Will You Marry Me?

It is the 29th of February, and I could not think of anyone else I would bother proposing to, so I guess Boris got lucky again.

My argument for this match, Boris, is as follows:

I am a lot more fun than your current girlfriend.

We have not been in trouble for at least five minutes.

I cannot think of a less appropriate and yet more fun pairing.

We could cause a magnificent scandal of gargantuan proportions.

I gather from Cummings’ blog that I would get on quite well with him.

I am very good at thinking, and nobody else seems to want me to do it.

You haven’t been horrible to me.

I am unlikely to produce yet more babies.

I tried looking up your offensive poem about Scottish people today, and found that it wasn’t even yours.  I do know the reason for the PR, don’t worry, but I was most disappointed as I was planning on writing a hilarious riposte.

Marry me, Boris, you know it makes sense.




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Course Fatigue

So we are into day 58 of 2020 and I am finally sick of doing courses.  It is time to do some work.

I will not be working on the main work at the moment, as I am dealing with other things.

I am also working on my new stuff, and am contemplating doing some more analytic stuff for some software giant or another.

Slowly moving out of one zone and into another, but progress is always hampered by lust for knowledge.  I cannot seem to stop learning new stuff.

I am winding myself up to doing some writing, so I suspect two or three new stories will be coming soon.



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Hello Bojo

Right, since I have spotted you peeping at the website, I am now not going to talk about you until I am confident that you have gone away again. I am funny that way.

My Slovenian friend, who is a bit like the equivalent of Kirsty Wark in Slovenia, have been discussing the news quite a bit this week.  It seems that every country is encouraging corona hysteria at the moment.

In reality, coronavirus seems to be aimed at meateaters, men, the elderly and has the viral capability of a cold.  I very quickly gathered from the statistics quoted that if not reported, it would basically just be a big case of the sniffles.

For some reason, we are being encouraged to think about this as a spooky dangerous thing from China, potentially lethal and probably man-made.  Are we to take this as a threat, or is there some other reason why we are being fed this as a crucial news story?

The likelihood is that something important is being ignored, and all the spaces are being filled with yet more information about this virus.  So the probability is that something crucial is being hidden.  I do not even want to know what this is.

Meanwhile in China, word on the street (I work in China)  is that people are returning to work next week, and so the fuss is dying down.  It is just not as exciting as people thought it was going to be.  Not likely to become the next Spanish flu so far.

Back in the UK and we seem to be having a lull in the cripplingly low speed race towards Brexit.  Farmers who voted for it are wondering how they will find workers, and closures which had been scheduled for years are being blamed on it.  It is all a bit sleepy really.

I await the rude awakening.  In the meantime I am continuing with my plans and awaiting the call of duty.  Resolving a few health issues in anticipation. Spring seems to have come early in my fevered brain.


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I hate the Labour Party

So, today I see that Kier Starmer is increasing penalties for benefit cheats, and I went off on an internal rant about the Labour Party.

Does anyone in this country seriously think that benefit cheats do it because they are rich?

It was Labour that introduced penal punishment for benefit cheats as far as I remember.

It was also Labour that introduced PFI, a system which has led to the NHS being unreasonably crippled by the ever increasing burden of paying for substandard public buildings.

It is Labour that have had control of the social work department, who make your life hell and basically exist to rob the elderly if they require care.

It was Labour that took Scotland’s sea under Tony Blair, whilst you were all sitting on your arses voting for him.

It was Labour that removed Scotland’s regiments.

I do not like Labour.  I, unlike many people in Scotland, have not had any time for Labour at any time during the last 30 or so years.  They do not do what they say on the tin and they are not particularly good at hard sums.

Hard sums, as anyone who knows me well knows, is what I used to say about economics.  You can do anything you like, as long as you know which hard sums to do.

Unfortunately my father believed quite strongly in and gave money to Labour, on the basis of a kind of 1930s hippy idealism in which the communitarians stupidly believed that the Labour movement transcended national boundaries and the working man would benefit from a One World Government.  We now know, because people keep having more babies, that this is neither practical nor good for the average working person, and that a One World Government would not be particularly helpful against massive multinational companies.

One of the most poorly paid jobs I ever did was meter reading, at 7.70 an hour in the late 90s.  It now pays 7.70 an hour.  This is not acceptable.

My apologies for pointing this out, but Labour does not actually give a shit about you, and looking at this crop of faux worthies, they are unlikely to get a clue within my lifetime.

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Officially no longer friendly

It is very sad, but I was pushed one step too far today and I wasted no time in indicating to the person that I am no longer friendly.

This was as a result of the person talking over me and making entirely unreasonable demands based upon a series of assumptions he had made.

  1. His requirements are more important than mine.
  2. I am available, therefore he can feel quite free to tell me what to do.
  3. Nothing that I would want is as important as he is.
  4. I will respond to insipid flattery.
  5. I am nice, therefore I will do whatever he wants.

I put him right on that score.  I also indicated that as my gift to Bawbag was effectively taken from me, two men had been driven sufficiently insane by the sight of a woman sewing in a car to batter on the side of it and shout at me, and my actual job is apparently invisible, I am not interested in talking to any more timewasting people therefore he can piss off and bother someone who cares.

I wonder what any of the people over the last two years think they have achieved by this? I will now not be kind, biddable or interested in what other people want.  I do not think this is an improvement.

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Put in your Place

I did something incredibly crazy this week, and then realised that it was not crazy at all.  I was just expressing self confidence, and perhaps a little staggering self-belief.

I am not going to say what that was.  Suffice to say, I have realised over the last few years that people in general are very lazy about their approach to life, and I decided that I did not want to leave any stones unturned making sure I was not like that.

So, despite my having an outrageous amount of work to do, I added more to it.  I have made a kind of no-compromise offer of remote assistance as a safety measure.

I have no idea how this will turn out but I imagine I will cause a titter or two, and then it will be forgotten.  I could be wrong about this, but observation tells me that this is a likely outcome.

Also, in my usual old-fashioned and slightly over-emotive way, I have pinned this on a connection that may or may not exist.  I have no idea of knowing, but it will be interesting to find out.

Aside from that, I am grinding towards the end of my coursework for the moment.  I am slightly frightened to stop, in case I do not wish to do any more for another couple of years.  I have courses backed up from 2016 that I had no time to complete.  Then there is the huge pile of sewing to contend with.  My chest is recovering slightly, but there is a long way to go. Normally I sew for three months and do something else for six.  Because I was so upset over my mother and Little Shiva, this time I did not stop for 16 months.  That is a lot of sewing, and I think this batch is a significant advance on previous work.  It has not done great things for my breathing, however, and I must say sitting on your bottom for that length of time is not great for your health, even when you are super careful to do leg exercises.

I should do some writing now, but I think it is more likely that I will do some resin work and empty the studio.  Pritti Patel, Sir Iain Duncan Smith and Darius Guppy are still awaiting my attention, and the epic Haram Bawbag and the base for Little Shiva.

After that I would like to catch up with the decorating and perhaps some other stuff whilst I build a portfolio for the expansion of Ina.  I also still have two websites needing built, so I will not be idle.

Should the person that called me drop in.  Please text, that way I can reply.  I heard the phone but was unable to get to it in time.  I do not accept anonymous calls.

The post entitled Sick Freak was intended for the giant, not you, please stop worrying.






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Day 50 of 2020

Right so I still have about four courses to do, but progress is positive, and I have make a positive decision to keep moving forwards rather than staying still or retreating.

I am not sure how this will end up manifesting itself but we shall see what happens.

I have now settled into a routine which comprises of securing foreign currency, having some employed as well as self-employed income and developing the businesses.

Now my attention has turned to my health, which was feeling not so great due to my level of cold at work in winter months.  It has not been as bad this year as last, but I do seem to react badly to it.

All being well, we are now on course, and I am commencing work on an expansion project this evening.  I have put the sewing away at the moment as Grumpy annoyed me so much that I do not feel like sewing at the moment.  I may do some more work on the Boris project whilst I ponder that one.

We are now doing about three years of work concurrently, which I think is a bit too much, so the sooner I get rid of some of the older work the better.

Apart from that, all good, doing some lazy coursework just now.

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What England means to me

Stanley Baldwin

Though I do not think that the life of a busy man there could be placed into his hands a more difficult toast than this, yet the first thought that comes into my mind as a public man is a feeling of satisfaction and profound thankfulness that I may use the word ‘England’ without some fellow at the back of the room shouting out ‘Britain’. I have often thought how many of the most beautiful passages in the English language would be ruined by that substitution which is so popular to-day. I read in your Dinner-book, ‘When God wants a hard thing done, He tells it’, not to His not to his Britons, but to His Englishman;. And in the same way, to come to a very modern piece of poetry, how different it would be with the altered ending, ‘For in spite of all his temptations to belong to other nations, he remains a Briton.’ We have to-night to celebrate our country and our Patron Saint. It always seems to me no mere chance that besides being the Patron Saint of England, St George was the Patron Saint of those gallant sailors around the shores of the Adriatic, and that in his honour there exists one of the shores of the most beautiful chapels in Venice to-day. The Patron Saint for men of the English stock; and I think to-night amongst ourselves we might for a minute or two look at those characteristics, contradictory often, peculiar as we believe, in the great stock of which we are all members

The Englishman is all right as long as he is content to be what God made him, an Englishman, but gets into trouble when he tries to be something else. There are chroniclers, or were chronicles, who said it was the aping of the French manners by our English ancestors that made us the prey William the Norman, and led to our defeat at Hastings. Let that be a warning to us not to ape any foreign country. Let us be content to trust and be ourselves.

Now, I always think that one of the most curious contradictions about the English stock is this: that while the criticism that is often made of us is not without an element of truth, and that is that as a nation we are less open to the intellectual sense than the Latin races, yet though that may be a fact, there is no nation on earth that has had the same knack of producing geniuses, and in a nation which many people might think restrained, unable to express itself, in this same nation you have a literature second to none that has ever existed in the world, and certainly in poetry supreme.

Then, for a more personal characteristic, we grumble, and we have always grumbled, but we never worry. Now, there is a very great truth in that, because there are foreign nations who worry but do not grumble. Grumbling is more superficial, leaves less of a mark on the character, and just as the English schoolboy, for his eternal salvation, is impervious to the receipt of learning, and by that means preserves his metal faculties into middle age and old age than he otherwise would (and I may add that I attribute the possession of such facilities as I have to that fact that I did not overstrain them in youth), just as the Englishman has a mental reserve owing to that gift given to him at his birth by St. George, so, by the absence of worry he keeps his nervous system sound and sane, with the result that in times of emergency the nervous system stands when the nervous system of other peoples breaks.

The Englishman is made for a time of crisis, and for a time of emergency. He is serene in difficulties, but may seem to be indifferent when times are easy. He may not look ahead, he may not heed warnings, he may not prepare, but when he once starts he is persistent to the death, and he is ruthless in action. It is these gifts that have made the Englishman what he is, and that have enabled the Englishman to make England and Empire what it is.

It is in staying power that he is supreme, and fortunately, being, as I said, to some extent impervious to intellectual impressions as a nation, he is usually impervious to criticism – a most useful thing for an English statesman sometimes. This may be the reason why English statesmen sometimes last longer than those who are not English. I admit that in past generations we carried that virtue to an excess, and by a rebound the sins of the fathers are being visited on the children. For instance, there was a time when this particular epithet was more in vogue in political society, and the Englishman invariably spoke of the ‘damned’ foreigner. Those days are gone, but the legacy has come to us in this, that by the swing of the pendulum we have in this country what does not exist in any other, a certain section of our people who regard every country as being in the right except their own. It largely arises, I think, among a certain section of the population who hold beliefs which they cannot persuade their fellow-countrymen to adopt.

There is yet one other point. I think the English people are at heart and in practice the kindest people in the world. With some faults on which I have touched, there is in England a profound sympathy for the under-dog. There is a brotherly and a neighbourly feeling which we see to a remarkable extent through all classes. There is a way of facing misfortunes with a cheerful face. It was shown to a marvellous degree in the war, and in spite of all he said in criticism of his own people, Ruskin said one thing of immoral truth. He said: “The English laugh is the purest and truest in the metal that can be minted. And indeed only Heaven can know what the country owes to it.” There is a profound truth in that. As long as a people can laugh, they are preserved from the grosser vices of life, political and moral. And as long as they can laugh, they can face all the ills that fortune may bring upon them.

Then, in no nation more than the English is there a diversified individuality. We are a people of individuals, and a people of character. You may take the writings of one of the most English of writers, Charles Dickens, and you will find that practically all his characters are English. They are all different, and each of us that has gone through this world with his eyes open and his heart open, has met every one of Dicken’s characters in some position or another in life. Let us see to it that we never allow our individuality as Englishmen to be steam-rollered. The preservation of the individuality of the Englishman is essential to the preservation of the type of the race, and if our differences are smoothed out and we lose that great gift, we shall lose at the same time our power. Uniformity of type is a bad thing. I regret very much myself the uniformity of speech. Time was, two centuries ago, when you could have told by his speech from what part of England every member of Parliament came. He spoke the speech of his fathers, and I regret that the dialects have gone, and I regret that by a process which for a want of a better name we have agreed among ourselves to call education, we are drifting away from the language of the people and losing some of the best English words and phrases which have lasted in the country through centuries, to make us all talk one uniform and inexpressive language. Now, I have very little more that I want to say to you to-night, but on an occasion like this I suppose there is no one who does not ask himself in his heart and is a little shy of expressing it, what is it that England stands for to him, and to her. And there comes into my mind a wonder as to what England may stand for in the minds of generations to come if our country goes on during the next generation as she has done in the last two, in seeing her fields converted into towns. To me, England is the country, and the country is England. And when I ask myself what I mean by England, when I think of England when I am abroad, England comes to me through my various senses – through the ear, through the eye, and through certain imperishable scents. I will tell you what they are, and there may be those among you who feel as I do.

The sounds of England, the tinkle of hammer on anvil in the country smithy, the corncrake on a dewey morning, the sound of the scythe against the whetstone, and the sight of a plough team coming over the brow of a hill, the sight that has been in England since England was a land, and may be seen in England long after the Empire has perished and every works in England has ceased to function, for centuries the one eternal sight of England. The wild anenomies in the woods of April, the last load at night of hay being drawn down a lane as the twilight comes on, when you can scarcely distinguish the figures on the horses as they take it home to the farm, and above all, most subtle, most penetrating and most moving, the smell of wood smoke coming in an autumn evening, or the smell of the scutch fires: that wood smoke that our ancestors, tens of thousands of years ago, must have caught on the air when they were still nomads, and when they were still roaming the forests and the plains of the continent of Europe. These things strike down into the very depths of our nature, and touch chords that go back to the beginning of time and the human race, but they are chords that with every year of our life sound a deeper note in our innermost being. These are things that make England, and I grieve for it that they are not the childish inheritance of the majority of people to-day in our country. They ought to be the inheritance of every child born into this country, but nothing can be more touching than to see how the working man and woman after generations in the towns will have their tiny bit of garden if they can, will go to gardens if they can, to look at something they they have never seen as children, but which their ancestors knew and loved. The love of these things is innate and inherent in our people. It makes for that love of home, one of the strongest features of our race, and it that that makes our race seek its home in the Dominions over seas, where they have room to see things like this that they can no more see at home. It is that power of making homes, almost peculiar to our people, and it is one of the sources of their greatness. They go overseas, and they take with them what they learned at home: love of justice, love of truth, and the broad humanity that are so characteristic of English people. It may well be that these traits on which we pride ourselves, which we hope to show and try to show in our lives, may survive – survive among our people so long as they are a people – and I hope and believe this, that just as to-day more than fifteen centuries since the last of those great Roman legionaries left England, we still speak of the Roman character, so perhaps in the ten thousandth century, long after the Empires of this world as we know them have fallen and others have risen and fallen again, the men who are then on this earth may yet speak of those characteristics which we prize as the characteristics of the English, and that long after, maybe, the name of the country has passed away, wherever mean are honourable and upright and perservering, lovers of home, of their bretheren, of justice and of humanity, the men in the world of that day may say, ‘We still have among us the gifts of that great English race.’

Stanley Baldwin, Prime Minister, to the Royal Society of St George, 6th May, 1924.

Stanley Baldwin

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While you were sleeping

I have partial completion on around twenty artworks, which I am taking a break from.

I have also moved things on on two other businesses, and I am working on a new idea at the moment, which so far has attracted five or six new clients.  I have Brexitproofed, I suggest you make it a priority to do the same.

Today a lady came up to me in the street. Her friend in Germany had mentioned me.  I was astonished.

She showed me some pictures of some African work, and asked whether she could help me.

I said OK.

I am astonished.

Apart from that, just the usual daily hunt for free wifi and an awful lot of courses.

England must be liberated from the unworthy shackles of the UK.  God Bless Sir Iain Duncan Smith and the pharmachemical industry.


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Brexit Night

So, tonight was Brexit night, which will change absolutely nothing for some time to come.

You still have until the end of the year to find an alternative country on the European mainland, declare yourself resident and not bother coming back.

In the event that you are here and employable, you should be considering finding an income stream outwith the UK to supplement your British income, which will dwindle somewhat without your considering the benefits of a low pound rather than the disadvantages.  If you are not currently employable, do not worry as we will be heading towards a slightly fairer and more cash led economy as time goes on.

I am very busy at the moment, but have been considering the matter of love today.

Bumped into Frank the wank fae the bank again, and he looked suitably chastened.  Saw Bawbag, who looks unusually handsome at the moment.  This, from experience, means that he is absolutely bonkers and is to be avoided. It is usually safer to wait until he looks awful, and then he is quite nice.

Not sure why the connection to Little Shiva was quite as strong.  He is still visiting, but more sensibly only when I make a post.  I am not sure if it is a character issue, since it certainly isn’t very conventional.  You don’t go to extreme lengths to damage someone you like, so it is very unclear what he thinks he is getting out of it.

Anyway, very busy with new stuff, and I have a lot of work to do, so will catch up when I have moved things on a bit.  Today was tax day, so boring paperwork.

I think we should all assist England in their bid to be independent.


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