Wednesday, 14 September 2016

Celebrity Candour


Celebrity Candour.

Another person’s point of view

As far as I know Jeremy Clarkson is apolitical; he is NOT a member of a political group which in today’s Stalinist Britain is a very wise move? A friend in Florida sent me this rant by Clarkson. If Clarkson was not a celebrity and did not keep his politics to himself then publicly airing views like this there is a real risk of him being accused of Racism/Fascism and/or being a Narnsey/Bigot.

What he is doing is describing the contemporary Britain which he sees though HIS eyes. One does not make comments like this in the UK without the risk of being crucified by the State Controlled TV and print Media or at worst a frantic visit by the State Controlled Political Police investigating any number of possible charges listed as a ‘Hate crimes’ What he sees is similar to the scene a little boy witnessed when he realised the Emperor was not wearing any clothes, it is called stark reality.

You may observe it but you must not comment on it or you might be accused of any number of isms and phobias complied from the Governments little red book of “Words to use to terrify the people”.

This situation here is very similar to threats of intimidation and of arrest placed on people in Burma, China, Iran, Tibet, and North Korea for airing their political views. Dare you publicly complain about the social destruction of Great Britain or that our freedom of speech has been deliberately stifled and you might find yourself in jail quick smart.

If we accept as read that the three political parties have IDENTICALLY the same political philosophy and/or ideology why do they not then form a Socialist Alliance or Bloc similar the old USSR and stop playing silly games? They then could remain in power forever. Why not do it properly and elect a General Secretary to preside over a Socialist Central Committee. They already have a far left socialist political regime already in place as well as a loyal State Political Police Force to put down any political or social dissent by the unruly, smelly peasants. They could ride the gravy train forever.

We might be being ruled by a brand new form of pseudo-democracy paying only lip service to true democracy, in a country where Electoral ballots are as free from fraud as any festering third world country. So the people ponder why vote at all, the result will be the same, and the result is the people will end up again with the best government that money can possibly buy.

The enclosed article by Jeremy Clarkson was in the Sunday Times but was 'pulled' - probably by the subject of the article, Peter Mandelson, so much for free speech. But poor old Mandy fails to appreciate how the blogsphere works and in no time the article finds itself going viral round the world. Enjoy it and feel free to pass it on if you enjoyed it.


***Clarkson’s observations follow***
Jeremy Clarkson
Sunday Times 8/11/09

I’ve given the matter a great deal of thought all week, and I’m afraid I’ve decided that it’s no good putting Peter Mandelson in a prison. I’m afraid he will have to be tied to the front of a van and driven round the country until he isn’t alive any more. He announced last week that middle-class children will simply not be allowed into the country’s top universities even if they have 4,000 A-levels, because all the places will be taken by Albanians and guillemots and whatever other stupid bandwagon the conniving idiot has leap.

I hate Peter Mandelson. I hate his fondness for extremely pale blue jeans and I hate that preposterous moustache he used to sport in the days when he didn’t bother trying to cover up his left-wing fanaticism. I hate the way he quite literally lords it over us even though he’s resigned in disgrace twice, and now holds an important decision-making job for which he was not elected. Mostly, though, I hate him because his one-man war on the bright and the witty and the successful means that half my friends now seem to be taking leave of their senses.

There’s talk of emigration in the air. It’s everywhere I go. Parties, work, in the supermarket. My daughter is working herself half to death to get good grades at GSCE and can’t see the point because she won’t be going to university, because she doesn’t have a beak or flippers or a qualification in washing windscreens at the lights. She wonders, often, why we don’t live in America.

Then you have the chaps and chapesses who can’t stand the constant raids on their wallets and their privacy. They can’t understand why they are taxed at 50% on their income and then taxed again for driving into the nation’s capital. They can’t understand what happened to the hunt for the weapons of mass destruction. They can’t understand anything. They see the Highway Wombles in those brand new 4x4s that they paid for, and they see the M4 bus lane and they see the speed cameras and the community support officers and they see the Albanians stealing their wheelbarrows and nothing can be done because it’s racist.

And they see Alistair Darling handing over another 30 Billion of their money to not sort out the banking crisis that he doesn’t understand because he’s a small-town solicitor, and they see the stupid war on drugs and the war on drink and the war on smoking and the war on hunting and the war on fun and the war on scientists and the obsession with the climate and the price of train fares soaring past £1,000 and the Guardian power-brokers getting uppity about one shot baboon and not uppity at all about all the dead soldiers in Afghanistan, and how they got rid of Blair only to find the lying twerp is now going to come back even more powerful than ever, and they think, “I’ve had enough of this. I’m off.”

It’s a lovely idea, to get out of this stupid, Fair-trade, Brown-stained, Mandelson-skewed, equal-opportunities, multicultural, carbon-neutral, trendily left, regionally assembled, big-government, trilingual, mosque-drenched, all-the-pigs-are-equal, property-is-theft hellhole and set up shop somewhere else, but where?

You can’t go to France because you need to complete 17 forms in triplicate every time you want to build a greenhouse, and you can’t go to Switzerland because you will be reported to your neighbours by the police and subsequently shot in the head if you don’t sweep your lawn properly, and you can’t go to Italy because you’ll soon tire of waking up in the morning to find a horse’s head in your bed because you forgot to give a man called Don a bundle of used notes for “organising” a plumber.

You can’t go to Australia because it’s full of things that will eat you, you can’t go to New Zealand because they don’t accept anyone who is more than 40 and you can’t go to Monte Carlo because they don’t accept anyone who has less than 40 million. And you can’t go to Spain because you’re not called Del and you weren’t involved in the Walthamstow blag. And you can’t go to Germany ... because you just can’t.

The Caribbean sounds tempting, but there is no work, which means that one day, whether you like it or not, you’ll end up like all the other expats, with a nose like a burst beetroot, wondering if it’s okay to have a small sharpener at 10 in the morning. And, as I keep explaining to my daughter, we can’t go to America because if you catch a cold over there, the health system is designed in such a way that you end up without a house, or dead.

Canada’s full of people pretending to be French, South Africa’s too risky, Russia’s worse and everywhere else is too full of snow, too full of flies or too full of people who want to cut your head off on the internet. So you can dream all you like about upping sticks and moving to a country that doesn’t help itself to half of everything you earn and then spend the money it gets on bus lanes and advertisements about the dangers of salt. But wherever you go you’ll wind up an alcoholic or dead or bored or in a cellar, in an orange jumpsuit, gently wetting yourself on the web. All of these things are worse than being persecuted for eating a sandwich at the wheel.

I see no reason to be miserable. Yes, Britain now is worse than it’s been for decades, but the lunatics who’ve made it so ghastly are on their way out. Soon, they will be back in Hackney with their South African nuclear-free peace polenta. And instead the show will be run by a bloke whose dad has a wallpaper shop and possibly, terrifyingly, a weasel looking twerp in Belgium whose fruitless game of hunt-the-WMD has netted him £15m on the lecture circuit.

So actually I do see a reason to be miserable. Which is why I think it’s a good idea to tie Peter Mandelson to a van. Such an act would be cruel and barbaric and inhuman. But it would at least cheer everyone up a bit. ********Ends.

Socialism, which is the ideology of the Labour Party, is but one step away from Communism and but two steps from Marxism. There are still some that witnessed the birth of the Union of Soviet Socialist Republics and there are many more that witnessed death of this Socialist monster. Their people too lost their freedom of speech and their press was state controlled.

Does this tale worry you? It should. It’s not just that we are sick to death of the slow, creeping, calculated destruction of OUR country. It is time for the frightened sheeple who only dare speak in hushed tones in the privacy of their homes to speak out as this brave Briton has done.

Since this article was published the enslaved British people have voted to leave the European occupied countries and have regained some semblance of freedom but still have a long way to go, but nevertheless the politicians still do not speak for the people only for their political party and for the security of their position.