again, I have relatives who fought and died in W W 2 my stomach churnes at the thought of politicians pretending to mourn their slaughter, I hate them from my very soul..

    1. I'd keep the Cenotaph and Her Maj. Ban the rest of the ghastly politicians, virtually all of whom have never worn a uniform.

  2. BBC World TV News on 11 Nov led with the resignation of their boss, as usual considering themselves to be the most important news in the world. Remembrance day at the Cenotaph got a few seconds at the end after an extended piece about a memorial ceremony at the bridge over the river Kwai.
    When will the Beeboids realise that they are just observers and commentators, that they do not create any wealth or contribute one iota to the sum total of human happiness. When will they also realise that they are British, and not the inhabitants of some distant planet empowered to be the sole custodians of the correct way of thinking on every matter under the bloody sun?

    1. OP, what an excellent and incisive comment. As I listened this morning there they were, BBC "journalist" windbag exchanging noxious gas with another up his own arse weirdo. Not more than a passing thought to the abused victims of their cosy establishment and collusive culture.