EVERYONE’S DOING IT,

3 gerbilsTHE LATEST “IN” CRAZE.

You know: maxing out the ol’ credit card, waaaayyy through the gates to limits above and beyond the call of any form of fiscal acumen:

The United Kingdom’s economy is crumbling under the strain of the coronavirus lockdown and government borrowing is soaring to the highest levels in peacetime history, increasing pressure on the government to set out an exit strategy.

to read from source: CLICK HERE

So we all know what happened in Dickens’s time to folks who couldn’t meet monetary obligations; the Heavies were sent in to repossess. So: whom today do they send in to repossess sovereign nations?

Who knows?

Who actually cares?

Just eat, drink, and be merry for tomorrow we diet. In spades … in the meantime here’s a further snippet you can add to the “D’oh~!” quotient:

Ministers have been struggling to explain high death rates, limited testing and shortages of protective kit, and the reality of the damage to the world’s fifth largest economy hit home on Thursday.

… hey, don’t ask me—I’m just a dum’ dog, remember? Go ask those nice baby-kissing horn-of-plenty politicians who are not even trying to cover their arses in the face of the wrath of the insouciant.

But rest assured, Your country is safe in the hands of your elected officials and their professional lackeys.

Until foreclosure, of course. Oops.

Moi & bucket zzz

DANGER:  insouciance at work

NOT WANTING TO

come across as a

SOURPUSSICAL CYNIC

dragons17but having a wee appreciation for some of the factors involved I was delighted (?) to cut-and-paste this tonight; inspired by an article en passant that led me to HMS Fortrose escorting a Brit ship somewhere in a hot zone somewhere hot*.  (Yeuch, they can have my share …) And here’s your quote:

The first recipient of the new gun and mount, the Mark 8, was the Iranian frigate Zaal in 1971. The gun entered Royal Navy service in 1973 on the new destroyer Bristol.[4]

These guns proved to be less reliable than the older 4.5 inch Mark V gun (redesignated Mark 6 gun mounting) during the Falklands War, being forced to cease fire on several occasions due to faults.[3]

to read more: CLICK HERE

AND PLEASE

don’t get me wrong. I respect the Royal Navy immensely. But sometimes I really do wonder if the next violent punch-up will last long enough for the usual British ‘wake-up’ after the opening stages of an unpleasant scene.

Maybe … just maybe, it really is time now for the Brits to understand that in the next stoush they just might not have time to get their act together?

BUT DON’T GLARE AT ME—

I broke a shoelace this morning …

chimp rocks

*Screen Shot 2019-07-13 at 20.00.47.png

GODLY BRIEFFIE—

mary3.jpg—OH, GOOD GRIEFFIE!

 

down eyeface

Apologies for the rush; and here’s your snippet:

line-animated-birds-wire copy 2.gif

 

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line-animated-birds-wire copy 2.gif

 

—snipped from—

 

Make of it wot we will.

once read a case for the Wedding at Cana being His Holy Nibs’s very own personal wedding, to one Mary Magdalene. The same author/s made a further case for the Holy Grail being not a cup but the blood (line) of Christ … aka corrupted from ‘le sang real’ (the Royal Blood) (get it?); and the vessel carrying that sacred blood (line) was actually one Mrs J. Christ in the person of Mary Magdalene; transported to the south of France by a Mr Joseph of Arithmathea, who happened to be a tin merchant trader who dealt with (you’ll love this—) tin traders in Cornwall. And who was also JC’s uncle …

Chalice-of-Magdalene.jpg

You can have a lot of fun if you dabble …

Jerusalem

And did those feet in ancient time
Walk upon England’s mountains green:
And was the holy Lamb of God,
On England’s pleasant pastures seen!
 
And did the Countenance Divine,
Shine forth upon our clouded hills?
etc etc
 
etc 
 
I will not cease from Mental Fight,
Nor shall my sword sleep in my hand:
Till we have built Jerusalem,
In England’s green & pleasant Land.
.
A bit gory in places but sometimes a pleasant enough mythology that serves well to keep the unthinking underfoot and paying taxes.
.
Screen Shot 2019-07-08 at 23.14.44.png
.
Regardless of labels, this is a piccie that benefits from lots of looking at and total disregardance of any ‘official’ explanations. Look at that redhead to Jeez’s right—could a case be made for that being Mrs J? (To me it looks more she than he.)
Is there any significance in His Royal Godship and some other guy both reaching for the same buns? And off screen to our left it looks awfully as if someone has a dagger pointed at someone …
.
Screen Shot 2019-06-29 at 16.45.13
Rubbish! Anyway, there’s not one God, there’s many hundreds, thousands …

 

 

dodododo                            dodo                            dodo

VETERANS~?

There was a hoary old saying to the effect that—

OLD SOLDIERS NEVER DIE

THEY SIMPLY FADE AWAY.

—many a true word. So moving along in a bus where old soldiers are at best quaint, or (more normally) a damned inconvenience; let’s dwell a pause and ponder …

PERSONALLY I THINK IT’SScreen Shot 2019-01-19 at 19.28.51.png

wonderful that (to a point) we are ‘war free’ at the moment*. So of course pop stars are in (and grunts are out).

1-animated-arrow-right    For the moment~!

‘Twas ever thus.

Further below is an observation made some decades ago—but before you plough through it let me warn it’s in ancient English (pre 2000) and may be a bit rough on minds accustomed to television.

A few generations ago when lads joined the British Army their sign-up papers used the demo name “Thomas Atkins”; soon the word ‘Tommy’ became shorthand for someone who’d signed up. Brit soldiers became known as ‘Tommies’.

WHAT PROVOKED THIS

spiel? A news article came in—

https://www.nzherald.co.nz/nz/news/article.cfm?c_id=1&objectid=12181798&fbclid=IwAR08ISYtUIoT_pwaApwb0IB8kR-BibeyH-HfSB06FKRuD4XYxJDlKkfaPbo

—so?

So here’s yer poem:

I WENT into a public ‘ouse to get a pint o’ beer, 
The publican ‘e up an’ sez, ” We serve no red-coats here.” 
The girls be’ind the bar they laughed an’ giggled fit to die, 
I outs into the street again an’ to myself sez I: 
O it’s Tommy this, an’ Tommy that, an’ ” Tommy, go away ” ; 
But it’s ” Thank you, Mister Atkins,” when the band begins to play
The band begins to play, my boys, the band begins to play, 
O it’s ” Thank you, Mister Atkins,” when the band begins to play. 

I went into a theatre as sober as could be, 
They gave a drunk civilian room, but ‘adn’t none for me; 
They sent me to the gallery or round the music-‘alls, 
But when it comes to fightin’, Lord! they’ll shove me in the stalls! 
For it’s Tommy this, an’ Tommy that, an’ ” Tommy, wait outside “;
But it’s ” Special train for Atkins ” when the trooper’s on the tide
The troopship’s on the tide, my boys, the troopship’s on the tide, 
O it’s ” Special train for Atkins ” when the trooper’s on the tide. 

Yes, makin’ mock o’ uniforms that guard you while you sleep
Is cheaper than them uniforms, an’ they’re starvation cheap. 
An’ hustlin’ drunken soldiers when they’re goin’ large a bit
Is five times better business than paradin’ in full kit. 
Then it’s Tommy this, an’ Tommy that, an` Tommy, ‘ow’s yer soul? “
But it’s ” Thin red line of ‘eroes ” when the drums begin to roll
The drums begin to roll, my boys, the drums begin to roll, 
O it’s ” Thin red line of ‘eroes, ” when the drums begin to roll.

We aren’t no thin red ‘eroes, nor we aren’t no blackguards too, 
But single men in barricks, most remarkable like you; 
An’ if sometimes our conduck isn’t all your fancy paints, 
Why, single men in barricks don’t grow into plaster saints; 
While it’s Tommy this, an’ Tommy that, an` Tommy, fall be’ind,” 
But it’s ” Please to walk in front, sir,” when there’s trouble in the wind
There’s trouble in the wind, my boys, there’s trouble in the wind, 
O it’s ” Please to walk in front, sir,” when there’s trouble in the wind.

You talk o’ better food for us, an’ schools, an’ fires, an’ all: 
We’ll wait for extry rations if you treat us rational. 
Don’t mess about the cook-room slops, but prove it to our face
The Widow’s Uniform is not the soldier-man’s disgrace. 
For it’s Tommy this, an’ Tommy that, an` Chuck him out, the brute! “
But it’s ” Saviour of ‘is country ” when the guns begin to shoot; 
An’ it’s Tommy this, an’ Tommy that, an’ anything you please; 
An ‘Tommy ain’t a bloomin’ fool – you bet that Tommy sees!

active service.gif

AND, AS AN AFTERTHOUGHT—

from the UK’s ‘Telegraph’ newspaper:

” … If we routinely refer to all soldiers as “heroes” too glibly these days, conflating true heroism with the random tragedy of being in the wrong place at the wrong time when a roadside bomb explodes, there is something undeniably heroic about the willingness of young men and women to risk everything for their country …”

sourced:  CLICK HERE 

We do, too, you know, blatheringly refer to non-heroes as heroes* …

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dodododododo  dodododododo                                     dodo


* Why is that, do you think?

IT’S NOT ‘RACISM’

AS FAR AS

I can tell. I would say it’s a sense of possession coupled with a sense of loss; multiplied by beliefs.

With clear conscience I state that I am as humanitarian as (almost) anybody.

With clear conscience I state that I am as possessive as anybody too. Raised in ‘free’ countries I always looked with condescending disbelief at the situations of others in less happier lands. I decided that they deserved themselves.

And they got it.

So why are we destroying ourselves to make room for them?

Who is pulling our strings?

Who, behind the scenes, is commanding our own masters? As sure as hell it’s not us—democracy be damned.

AS AN AGNOSTIC ATHEIST

I’m happy to accept that my nations’ (plural) politics were established rationally using Christianity as a part vehicle—you know, the old ‘do as you would be done by’ stuff that looks good but nobody actually does.

But there is a

SICKNESS IN THE WORLD

called Islam. Brrrr.

It’s taken Christian politics two thousand years to acquire equality-of-the-sexes, for example—a condition impossible under Islam where women are nothing more than breeding machines (to produce warriors for Allah) and receptacles for men’s lusts (rewards from Allah)—although Islamics will earnestly bleat that in Islam women are cherished, loved, protected … even put into black bags to ‘protect them from the lustful eyes of men who aren’t their masters  owners  … theirs’.

SOMEONE BEHIND THE SCENES

has worked to bring down the western systems. Someone is flooding Europe with a great sickness, in the name of Compassion.

To suggest that it is NOT a good thing to import millions of savages into civilised Europe is to risk the wrath of all, including the ‘United’ Nations—opprobrium from the very people who will be the greatest victims of the coming changes.

I hope I’m wrong.

If I’m wrong, please tell me so—in words I can understand. And better—tell me WHY I am wrong.

Until then I offer these pale echoes—

This royal throne of kings, this sceptred isle,
This earth of majesty, this seat of Mars,
This other Eden, demi-paradise,
This fortress built by nature for herself
Against infection and the hand of war,
This happy breed of men, this little world,
This precious stone set in the silver sea,
Which serves it in the office of a wall,
Or as a moat defensive to a house
Against the envy of less happier lands;
This blessed plot, this earth, this realm, this England,
this nurse, this teeming womb of royal kings,
Feared be their breed and famous by their birth,
Renowned for their deeds as far from home
For Christian service and true chivalry
As is the sepulchre, in stubborn Jewry,
Of the world’s ransom, blessed Mary’s son;
This land of such dear souls, this dear dear land,
Dear for her reputation through the world,
Is now leased out – I die pronouncing it –
Like to a tenement or a pelting farm.
England, bound in with the triumphant sea,
Whose rocky shore beats back the envious siege
Of watery Neptune, is now bound in with shame,
With inky blots and rotten parchment bonds.
That England that was wont to conquer others
Hath made a shameful conquest of itself.

—make of it what you will.

IF YOU CAN

spare the time, this guy has his finger well on the pulse—

—and names the principle tool of the enemy.

 

devil-29973__340 copy

“NEVER GET OUT OF BED,

NEVER GO TO THE WINDOW,

and never look behind the curtain~!”

—Sophie, in the animated movie ‘THE BFG’

So … if you have any emotional investment in (once Great) Britain … you may find this of interest—

finger-pointing-down

“… It is the latest of 22 Royal Naval vessels sold to the company, which dismantles vessels at the Aliaga shipyard on Turkey’s north west coast. 

The list features three aircraft carriers, including the Ark Royal and Invincible, three frigates, eleven destroyers, four tankers and the ice ship Endurance. 

The sales have resulted in a £220million bonanza for the company since 2008.

Ironically, some of the warships were retired as part of financial housekeeping to keep the naval budget down….”

—and if, in a modern democracy, you (or any of the Poms concerned) could be bothered to ask—you and/or they will be fobbed off with endless fobs. You know how it goes* .

TO NOT CHANGE THE SUBJECT:

Wherever you are, if in a modern western-style ‘democracy’ … you are being scrod. Take my word for it, scrod most royally. But if on election day you did your Civic Duty and voted …

… well, what more can I say? Other than regardless of whoever you ‘voted’ for; you (yes YOU, Bub!) legitimised them.

Screen Shot 2018-01-29 at 19.59.35.png

AND … it’s not “The HMS Illustrious …” that ‘the’ in the caption is entirely superfluous. Now stop pondering grammar—get thee hence, seek and ye shall find, seek the nearest politicians and vote for them~! They have only (r) ONLY your best interests at heart, bless their altruistic little big huge hearts; and being good citizens of The World they are brilliant at redistributing the wealth. (Your wealth …)

bashes-rock

 

* If you don’t, then you are a politician’s dream (and I still have that bridge in Sydney Harbour for sale).

TIME TO DRAW

attention to

panacea

POLITICS

again. Everything is politics

MY BLOGS

have a couple of ‘Pages’ attached.

One of them, (in a form anyone can read) is written more or less as child-lit. Kid-lit, call it what you will. I first drafted it before the great J K Rowling hit the shelves so although you may find similarities there’s no plagiarism involved. She made a bundle, I flubbed, but that’s the way of it and I won’t (can’t~!) complain. Dammit …

IN MY ‘TABITHA

tale I encapsulated a lifetime’s observations with a few bits of cynical thought. But the premises are valid and I challenge anyone to dispute them:

Tabby.png

—and for anyone not au fait with the British way of English, Swindleham isn’t pronounced “Swindle Ham”.  It’s actually “Swindle ’em” …

falls off a pale horse