A New Place Of Exile

Richard Hutton

Britons against unpatriotic crisps, and other food-based blights on our nation; for Brexit.

Few things in life could demand a firmer moral stance than food; and nothing could pep-up the nation’s vivacity faster than harnessing gut instinct.

To that end, a steady instillation of patriotism into the future contents of one’s bowels will lead our nation to achieve its destiny – and induce perfect hygienic regularity among its citizens – at one fell stroke. Never has this been more important than before now.

Therefore we must close the borders to foreign fruit and vegetables, in order to purify the British crop. British children must not grow up with bananas and oranges in one hand or the other; no longer able to appreciate the nutritional value of a good British apple or a pure, juicy parsnip. In short, it is time to take back control of our shopping trollies and supermarket hand-baskets; and Bake Britain Great Again.

It is a simple fact that food consumed in Britain should ideally be born here, and speak English.

Take crisps, for example: to put it bluntly, potatoes are a foreign introduction to our shores. The only sensible solution to this offence is for Britain to ban any import of root vegetables; and instead of making crisps out of the potato, we should simply use native turnips, cauliflowers, and perhaps the odd frond of indigenous kale.

More importantly still, crisps should have appropriate and patriotic flavours – ones which capture the true spirit of Britain. Once assured of this, a six-bag multipack will allow a comprehensive range of British seasoning for British crisps, for British people. I propose the following:

1 x Bovril
1 x Ovaltine
1 x Full English Breakfast
1 x Football
1 x The Battle of Britain
1 x Trafalgar Day

You see, the British crisp is a highly intelligent, highly capable crisp. Not for the true born Briton the decadent tang of ‘Prawn Cocktail’; nor the effete intellectual palate of ‘Avocado & Tarragon’. The British crisp will be firm, the British crisp will be proud, and the British crisp will be on the march.

We should also demand that any food stuff or type which does move into Britain should learn to speak our native language once here. This will pull everyone in a more sensible direction.

For example, baguettes could be renamed “bread wands”; and croissants “pastries beige in flavour and appearance”. A cappuccino should be called “a frothy coffee” – as a matter of urgency. While champagne can make any future reference to itself as “fizzy alcoholic grape juice”. This will prevent riots breaking out on the streets of Britain, by ensuring that nobody ever hears a suspiciously foreign-sounding word at any time.

What’s more, there is little reason for anyone to be unduly concerned by an increase of food prices. People can simply summon the spirit of Dunkirk – that is to say, employ a bit of gumption, some pluck, maintain a stiff upper elbow; and take a do-it-yourself approach to the whole affair.

For example, you can simply make your own Marmite, out of shredded pages from the Telegraph, and spent tea-bags – providing a healthy combination of much needed foliage, and essential daily papers.

And it need not end there. If foreign companies, such as Nestle, opt to increase their prices – due to the Brexpeditious reduction of sterling’s value – then we can simply clone their fare; and create British mutations of them instead. This could not be simpler.

To take but one instance, Kit Kats: first, we begin by downloading their DNA from the internet; and then we splice it with a genetically-British foodstuff, such as bread or pie crust – and behold: Brit Kats.

In fact, let us put this scheme at the very heart of Britain’s future trade plans. British brentrepreneurs can brexport native-grown goods to every far flung corner of the planet in the world. It will not be difficult to remain competitive: the tea plantations in Britain are among the most productive in the western hemisphere. Homegrown British tea-leaves can be exported to all countries which are less well equipped to grow their own tea than we are – such as India, China, or Africa.

Picture it now: the new Royal Yacht sailing the many seas of the world – bringing tea, crisps and an edible version of Marmite to grateful nations. All thanks to Brexit.

Fair-minded readers will surely concur that all of this offers irrefutable evidence of Brexit’s imminent glory. I really cannot imagine the sort of person who would disagree; and I think that says all we need to know about them.

The Calais Refugees Arrive In Britain: Curtains Righteously A-Twitch.

If you ask me, the so-called child refugees don’t look young enough to be treated like human beings.

It is a little known fact, if not an open secret, that those between the ages of 11 and 20 are at little risk of harm in any warzone you could name. Soldiers and paramilitaries are naturally conscientious sorts, who take every precaution to ensure that automatic weaponry, and anti-personnel devices dropped from high altitude, carefully discern between people on the basis of age.

This is why warfare is considered by many experts to be perfectly safe for everyone who is 11 years old, and above. Bullets stop affecting people at the very moment they enter their eleventh year of life. Barrel bombs do not shower anyone with shards of shrapnel if they are aged 13 upwards; and collapsed buildings, destroyed by heavy shelling, leave every inhabitant unscathed once they have reached fourteen years of age. It hardly seems necessary to point out that landmines only blow-up when they come into contact with anyone over the age of 9. Anyone older than that is simply too light-footed to trigger their explosion.

Books are best judged by their covers, in my view. Accordingly, many of the unaccompanied minors who have recently arrived in Britain are male, and tall. Nobody who possesses either attribute could possibly be at risk of drowning in the Mediterranean – it is, after all, no more than 75 centimeters deep, even at its most profound depths; while being anatomically male grants anyone an immunity to drowning, due to a fibromuscular tube, discreetly attached to the the lower oesophagus – which allows every man in existence to breathe underwater simply by raising their left elbow up and down, in a circular motion. While this may not be recognised by science, as such, it is certainly gospel in in the realm of folklore; which is a close second best, as a field of knowledge.

We can’t afford to make a single mistake on this, after all. A ‘child’ – for all we know – could be a septuagenarian gentleman, cunningly disguised as a young teenage boy, who resembles a slightly older adolescent male; solely in order to pass themselves off as as a five year old girl, and thereby gain access to support which is only available to people aged 18 and over. Certainly if the papers are correct, at any rate. The giveaway here is that, unlike teenage British boys, these ones have tufts of unsightly facial hair; use too much deodorant; and are socially awkward in the company of girls.

What’s more, direct experience of trauma famously has a rejuvenating effect on people – far from aging anyone, as apocrypha would have it, among the many treatments available in British health spas is a range of wartime experiences; which put vitality back into even the most decrepit and antediluvian of clients – from being deprived of food and medicine, to narrowly surviving artillery fire, through being detained without trial for several years, to the loss of close relatives before your very eyes – each simply takes years off somebody’s life.

Cause for suspicion all round, if you ask me – and we certainly don’t want to see the famously limitless British hospitality being abused.

The best way to check the age of refugees, therefore, is to adapt the approach of dendrochronology to border crossing controls. Just as with trees, border guards can simply dissect each child, providing a good cross-section; allowing an observer to count the number of rings within – thereby determining the amount of calendar years to a refugee’s name. This would also allow scientists to research other aspects of the person’s ecology: such as the level of moisture each refugee experienced during the growing season.

This system could be further buttressed, if need be, by radiocarbon dating – which would permit state authorities to determine how many of these refugees date back to the Postclassical Era; or perhaps even beyond that, to the period commonly known as Ancient: that is, the years 3600 BC – 500 AD, respectively. One or two of them at any rate, to judge by the looks of things.

You really can’t be too careful on such matters. After all, the perks of being a refugee in Britain are all but inexhaustible: from free British oxygen, and unlimited access to taxpayer-funded pavements, to all the street lamps that you could walk under – and a quite simply uncountable number of sand-grains and pebbles, on even the most homely British beach; to name but a few of the potential benefits wide open to anyone who turns up on our shores.

And is it really necessary for anybody to be claiming refuge at all, in this day and age? Can it be denied that people are perfectly safe traversing seas, irrespective of inclement weather? Dry land is an unnecessary luxury, in my opinion. Being mammals, human beings share many traits with the common dolphin; and you never hear them complain about living conditions in the world’s oceans. Far from it.

What’s more, it’s important that we protect our society from the kind of people who reject the prospect of living under either oppressive dictators, or beneath the auspices of fundamentalist sharia law; and consequently travel thousands of miles, in order to live in liberal democratic societies.

If you ask me, the kind of people who find liberal democracy and personal safety attractive are likely to be very suspect, indeed. This is perhaps why some commentators are afraid that refugees will arrive in Britain, and begin attacking innocent people.

Personally, I’m not so sure that they will fit into our way of life so easily.

The Clinton-Trump Debate, Reduxed.

The world’s audience awaited, as the two contestants in the grand final of ‘Who Wants To Be A President?’ reached its penultimate stage.

First, the moderators canvassed the two candidates’ political commitments. Whereas Trump averred that “It’s time to make America America again”, Clinton demurred “America is already America because America is already America”.

It wasn’t just the candidate’s policies which were clarified, however – we got to know them on a personal level, too. While Trump asked the audience “Would you like to chew on my weird hair?”, Clinton simply stated “I see dead people”.

At this point, the debate become more heated. Trump stressed the need for America to invade certain countries in the North of Africa, steal their natural resources for the United States’ own benefit, and – in the process – commit a number of war crimes. Many – if not most – pundits were agreed, however, that this was an example of mansplaining; and therefore injudicious.

On much the same tack, Clinton asked undecided voters to consider a series of questions: first, whether a man like Trump – who has such anachronistic views on sexual equality – was really a suitable person to oversee the export of modern weapons to friendly dictators, for them to use on crowds of civilians.

Second, whether somebody who once wore a ‘No Fat Chicks’ t-shirt at a frat-party possesses the moral authority needed to order military coups, occupy foreign countries, and supply allied war criminals with imprecise munitions.

Finally, Clinton asked whether or not Trump’s attitudes towards women might indicate that he simply isn’t patriotic enough to hand suspected foreign terrorists over to the CIA, to be tortured.

On a lighter note, throughout the evening viewers were treated to an interlude of duets; as the two Presidential candidates performed three songs before a panel of judges.

To begin, Clinton and Trump gave their rendition of ‘I’ve got you babe’ by Sonny and Cher:

Then moved on to ‘Tie a yellow ribbon round the ole oak tree’ by Dawn and Tony Orlando:

Photos: Presidential debate between Donald Trump, Hillary Clinton

And, finally, the duo both sang – and performed – ‘Je T’aime’ by Serge Gainsbourg and Jane Birkin:

With that, the evening drew to a close. Viewers were asked to cast their vote – unless watching on a +1 hour channel, in which case their votes wouldn’t count, but they may still be charged.


Is it time for a racism of the Left?

When you think about it, what chance do white people have in a society like Britain?

Let us consider the facts, here: throughout the centuries of its history, as many as no Prime Ministers have ever been Black, Asian, or minority ethnic; while, as it currently stands, no more than 100% of monarchs have been white – and this is a number which can only decrease yet further over time. Add to this the fact that a whopping 6% of MPs are Black, and you have to say that white people are in serious danger of being excluded from public life, at some point between now and the end of the millennium.

What’s more, traditional British culture has been transformed beyond recognition in recent decades – there are more Black bishops in the Anglican church than ever before: time was, not a single bishop was Black; but now there’s no fewer than one.

Worse still is the intersection of sexism with racism. Did you know that, since records began, there hasn’t been even one white male who has been named Britain’s most influential Black woman? In fact – shockingly – not a single white person of any gender has ever featured in the annual lists of the most influential Black Britons.

Worryingly, it’s not just the present, either: there are no less than four entire weeks devoted to Black History Month – leaving only 11 months of the year devoted to white history.

Now, I’m not saying any of this to alarm people – simply pointing out that, certainly if the newspapers are to be taken at their word, White Plight is a very real phenomenon in modern Britain. When only 100% of British Prime Ministers have ever been white, is it any wonder that so many white people believe they are members of a persecuted and powerless minority; or spend so much time cowering bravely in fear?

There is a solution for all of this, however; and it can be summed up in no more than one word: racism.

The problem is, racism has got a bad rep in recent years. Mainly because it tends to be a touch parochial and antediluvian in nature – that is to say, conservative; which puts people off it a bit. While it’s fine to be thought of as a racist, in a country where The Sun and The Daily Mail are the most popular sources of news – and government ministers send fleets of vans around predominately Black neighbourhoods, politely telling their residents to Go Home – nobody wants to be wrongly mistaken for a conservative. Not these days.

So, I ask simply this: is it time for a racism of the Left? I wouldn’t normally ask, you see; but racism has become increasingly popular of late, and popularity is the most important thing in the world. This wouldn’t be the bad kind of racism – one with impolite words, and such; but instead, one which is imbued with progressive values. After all, it’s important to keep racism civilised.

So how then could racism be refashioned into a left-wing concern? Well, from the outset, instead of calling it racism, it could be called patriotism. That’s much more pleasant. Further to that, you don’t get more progressive than science – in fact science is reputed to be the most scientific among all branches of thought; so let’s science it up, by taking a homeopathic approach to racism. Inserting just a small – almost inconsequential – amount of racism into public life, will surely cure all the problems which racism causes.

We can add to this an equally scientific method: namely, that of measurement – as pioneered by German academics, as far back as the 1930’s. Before somebody is allowed to undertake employment in Britain, they should submit to the compulsory scientific measurement of their elbows. A proud, muscular elbow – naturally adapted to its local environment – will reveal the true-born Briton; as compared to the ventricose elbow of a newcomer to our shores. This scheme will have the added benefit of allowing employers to discern members of the criminal classes – whose elbows are notoriously flaccid; and the decadent elbows of the intelligentsia, which tend towards the ossiferous.

It’s not just governments who can take a lead on this, however: it’s perfectly possible to think globally, but act locally. Instead of joining torchlit mobs, which leave a big carbon footprint on the environment, people who want to participate in a progressive lynching can use pitchforks which have wooden handles sourced from certified, sustainable forestry. While it may cost a little more to invest in renewable flaming torches, the long-term benefits of using a sustainable source of fuel far outweigh the financial drawbacks, when chasing frightened crowds of people into publicly-owned detention camps; or enclosures constructed out of recycled barbed-wire.

Racism need not be the preserve of older generations of poorly educated people, either, as it so often has been. Young, educated people can enjoy a gap year of racism – in between being serious on the one hand, and sensible on the other; through furnishing the cupboards of their student flats with mugs and crockery inscribed with the words ‘controls on immigration’. What could be more effortless?

It’s not that anybody progressively-minded really wants to do any of this, as such. No. It’s just that many people have very real concerns about being outnumbered by those who are a shade more ethnic than themselves, so to speak; and it’s important to meet the public where they are. Think of this as the triumph of the settled will.

A number of journalists have broken a lot of ground on this issue, lately, in fact – helpfully deciphering the latent meaning behind many popular sentiments; so that everyone can appreciate the trenchant insights they provide, into the life of oppressed white people in modern Britain.

For example, when somebody says “Send them back! Kick them all out of the country!” what this means is “our current economic model does not work equitably for all”; and when someone takes a can of spray paint and daubs “Brits only – no foreigners” on somebody’s front door, this means “local services have their shortcomings due to chronic under-investment”.

The point here is that it’s not simply the case many journalists are themselves racist; it’s just that they have very real concerns for the well-being of the lower orders; and recognise that racism can only be steered in a wise direction, by investing it with progressive values – which is the surest way to deliver a superior variety of racism, to the one which tends to discomfort polite company.

To put it another way, just as the best way to fight fire is to steer well clear of water, and deploy fire against it; so too the best way to respond to racism is not to publicly reject it, but to emulate and legitimize it instead. This is just commonsense.


You can’t say anything these days without being called a racist.

You can’t say anything these days without being called a racist.

You can’t describe imported food – like hummus – as obscene filth from the backwaters of jihadistan, in the middle of a British supermarket, without at least one eyebrow rising in response. You certainly can’t stand in the middle of a crowded shopping aisle, and say that baguettes and bananas are the right shape for the imported foreign perversions they inspire. Not without being called racist.

If you’re in a restaurant, where a waiter asks if you’d like to see the wine list, and you reply ‘none of Johnny Foreigner’s wretched bilge sloshing around in my gullet, thank you very much’ well, you can barely escape a touch of reproach from the self-same fellow. Not these days.

You can’t say that Rioja is a foul, benighted, affront to civilisation; whose very purchase subsidises the forays of sex-offending Spanish bishops. You certainly can’t say that champagne is typical, treacherous French rubbish, in any public place in the land – without at least one person reacting as if your honest sentiments were a shade untoward. Not anymore.

And that’s not the half of it: you can’t call falafel dirty, foreign, desert-dwellers’ muck, anymore. You can’t say potatoes are filthy, Irish hovel-dwellers’ muck. You can’t explain that meatballs are dirty, filthy, Swedish massage parlour-dweller’s muck. Or that vodka is stinking, grimy, greasy, Russian muck, cooked up in left-over gulags – let alone that lasagna is odious, stinking , horrid, insalubrious Italian muck, topped-off with a pervert’s choice of cheese. You can’t say any of this anymore – not without being called racist.

You can’t go into a cornershop, and point out to other customers that the aubergines on display were probably farmed in Belgian brothels, by nuns – without the shop-owner giving you a disapproving look.  Not nowadays.

And it’s not just the likes of you and me – even the Right Hons. can no longer say “here is a decent, ordinary fellow Englishman, who in broad daylight – in my own town – suggests to me that his country is being colonised and over-run by foreign root vegetables; which you cannot eat with confidence, for fear of them having been plucked out of the earth by German gigolos, mincing around, for the titillation of geriatric voyeurs”. Not without at least one newspaper picking up on the story, and saying something or another by way of rebuke, at any rate.

It’s not as if its necessary to import any of this rubbish from overseas, either – a fine, slow-boiled, sheep’s eyeball jalfrezi is just as good as any of the primitive poultry-based filth you might find at a restaurant, in my experience; not that you can say such things these days.

Take tahini – or better yet, don’t take it; as it’s nothing but backwards slop made from degenerate sesame seeds, and barbarous oils. Not in my backyard, thank you very much. I won’t have it. If you ask me, that’s the whole problem – the very instant you stop bombing civilisation into these places, up they pop to sell you their rotten hand-pimped fare.

Well, it’s not on, in my view – we should be able to say what we like about all of this, without prompting muttered disquiet from people seated nearby. This is the land of the free; and shall be free once again.

British food for British people, I say. Buy British – and ban the import of foreign victuals. What’s wrong with a bottle of honest turnip cider? Who needs claret, when you can enjoy a glass of freshly fermented ram’s urine? It’s the kind of stuff which puts hair on your chest – unlike effete foreign vintages; with their assortment of debased grapes.

It’s high-time that this country got its act together. No longer would decent people be affronted with tea made from mouldering Indian, African, or Chinese leaves – but instead, they should be able to imbibe an invigorating tonic, brewed from honest, British cabbage leaves instead. What’s more, instead of coffee beans – which for all anyone knows might have come from any manner of backwards, gyrating places in the world – people can simply brew a fine broth out of red kidney beans. Nothing wrong with that.

Instead of loathsome, nauseating, sickening, repugnant, distasteful, disgusting, off-putting, repellent, Dutch asparagus working its untoward way into innocent bowls of British soup -which knocked-up wastrels have probably coughed all over, before rubbing their spat-upon palms together and lobbing it into your consume – people will be free to enjoy a good-old fashioned dish of frozen bull’s blood and grated fox testicles instead; enhanced by a delicate sauce made from rendered goat’s hooves. Truly British fare. That will get this country back up off its knees, in no time.

Not that you can say any of this, these days, of course – not without being called racist.

Many Politicians Have Very Real Concerns About Immigration


These days, many marginalised and ignored politicians have very real, legitimate concerns about immigration.

The problem, of course, is that politicians can’t talk about the problems of immigration anymore without being labelled ‘opportunists’; or worse, find themselves being called racist – just for expressing anxiety about the threat migration poses to the continued supremacy of the white majority, in our society.

For too long, the public has been ignoring the subject of immigration, by reading about it constantly in the newspapers; instead of listening to politicians when they express their very real concerns. When a politician says ‘immigrants take all the jobs and only come here to claim unemployment benefits’ members of the public have tended to dismiss this as paradoxical nonsense. Whenever a politician writes an article about migrants siphoning away peoples’ bath water, in order to extol the merits of a new, tougher deportation system – disbelief, if not scepticism, is the most commonplace response among their audience.

Image result for farage poster

In my view, ordinary people need to be more attentive to the concerns of the political class. Many politicians blame the EU for the squeeze on living standards; and an increasing number of MPs say that immigration is to blame for social problems – such as the government’s failure to adequately fund local services; or the prevalence of low wages in those areas of employment which low-skilled and poorly educated people tend to depend upon. A failure to acknowledge the concerns politicians express about these issues, means that the public hasn’t earned the right to be heard on other topics – such as the shortage of available jobs in a local economy; or the absence of affordable housing, nationwide.

While we should celebrate the contribution that migrants have made to British politics, we should not overlook the fact that many Members of Parliament simply do not want to raise taxes on their more affluent voters, or address long-standing economic dysfunctions; and politicians should be able to say that immigration is to blame for these problems, without being ignored by members of the public in response.

What’s more, many MPs have very real concerns about losing their jobs, through being displaced by foreign-born candidates in elections; and are emotionally concerned about the downward pressure on their Parliamentary expenses, caused by MPs who grew up in poverty overseas, yet do not avail themselves of public finance, just because it happens to be on offer.


The simple fact is, no British politicians are born racist; but immigration which reaches levels beyond a Parliament’s willingness to invest in the necessary social infrastructure to support it can lead to racism in politics – and we can all agree that racist policies are distasteful.

Worse still, people often think that anti-immigration politics is a bit old-hat, if not faintly unfashionable: the preserve of those Parliamentarians who hold antediluvian views on a variety of issues – from the putative relationship between same-sex marriage and inclement weather; to a woman’s freedom to bare her ankles in public. Or else, those habitues of Westminster who happen to have no particular desire to share bathrooms, and eating facilities, with colleagues who possess more than a modicum of foreign extraction. As a consequence, ordinary members of the public often refuse to even dignify, let alone support, politicians who espouse an aversion towards immigrants.

The problem is that, as far as ordinary members of the public are concerned, all immigrants should feel welcome in Britain – no matter what language they speak, or ethnicity they belong to; and without regard for their religious or political commitments. All that matters, they say, is that migrants are human; and that any politician who suggests otherwise is being illiberal. But this ignores the very real concerns politicians have over the scale of migrants arriving in Britain from the EU; putting pressure on MPs to invest in public services.


Anyone who spent a lot of time talking to politicians during the recent EU referendum, particularly in a constituency like mine, cannot fail to appreciate how strongly MPs have grown to feel about freedom of movement in the weeks following the result; and why, whatever the economic disadvantages of leaving the Single Market may be for ordinary people, politicians are frankly not willing to even engage in a conversation about that reality unless there is a recognition of their concerns about the ability of Parliament to manage immigration. To take but one example, the huge number of refugees from war-torn countries such as Iraq, Syria, or Libya, makes it difficult for politicians to deport them straight back to these areas, en masse.

How then do we stop this situation from arising? How can we create a migration system, which assuages the concerns and anxieties of Britain’s politicians?

There is a simple solution to this conundrum: instead of investing in industry, or creating employment opportunities, and building homes, what we should pursue instead is a managed system of immigration. More specifically, we can turn Parliament into an arrangement based on work permits – that is, a points-based scheme for MPs. This can be carefully calibrated so that a politician’s skills and qualifications are measured against the need for their abilities in Parliament.

For instance, is somebody with a background in banking really needed to manage the National Health Service? Is someone with an interdisciplinary degree in Philosophy, Politics and Economics really necessary for the job, when the post being offered is head of environmental policy? It seems fair to wager not.


What’s more, it is common knowledge that wages often drive down immigration – that is to say, the more poorly a job pays, the less likely somebody will travel across a continent to do it. Therefore, we simply need to ensure that all Members of Parliament are paid on a results basis; which will all but guarantee that they receive no more than the minimum, in the majority of cases. This will mean that very few migrants opt to become Members of Parliament – pursuing instead the traditional careers of newcomers to Britain’s shores; in the fields of medicine, nursing, and education, for example.

But what of politicians who wish to enact anti-immigration policies; yet still want to call themselves contemporary, liberal, and relevant to the economic internationalism of the twenty-first century? The answer is easy: merely invest anti-immigration policies with progressive values.

So then, what would a progressive anti-immigration approach look like in practice? Well, rather than the fairly stuffy, antiquated ‘death to traitors’ variety of anti-migrant sentiment; the public could vote for an eco-friendly, environmentally-sustainable version instead.

For example, if a large crowd of MPs were to authorise the forcible expulsion of a refugee, on a no-questions-asked-about-their-pregnancy basis, deportation officers could be issued with truncheons which have wooden handles all sourced from certified, sustainable forestry; and with cans of pepper-spray, fairly traded from co-operatively owned cayenne plantations.

Moreover, if a Home Secretary wanted to justify bypassing their legal obligations to somebody under the age of 16, and needed a convenient anecdote about someone’s pet cat preventing their deportation, then they could ensure that the reference is to a cat from a rescue centre. This offers a feel-good approach to refoulment; which we can all share in.

And lastly, ordinary people foregoing their right to freedom of movement really has to be a red line in a post-Brexit UK – otherwise we will be holding our country’s MPs in contempt. If ordinary Britons agree to give up their liberty to live and work in EU countries, then we can avoid driving the social tensions which lead to outbreaks of racism among a minority of politicians: resulting in entities such as Yarl’s Wood being erected, for example; or else undertaking wars in the middle east continuously and indifferently.

In sum, the best way to keep Britain the open and non-racist country it has always been, is to no longer allow ordinary people from the wrong sort of countries to enter it; where they could frighten elected representatives, and disquiet easily perturbed members of Parliament.

The Right-Minded View: The Reintroduction of Grammar Schools


There is an excellent case for reintroducing Grammar schools; however, I can’t help but wonder if it goes quite far enough?

Grammar schools undoubtedly ensure that the best and the brightest students – that is to say, children from the best families – will prosper. We needn’t worry too much about the other 80% of pupils for the time being.

So, if fairness of outcome is the order of the day, is it right that a Grammar system should be applied only to schools? I would venture not. Therefore, what I propose, is a holistic imposition of Grammar stratification on every single last aspect of social infrastructure in Britain. For the public’s own benefit, of course. Commonsense decrees that if it’s beneficial to impose selectivity on children, then it’s more than fitting to apply it to all areas of life

For example, we could have Grammar hospitals; where those patients who are in the finest fettle are no longer hindered by the sick, and the dying. The majority of medical resources could thereafter be devoted to them accordingly.

We could have Grammar supermarkets, where the best and brightest fruit and vegetables are allowed to fulfill their aspirations; with no disadvantages accrued from time spent on the less refined five-a-days.

And finally, we could – nay, should – even go so far as to create Grammar funeral parlours; where the most ambitious cadavers are not held back by their slower-moving brethren. This will provide an enriching vein of competition, bringing out the best in the recently deceased; and benefiting the nation as a whole.

All told, I think that this excellent scheme of sorting and sifting should proceed forthwith. Never did me any harm, I can tell you.

The Right-Minded View: Traingate


Everything we had been told to believe turned out to be a lie. There was no crowded carriage. There were no passengers, seated in aisles. There was no train. There was no floor.

We were told that Mr Corbyn had a copy of Private Eye. It was said that the train had walls. In reality, it was all an elaborate ruse to cover up the terrible, shocking truth…that the Corbyn train picture was faked using the same studio which was employed to simulate the moon landings.

Wake up people!!!!!

Thankfully, however, commonsense prevailed. The owner of a private train company arbitrated this dispute in an entirely neutral and fair-minded manner, to the satisfaction of all concerned: reaffirming that his profit-making enterprise is entirely free from problem – which is particularly reassuring, given the fact that Mr Corbyn has mentioned something or another about returning the railways to public ownership.

And to think, Corbyn would have gotten away with it all, too; had it not been for Richard Branson and his talking dog.

The truth is out there.

Trust no-one.


The Right-Minded View: Labour’s Leadership Contest – Mr Corbyn Vs. Mr Smith.

If there’s one charge that can be leveled at Jeremy Corbyn, like the proverbial lance at a windmill, it’s that of unelectability.

The disastrous landslide victory Mr Corbyn suffered in the original Labour Party leadership contest was merely the start; it was soon followed by several calamitous successes endured in byelections. What’s more, the taint of Mr Corbyn’s unelectability clearly spread to the Mayoral campaigns, in London and Bristol – which promptly rose without a trace, resulting in a tragically high margin of victory for each participant.

The problem is easy to elucidate. Mr Corbyn is quite simply not a credible pragmatic sensible centrist electable aspirational moderate.

What this country is crying out for is a persuader, not a protester: somebody who is unabashed about making nebulous assertions to support their position, while preaching to the converted; before going on to abstain in Parliament – with a steely look of determination in their eye; subsequently waving a white flag, defiantly. If anything, there are simply too many candidates in the Labour Party to choose from, who would fit this bill handsomely. Mr Corbyn, however, is certainly not one.

Labour’s impressive second-place finish at the last General Election – which, had it been an Olympic contest, would have guaranteed them a silver-medal – clearly demonstrates that no substantive change of any kind was even remotely necessary to rejuvenate the party. On the contrary, the only way for Labour to succeed is to intensify all of the things which lead up to their monumental victory, last year.

After all, Labour’s political opponents think that Mr Corbyn’s continued leadership is a bad idea – and they clearly offer their concern purely in the best interests of the Labour party. They would be a better group to consult for bold, innovative ideas on how to keep things exactly the way they are, in my opinion, than the party’s own supporters, members, and voters; who have always seemed somewhat superfluous to the whole business of Labour being elected into government. Far better to chase one vote from somebody who will never cast it in your favour, I say, than to pursue votes from thousands of people who would.

What Mr Corbyn needs to appreciate is that we don’t elect Party Leaders to make intelligent decisions – we elect them them to represent the public. Therefore, it really is high-time that Labour’s members listened more carefully to the advice offered here by those who led their party to such resounding success, especially within Scotland, a year ago; and to altruistic Conservatives, who will never vote for Labour, want it to lose the next election, and therefore have only the party and its supporters best interests at heart. This is just commonsense.

The Right-Minded View: Reds Under The Beds

In my view, the British press is quite right to warn the general public that as many as a handful of people were once involved with a faintly left-wing political group, before joining the Labour Party.

Now, many naysayers have scoffed at such a suggestion – dismissing it as the febrile maundering of overheated imaginations; with no more than a tiny number of people ineligibly joining Labour.

What they fail to realise, however, is that this is no ordinary bout of entryism – it is, instead, a development of homeopathic infiltration: all it takes is one Red under every four thousand or so beds for Britain to fall prey to….


The true scale of this problem is simply astounding, despite its non-existence; and should not be underestimated, merely because it is mathematically impossible. Even the British media, which routinely struggles to find any racists in our country – and wasn’t able to locate a single Labour supporter who voted to remain in the EU, even though the overwhelming majority of them did – is having no trouble at all finding communists galore.

It turns out that a cult of Trotskyites – cunningly disguised as teenagers, disabled people, and pensioners – has been lying in wait for years. Waiting, watching; perched, poised. Allowing every previous opportunity for their insurrection to pass – and only now revealing themselves, shorn of disguise; just to annoy a few people in the Labour Party.

And what is behind this menace? Well, we all know the answer to that. As one Labour source told somebody or another: “Jeremy Corbyn has clearly been fixated by the political ideology and tactics of Leon Trotsky for quite some time. Mr Corbyn brutally enforces his own Soviet-style leadership, through the devious ploy of getting a majority of members and supporters to vote for him. Quite frankly, it’s outrageous that in this day and age that sort of thing should be going on. Auction the Labour Party on Ebay, I say. Let it be sold to the highest bidder – without any of this ‘democracy’ nonsense”.

Of particular pertinence here is the influx of youthful sorts into the Labour Party – who are initially enticed by the alluring calls to build more council houses; only to fall prey to the forceful seductions of Trotskyism. If young people these days can have their virtues tempted by anything, it’s doctrinal ideology. The attention-span of teenagers, in particular, is famously inexhaustible. Once they have imbibed prolix essays from the 1920’s, they are then taken to a secret dungeon, and force-fed quinoa until they pledge allegiance to the Communist God Of Fashionable Grains.

Of course, the Labour leader – Mr Corbyn – denies all of this: asking people to take empirical reality into account, instead of subscribing to hearsay; and apply reason, while maintaining a clear sense of proportion. Sounds like something Stalin would say, in my opinion.

What I propose, therefore, is a simple method of testing whether somebody is a Trotskyite Entryist, or not. A sort of show-trial, if you will. First, the accused’s limbs should be bound; before being promptly pitched into the Thames (or the nearest available river, if travel is not an option). If the suspect floats, well, that proves their commitment to social-change by non-democratic means.

If they should sink however; and – to use the overly emotive language favoured by those on the left of the spectrum – drown, well, that demonstrates that they are innocent of all charges; and will be welcome to join the Labour Party, as soon as a proxy – such as a local mortician – fills out the correct paperwork on their behalf. This is just commonsense.

And you can’t apply too much commonsense when it comes to Trotskyites. As many as six currently hold office in the Irish Parliament – and we all know that Ireland has been a communist worker’s republic for many a year, now. According to one well placed source, who managed to escape recently – by taking a week’s vacation in Britain: “Irish cats are now forced to say ‘Mao’ instead of ‘miaow'”.

We all know where that leads:


Thanks to these goings on, respectable people now live in a state of perpetual fear. When I asked a Labour source about this, they replied “what on earth are you talking about? That’s a complete load of nonsense”. Clear evidence that they were being intimidated. You see, it may very well be a complete load of nonsense; but it’s Corbyn’s fault that it’s a complete load of nonsense.

Stay vigilant. You can’t be too careful when faced with the prospect of Reds Under Beds. You really can’t.