Wirral In It Together

bobby47

Jul 18, 2016

BREAKING NEWS – #Brickgate – Angela Eagle’s Office Window was NOT broken…

Clearly matters have developed and the public need answers to the whole thing. I’d like Angela to do the right thing, put this whole tragic affair to bed and put right all that’s gone wrong.
For my part I do not demand an explanation as to what went wrong. Quite frankly it’s done, it’s dusted and the whole tragic tale of woe is now disappearing fast in my rear view mirror. It’s of no concern to me.
However, I do think it important that Angela should now, for the purposes of political credibility and a keen sense of duty to public service, have a broken window and so, I say to Angela, gather the media together in your backyard or front lawn, tell them, ‘start filming lads’ and then throw a brick through her own window causing the glass to shatter.
That’s right! I’m suggesting that Angela should bust her own window as a form of pennants for allowing the great British public to believe that some twat, driven by political anger or shear disgust for her speech where she rightfully calmed, ‘I am a woman’, should actually smash up her own glazed window or window’s, several would be good, and make good all that’s gone wrong.
Course, some commentators will feel differently to me and be demanding more than a few bust window’s but, being a reasonable man I believe that if Angela went about this properly and smashed every single upstairs or downstairs window, it’d send out a clear message covering three key points. Firstly, Angela is a woman, secondly she’s got no problem smashing up her own property and thirdly and lastly she desperate enough to do anything to win our vote and destroy a good and kind man Jeremy Corbyn

bobby47

Aug 8, 2016

Angela Eagle’s 17 whistleblowers – The Eagle 17 – Are they for REAL?

Isn’t it strange how an embattled and cornered fallen political figure, who of course is driven by a noble cause and an unquenchable passion to serve others rather than themselves and their own personal vanity, can pull a much respected and good, kind and well meaning label like The Whistleblower out of the air, shape, mould and fit it to their own political damage limitation exercise and use the term Whistleblower to its fullest possible potential in order to sell the idea that the sinner is actually the victim?
And, what’s more, just to make sure that everyone can fully grasp just how big a victim this political figure is, a frighteningly high and extremely hard to ignore number of seventeen is thrown into the recipe that’ll probably convince most who’ve had a full frontal lobotomy that seventeen whistleblowers can’t be all wrong.
I mean, which figure is the most convincing? One or two? I know which one I’d choose if I was in desperate need of help and future credibility. The higher the better as far as I’m concerned. In fact, thinking about it some more, perhaps Angela should have gone for a number higher than seventeen. If I read two identical tales of woe, designed and intended to convince me one way or the other, I’d have gone with the largest number. It’s plain and simple. Seventeen is a lot better and more convincing than a lesser and lower number, whereas, a number higher than seventeen, say, thirty six for example, is more convincing than twenty one or even thirty five.
Course, if you take this logic to its natural conclusion and take notice of those that are your political advisors who’s job it is to salvage your reputation after the stabbing of Jeremy, you could end up with thousands of Whistleblowers who you could reasonable describe as a huge crowd of dubious witnesses who’ve probably been paid for and easily be described as very unreliable witnesses with a questionable hidden agenda.
Given that I’ve got to know, admire and become friendly with a few Whistleblowers, I ain’t so sure they’d be happy to have their hard won and often painful label of Whistleblower pinned to the chest of anybody who just happened to have a personal or political loyalty to the original sinner who now is orchestrating the last chapter of their political memoir titled, ‘I shouldn’t have stabbed Jeremy’

Bobby47

Aug 18, 2016

Windows for Dummies – August 2016

The surprising thing to me is that the culprit, the offender and the thrower of this brick has not given himself or herself up. I would have. I’d have caved in before now.
When the Police announce, ‘we will catch this menace’, it’s a good time to reflect, come out of hiding, introduce yourself to the Constable and say, ‘you’ll get me in the end. It’s pointless hiding any longer. It was me’.
More often than not the Police will hint at the slim prospect of catching this evil bastard that’s caused Angela so much pain, fear, angst and political misery, but not this time. They’ve said, ‘we will catch him’ thus removing any doubt of the final outcome and so, if this thrower of a brick is holed up in some attic, secreted in some far away Hebridean hedge, I’d tell him, or her, both sexes are equally capable of hiding, ‘give yourself up and stop wasting your life hiding away from the inevitable outcome’.
What’s more, I’d tell him, or her, both sexes are equally capable of hurting Angela’s political aspirations, ‘they’ll catch you. It may take years, even decades, but one day, possibly before you die, you will be arrested and held to account for your irresponsible actions.’

Bobby47

Sep 3, 2016

UPDATE ~ Former Wirral Councillor Jim Crabtree – up in court today

Course, whilst I know nothing about this particular prosecution, mostly because the CPS were very quick to refuse my request to have five minutes on me own in one of their little rooms taking a quick butchers at their file of evidence and being allowed to photocopy any interesting stuff, I do know that this sort of thing needs to get nipped in the bud and a clear and unambiguous message is sent out to all Councillors that they can’t communicate with us in an offensive way, and so, on behalf of the dispossessed, the possessed and the demented gamblers, I support this action.
I mean, like all forms of human behaviour, animal behaviour and that of Councillors and the Council hierarchy, they can become emboldened and start posting really bad stuff that can be very upsetting if their behaviour goes unchecked.
That’s right! Today they can send you a message that reads, ‘piss off you boring bastard. I hope a ten ton concrete mixer flattens you when you next leave your local Ale House’. Tomorrow, you can be sat at home, minding your own business,diligently recycling your bloody rubbish when you open a letter that contains an image of your local Councillor or the Council Chief Executive who’s naked, sat on a sofa,clearly in a high state of sexual arousal clutching a glass phial that contains a generous quantity of their recently harvested semen and a scrawled message that reads, ‘we’ve decided to exclude you from any future rubbish collections. Your bins have been confiscated you fat baldy twat’.
Thinking about it some more, I’d say to everyone out there who’s become alarmed and frightened and values having their rubbish taken away in a big plastic bin and over time they’ve become gradually tolerant to being the recipient of dreadfully upsetting communications, don’t put up with Councillors or Council Officers sending you this stuff. Report it to the Police and demand some justice and some habeus corpus.

Return to Bomb Alley 1982 – The Falklands Deception, by Paul Cardin

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Bobby47

Jan 28, 2016

What’s wrong with Wirral Council Street Lighting?

So Cardin, the Chief Executive has chosen to ignore you again! Clearly, given the way this fella constructs a thought, an ’emerging thought’, his reaction would probably have been, ‘Cardin can get stuffed. Never! I’ll never have an emerging thought that compels me to answer him.’
Mind, he’s probably praying nightly to his God that you’ll stop bothering him which of course you won’t.
If I were in his shoes, I’d grasp the stinging nettle, have an emerging thought that directed me to display a little courage, strike up an uneasy but very polite relationship and answer your correspondence.
Mind, what you and I would do and what he’d do are of course very different things. Take care lad. My very warmest regards to you and yours. Rob.

bobby47

Jul 9, 2016

Tory Election Expenses – Electoral Commission Witness Statement

Off topic I know, but the more I read, the more I learn and the closer I edge toward my headstone that’ll read, ‘I’m fucking dead because my arteries became clogged up’, I’ve reconciled myself to one single and obvious truth. For us, the working class little people, the ones who, every five years get the chance to trudge into the Polling Booth and vote for the least ugly of the candidates, there is now no longer any future in social democracy. Since the emergence of the liar Blair and his Far Away Eyes and the impact New Labour has had on every single political figure of all political persuassions that follows his doctrine and ideology that is, ‘tell them anything you think they want to hear just to get into Government,’ I’ve concluded that right now, here, now and today, for the benefit of everything that’s good and holy, we need, only for a short period of time a dictator.
Yes! A Dictator. Not your nasty narcissistic, psychopathic headbanger who thirsts to bring havoc to the world. There are other dictatorial headbangers out there who genuinely want to dictate but do not wish to cause any of us harm. I’m advocating the latter. A complete headbanger of a dictator who’ll come to power, get rid of all the slime, the sludge and all the other stinking rancid grime that one associates with the political elite, all bloody Councils and all those who’ve signed up to the ethos of Common Purpose, clean the slate and begin again.
Year bloody Zero! That’s what we need. We need a new beginning. A new period of enlightenment where it’s possible not to have our ears that God equipped us to hear with, to be bombarded with mindless and pointless words like passionate, vision, outcomes, Partnerships, transformation, lessons have been learned, bloody journey and all the rest of the pointless and mindless pigswill that rolls down the conveyor belt to get emptied upon our heads every bloody day the gravy train continues to roll out carrying the rich, the privledged and the celebrated toward the land of milk and honey.
I say, fuck them! Let’s find ourselves a kindhearted, good and decent narcissistic, mentally unstable dictatorial headbanger of a twat who, by nature and a good upbringing is desperate to do good things for the people of the United Kingdom PLC.
Then, after a period of time, after the successful and fully completed political, social and economic transformation has been brought about by the presence of our benevolent head banging despotic dictator and we’re brought back to square one, where good people like Jeremy Corbyn are not bullied, belittled and attacked by a howling mob of backstabbing oily political chancers, we tap on the fools door and say, ‘times up you mad bastard. Fuck off. Don’t come back. Thank you very much for everything you’ve done.

bobby47

Jul 14, 2016

Private Eye reminds us of Angela Eagle’s highly dubious origins

Well it wasn’t me who smashed her window and I’ll be damned if I go out of my way again to say it wasn’t me. Quite simply, I didn’t do it and no amount of cunning and guile that the Constable might employ to find the culprit or decide to pin it all on me because I’m an easy target, will get me to roll over, throw me hands up and say I did it.
I bloody didn’t do it. I was miles away at the time. Not that I know the time when the throwing took place and it wasn’t me who lumped that house brick through Angela’s window. Not that I know it was a house brick. I don’t. It could have been anything that was large enough and strong enough to shatter its glass and just because I’ve mentioned house brick, and it subsequently turns out that it was in fact a house brick that did the smashing, it doesn’t necessarily mean that I did it, albeit, the more I comment and the deeper I dig I do appreciate that folks out there might conclude, ‘this bastard bust the window’.
Frankly, other than trying to defend myself and stop my good name being dragged through the Wallesey mud, with hindsight, it’s probably been a waste of my time trying to distance myself from the whole thing that’s resulted in this pane of shattered glass because. Thinking more about it and considering all the circumstances, I wish I’d not bloody bothered to visit and post this on Cardin’s blog

bobby47

Jul 15, 2016

Private Eye reminds us of Angela Eagle’s highly dubious origins

Thank you Paul. I do appreciate your kind and encouraging supportive words. I am also encouraged and heartened by the recent response from the local Constabulary who’ve studied this case and its modus operandi and concluded, ‘this is the work of a criminal’ which hopefully excludes me from their list of suspects.
Police work is a fascinating science Paul. To you and I, we see a shattered pane of glass, but to the Police, they see and note fascinating small details that they use to build up a profile of the one who hurled the brick smashing Angela’s window.
The local Police Commander charged with finding the culprit told me in an unguarded moment that the offender definitely had either one or two legs. Apparently, when they visited the scene after Angela phoned in and said, ‘some twat has bust me bloody window’, they noted that the culprit wasn’t there, giving them their first solid clue that had the offender got no legs he’d have been present at the scene. Whereas, because the culprit wasn’t sat there waiting for the Police, the culprit must have had at least one leg or possibly two to enable them to walk, run or even hop away.
As we speak Paul, the Police are adding and building to their criminal profile that gives the local Commander the confidence to say, ‘we are behind him. Sadly, at the moment many miles or even years behind him but, with the help of our Partner Agencies we are determined to stop the rest of Angela’s Windows getting smashed by this criminal who has either one or two legs’

Return to Bomb Alley 1982 – The Falklands Deception, by Paul Cardin

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Bobby 47

Oct 6, 2015

What A Wanker, No Poverty In The UK Claims Alan Fucking Sugar

That it’s come to this! The author of this ‘piece’, the remarkably gifted Cardin, who’s literary works have relied upon a high intelligence quotient and an impressive command of the English vocabulary, has now sunk into the uncharted depths of our civil gutter and described Lord Sugar as a ‘Cumstain’! Sweet loving Jesus! Is there no end to these distortions of our great written language.
Yes! To suggest Lord Sugar masturbates is, as far as I’m concerned a measured, balanced and very reasonable comment to make. Let’s face it, for the most part, whilst opinion can be divided, most men and woman, both sexes are equally capable of pleasuring themselves in the privacy of their locked bathroom, it’s not unreasonable to imply that Lord Alan masturbates. Who doesn’t? I’m all for defending any man or woman, both sexes are equally capable of the ‘sneaky touching of their private parts’ in order to achieve personal sexual gratification, who clams that Lord Sugar has been masturbating but to then go onto describing the aforementioned Lord Sugar as a ‘cumstain’ is a step to far if anything I utter is worth a jot of notice.
I’ll tell you all now, if I were Lord Sugar and for some strange reason I found myself reading that I was described as a ‘cumstain’, I’d be very angry and upset. Who wouldn’t be? You’d be an odd sort of fish if you were happy to be referred to as a stain following an ejaculation of semen.
I’ve been called many names in my time but never has my presence on this good Earth ever been likened to a stain brought about by a deposit of semen. And so, given my forthright objection to this very negative descriptive word that describes Lord Sugar as a ‘cumstain’, I’m telling Cardin now if the Constable ever taps on my door asking me what my views are on Lord Sugar, I’m going to say exactly what I think, which is, Lord Sugar is probably a wanker, though I’ve no certainly it’s true, who’s got little or no knowledge of poverty levels in our once great Country but he is most definitely not anything like a stain caused by a rapid deposit of manly semen accompanied by a howl of delight, ‘You’re Fired,’ after Lord Sugar has finished rubbing his penis

Wirral In It Together

Oct 6, 2015

What A Wanker, No Poverty In The UK Claims Alan Fucking Sugar

In reply to: That it’s come to this! The author of this ‘piece’, the remarkably gifted Cardin, who’s literary works have relied upon a high intelligence quotient and an impressive command of the English vocabulary, has now sunk into the uncharted depths of our civil gutter and described Lord Sugar as a …

Not guilty Bob. I’m innocent, I tell ya. Hahaha 😆

Bobby 47

Nov 5, 2015

Halloween Special : Haunted

God above! I had no idea. They both look so dreadfully poorly. How on earth did Wirral Leaks manage to get these two telling images that do a great deal to demonstrate what happens to your face following demonic possession. Hats off to The Leaks I say. You don’t capture photographic images like these without patience and a fair measure of good fortune.
Poor bastards I say! Course, there’s no telling who’s possessed by what. You simply can’t say. Some fool with limited knowledge might take a stab at the answer and name the demon that’s contorted the face of Councillor Davies, but it’d be a guess and nothing but a guess.
My view is it’ll be both the Incubus and the Succubus. Not together mind. These two demonic spirits only ever take a host body separately. By the looks of Frank, I’d say it’s the Incubus but it’d be a guess based only on my past involvement with the Ouija Board when I summoned up the spirit of my late wife in an effort to discover where the rotten old bag had hidden me porn collection.
Mind, Councillor Davies looks equally bewildered doesn’t he. Just look at his teeth. That’s the work of the Succubus. I’m sure of it. You don’t get teeth like that if you’ve encounter the Incubus. It’ll be the Succubus. I’m certain of it. This dreadful demonic spirit is noted for attacking and buggering up the dental structure of the upper and lower jaws, hence the ‘suck’ part of its terrible name. Mind, quite why it’s fixated upon buggering up the teeth is beyond me.
No! All in all you’ve gotta take your hat off to The Leaks who once again have produced a remarkable piece of investigative reporting highlighting the dark forces that haunt Wirral BC.

Bobby 47

Nov 25, 2015

My old work location. Yes, it’s actually true this !!

It’s some legacy Cardin and one you should be proud of. To think, that after you and because of you, they’re feeling compelled to be a little kinder to the inhabitants, that’s no small achievement and one you should feel very proud of.
Course, Bats and Newts and any other manner of creature that walks, crawls, takes flight and swims around this grand old building won’t ever know that their safe habitat is down to a prickly menace of a scrapper of a man who’s refusal to turn the other way and say bugger all has resulted in a swarm of public servants regretting the day they ever chose to mistreat the weak and the vulnerable and take their money.
Mind, it’s only you and I that think this and you’d be a fool and an odd sort of fish if you started wearing matching shoes believing in this here testimonial and evolving into a Big Time Charlie telling all that’d listen, ‘I’ve saved the lives of Bats and Newts me’.
I mean, if you ever drifted into my local Ale House and announced yourself as the man who’d saved a bunch of Bats and Newts you’d be met by the lads in my round who’d probably attack you for interrupting our nightly discussion on ‘women we’d like to kiss’.
Clap it up fella. Enjoy your moment. This is as good as it gets Cardin.

Wirral In It Together

Nov 28, 2015

My old work location. Yes, it’s actually true this !!

Bobby, am fibbyin’ if I said I ever toad the line,
Leap-frog-ging into Backford Hall, was so divine,
Newts to me are everything,
In the sweetest pond that I could swim, so scaley,
And caecilians were breaking my heart,
And snaking my confidence daily,
It’s a tad-pol-itical, but my face like yours is fat,
And I’m eft if I can spawn a better pun than that.

Return to Bomb Alley 1982 – The Falklands Deception, by Paul Cardin

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Bobby 47

Jun 3, 2015

We were accused of trolling by Patrick Torsney’s legal site SaveUKjustice

Yes, an excellent piece of work from Paul. Isn’t it an odd society that’s been created? Endless tiers of responsibility are set up and presented to us all so that the weak and the vulnerable can be protected and protocols are put in place to safeguard these much cherished noble ideals and when you simply pop the question, ‘why has this been done and why aren’t you doing anything about it’, you immediately get shoved in the out tray, the too difficult basket and get quickly branded a Troll or worse, a vexcacious individual. Call me a fool with a keyboard but it is an extremely odd way to behave. What’s so very wrong in responding, ‘I honestly didn’t know, if what you say is right then something has gone badly wrong and if you’ll be patient with me I’ll have a look into this and get bloody back to you’.
Course, it doesn’t bloody happen does it! Every single one of them dives for cover, covers their ears muttering, ‘I didn’t hear that’ and round and bloody round we go, constantly trying to dress up our language in the hope that just one if them will have a nibble, take an interest and bloody do something about it.
Obsessed with themselves, desperately steering clear of anything resembling a steaming cow pat, they duck dive, call you names and paint a picture that it’s you who’s the problem rather than the original rotten sin that got you going in the first bloody place.
It’s truly desperately depressing that ‘they’ have evolved in this strange way where reputation management is placed far and above anything else. God help us. We’re bloody doomed!

Bobby 47

Jul 2, 2015

Council leader sells off strategic green space, claims he’s rescued it for us …but what happened next?

What is it about ‘us’, the people, the ones who ultimately fund and fuel this slavish obedience to ‘big commercial business’ that allows ‘them’ to do these things to us without any obvious sanctions aimed in their direction when and after bad arrangements are made and are clearly not in the interests of people, but very obviously in the interests of the asset strippers and the developers. Why does it happen. Why can it happen?
You’d think, after what ‘they’ did to us and our Country post 2008, something may have changed that made ‘us’ conclude, ‘No. Not in our name. We ain’t doing that’. Sadly, the opposite appears to be the case. The sheer scale of the asset stripping and the willing compliance by bloody those we voted to protect us appears to have actually increased. And worse, nowadays, once they’ve chosen the path and route on which they and only they wish to travel, they completely ignore us, and do whatever it is they’ve been directed to do by those that will benefit financially from the outcome of the aforementioned asset stripping.
It surely can’t be just them, these oily money grabbing bastards that hold sway over all of us! There has to be something that’s directly linked to ‘us’ that allows this social destruction for commercial gain to take place. God only bloody knows what it is about ‘us’ that’s at fault here, but there must be something that tells Councillor Davies and his colleagues that ‘this lot are as dull as ditch water. Fuck Um. Let’s just do it and damn the consequences’!
I mean, they take an area, a lovely green space place that generations of people have enjoyed, sell it or lease it for two hundred and fifty years to some ‘suit’ who’ll never walk the streets of your home, allow it to be flattened and sanction the trees to be felled and then you tell them, ‘we’ve done you all a huge bloody favour. We’ve saved you millions and created you a few hundred low paid, zero hour contract jobs that’ll allow your kids to serve me a helping of chips, a bloody bread roll and a rotten bloody burger that’ll sustain you through the agony and ordeal of all the other shit that’s languishing in the pipeline and will be tipped over your bloody heads once you’ve all calmed down and recovered from the fond memories you once held for that silly little green space.’
That’s pretty much it. That’s all it is. Nothing else! Bloody greed and an overwhelming need and desire by Council Officers and Council elected leaders to do whatever is required to serve this fiscal monument to human stupidity that sees them get bloody richer and the people getting bloody poorer, without, may I bloody add, the golden opportunity to sit beneath a tree and enjoy a picnic meal with the family.
It’s truly desperate. Thoroughly depressing and there seems little we can do to halt the slide

Bobby 47

Jul 10, 2015

Brook appear to be lying low re: Mike Fowler / foul abuse

Well, that’s it isn’t it. The end result is now inevitable for Mike Fowler. I mean, let’s face it, there’s only one winner and one outcome because Cardin ain’t going to let go. Once he bites, the jaws lock and the recipient either drags himself and Cardin around endlessly and without any respite, or Mike acquires a fifty thousand pound bomb, lugs it up the Wirral and drops it upon Cardin’s head.
Course, that’s excluding the real chance that Mike will be stopped by the Constable and asked, ‘why are you in possession of a fifty thousand pound bomb’. It’s a knotty conundrum for this charity worker who now has his mind set on dealing with The Syphilis and The Gonnarhea, both equally dreadful diseases that I’d rather not be introduced to and infected with thank you very much.
Thinking about it, and I don’t see why I shouldn’t, isn’t it a noble thing to do. Leave Wirral Council with a great big wedge of public money after wrongdoing had been exposed and then giving your services, your life and future aspirations over to the pursuit of fighting the Syphilis and other Sexually Transmitted Diseases that blight the lives of many.
It’s not unlike the old medieval times when, after being shamed, they’d all fly off to a Monastery and devote their time to getting buggered on the hour and every hour by the highly sexed and promiscuous Abbot and praying to God. I think this move to the Charity sector is his way of atoning for the misappropriation of all that money from all those people who were so easily ripped off.
No! There’s no happy ending here. Not for Mike. Quite frankly I wouldn’t even bother with the fifty thousand pound bomb. Great bulky things that present so many logistic problems. How to acquire it for a starters? There’s few available on the open market. How to get it hoisted high enough above Cardin and then have enough skill and ability to get him to stand still beneath it enabling you to drop it on his head and end the misery. Difficult isn’t it!
You see! Nothing is straightforward and easily resolved for Mike. In fact, thinking about it, and Mike wants to explore this whole ‘getting rid of Cardin’ thingy, then I’m more than happy to meet him and painstakingly discuss all his available options but I’ll tell him straight now, every single suggestion that I put forward will involve the chance, and it’s a big one, that if Mike is found out by the Constable, he’ll certainly be required to serve a lengthy custodial sentence.
It’s up to Mike. I’m here if he wants me.

Return to Bomb Alley 1982 – The Falklands Deception, by Paul Cardin

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Bobby 47

Apr 29, 2015

What happened when I Googled “Council CEO passionate”? I got a horror show…

I bloody hate them! There’s a high flying public service fella down here, down the A49 in Hereford, where if someone shouts out ‘daddy’ everyone turns round, who’s out passioned bloody Eric. I forget this fools name and frankly it’s not giving me a moments concern, who has said, ‘I’ve an unquenchable desire and passion to deliver a positive outcome to our service users’.
The bastard! The utter bastard. I’d like to meet this fool and stab him in the eye with a soft leaded pencil. My God, as if ‘ desire and passion to deliver a positive outcome to our service users’ wasn’t bloody enough. This passionate bastard of a bottom feeding, parasitical tic has to outshine the others and give me the rotten word ‘unquenchable’.
‘Unquenchable’! Sweet loving Jesus. My God. Just how far have you got to stoop before someone halts this bloody slide toward utter stupidity and embraces the idea that ‘talking rubbish’ was something that needed to be immediately punished. If, for some miraculous reason I could be gifted super human powers I’d become ‘ talking shit man’. Yes, Talking Shit Man!.
I’d be at home, minding me own bloody business, probably recycling me bloody rubbish or masturbating again to the execution of Saddam Hussein on Youtube when my super human ears picked up a signal from within the Council buildings that clearly indicated that some ‘passionate bastard’ had either uttered some shit or was about to transmit some rancid undiluted bollocks of a phrase that qualified me to mutter, ‘Hi up, that’s a load of shit.’ Then, off I’d bloody fly at a remarkable speed wearing some bloody bright coloured jersey with the letters T.S.M adorned upon its front.
I’d fly through the window toward the unquestionable source of the shit and I’d say, ‘you know who I am don’t you’, and he’d say, ‘of course, you are Talking Shit Man, you’ve identified me as someone who’s guilty of talking shift and you are here to punish me’.
And I would! I’d drop a ten ton boulder on his head and tell him, ‘ if you can summon up an unquenchable passionate desire to release your flattened body from this ten ton bloody boulder, and it’s humanly possible for you to continue communicating your thoughts either verbally or via electronic transmission do not, under and known circumstances give me anymore shit.’
And then, off I’d fly, back to my hovel of a home where I’d get out of my costume and continue minding me own bloody business hoping and praying that this ridiculous language and method of communicating a simple thought would cease and be no more!

Bobby 47

May 1, 2015

Who’s blocking us on Twitter?

Thirteen! Thirteen Twitter account holders have blocked Cardin. That’s some achievement for a humble blogger from the Wirral. You don’t get thirteen account holders blocking you if they like you and are keen to read what you’ve got to say. Moreoften than not, they quickly conclude, ‘this fella is a threat to me and my peace of mind and so, from hereon, I’ll be damned if I have to put up with him and his bloody questions’.
Course, there’s a few upon this list that are understandably keen to see the backend of the source of their itch. Esther McVey, Mayor Anderson and Eric, to name just three. But, the rest. Why have they decided to rid themselves of Cardin?
My guess is they’ve quite rightly concluded, having read Wirral In It Together, that like the tide, there’s nothing you can do to stop this lad ploughing on and pushing this huge boulder up the bloody hill. In short, Cardin is relentless and my only surprise to this disclosure by Paul is that there are only thirteen.
Cardin won’t stop. He’ll never stop. Ever! There’s more chance of Elizabeth Hurley banging on my bakery door, grabbing my attention as I knead my fifteenth thousand lump of dough and squealing, ‘dust the flower from your hands, hang up your apron and let’s grab a room at the local Holiday Inn and spend the afternoon making love while I feed you fat face with a platter of Clams freshly harvested off of New Brighton Beach this very morning’.
Mind, I’ll say this so that it’s absolutely clear. When Cardin uses the term and common expression ‘us’ that clearly implies he’s not alone and we’re all in it together should the wheel fall off and he’s dragged before the local Magistrate to be labelled ‘ a vexcacious menace’ for the fourth time he’ll quickly realise I’m right behind him.
Yes! Right behind him. Ninety miles behind him in fact and by phone

Bobby 47

May 10, 2015

Who’s blocking us on Twitter?

And now Cardin, this little cutie is your Honourable Member of Parliament which, given the reality that you are still out there relentlessly shovelling out the mountain of inconvenient truths that her local Labour Council Administration have been either secreting or ignoring, makes for her, ‘Little Miss Wannabee’ a most uncomfortable time.
Course, when the bubble bursts, and it will and ‘they’ are held to account for misappropriating the funds of people with disability, you can be sure of one thing. She’ll be first at the front howling, ‘if only I’d bloody known’. Then, of course, she’ll seek out Martin Moreton, embrace him and call for a fair measure of openness and transparency and a modicum of respect for those who chose to blow the whistle on past wrongdoing. Then, armed with her photo opportunity with MM, it’ll be down to the Wirral Globe, onto the front page and she’ll deliver some pointless drivel of a sound bite that implies she’s passionate about protecting the rights of the weak and the vulnerable, ignoring the real reason why she sought High Office which was to walk with the great and the good, get famous and with a little luck and good fortune make enough money exploiting all the contacts that were made whilst ‘serving’ the people of the Wirral

Bobby 47

May 15, 2015

Direct Telephone Numbers for Heads of Service at Wirral Council

‘We are not allowed to disclose their phone numbers’! And this one very simple example illustrates perfectly the thinking of bloody them toward us. They don’t want to talk to us and they don’t want their time being taken up fielding any contact with the general public who might want to discuss something that’s of importance to them.
Detached, arrogant and full of their own self importance they’ve completely lost sight of why they are there sat in their seats overseeing the fruits of our labours and the huge wad of money that we provide to fund this dysfunctional arrangement.
If they were so bloody passionate and driven by their unquenchable yearning to be passionate in their service toward us, you’d think that they’d grab hold of every single bloody opportunity to have a natter with the ratepayers on the rotten bloody phone and instruct the switchboard, ‘if the public want to talk to me, give them my telephone number so that I can talk passionately about how thrilled I am to be given the golden opportunity to talk directly to them.’
An FOI to get this information! Good bloody grief and they wonder why so many people have taken to their keyboards demanding to know things because on a previous occasion they’ve politely phoned or written a letter only to be told, ‘you are not entitled to know that’.
It’s truly a desperately depressing state of affairs when you can’t get a bloody phone number and speak to some red rosy cheeked connoisseur of fine red wine who’s become fat and bloated after being gifted a job title that one can barely understand and who thinks ‘I don’t want to talk to the public’.

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Bon appétit, so to speak

TESSA LENA

APR 17

https://open.substack.com/pub/tessa/p/toxo-contamination-of-ze-bugs?utm_source=share&utm_medium=android&r=b9xiw

https://off-guardian.org/2024/04/16/the-palestine-congress/

Bobby 47

Jan 29, 2015

Leon Brittan, Special Branch and the creation of a surveillance state

It seems to me that we are a great nation when it comes to fighting for freedom but considerably less successful at living it.
Some fool with a deranged ideology blows himself and others up and the bloody politicians are out in force howling, ‘they’ll never beat us’, and then we get a raft of new legislation that chips more away of these freedoms our ancestors fought so hard to keep safe.
The bloody chances of me bumping into some headbanger who’s desperately keen to slice off my head are so remote it’s not worth even considering and yet, the legislation and technical intrusion into all our lives increases every single day Sky rotten News tell us all to be afraid.
I’m not bloody afraid of ISIS. I’m afraid of British Governments. If bloody ISIS ever crept up my path, tapped upon my door and said, ‘convert to Islam fatso are we are going to hack your ravaged body to bits,’ I’ll say, ‘hand me your compass and pass me that there prayer mat’.
It’s all bloody rubbish and I’ll be damned if I allow anybody to make me afraid.
And as for the terrible revelations that scores of children were abused by the Establishment and the apparent tacit approval and turning of a blind eye to their illicit activities, by agencies who’s purpose it was to protect, I spit phlegm in their faces.
These organisations had no such problem finding a purpose to drill holes into the mortar of Scargills home, plant listening devices and listen in on his most private conversations. They had no problem, monitoring his phone calls, following him everywhere, recruiting informants and creating chaos, but they couldn’t be bothered to step forward and stop a young lad being buggared by the great and the good whenever they chose to do it.
No! Because the meek and the bloody mild don’t bloody matter. What matters to them is control and they’ll say and do mostly anything to make us afraid, convince us all that all is well as long as they can do whatever they like to protect us.
We’ll I don’t bloody need protecting thank you very much. I’m just fine and dandy. All I want is a measure of honesty and sincerity that convinces me that the weak and the vulnerable will be cared for, they won’t tilt their satellite half a degree West because I once tapped out the word ‘bo.mb’ and I’m allowed to live my life without being asked to hate someone or some people I’ve never met.
They can all get stuffed if anything I say is worth a jot of notice!

Bobby 47

Mar 25, 2015

Wirral Council’s new CEO Eric Robinson hits the ground running…

You’ve gotta have a little pity for Eric. Yes! Pity and sympathy for his predictable reaction to realising that it was he, Cardin, who’d got hold of his Twitter handle and highlighted to Eric the absurdity of the recent award to Wirral Council that, within a short space of time lifted them from being labelled ‘abnormal’ to startling good and better than all the rest.
Of course, if Eric had any inkling that life in Staffordshire was not the same as that upon the Wirral, and this place, which is the wrong side of the tunnel, was the nesting place for the likes of Cardin, Brace, Justice and a bunch of bloggers who were tied, bound and united in a belief that politics on the Wirral were indeed extremely abnormal, he’d have probably stopped, thought a little and concluded, ‘I’ve gotta tread carefully here. I’ll not ban him but rather open up a kind of light touch dialogue and see where the winds blow me’. That’s what I’d have done. If I thought for one single moment Cardin had got me in his sights, and it was me and the meaty flesh upon my broad buttocks that were his target, I’d have handled this confrontation in an entirely different way.
Course, it’s done now isn’t it! He’s banned Cardin which means that from hereon poor Eric is going to be bitten, chewed and spat out over and over again simply because he refused to countenance that his new employers were a gaggle of chancres all dancing upon the edge of legality.
Poor sod I say! Give this little cutie enough time to park his backside behind his new desk, probably transform anything he can feast his eyes on, including his office furniture and the bloody rotten carpets and he’ll soon rue the moment when he muttered to himself, ‘Cardin can get stuffed’ and banned him from his Twitter account.
I wouldn’t have done that. Never! If it had been me I’d have handled this little encounter in an entirely different way. I’d have reached out, gathered up Cardin, Brace, Justice and all those who’ve become cognisant for sometime that the Wirral is a highly abnormal local authority, popped them all in a tiny floating vessel loaded with ale, cigarettes and some highly promiscuous wanton strumpet and funded the lads to sail away from New Brighton Beach on a twelve month trip around the globe without access to a laptop. Better that than stupidly banning Cardin from his Twitter account

Bobby 47

Apr 15, 2015

Today, in Wallasey Town Hall (Wirral Council HQ) I spoke with new CEO Eric Robinson

This menace to Council skulduggery asks, ‘will Eric unblock me, extend the hand of friendship and open up a line of constructive dialogue?’. No he bloody won’t and I for one don’t blame him.
Poor sod! I mean, there Eric is minding his own bloody business, floating around levitating in joyous celebration that he’s in charge of all of this, and what greets the poor fool? Bloody Cardin! ‘Good bloody grief’, he must have muttered to himself, ‘the suns bloody shining, the last three pointless meetings discussing the joys of yet another barrow load of pointless drivel and tripe have passed without any sane and sensible conclusion, and who’s here to greet me. Bloody Cardin!’
I say, be thankful Eric wasn’t equipped and armed with a two pound mallet, for I fear that he’d have attacked this ‘seeker of truth’, beaten Cardin senseless, howling, ‘stop bloody asking why and where the money went you bloody horror of a blogger’.
No! Given the circumstances and given the position Eric found himself in, I sincerely think that simply smirking at Cardin and not lurching forward and trying to throttle the life out of him was a reasonable and measured response to this delightful and unexpected encounter.
Mind, if it had been me and I was in Eric’s position I would have handled this encounter in a very different way. I’d have said to Paul, ‘buddy, I don’t know where you’re going and I don’t know where you’ve been but why don’t you phone in sick, take the afternoon off and spend your time laid in bed with me at some Holiday Inn and let’s get to know one another and discuss how I can convince you to remove your teeth from my fat arse’

Bobby 47

Apr 22, 2015

What happened when I Googled “Council CEO passionate”? I got a horror show…

Bloody passionate! We all know what the real meaning of passionate is. We all do. It’s no mystery to us who live in the real world where blue sky thinking, sound bites and pointless gimmicks play no part in our mind numbingly boring lives that see us scramble from one month to another hopeful that we may just avoid increasing our personal debt and the Constable doesn’t catch us speeding two miles above thirty that’ll mean, to avoid the penalty points, we’ve all got trudge down to some Industrial Hut and sit there for half a bloody day listening to two retired Police Officers passionately dropping unboiled eggs on the floor howling, this is the wee infant child you’ve flattened and killed you evil bastard of a reckless driver.
Passionate my neighbours left testicle! I know what passionate is and its bugger all to do with Eric’s use of the word. My first introduction to this delightful expression, ‘I am very passionate’ was the blessed day my Latin teacher, a wonderful and beautiful woman kept me behind after the lesson because I’d been playing with my genitals, pulled me pants down, mounted me and rode me rotten upon a chalk covered table. And, at the conclusion of this violation, I distinctly remember thinking to myself, ‘my God what a passionate experience that was’. And thank God it happened I say because that was the first time in my adolescent life that I became familiar with the word ‘passion’.
I mean, presumably when Eric applied for the job of CEO upon the Wirral he must have been up against others equally as qualified as him. Clearly, nowadays within public service they must ultimately judge the candidates for the job on how passionate they are, can become or could become if ever they were made the winner of the contest. In Gods name, what must they have to do to demonstrate how bloody passionate they are?
Clearly, when you are one of several applicants and you know, you just know it in your bones that you’ve gotta ‘out passion’ your opponents you must have to put personal pride and dignity to one side and perform like a demented nutter displaying the full range of your abilities to display just how passionate you are capable of becoming whenever they slide you a sheet of paper that contains three paragraphs of text that explain why a thousand paper clips were returned to the source supplier because they weren’t up to the job of holding together receipts and invoices for a thousand taxi journeys made by Councillors who didn’t fancy getting clubbed to death by concerned ratepayers who’d gathered outside the Town Hall desperate to start the culling.
Whatever it was that won Eric this job, it was nothing at all to do with providing good service and good value for money to the rate paying people of the Wirral. It was, beyond any doubt in my mind, entirely about his demonstration of being passionate. God only knows what indignities that man subjected himself to and how many times he howled, ‘don’t pull me pants up yet. I’m having the time of me life bent over this oak table and I never want it to end’

Bobby 47

Apr 28, 2015

Private: Lord Greville Janner. Man of letters

123

Course, if Lord Janner suddenly has a moment of clarity and directs his companion to drive him up here to my house with the intention of responding to my pigswill of an offering, he’ll find that he’s picked out the wrong sort of victim.
I’m no victim. Never have been, never will be and unless I’m restrained by a dozen fully grown men who’s only intent is to bend me over the bonnet of my car, pull me pants down and pound away at my anus for the next four hours, I’ll never ever, under any circumstances become a victim to Lord Janner.
Never I say! And if, for some unbelievable reason he does tip up here, manages to scurry up my drainpipe, bangs on my window demanding that I make myself available for him to fondle my most private parts, I’m going to get very irate and howl ‘bloody Janner. You’ve crawled up the wrong drainpipe tonight Baron bloody thingy of Braunstone’.
And it wouldn’t be a case of me getting back into bed, ignoring his pleas for personal sexual gratification and continue to nibble on my half kilo of pork rind and swig back my endless pile of ale cans that I consume whilst watching archive episodes of Wrestlemania. No! I’d open the window, pull out my garden hoe that I keep upstairs, beat him over the head demanding to know how he’d managed to scale the drainpipe to my twelfth floor hovel of a one bedroom CareHome accommodation and I’d cause him to fall where, after he’d sucked his last breath of air and succumbed to his terrible injuries, he’d ride the lightening bolt and prepare himself to answer for his past actions that have ruined young vulnerable lives.

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Bobby Fortyseven

Jan 2, 2015

Christmas, New year and beyond…

And, because this issue is so sensitive in these days of hysterical right wing thinking, I don’t blame any of the good people who’ve travelled to the United Kingdom for a better life. If I were in their position I’d be doing exactly the same thing. Escaping these dreadful places and bringing up my children in a place that allows freedom, encourages a smile and allows a person to fulfill themselves and aim for a better future.
Brought up beneath the shadow of grinding poverty and old communist ideology who can blame all these people for wanting to escape their historical past. For my part, my conversion to UKIP has nothing to do with these people. My objection is entirely down to the bureaucratic beast of burden that we call the European Union and its expansionistic policies that are creating social unrest, political uncertainty and conflict between the West and the East. That’s it! Nothing else.
This unholy model of economic madness sees my Country hosting a vast number of people who are being exploited both commercially and socially by the worst form of capitalism.
Factor in these things with the accompanying madness that comes with extreme right wing thinking and you end up with a political party like UKIP that taps into people’s fears, a destabilised social community cohesion and political figures like David bloody Blunket warning people to be wary of the poor old Roma people who’ve been the target of everyone’s woes for the best part of a century.
My neighbours are Romanian. There lovely people. There ain’t anything wrong with them. It’s us who are the problem. Tied and bound to a mad social engineering experiment our great Country is now reduced to this! Despite all this and despite the fact that I don’t like UKIP, still, even now, cognisant that I am probably wrong, I am going to vote UKIP so that I can save my grandchildren from a future of fear and turmoil brought about by these idiots who’ve pulled political levers and succeeded in creating this disasterous mistake that only working class people will pay the price for.
I’ve thought long and hard about my ‘odd conclusion’ and it is the only option available that will speed up our exit from the EU.
Imagine if we were not in the EU. We could open our doors and say to the poor people from Africa and Asia, ‘you’ve now no longer any need to risk your lives. You come to us. We’ll not see you languishing in poverty in Calaise’. We could do these things. We could do them easily if only we were not tied and bound to the mandarins of Brussels who’d rather exploit cheap labour than extend a helping hand to the weak and the needy who want to live a life

Bobby Fortyseven

Jan 9, 2015

US Healthcare Firm Takes Over From GPs To Treat Workers On Sick Leave: NHS Privatisation Is Already Happening

The entire model of the NHS is busted. The outcome of ‘looming privatisation’ seems to me to be inevitable.
My wife is a Nurse. She’s stuck in the middle of it and she describes it as chaos. She doesn’t think it’s down to a lack of funding. She feels that no matter how much money is thrown at it the outcome of continued chaos is inevitable.
The reasons? Well Paul, no initial surprises. The Management hirearchy are incompetent bungling idiots who lurch from one steaming cow pat to another, never giving anything they’ve touched or glanced at a backward glance and learning some lessons. Like those within the Council, or indeed most other public services, they, the ones who’ve got their hands on the rudder and the levers of power relentlessly churn our ‘gimmicks’, blue sky thinking and undiluted Codswallop that infects all beneath them.
Quite simply, they come up with an idea, tweek it here and there, shovel it downwards, ask all to work with it and in most cases around it and then, when it all goes belly up and thousands have been wasted, they move on to the next area of concern. It’s relentless. Imagine if you can the chaos within Wirral Council or any other one. Doing it? Well, now multiply that thought by a factor of thousands and you’ll come half way to understanding how bad it all really is.
The Nursing profession? Many Nurses are wonderful caring people who’ve been at the job for most of their adult lives. However, many are completely lazy, they have no care, they’ve found a place that is a safe haven for skiver’s and they flit about daily doing little or nothing and nobody ever challenges this culture.
Particularly the younger ones, ‘we don’t do that. We have degrees’, they’ve no sense of warmth, care or self pride. They happily work within the rubbish the hirearchy shovel downwards and their working life is built around the curse of the NHS. Bloody Courses! Yep! Nowadays, the new Nurses emerge from their probationary period and they can’t do anything because they’ve never been shown how to do anything. Taking blood. Carrying out an ECG or doing a Spirometry Test are daily tasks that they cannot do. What happens? They get sent on a Course. Over and over and over again, dominated by Human Resources Department and the model of career advancement, they send you on a Course that allows one to choose which field of work you want to work within.
And they all want to specialize. Few want to be a Nurse who can work on a Ward or within A and E and deal with a whole range of problems. No! They want to specialize and they want to go on Courses so that, armed with these rich qualifications, they can exist flitting here, there and everywhere without ever having to get to close to a patient who has wet the bed.
This is the way it is. Twenty percent of the Nursing workforce carry the eighty percent who probably should never have chosen Nursing as their future career.
The Doctors? Many are good and hard working. Alas, some, because they weren’t particularly good, and local GP Surgeries didn’t want them, they too end up in the Hospital where their laziness and their incompetence will never be addressed. Like the lazy Nurses, they find a safe haven for their worthless talents.
Orphapedic Surgeons? There are simple far to many. In years gone by an Orphapaedic Surgeon dealt with every single bone and joint in the body. They knew most of what was going on beneath our flesh. Nowadays! They specialize on one single area of the body. No more the entire bloody leg. Not nowadays. We’ve got Consultant Surgeons for the feet, the ankle, the knee and the bloody hips and each one of them is followed by an Administration Team, Nurses and others who’ve all chosen to specialize rather than ever deal with the man who’s bust his leg and pissed his bed because nobody thought he was worth the time to visit and chat with over a cup of tea.
In short, like the Councils up and down the Country the NHS has become a bureaucratic beast of burden and I’ve absolutely no idea what anyone can do to halt its slide toward privatisation

Bobby Fortyseven

Jan 11, 2015

On Sue Marsh, Maximus, and Moving On

Has Sue really thought this through? Apparently she has, and my guess would be some seventy five thousand times! Course, Im certain this good lady will justify this step change of opinion and proclaim that people who come under the gaze of Maximus will always come first. Yes, first! Joint bloody first every single time. Neck and neck with the profit margins of Maximus who, through cunning, guile and downright corporate greed that saving the public millions and making themselves hundreds of thousands of pounds of public money, is a wonderful and entirely good arrangement that only goes to helping and easing the pain of the weak and the vulnerable and those who didn’t have the entrepuniarel good sense to create a political blog and eventually cash in on the notoriety that once made you a thorn in the side to the current Governmental incumbents.
Course, this conclusion is the one of a cynic and I suppose like all good conspiracy theories the whole thing will be validated by an eventual OBE for Sue and the glowing testimony of some well chosen claimants who’ll cry, ‘if it weren’t for Sue Id have ended up with nothing. Thanks to her and her championing my cause I’ve still got me crutches and I can still swim once a week at the local community pool for only half the normal admission fee. Thank you Jesus, thank you Sue and thank you Lord’

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Bobby Fortyseven

Nov 24, 2014

The Tyranny of some is due to the cowardice of others

I read this yesterday and I’ve read it today and it’s much bloody worse reading this catalogue of injustice the second bloody time round.
I mean, how did this idea of secreting the truth take root and who planted the seed and allowed the lie to germinate. And that’s what has happened. One bloody highly paid suit came to the conclusion that it’d be good and best practice to hide the truth and the rest, the bloody underlings, all march in step and continue the falsehood that this good man was being well served by those in charge of his care.
Bloody hell! And why is it that this good lads Mother has had to fight in this way for so long with so little help and cooperation from those who should be on their side. The barstards!
It’s makes you sick. I bloody hate them. I do! I hate them and their bloody ‘holier than bloody thou’ attitude that’s it’s them and only them who are able and capable of delivering what’s good enough for us, what we should know and what we shouldn’t know because we can’t handle the truth and are incapable of reacting intelligently and responsibly with the full facts.
It’s bloody arrogance! And what will happen to them? Buggar bloody all! They’ll twist and wriggle on the hook, throw a double bloody six, go sick and then, if we’re bloody lucky, they’ll get shoved toward the door with a handsome exit package and the bloody good fortune to tip up elsewhere and repeat the exact same mistakes in some other public service area never once being held to account for what happened to the Mainman and his family

Bobby Fortyseven

Dec 3, 2014

Don’t Give Money To Beggars At Christmas Say Bastards Who Run Homelessness Charities

Well I give money to beggars whenever I can. It’s of no concern to me how my gift impacts upon them or those who claim that Im wrong. I couldn’t care less. Giving some poor soul a quid from my deminishing pile is the very least I can do to support those who’ve taken a different route in life to me and all the others who can sit at home, feel loved and warm and be free of the burden of trying, as James has done and turning this issue on its head, spinning it round and pretending to themselves that they, and only they know what’s bloody best.
Besides, it makes me feel good about me and I ain’t gotta gather around a table attending pointless meetings that allow the great and the good to tell me why it’s possible to be wrong when you give a little of yourself to those less fortunate. Thankfully, I, and many others, don’t have to gaze in awe at some graph that shows beggars do not benefit from the kindness of others. Free of the burden that Charities, and their huge bloated infra structures know bloody best, I’ll continue to shove a quid in the hand of someone who ain’t doing as well as me

Bobby Fortyseven

Dec 4, 2014

Don’t Give Money To Beggars At Christmas Say Bastards Who Run Homelessness Charities

The World is going bloody mad. Here we all are trudging round in debt that’ll see off an entire generation of youngsters who’ve absolutely no chance of ever being free of the chaos we’ve created and what are they doing up and down the Country? Bloody focussing on the poor sodding beggars and drunks who just happen to blight the landscape of our bloody shiney and happy clappy world.
Good grief! Leave the beggars and drunks be. Give them some respite from the terrible debilitating situation they find themselves in. We’ve had folk begging and getting blasted out of their brains way before we got our hands on the printing press and began transmitting our views on shite like this. We’ve really got no problem with begging and we’ve really got no problem with folk who like to get inebriated on a consistent basis. They ain’t the bloody problem. It ain’t them. It’s bloody us. We’re the bloody problem. No beggar or drunk has ever done me, you or anyone else any harm at all. Leave them bloody be!
The bloody Council want us to stop and not divert our money to the beggars! Id like to stop diverting our bloody money to the Councils who really are the source of all our woes. They sit around their lovely Oak table dispensing pear and heart shaped droplets of words and bloody wisdom pretending that they know best when they can’t manage to deliver the most simple and straightforward basic public services without turning it into some excercise in gimmick’ry and blue sky thinking that reduces us all into a state of mass confusion.
Give me a beggar and a drunk to break bread with any day of the week, thank you very much. Id sooner listen to them and their thoughts on life than read one word a Council shovels out as they grasp hold of yet another pointless issue which will generate a shed load of meetings, a library of graphs and some fat bloated suit on a salary Id strangle the wife for, who’s just had ‘begging’ added to his highly impressive portfolio of responsibility.
And as for Charities, don’t even get me started on them. They’ve become a haven for the highly paid executives and upper management who are now deeply embedded within the organisation because some fool decided that if we want the best we’ve gotta start paying for the best. Just like the bloody Council, many of these Charities have become a teat for the fat and bloated to suck upon.
No! There’s nothing wrong with the street beggars. They are nice people who ain’t doing us any harm at all!

Bobby Fortyseven

Dec 18, 2014

Pauline Got Promoted! DWP Management Psychobabble Is Turning Jobcentres Into Cults

It’s all so tragic. To think that these twats, these operationally dull lightweight thinking twats found a safe haven beneath the canopy of public service.
I despise them. Truly I do. If God forbid, I was gifted the bad news, ‘well fatso, your arteries are all clogged up and you’ve a month to live before you drop down dead and fly off to meet your maker’, I’d seriously consider taking one of these blue sky thinking, gimmick laden orators of undiluted shite with me on my journey to the hereafter.
God above! To think that ‘they’ still don’t grasp the new reality that is we see them as fools and a burden upon our way of life. Consumed by their own egos, their sense of entitlement and this strange dogma of self promotion, they continue to shovel out this undiluted bollocks that is so openly stupid and pitched at such a very low level, only a dull primate could become inspired by the Codswallop that’s served up by these idiots.
Imagine if you can, getting washed up on some South Sea deserted island and it’s you tied, tethered and bound to this stupid woman Lambert and you know, beyond any doubt that it’s just you and her for the next five years of your miserable life. Imagine the horror of that! Years of endless bollocks relentless being pumped Into your ears as you crouch upon the sand, desperately trying to keep the fire going and cook whatever the ocean has thrown at you during its latest lament that it’s choppy and turbulent waters had’nt managed to consume this purveyor of bollocks and end the bloody misery that would ensue.
Me? If I had a small pocket Derringer in my waistcoat pocket and the chamber contained a single bullet, Id face the setting sun, say my fond fare thee well’s to the world and I’d happily blow my brains out rather than spend one more hour listening to the endless conveyor belt of rancid drivel and tripe that Miss Lambert was capable of shovelling my way.
Yes! Without a moments hesitation Id blow my brains out and be happy knowing that whilst the exit wound hurt more than Id have liked, at least, at the very least, I didn’t have to get into the gutter, displease my God and strangle the life out of my tormentor Miss Sandra Lambert.

Bobby Fortyseven

Jan 2, 2015

Christmas, New year and beyond…

What Im about to transmit ain’t going to please my dear and good friend the mighty Paul Cardin. More than likely, he’ll read this offering, slam his front door shut, hurtle down the A49 to Hereford, tap on me door and stab me in the eye with a soft leaded pencil because Im preaching ‘Vote UKIP’.
Yep! Im going to vote UKIP. Madness ain’t it and in a short passage of time Im going to explain why. But, first and foremost, as always, other than the UKIP issue, I agree with everything my friend says. I always do but as far as UKIP is concerned, it’s this area that I take an opposite view to Paul.
When it comes to the next election Im putting my cross against the name of the UKIP Candidate who will rid me of this European Union which, in my view is the greatest man made social engineering mistake since Hitler decided the German people required more living space.
This UKIP Candidate that I will vote for could be the ugliest man or woman ever born. They could have three sixes tattooed on their buttocks, have cloven feet, two stumps on their forehead that can only be the beginnings of horns growing on their head and I don’t care. They could be the Anti Christ and it’ll have no impact upon me whilst Im stood in the Polling Booth. Im voting UKIP.
This Candidate could be the most thick and unintelligent person ever to spring forth from a Loving Mothers loins and still, even then, I’ll vote UKIP because I want out of this European Union.
Yes, Im willing to take the hand of Lucifer and all his little handmaidens to ensure that this European Union is broken up and Europe does not start its Third World War.
I began to think differently a couple of years ago when I met a lad called Igor from Latvia who was picking fruit in Hereford. We fish together and we talk. He’s a Bio Chemist and a former University Lecturer and he’s in Hereford, working sixty to seventy hours a week on the minimum wage and he lives in a Home of Multi Occupancy that contains another twenty two highly educated migrants who either pick fruit or pluck bloody chicken.
For my part, I will never grasp the economic sense in Igor leaving his home and spending his highly educated brain picking bloody fruit in the orchards of Hereford. What of his home economy? How on earth does it benefit Latvia. Yes! He sends money home to support his family and it benefits the Latvian economy but the pounds earned in Hereford are not recycled locally and other than making a local farmer rich because he’s able to exploit this model of cheap labour, it doesn’t do a great deal to help my local economy.
The whole economic model of free movement of people is nonsensical and completely unsustainable. In short, it’s a madness and the burden upon public services is much to great to bear.
But the worst madness is the political frictions that are currently developing in the many East and Central European countries who are as divided as the Ukraine. Many want to be tied to Mother Russia and many want what the EU promises that is, ‘come and join us in the land of Milk and Honey for everyone.’
A democratically elected government was overthrown in Ukraine because the West of that land wanted to eat popcorn, walk on block paving and become westernised while the East wanted to remain free of the EU and NATO. Other nations like Belarus and Georgia are faced with the exact same problem and it’s going to get worse before it gets better.
The mandarins of Brussels have been pushing, seducing and edging their way ever closer in their thirst to create an expansion of their land and it has nothing to do with free trade and free movement of people. It’s entirely down to one single thing. The EU wants to grow and grow and grow, rule everyone and rid themselves of the notion that any of us have an individual nationality, indidual law, cultural identity and an ability to make our own way in the world.
If we continue as we are, very very soon, NATO will begin edging closer to the Countries that are in turmoil over this ‘West and East’ issue and who they wish to be aligned to, and before we know it our political leaders will sanction military bases in places that will prove to be very uncomfortable to Putin and Mother Russia.
And then, once the stage is set, you’ve got the beginnings of a conflict of ideology, another sort of Cold War and the chance that some fool will attack a NATO Country. Course, once we reach the stage that pits one of our so called allies against the other side, the recipe for bloody war is completed.
The Ukraine is just the beginning. Other Countries will follow, there will be further conflicts to come because some want the EU and others will want Mother Russia and all because the EU and Baroness bloody Ashton wanted to build their empire and become bigger and more mighty than they were before.
This is the way of things. This is what political leaders do. They want their name in a history book even if it’s only a brief and short reference in Chapter Six, titled, ‘ The Folly of EU Expansionistic Policy’.
Yep! Im voting UKIP and anyone who thinks otherwise disagrees with me

Return to Bomb Alley 1982 – The Falklands Deception, by Paul Cardin

Amazon link

http://paulcardin.substack.com