Regarding writing and books, long given up any thoughts of having this long diatribe “published” ..in the old terms..
When I first started writing, maybe thirty years ago, publishers were people who were treated with respect, as with the police, doctors, so many other institutions, most institutions are now a subject of mockery, when the Metropolitan police pay a black man $800 a day to “Teach” them how to behave towards the so called “minorities: then respect starts to cave in.. Respect…. a word which is no longer in the English heritage, as so many others. ………….Bravery, distinctly out.
Only very recently was a farmer jailed for life for shooting and wounding only, a persistent burglar. Insult to injury, this same criminal sits on the board deciding the farmer’s fate……… Alice in wonderland !!
Consideration, initiative, honor, such words no longer politically correct. Within fifty years, the country has changed beyond recognition, the past swept away faster than the rest of history put together, people themselves have changed.. the people today who attempt to recreate the past .. even just so far back as the war, fail, because they have had no experience, no conception of those times and cannot see that men were men then.. not simply pressurized, plastic, obedient numbers, under intense, constant, photographic surveillance, as they now are. …
A remarkable government achievement through planned manipulation and control…by the most insidious means….
Far exceeding anything George Orwell could have stretched his imagination to.
Hardly feel political with the old fervor, evident even to the biggest fool that whatever government, whatever faces are up front ..it will make not the slightest difference to the individual in the street .. Government now means “control “ whatever the implied political bias may be.
Unlike most , I have been in the position to simply sit and watch , at times with some amazement, some incredulity at the gullibility of people, exploited quite blatantly by those who call themselves politicians, I could give such beings another label, endless labels, starting with, egotists driven by greed.
Regardless, the masses still struggle on, still hounded by sex, money, and the propagation of the species, still toil to a dubious end, those that have work.
People still get “married” , not with the same conviction in the West, as in my time, then, a point between birth and death, now it is one occasion to get married , another occasion to get divorced, the female with one eye on the net gain. A domestic industry , if you like. Somewhere in the middle are the “children” .
Sit here now, alone, listen to the barking dogs, the stringent car alarms, sound of tires bouncing on cobblestones, the frequent squeal of brakes and the occasional bang of metal against metal. Hardly have to go down the winding spiral stair case and step outside to see the shouting, gesticulating, harassed, pressurized, population, going so very hurriedly about its business on this Tuesday morning. Not even have to close my eyes, can see it all quite clearly, the brilliant sunlight, high overhead, concrete just starting to warm up after the cool night air. ..Bucharest , in full swing.
The pressure not quite off Peter, even now. Still make my appearances in London, still chained in the unrelenting, hot steel box, but only very briefly, hardly feel capable of prolonged exposure to that any longer.. hardly wish to simply die at the steering wheel as my friends have done. Very recently one died quietly in a traffic jam on the corner of Piccadilly and Stratton Street, another found dead in his cab at the Royal Oak … thought he was asleep. Endless faces who have slipped away silently, unnoticed.. alone.. Empty chairs at the long tables , or strange, young, perhaps eager, new faces, showing their new, shiny badges.
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A self induced, cultural suicide, almost complete.
Sunday 19th October, 1998. Bucuresti.
Certainly I have been back, back to England, had to go, to see if my thoughts were balanced, to see if I was simply over the top, conclusions mostly in my head ..The first day, went down the escalator at Kings Cross underground, at the bottom, a black man, half naked, dreadlocks, bare foot, beating bongo drums and doing some wild dance.. begging.. Jamaican fashion.. As during the war people ignored this subterranean apparition, as the discomforts, tribulations of war.. Asked myself why people are so tolerant ? maybe it is not tolerance, maybe they are simply too tired of fighting the inevitable .
Hoped I could soften my comments, soften them without removing the reality, the shock . The first few days I tried, then forced to revert to my previous position.
The general consensus of the white English in the inner city areas.. all inner city areas.. is that they have to get out, a idea they have gradually become used to, the inevitability of it all. One has no answer as to why the English are so willing to lie down, a politically correct paralysis, be walked over by these hordes of people from other lands, at the insistence of successive governments, especially by Mr. Straw, the now Home Secretary, to such a degree as to force Sir Paul Condon, the chief of the metropolitan police to publicly humiliate himself over his inability to catch the people who killed a black, the controlled press overwhelming saying it could only have been “white thugs”, as if blacks were all angels. Naturally the blacks rising up in their multitudes, still pushing their luck, want, indeed demand, Paul Condon resign, step down, be replaced. Not any imagination required to know what with.
It is the way they have always operated, the imperceptible takeover of the country, inch by insidious inch. Mr Straw, would like to accommodate them, but even he would not play his hand so openly, step so close to the brink..
Prince Charles, caught in a cleft stick, obviously, not quite so silly, so weak, as some people try to make out, may find it prudent, expedient, politic, no doubt easier, to marry a Indian Princess, Camilla quietly put to one side, as his forebear, H8 would have done without the slightest hesitation if it suited his purpose. People accept the now situation, no longer mentioning the fact of having crouched in cold concrete tombs of air raid shelters, quietly waiting the approach, the clamor, the horror, the din of death This ‘home front’ this tenacity, keeping the Germans out, simply ..simply to let the world’s devious disenchanted slip in through the back. Nobody willing to raise this issue any more, on pain of imprisonment, free speech quietly defunct, anyway they are tired of raising it. No one since Enoch Powel, has dared? deigned raise his voice, there is no voice, only a enforced silence now in this wilderness. The weak token defiance, the standard, common defence phrase, when push becomes shove, when confronted by the arrogance.. by the arrogant black levers of power is “If I had a black face “ ..no more, no more allowed in politically correct England. No, it is accepted the fate .. the inevitability, the transition, as death was accepted .
By the year 2020 this country will be unrecognisable ..difficult to find the so trumpeted ‘English way of life’.. “the stiff upper lip”. London, Luton, Nottingham, Leicester Birmingham, all major conurbations, annexed fully by Islam.
All civilizations have come to a end being swamped by barbarism in one form in or another, why should England be so different ? A highly developed, sophisticated society of one thousand years, weakened from within by complacency, apathy, by a indifference towards dignity, a willingness to accept the lowest common denominator, words I knew as a child, pride honor, bravery, almost now a subject for disparagement. Anyone brave enough to defend himself in this country is immediately branded aggressive, incongruously, could find himself in prison.
A self induced, cultural suicide, almost complete. England long lost its power, now its glory fast fading, a natural rhythm. the sink into obscurity, into the past tense, into history, without doubt to rise again , a different breed, a different concept.
To myself, both sad and academic. Sad, having lived long enough to know what England was like, Certainly we were and still are flagrantly oppressed by the rich, by those in power ..the difference being, then we had a cohesion, something to hang on to, a order.. street doors left open… a way of life, now being rapidly eroded, reaching the stage where in certain parts of London and other inner city centers ..to fly the Union Jack is to ask for serious trouble. British Airways has bowed to this, removing the flag from its aircraft for a more ’multicultural symbol of England’…. if you do not mind.
Dieu et mon droit ..” I’ m in the dinghy. pull away jack.”
Think this applies to rather a great number of people. …Out, being the In word…. If the blacks want England , let them have it. I am not upset, not now, not anymore, having found another way. The country has never given me anything other than the opportunity to work from the age of thirteen to sixty nine.. suppose I should be grateful to the establishment for allowing me this honour. Work and very little else.
Never any consideration, kindness shown, other than those first few weeks of the War as a child.. a glorious September in Reading. Have been given more help, more consideration during the comparatively short time lived in Romania than all my years put together.
This insidious invasion of slithering, black, creeping feet.. there has never been any defence against that offered, ………..not one shot fired.
Certainly, a great deal of unrest below decks, the mutterings of discontent, the whispers.. one eye on the eye of the ever watchful cameras .
George Orwell only fourteen years out in his deliberations.. the Police State here, now.
Certainly if I were a young man with a young family, I would send my children to a Muslim school to make it easier for them when the transition does come.
Nero fiddled while Rome burnt.. he had his reasons.
The masses inexorably, watch football, watch Coronation Street, watch, mesmerized, while this rock, this Realm, this earth, this Eden, this Majesty, this seat of Mars, this green and pleasant land, this England, falls, topples, slides, beneath the excrement of the World’s unwanted.
Certainly I have been back, back to England, had to go, to see if my thoughts were balanced, to see if I was simply over the top, conclusions mostly in my head ..The first day, went down the escalator at Kings Cross underground, at the bottom, a black man, half naked, dreadlocks, bare foot, beating bongo drums and doing some wild dance.. begging.. Jamaican fashion.. As during the war people ignored this subterranean apparition, as the discomforts, tribulations of war.. Asked myself why people are so tolerant ? maybe it is not tolerance, maybe they are simply too tired of fighting the inevitable .
Hoped I could soften my comments, soften them without removing the reality, the shock . The first few days I tried, then forced to revert to my previous position.
The general consensus of the white English in the inner city areas.. all inner city areas.. is that they have to get out, a idea they have gradually become used to, the inevitability of it all. One has no answer as to why the English are so willing to lie down, a politically correct paralysis, be walked over by these hordes of people from other lands, at the insistence of successive governments, especially by Mr. Straw, the now Home Secretary, to such a degree as to force Sir Paul Condon, the chief of the metropolitan police to publicly humiliate himself over his inability to catch the people who killed a black, the controlled press overwhelming saying it could only have been “white thugs”, as if blacks were all angels. Naturally the blacks rising up in their multitudes, still pushing their luck, want, indeed demand, Paul Condon resign, step down, be replaced. Not any imagination required to know what with.
It is the way they have always operated, the imperceptible takeover of the country, inch by insidious inch. Mr Straw, would like to accommodate them, but even he would not play his hand so openly, step so close to the brink..
Prince Charles, caught in a cleft stick, obviously, not quite so silly, so weak, as some people try to make out, may find it prudent, expedient, politic, no doubt easier, to marry a Indian Princess, Camilla quietly put to one side, as his forebear, H8 would have done without the slightest hesitation if it suited his purpose. People accept the now situation, no longer mentioning the fact of having crouched in cold concrete tombs of air raid shelters, quietly waiting the approach, the clamor, the horror, the din of death This ‘home front’ this tenacity, keeping the Germans out, simply ..simply to let the world’s devious disenchanted slip in through the back. Nobody willing to raise this issue any more, on pain of imprisonment, free speech quietly defunct, anyway they are tired of raising it. No one since Enoch Powel, has dared? deigned raise his voice, there is no voice, only a enforced silence now in this wilderness. The weak token defiance, the standard, common defence phrase, when push becomes shove, when confronted by the arrogance.. by the arrogant black levers of power is “If I had a black face “ ..no more, no more allowed in politically correct England. No, it is accepted the fate .. the inevitability, the transition, as death was accepted .
By the year 2020 this country will be unrecognisable ..difficult to find the so trumpeted ‘English way of life’.. “the stiff upper lip”. London, Luton, Nottingham, Leicester Birmingham, all major conurbations, annexed fully by Islam.
All civilizations have come to a end being swamped by barbarism in one form in or another, why should England be so different ? A highly developed, sophisticated society of one thousand years, weakened from within by complacency, apathy, by a indifference towards dignity, a willingness to accept the lowest common denominator, words I knew as a child, pride honor, bravery, almost now a subject for disparagement. Anyone brave enough to defend himself in this country is immediately branded aggressive, incongruously, could find himself in prison.
A self induced, cultural suicide, almost complete. England long lost its power, now its glory fast fading, a natural rhythm. the sink into obscurity, into the past tense, into history, without doubt to rise again , a different breed, a different concept.
To myself, both sad and academic. Sad, having lived long enough to know what England was like, Certainly we were and still are flagrantly oppressed by the rich, by those in power ..the difference being, then we had a cohesion, something to hang on to, a order.. street doors left open… a way of life, now being rapidly eroded, reaching the stage where in certain parts of London and other inner city centers ..to fly the Union Jack is to ask for serious trouble. British Airways has bowed to this, removing the flag from its aircraft for a more ’multicultural symbol of England’…. if you do not mind.
Dieu et mon droit ..” I’ m in the dinghy. pull away jack.”
Think this applies to rather a great number of people. …Out, being the In word…. If the blacks want England , let them have it. I am not upset, not now, not anymore, having found another way. The country has never given me anything other than the opportunity to work from the age of thirteen to sixty nine.. suppose I should be grateful to the establishment for allowing me this honour. Work and very little else.
Never any consideration, kindness shown, other than those first few weeks of the War as a child.. a glorious September in Reading. Have been given more help, more consideration during the comparatively short time lived in Romania than all my years put together.
This insidious invasion of slithering, black, creeping feet.. there has never been any defence against that offered, ………..not one shot fired.
Certainly, a great deal of unrest below decks, the mutterings of discontent, the whispers.. one eye on the eye of the ever watchful cameras .
George Orwell only fourteen years out in his deliberations.. the Police State here, now.
Certainly if I were a young man with a young family, I would send my children to a Muslim school to make it easier for them when the transition does come.
Nero fiddled while Rome burnt.. he had his reasons.
The masses inexorably, watch football, watch Coronation Street, watch, mesmerized, while this rock, this Realm, this earth, this Eden, this Majesty, this seat of Mars, this green and pleasant land, this England, falls, topples, slides, beneath the excrement of the World’s unwanted.
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