Month: July 2016

How to remember the dead

As the sad anniversaries of battles in World War I roll by, and as we now head into a war caused, as wars always are, by the stupidity of politicians, perhaps we should take a moment to think of how we remember those who died in these wars.
Not with the pompous statues and empty mottoes of former times, not with the teddy bears and hashtags and coloured floodlights and easy tears of today, but properly. To respect them we need to know who they were and what they did.
Hyde Park Corner in London is a place of war memorials, old and new. It takes its present form from Wellington’s victory at Waterloo, after which he was given a fine new mansion, Apsley House, with a view over memorials commemorating his achievement. There is a colossal arch topped with a bronze statue of the Goddess of Victory driving a four-horse chariot, and a conventional equestrian statue of the Duke staring into the front windows where the real Duke would have been looking out at his effigy, probably with wry amusement as he was not a pompous man.
Tachybaptus, Going Postal
The statue is given a human, and interesting, touch by four figures at the corners, realistic sculptures of soldiers of England, Scotland, Wales and Ireland. Remembering ordinary fighting men, rather than their leaders, was something new.
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Dateline October 2016

Phil the test manager, Going Postal

Friday 7th October 2016 – A total of 5 separate incidents by individuals comprising of suicide bombing, random shootings, and the horrendous slaughter of 37 children aged between 5 and 6 in a Birmingham C of E primary school by machete.  The MSM conceded that the attacks were indeed co-ordinated to be on the same day and time, but each of the terrorists were deemed to be mentally unbalanced and whilst they followed the Islamic religion of peace, all were said to have been radicalised, and therefore it was nothing to do with Islam.  Many newspaper comments were subsequently shut-down.  The main headlines the following day were not about the children who died or the other 50+ people who died.  It was all about the rise of the “far-right groups” and how this is a terrible thing.  Brexit they said, had a lot to answer for.

Sunday 9th October 2016
Following various mass slaughters across many states in the USA, President Trump announced that congress had now approved that Islam was now a proscribed faith.  No Muslims would be allowed to enter the country, and all Mosques would be shut-down.  Imam’s would face immediate deportation to a Sharia compliant country of their choice, and were to report to their nearest police station with their family.

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Messing About in Boats

Gmbd, Going Postal

let me tell you a funny story.
I had a neighbour (deceased ) who was a private detective.
We were wary of each other to begin with but ended up being friends.
He just decided one day that he wanted to be a private detective and bought some surveillance equipment, rented an office and advertised his services as a private detective. He would get a lot of matrimonial things, suspicious wife wants to know where hubby gets to every Thursday and that sort of thing.
I helped him a couple of times for the Crack.
It is not easy following somebody without being spotted especially if you are in a big Mercedes.
I was followed once over 100 miles myself and I never spotted him until I turned into the rabbit warren of an estate in Buckingham where I was seeing my girlfriend at weekends and I spotted him trying to re-locate me.
This guy ( my friend ) is the sort of guy who lights up a cigarette while giving evidence in the witness box.
Judge; ” you cannot do that here “
“So ?”

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The Rise of the Uber-Twat, A Phenomenon of our Times

Coloniescross, Going Postal

Colin Cross had something of a fascination for words, he was by nature inquisitive, a bit of a loner and as a child he was quickly recognised as someone that could “go places”. He had above average abilities in all academic subjects, so much so that he was awarded a place at Grammar School without having to sit the 11 plus exam, something that rarely happened.

Sometimes things have a way of changing very rapidly and Colin, a quite ordinary if somewhat naive boy at twelve who was in the top groups for all core subjects in his first year, was, by the time he was fourteen, one of the most disruptive, insolent and aggressive pupils at the school. He became a serial truant, refused to submit homework and generally teetered on the edge of expulsion for the rest of his time at the school. He achieved one “O” level, in art, and was told by his head of year that he should leave as they would refuse to have him back if he decided to return for “A” level studies . For nearly 5 years he was a twat towards his teachers, his mother and many of his peers, who had done little or nothing to deserve his treatment of them.

Luckily Colin had a brain like a sponge, as much as he determined not to learn some of the message got through. His mother always said, when they were finally reconciled after a number of years (Colin now called this period of his life the “wilderness”) , that if his life had taken a different path there wouldn’t have been anything he couldn’t do, but she was his mum after all.

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The massacre of the innocents

JWP, Going Postal
“A voice was heard in Ramah,
Lamentation, weeping, and great mourning,
Rachel weeping for her children,
Refusing to be comforted,
Because they are no more.”
Matthew 2:18

My children are grown now, but I have grandchildren. As I listen to the weekly serialisation of massacre and mayhem I fear for their future.

It was very different for me. Living in the flightpath of Speke Airport I would lie awake at night and hearing the sound of an approaching plane I would hold my breath, pull up the sheets and count from thirty to zero in nervous anticipation of the incoming Soviet missile. Only after the sound had passed over did I breathe again and often I would drift to sleep more from nervous exhaustion than genuine fatigue. That was fifty years ago. The present peril is not imaginary and the fears I have for my loved ones are much more substantial than the wild imaginings of my childhood nights. The present peril is on our streets, in our shopping malls and on our trains.

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Parasites!

Colliemum, Going Postal

No, this is not about the social ones we have come to love and cherish if we get all our information from that institution called “BBC”.

It’s about real parasites to start with – so keep quiet now and listen up. No giggling on the back benches, and stop throwing paper darts or I’ll make you dissect a parasite-riddled mouse liver, so you have a proper reason for feeling sick!

Now then.
You’ve all seen sheep, the fluffy things populating our hills, being kept in check by the trusted collies? Good.
These poor sheep are liable to become infected with a parasite called ‘liver fluke’, which makes them very sick.
The parasite that does this has a very interesting life history, one aspect of which is of huge interest to us.
Briefly, the liver fluke lays eggs inside the affected sheep – and the eggs are getting outside with the sheep poo, which then just lies around. I’m sure the hill walkers amongst you have noticed, perchance even stepped into some of it.
The next step in the lifecycle of that parasite is to be gobbled up by snails. The eggs hatch inside the unfortunate snail and tunnel through its guts. The snail, defending itself, then encapsulates these juvenile parasites and gets rid of them in snail poo, which then lies around, waiting for the next unsuspecting animal to gobble it up.
Now this is where it becomes really interesting – so pay attention, this stage applies to us!

No – it’s not us who eat snail poo, you stupid idiot!

The next animal which does eat snail poo is an ant. The snail-made cyst dissolves inside the ant and the juvenile then infects the ant’s neurons – no, dear, ants don’t have brains! –  and affects the infected ant’s behaviour. It makes the ant leave its comrades when night falls, and makes it climb to the top of a grass stem where it stays all night. That’s totally unnatural for an ant.
The next unsuspecting sheep, cropping the grass, takes up the ant without noticing and lo and behold, the new liver fluke is home and dry and it can begin all over again.

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