State of the Nation

 The Best of British to you on this glorious Summer Solstice.

Time Hath, My Lord, A Wallet At His Back

The Solstice has passed and nobody this year did that triple-death-and-bury-in-the-bog thang that chivvies the gods into restarting the warmth and light, so we're fooked good and proper.

 

We are anyway, gods or no. Imbeciles! Degenerate treasonous poltroons, herds of them! Droves! Must have been something in the fluoridation.

 

A happy New Year to you all and roll on the civil war.

You Wait Six Months For A Solstice And Then One Comes Along At Once

                                                               Sol Invictus

 Is there any person in any position of authority anywhere in this God-forsaken country of ours who isn't a compound of arrogance, corruption, incompetence and treason?

 

Is there a new Cambridge Five, yet to be unmasked, skulking about the Establishment, skilfully dissimulating the integrity and loyalty that lurk in their hearts?

It's That Equinoxey Time of Year

I could get used to posting on the Earth's four corners and I seem to be doing just that.

Why do I have the feeling that the era starting around the Festival of Britain in 1951 and dying with the Onset of Blair in 1997 was the last go round for anything that made life worthwhile?

Almost everybody looks forward to living in a cockroach-infested cesspit rather than aspire to what a civilisation might have to offer.

But there's that goat-footed balloonMan whistling far and wee again and all good things must come to a start.

It's That Solsticey Time Of The Year

 

The sol standing tice-ish as seen from the New Tavern Fort in Gravesend.

It is good for a while to let ones ambitions of some day condemning around three hundred thousand of the inhabitants of these isles to the executioner's yard, and of deporting a couple million more, lapse for a while and admire a decaying 40mm Bofors.

State Opening of Parliament November 2023

 

Ripping Writing

Bond is back!

Bond made it into the Safe Space with instants to spare and wept with relief. The SMERSH triggerman was still outside, shouting "Global Warming is a hoax" and "Brexit happened, get over it"  but now Bond wasn't to be triggered.

.....

"Ah, Mr. Bond, I was expecting you," purred Blofeld, looking over Bond's Sustainably Sourced hemp AntiFa romper suit, "though I wasn't expecting you to have wet yourself."

"bUt YOu sAid sEx Is GeNeTiCalLy dEterMinED", Bond snapped back.

These are clearly not excerpts from the new effort by C. Higson. Clearly, because they are much better written.