Devil’s work?

Let’s take a look at some FACTS about the employment status of some convicted killers, which may be inconvenient for the government’s current position…

Dennis Nilson: WORKING (civil servant)
Peter Sutcliffe: WORKING (truck driver)
Fred West: WORKING (builder)
Ian Huntley: WORKING (school caretaker)
Harold Shipman: WORKING (doctor)
Beverley Allitt: WORKING (nurse)

Mick Philpott, however, is a twisted narcissistic freak.  The fact that he was also one of the tiny minority of people who play the benefit system to their own end is irrelevant.  Many MPs were found to be doing that not so long ago, including those currently throwing the biggest stones from their glass houses.  Remember also that Philpott was working – in the Army – when he was convicted for a knife attack on his girlfriend and her mother.

Christopher Foster was a self-employed businessman when he killed his wife and daughter in 2009; was he “a vile product of capitalism”?  A person’s employment status has nothing do with their propensity to commit evil acts, and it is a grave insult to millions of good honest people who happen to be in receipt of state benefits – that they have earned and contributed towards – to seek to suggest otherwise.

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Of taxes & taxis…

On the day the top income tax rate drops to 45%, giving thousands of millionaires a £100,000 windfall funded partly by the Bedroom Tax and by cutting maternity pay, it’s reassuring to note from this recent article that the Establishment’s broadsheet has its finger on the pulse of the real challenges facing the people of Britain…

The pity of it is that woolly-headed Citizen Dave and his downgraded Chancellor (and the other nonentities with which they insulate themselves from the real world) have no clue how to do the same for the economy.


On a much brighter note, today is my son’s birthday. Happy 17th, dude. I’ve hidden the car keys…

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Hitting things, and loud noises…

I’ve always enjoyed messing about with old motors; often by choice, sometimes because an old smoker is all I’ve been able to afford at the time.  The agreement with Domestic Management has always been that she gets the decent (ie. reliable) car.


I make no claim to any particular mechanical competence; indeed, I am living proof that a little knowledge can be a dangerous thing.  You need only ask my friend & saviour Laurence Broadhurst (pictured below doing something magical to the engine of my long-term project Citroen Dyane)


who has quite rightly seen the need on several occasions to relieve me of complicated power tools, if only to avoid further damage to me, himself, others, or indeed the vehicle being ‘repaired’.


My ‘daily drivers’ have – with a couple of mainly Swedish exceptions, of one of which more later – generally been Citroens of various ages, complication and levels of inexplicable crankiness.  The Dyane above has been with me since 1990 but has spent half of that time tucked away in the garage, its annual mileage oscillating between 17000 and zero.  It’s a keeper, evidently.  


The current hack is a turbodiesel Berlingo, a ‘van with windows’ bought – with uncharacteristic rationality – to accommodate the instrument toting needs of my percussionist son once the lovely hydropneumatic XM (aka “Starship Enterprise”) that preceded it had been found sadly wanting as drum transport.


The ‘Swedish exception’ referred to above was a 1975 Saab 96, #148 of 300 ‘Silver Jubilee’ special editions built to mark 25 years of Saab car manufacturing.  Sadly, as we now know, Trollhattan would only just make the 50-year mark before being sold by GM and subsequently going out of business.  So, when I found this – – it made me grin.  A lot.



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I was born in a NHS hospital, inoculated against avoidable disease by the NHS, supported by Child Benefit, educated by the Welfare State to degree level, cared for when necessary by the NHS. I have spent most of my working life in the public sector, in an effort to “put something back”. The same is true of my sister – a midwife for the NHS – and many friends.

My parents receive a pension and so are still supported by the Welfare State; my son is being educated well in a state school, and would not be alive for me to be incredibly proud of him but for the NHS. 

We paid into the Welfare State willingly, to support each other, knowing it would there as a safety net. How can it now be that no-one seems to want to stand up and say they are PROUD TO BE A PRODUCT OF THE WELFARE STATE. 

Doctors, nurses, teachers, police, scientists – all of us are products of our wonderful welfare state…. Where is our pride?

Where is our will to fight?!

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