Bobby fortyseven
Oct 24, 2014
UPDATED – £48,000 to “You Know Who” | Frank’s demand | Dragging their feet in Brighton Street
Forty eight thousand pounds and we’ve no rights whatsoever to know anything about this transaction! It beggars belief that our so called highly evolved democratic society can do these things and its all entirely legal. Are we any better than some of our European neighbours like Georgia and Ukraine who are widely recognized as being corrupt? We ain’t! Our entire public service model of business is built upon cunning and guile and an attitude of ‘grab what you can’.
You’d have thought after 2008 the new reality of ‘the glory days of spending were over’ they’d have began the change to suit the times. They haven’t have they! Nothing of significance has changed. On and on it goes relentlessly devouring our money. Whether its this issue, a Compromise Agreement or a badly procured and highly suspect piece of IT kit, this bloody beast of burden, the rotten Council, continues to feast upon our flesh like parasitic fleas.
There’s no bloody end to it! Hurt bloody feelings my right nut! I mean, a bloody leg then fair enough! You’d be an odd sort if you didn’t wish them well as they hopped off with the cheque for forty eight thousand. I’d be the first to say,’leave her be, the poor woman has lost her leg.’ But, bloody hurt feelings which is what I understand was the cause of this payment, good bloody God!
What on earth have we created when some blue sky thinking, I love a gimmick and I’m passionate about the journey whilst delivering positive outcomes for our service users, money grabbing Doris can pop forty bloody eight thousand pounds of public money into her rotten purse and its all above board and jolly good management of public services.
It makes you want to spit. My God! That its come to this! To think we were once a nation of protestors. Now, we sit back, open our mouths and swallow whatever it is that’s poured upon our spoon and sit watching innocently as they, the scheming cheating hierarchy of the Council reward oneanother for losing their Office, getting offended or, as is often the case, getting found bloody out, getting investigated and then being cleared of all blame because some suit called Penn says it was all done with the best possible intentions
Bobby Fortyseven
Nov 9, 2014
A tale of two thefts
To think that I feel a little compassion toward Joanna Inch. I do! Wrong as she is, her Modus Operandi was exactly the same as the targets of this well written piece, namely the bloody Council. Cunning, guile, sleight of hand and the money has disappeared in the blink of an eye and whilst Joanna Inch, who Im betting is fiscally knackered because she’s poverty stricken, gets arrested, charged and humiliated before the reading Wirral, the bloody Council can lawfully syphon away over seven bloody hundred thousand grand and it’s all ignored and never examined.
I bloody hate the Council and I hate the bloody legislators who’ve created statutory legal instruments that allow this form of illicit activity. I ought to hate Joanna Inch. I should! But I bloody don’t. She’s as much a victim as the poor soul she nicked fifteen quid from because of the imbalance that now exists between us the givers and them, the ruling hierarchy who are the rotten takers.
We like to think of ourselves as a modern, free and fair society. We ain’t! Far from it. When a tap dancing liar of a Premier can lead us all into an illegal conflict and it gets signed off as all being above board, it’s no wonder that the trickle down affect is that the ruling elite can do and get away with anything because the standards we use to hold the poor accountable are entirely different to those that society applies to the rich, the powerful and the bloody rotten stinking Council.
How I got from Joanna Inch to bloody Blair, I’ve no idea, and frankly I couldn’t care less.
Bobby Fortyseven
Nov 12, 2014
Another #FOI victory over “improved” Wirral Council – which has taken 15 long months
Fifteen bloody months to discover something like the truth. Heavens above, to think that ‘they’ feel this is the right way to go about business.
This wouldnt have ever happened years ago when Councils up and down the Country were ‘infestation’ free of these suits who shift sums of our money here, there and everywhere simply because they can and its all entirely legal. In days gone by the leadership had all walked in our shoes, they had a grasp of the truth that ‘it’s not my money and I shouldn’t spend it on anything that doesn’t provide value to the public’, and they had no need of a bloody degree in Making Love in Sixteen Different Languages and there was no requirement to talk Codswallop in a language that we are unable to understand.
How on earth did it all happen on our watch? Who invited these tics across the threshold, through the door and say, destroy the business model we’ve used for decades, outsource pretty much everything and lead the front line by cascading emails downwards every single day of the rotten week.
And whatsmore, why did our elected Councillors sit back and think it acceptable that ‘they’ could treat us and our public funding with such contempt instead of challenging this illicit activity. Fifteen bloody months to get something like the truth. It’s disgraceful and what’s worse is most people who fund this madness don’t bloody care. They don’t bloody care! Most couldn’t care less. It’s not that they don’t think. They do. They just don’t care to think hard enough about how a society can slide into corruption because of a culture of greed and self entitlement. Empty their bins, fill the odd bloody pothole in, put on the odd public gathering and entertain them, manage the message and tell them all is just fine and dandy and that’s as much as the people care about.
Tell them about Joanna Inch and they’ll howl from the rooftops and curse the fact that fifteen quid was stolen from a vulnerable victim. Let them know about the culture of Gagging Payments and the vast sums of public money used to silence people and they simply don’t care because they can no longer be bloody bothered.
We’re bloody doomed
Return to Bomb Alley 1982 – The Falklands Deception, by Paul Cardin
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