At the End of the Day

The mind controllers feed on those desperate not to lose face

Taking the human species as a whole, the desire not to ‘lose face’ seems to be an ever-present feature in our thinking processes. I find myself tonight fascinated by the construction of that idiom. I wonder whether the expression should be to ‘lose mind’.

The syndrome seems there for all of sound mind to see in all four of our UK political Parties; these organisations could not be more different in their beliefs – and yet more congruent in their sheepish conformity.

For UKippers, the cornerstone of The Faith is that Nigel Farage is a fine, unblemished and 100% principled crusader for ordinary Brits and their laudable desire for freedom.

The empirical reality is that Mr Farage was a City mover and shaker at the time of its worst excesses. Given the chance to tell Murdoch to go f**k himself last year, he flunked it bigtime. And throughout the entire Floods fiasco, he has blamed others while both suppressing and deflecting the simple fact that – when offered the opportunity to vote for an end to the Somerset Levels flood management insanity in Brussels – he didn’t turn up. His excuse – that he refuses to recognise the EU by taking part in its processes – is rendered so obviously risible by the fact that he took the trouble to get elected and then paid by the bloody thing, one wonders how any IQ level above that of Mark Williams-Thomas could ever accept such a premise.

But accept it the Ukeleles do: and in accepting it, they brand me a man who has it in for Nigel. Where is the motive? Implacably opposed as I am to the status quo, whyTF would I slag off a genuine Messiah? Perhaps the answer lies in the “quality” of their responses to my generally playful decision to start a Twitter page called UPik:

‘Sad that JW is so damning to probably the only person with a chance to do what we are all desperate to see. JW, you are not helping one little bit in the fight to break with Brussels. Your constant stabbing in the back of those on our own front line of the battle is really tedious. Yes, we all know you would make a better job than anyone else in the whole wide world, but you ain’t doing it, are you? You are just shouting. You, John W are just like a back seat driver. If you know better, then get out there and start driving the car.’

And underachieving the lucidity of that one is this effort:

‘We don’t like you bashing our bud from the left, whatsisname, we don’t like you bashing our bud from the middle left watsisname. Cameron. We wonder what kind of political figure you’d see in Westminster and some people have written and asked whether you might be a gay man looking for revenge.’

Now while these two can content themselves with the knowledge that burning books will keep them warm of a chilly winter’s evening, we should not dismiss blinkers as the only thing hiding some folks from horse-sense. Today has seen another salvo from the Daily Braille against Harriet Harman, her inexplicably odd husband Jack Dromey, and the terminally dense Patricia Hewitt.

All the members of this troubled Troika have, quite obviously, very high IQs. But just as there is no correlation at all between IQ and epoch-changing genius, so too there is no congruence whatsoever between the highly intelligent brain, and the fitness for purpose of a public servant.

The Left will of course take me to task for using the Daily Wail as a source. However, in this case (and in much of the Wail’s money section) one has to leave one’s bigotry outside on the doorstep and accept that – once you’ve stripped out the hypocritical sanctimony of Dacre’s men – the facts they put forward in this case are irrefutable. All three of these badly-parked dingbats, in the early 1970s, espoused the idea that dangerously psychotic men poking sexually innocent and immature humans up the arse was a terrific idea. Indeed, the coven was still pushing this deranged notion in the early 1980s.

But is there any willingness to even see – let alone debate – the altered reality of those beliefs in the Labour Party? There is not. Despite the irony that the neo-fascist Conservative Monday Club gleefully exploited such Useful Idiots in order to cover their nefarious Amsterdam antics beneath a flimsy veil of sexual eclecticism, you will not find a single senior Labour MP prepared to ask Rainbow Trinity WTF they thought they were at all those years ago.

And what of the Conservative Party…a broad church which houses now the oddities of Jeremy Hunt’s relation Peter Bottomley – a Wet of Red Hot Dutch Monday Club confusion – now the eccentric emissions of Tim Yeo, and now the perky but pea-brained enthusiasm of Friedmanites like Dan ‘Fracking Mad’ Hannan?

Well, it’s the best part of a year since Labour’s Tom Watson, at Commons PMQs, made Prime Minister David Cameron look like a fourth former who had blushingly soiled himself in Assembly. But Boris Johnson’s ample bottom continues to sit on all investigations into the bottom-rogering antics at Elm House, and the glaringly strange nature of Bottomley’s membership of the Amsterdam Below Three Feet Tall Glee Cub remains uninvestigated. As indeed does the Rainbow Warrior Leon Brittan.

Do we see mainstream Tory supporters uneasy about any of this? We do not.

As for the Fourth Party (and they are increasingly coming fourth in everything from the Sack Race to the Ethics Marathon) I will restrict my comments to observing that Mr Nicholas Clegg has not a thread of material – diaphanous or otherwise – to hide the fact that he is Dorian Gray’s worm-investigated portrait in the attic. And yet, those who propose that a pro-EU future of Persil-whiteness lies ahead of us flatly refute such an idea. Not only that, the chances are that in 2015, this cat-napping, intellectually idle and morally challenged twat may well once more hold the balance of power in our country.

Now while all these loyal followers may feel that they are keeping the faith, they are in truth losing their marbles. And what happens in the end with such people is that they wind up being controlled by those behind the two-way mirror in Room 101.

If I may, I will close tonight with a parallel involving my interface with the internet today. Reception here has been, as we say in Britain, “on the blink”. However, my router insists that all is well….and my ISP demands an adherence to the silly idea that the signal is excellent.

Now let’s get real here: were I to accept this, you would all dismiss me as a naive prick. But when I apply the same criteria to the general tribalist division that holds the British Resistance back, then I am obviously an anarchic agent provocateur.

What more can I say?

Earlier at The Slog: The S in ISP stands for ‘service’. But you’d never know