Tag: Labour party

Labour’s Tiger: The Betrayal of the Working Classes, Part Three

Jonathon Davies, Going Postal

The New Voters

Having thoroughly stabbed in the back the very people it claimed to represent, Labour needs a new core vote to have a chance of winning election. So, who were they to be? Labour under Corbyn were initially pro-Brexit after the referendum, but now seem to have swung around to being pro-single market, and voting against the Great Repeal bill. Mind you, who knows what the policy will be next week. This pleased many a metropolitan metrosexual middle class luvvie in London. Many of them are property millionaires and a far cry from those original supporters from the South Wales valleys. Why worry about the housing crisis when you can get a cheap Polish cleaner? Corbyn himself lives in a house worth over £600,000 and reportedly earns around £140,000. Strangely enough, just under the limit for their proposed cut throat tax rises.

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Labour’s Tiger: The Betrayal of the Working Classes, Part Two

Jonathon Davies, Going Postal

1997 and All That

Do I have to say any more?

Oh, go on then. Thus began the era of unlimited mass migration, from inside and outside the E.U. Globalists were in charge and didn’t we just know it. What had been a budget surplus under Major (for all his faults) became an eye watering deficit. Profligate spending went through the roof. Low skilled labour was imported by the boat load. Labour courted the middles classes, those that perhaps holidayed in the E.U., and didn’t see the downside of what was happening back home. So much for trade unions. Their members had low wages, couldn’t get jobs due to being undercut. If they complained they were out of the door, an immigrant brought in.

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Labour’s Tiger: The Betrayal of the Working Classes, Part One

Jonathon Davies, Going postal

The Way Things Were

Labour used to be the party of the working man. And I mean the working man. The Labour heartlands of South Wales illustrate this point. It is here that you find the people that Labour was set up for. It was here that the chartist movement began. They asked for a vote for every man (earlier, “every person” but this was dropped due to middle-class pressure) twenty-one years of age, of sound mind, and not undergoing punishment for a crime. They secret ballot to protect the elector in the exercise of his vote. They called for no property qualification for Members of Parliament in order to allow the constituencies to return the man of their choice. Another point was Payment of Members, enabling tradesmen, working men, or other persons of modest means to leave or interrupt their livelihood to attend to the interests of the nation. Finally, equal constituencies, securing the same amount of representation for the same number of electors, instead of allowing less populous constituencies to have as much or more weight than larger ones.

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Jeremy and Seumas in ‘Manifesto Mayhem’

DH, Going Postal

‘Jeremy, seriously now,’ snapped Seumas Milne. ‘It’s time to put that away.’

He was pacing feverishly back and forth behind the Labour leader’s vast oak desk, the knuckles of his  left hand clenched anxiously between his teeth.

Jeremy Corbyn paid him no heed and continued the course of action he had embarked upon some two hours  previously – thumping the desk in front of him with the grim determination of a galley slave drum  beater.

He was leaning forward in his wheelchair, staring intently at the scenes unfolding on the desk in  front of him.

Milne stopped dead and raked an exasperated hand through his sweat-drenched hair. He leaned over the  desk and pulled a gaudy plastic board out of the reach of the Labour leader’s skeletal hand.

The old man dealt the empty desk in front of him a few more feeble blows before staring up at Milne  with tears in his eyes.

‘But Seumas,’ he said, his reedy voice trembling slightly. ‘The yellow hippo is still hungry.’

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Something rotten in the land of the Prince Bishops?

Going Postal

William Davenport was jailed for six years last Wednesday after fraudulently securing  hundreds of thousands of pounds worth of finance to buy the former home of Sir Anthony Eden, Windlestone Hall in Co Durham. He admitted a series of mortgage frauds against Barclays Bank. A serial liar and bankrupt he had numerous false identities. A scam artist, he and his American wife posed as a wealthy couple so they could buy other stately homes in the UK.

In 2011, Davenport approached the owners of Windlestone Hall, saying he was interested in purchasing the property, but all his wealth was outside the country and he didn’t want to be liable for taxes. A classic Nigerian scam. He offered to buy the property for £241,000, however this money actually came from a fraudulent mortgage application from Barclays bank. This was obtained under a false name, reference and accounts

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Shami the Money!

Stay Puft, Going Postal

Shami Chakrabarti is a person of the highest integrity. Let there be no doubt on that. Shami has spent her entire career doing the right thing.

It would be outrageous to suggest that there was any sort of sordid deal between her and Jeremy Corbyn over her inquiry into anti-Semitism within the Labour Party. Right from the outset, Shami showed she was handling the inquiry with total transparency and objectivity.

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Advice for dealing with ISIS Jihadists

Glenn, North Chingford

To : Owen.Smith.MP@parliament.uk
Date 28/08/16

Re :Advice for dealing with ISIS Jihadists around the Conference Table.

Dear Mr Smith,

In the unlikely event of your attempt for peaceful Negotiation breaking down over the Arranged Basket of Summer fruits, One should never be without his cat skin dueling gloves dipped in shattered resin and his trusty grandfather Pendulum Clock weight, dropped down the leg of ones 72 button fly buck skin pantaloons .

Steel fish hooks sewn into your smoking Jacket by your Jermyn Street tailor , are worth their weight in gold when in peaceful constructive talks with Bestial Religious Maniacs.

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Judas was paid, Going Postal

I have to admit to a rather childish habit. I say childish but perhaps I really mean ‘of childhood’ because it relates to a rule that I learned whilst still a boy. It concerns my two grandmothers both of whom were staunch Christians and consequently women of strong moral fibre and conservative opinion. The one was born in 1896 and the other in 1905. They were very influential in my formative years and as I grew in awareness and became challenged by the need to make decisions I would find myself going to one or other for advice. It was invariable wise advice, born of experience and therefore a sound base upon which to lean. To summarise; although approaching 60 I still find myself asking, “What would Nan think, or what would Nana do?”

I have asked myself that question in relation to the erstwhile Chairman of the Home Affairs Select Committee and in case anybody has failed to notice a man (I use the term simply to indicate gender) whose activities have raised concern, to the point that his fitness for public office has been questioned. Of course, living in amoral times when it is said that if something is not illegal than it should not be seen as a disqualification, or that if nobody is hurt (although I imagine that anal sex is somewhat intrusive and potentially quite painful) then why should we be concerned? What would Nana think?

The past was a better place in many respects. There was a time I believe when, having morals of their own the public felt it important that those who held office should bear the extra responsibility of setting an example, of showing through their conduct and bearing that honesty, integrity and a capacity to choose the right course in any situation was something that can and should be attained. They were and are after all, more than employees; they hold within their power the destiny and wellbeing of a nation. This is no small matter.

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A true story

JWP. Going Postal

I would like, if I may, to introduce you to ‘Herbert’. Herbert was born in 1920 and grew up in the Lancashire countryside. He spoke often of collecting the milk from local farms and delivering it to local shops. He was 19 when war with Germany came in 1939 and being a patriot he enlisted to defend his country. Herbert served with the Grenadier Guards and saw action in North Africa and was part of the push that unseated the Germans from Italy. In January of 1944 the Grenadiers (6th Battalion) together with Coldstream and Scots Guards were part of the force that fought at Monte Cassino. Herbert’s memories of that assault were vivid and his experiences were to change his life forever.

I remember sitting with him in the lounge of his small flat as he tended his ailing wife. She suffered from dementia and he insisted that she would be nursed at home to the end of her life; a promise which he fulfilled in his own strength and by his own means. He recounted how he and a pal were taking shelter behind a stone wall. They could hear German voices and they knew that they had been spotted. Herbert turned to his right to scan the hillside. There was a loud crack and a sickening thud. Turning back he saw that his pal had had his head shot off. A German bullet had hit him square in the face.

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Life as a Labour MP

Eraser of Love, Going Postal

Poor Keith Vaz, It sickens me to the core of my very being to see our elected Proud custodians of democracy having to sing for their Fresh chicken brass supper in this manner.

Today , The Iron Duke of North Chingford, Me, will be calling for our Destitute MP’S to augment their megre incomes by implementing the old Beer bottle return collection deposIt system , so loved by the leg of mutton alpha male of the 1970’s. However, in this case Using the empties of the amyl nitrate Bottles.

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