Wirral In It Together

Bobby Fortyseven

Nov 17, 2014

A tale of two thefts

Course, the destruction of The Labour Party isn’t entirely the fault of the liar Blair. It can’t be. Afterall, everything that happens is the work of God. It is! Yes, the bloody rotten, stinking liar Blair was the instrument that actually did it, but he only did it because God was behind it.
Yes! God was behind it. He’s behind everything and he does all these things for a reason. Quite why he’d think to himself, ‘let’s destroy the Labour Party’, I’ve no idea and unless Im an odd sort of fish, Id say nobody else knows why either.
You see, this is the way God works. He goes about things in an entirely unusual way. Instead of concentrating his vast and unimaginable powers on people like the liar Blair and some of those associated with The Council who’ve gone out of their way to mismanage and misappropriate public funding, and for example, dropping a large rock on their heads or delivering them an enormous bolt of lightening, God does it all in a roundabout way. This is the way God works. Nothing he does is straightforward and if you want my view, he’s all the poorer for it. In fact, if he wanted to really get us to look up to the heavens, howl ‘Halleluzah!’ and take notice, he’d do well to deliver us all a mighty voice, tell us all who’s going to get it, feel his wrath and why, and let the voltage do the rest.
I reckon God is doing all these things so that the entire model of public service upon the Wirral gets so buggared up, we, the meek and the bloody mild, who are supposedly those who’ll inherit the Kingdom of Heaven, will rise up because God has made it nigh on impossible not to rise bloody up and take matters into their own hands.
Mind, say some lad from Birkenhead takes things into his own hands, builds a vast mincing machine that dispatches all those who’ve been instrumental in the downfall of the Wirral, finds himself stood before the Judge who says, ‘you are a menace to society. Your terrible invention of a machine is a horror and you’ll go to prison for fifty bloody years’, what are we to make of that? Was he just doing what God wanted him to do, namely shoving these people into his dreadful contraption and clearly had no choice in the matter, or was he a bloody nutcase who God had’nt been watching. Mind, then again, God must have noticed this lad from Birkenhead going out of his way buying welding equipment, lots of metals and spending a lot of time sharpening the mincing blades and muttering, ‘I’m going to invite them all up here to my garage, get them to climb inside my dreadful and hideous contraption and end our misery’.
No! I reckon God has gotta start delivering some on the spot summary justice and stop pissing about with all these signs, omens and portents that are only confusing deep thinkers like me. Yes, his way of doing things in a very roundabout way worked in centuries gone by, but it ain’t working today and Id like him to start kicking off and begin to take direct action against those who are getting away with this organised and entirely illicit activity.
Yes, that’s it. Instead of allowing these sycophantic tics to continue getting fat from our funding, allowing their cholesterol to hit twenty nine point bloody nine, clogging up their arteries and gifting them the Mother of all heart attacks and ending them, God should stop pissing about, and when they emerge from their fine homes ready for another day upon the gravey train, he should simply drop a ten ton rock on their heads, thus making it clearly obvious to the people that only God could have managed to raise a ten ton rock above a house and drop it on their heads as they were about to leave home for yet another day in paradise.
That’d make these people think! If I was up to no good and I knew that God was onto me and he had the ability to find a ten ton rock, raise it above my threshold and drop it on me head, it’d make me think twice!!

Bobby Fortyseven

Nov 18, 2014

The Information Commissioner Defends a Broken, Basket Case Council

Bloody forty eight thousand pounds! Bloody hurt feelings! I wish someone would pop round bloody here and hurt my feelings and I got slipped forty eight thousand pounds. Hurt feeling my neighbours right testicle!
I’ll tell you what can hurt your bloody feelings and make you go all bloody sensitive. Getting told to fix bloody bayonets and ordered to charge at a nest of machine guns. That’ll get your muttering, ‘me bloody feelings are hurt’. And it’s no good telling your skipper, ‘you’ve just hurt me bloody feelings. I demand forty eight thousand pounds’. More than likely, he’d fix his own rotten bayonet and shove you out over the wire howling, ‘and don’t come bloody back fatso’.
Whoever this ‘Doris’ is she wants to hack my bloody email in box and read what folk think and say of me. That’d make her think. That’d make her wince. Forty eight bloody thousand pounds, slipped out of the public purse and nobody was ever supposed to know. Bloody hell!
And they wonder why Cardin keeps going. Onward and in this case, bloody downwards, relentlessly pursuing the truth about where the money is going. Mind, it’s actually buggar all to do with Cardin. When he decided to produce his dartboard, or as I saw it, a bloody Ouija Board, listing the names of the girls who may have had the misfortune to become so bloody hurt that they needed forty eight bloody thousand pounds of our money to ease the pain, it was actually God who was behind the thought processes. Yes! God. God is behind everything. He’s into the bloody lot. Quite why he decided that it’d be a good idea to force the hierarchy of Wirral Council to feel compelled to dish out forty eight thousand pounds is a bloody mystery to me.
Course, he obviously knows what he’s doing. He must do but there are times when his roundabout way of doing things leave one muttering, ‘what’s his purpose. What’s he got in store for us’.
And he has got something in store for us. By sanctioning this payment of forty eight thousand pounds he’s set off a chain of events that’ll end in God getting us to go where he wants us to be.
I reckon he’s rubbing our noses in it. Getting us so pissed off we’re all going to kick off, gather together in a howling mob and storm the Town Hall.
And before any of you think me mad, ask yourselves why your reading this undiluted rancid Codswallop. Yes! Gods willed you to do it. Just like he’s given us The Syphilis. Disturbed and generally disappointed that vast areas of the Wirral have become overwhelmed by Dogging Associations, he’s given us the Syphilis so that well think twice before we writhe around on the bonnet of some parked car in pursuit of sexual gratification.
This is the way he does things. In an entirely roundabout way that’s intended to alter the course of future events. Course, if you’ve got the Syphilis I don’t suppose it’ll be much consolation knowing that God gifted it to you. You’d be an odd sort if you thought, ‘thank you Lord for giving me the Syphilis’ especially if you’ve no affiliation with a Dogging Association.
There! I’ve said what’s on me mind!

Bobby Fortyseven

Nov 23, 2014

Protecting the System & Cover ups by Liverpool Labour Council

First and foremost, my best wishes and warmest regards to the ‘Mainman’, his formidable ‘Mammy’ who’s fought this battle, and their family and friends who’ve all had to endure all of ‘this’ because of corporate scheming, cunning and guile and a desire to keep secret an issue that only ever needed a little oppeness, transparency and a measure of goodness and kindness.
Being the proud Grandfather of the most beautiful and the most fascinatingly mysterious little girl in the world, who has a profound disability that, though chromosome related, has some association with Autism, I as much as most completely understand the pain and anguish these barstards have put the Mainman and his family through.
For the most part, all the families in this position feel exactly the same. They grasp the issue, they deal with it, they don’t bloody moan and they build their lives around what is required to love and support their kith and kin. That’s what they bloody do! They ain’t looking to be a burden. They ain’t looking to become a problem. They simply want a fair slice of understanding and a lift up whenever they need a bit of help.
And where’s the help when these good people really needed it? Locked up in a bloody cupboard in an envelope titled, ‘DO NOT DISCLOSE TO THE FAMILY’ because some sycophantic public service bottom feeding tic decided that the corporate message was so much more important than the health and happiness of the Mainman and his family. It makes you want to hurl phlegm!
And as for deploying someone to care for another who has an autistic disability and they’ve had no bloody training, you have to ask yourself the question, ‘who bloody sanctioned that little decision’.
Good bloody grief! To think that the recipient of an OBE could associate himself with this sort of illicit behaviour and not be worried about the consequences of ‘not being bloody bothered to lend a helping hand’.
He should hang his head in shame, consider his position, and then submit a letter of resignation.
Mind, he won’t! He’ll do no such thing. They, you see, do not think as we do. They’ve no honour. No pride and the rules of normal behaviour do not apply to them. They apply to us. But not to them. It’s all very bloody straightforward isn’t it!

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

Amazon link

http://paulcardin.substack.com

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

Amazon link

http://paulcardin.substack.com

A crime suspect is chased through Wallasey by the police. What happened next…? And do we have our priorities right?

Bobby47 says:

July 8, 2018 at 9:47 am

The Police Service throughout Britain has become a haven for skivers. Worse, it’s lead by incompetent bungling idiots who’ve never walked in the shoes of those on the front line and are so detached from reality they’ve no real understanding that people, normal salt of the earth people want to support them but cannot any longer see the point in bothering to understand why they can deploy dozens of officers to chase a young kid but can’t be arsed to attend a burglary.
The answer of course to halt their slide toward even faster distant policing is to be bloody awkward and not comply with their telephone recording of the incident or crime you wish to report to them.
To fuck it all up, you simply phone them, tell them who you are, tell them what you are reporting, give them your name, address and phone number and tell them that you’ll provide all the other stuff for their computer generated incident when an officer can be arsed to pop round.
Believe me, this does fuck it all up because while you’ve been wailing and moaning telling them that some twat has tippy toed into your house and stolen your bestest sunday Tea Service, they’ve begun a record and those ‘fields’ have to be completed before they can close it up and then tell you to detect it yourself.and piss off. It works because I’ve done it.
Me best has been when I reported me bloody shed being burgled. They wouldn’t attend. Nobody available. I lied and told then there were two fella’s in me shed. Still wouldn’t attend. Nobody available.
So, I,put the phone down, gave it a couple of minutes, phoned the Police back and told them, ‘I’m the fella who’s just phoned you about me shed’. They said, ‘we can’t attend were to busy’. I said, ‘I understand. Don’t worry yourselves. I’ve sorted it out. I’ve just shot them’ and then I put the phone down.
Within a few minutes me house was surrounded by them. Uniform, dog handlers, the sound of a helicopter and shouts of ‘come outside straight away’. After searching me shed for two shot bodies they quickly realised that I was a twat. After advising me about wasting their time and lying to them they reluctantly agreed that they’d also lied by telling me they were to busy and nobody was available to sort me shed out.
Problem is, the Police nowadays are only interested in the interesting stuff and creating their own street theatre. The reality is crime, the sort of crime most of us encounter isn’t very interesting. It’s boring as fuck and they don’t want to bother with it. And it’s this reason that this young child was chased around the Town probably for an aggravated offence of scrumping.

A crime suspect is chased through Wallasey by the police. What happened next…? And do we have our priorities right?

Bobby47 says:

July 9, 2018 at 2:17 pm

All I’m saying is the Police have lost their way. Instead of worrying themselves about me and the lads falling out of an ale house after an afternoon session and lovingly calling a lady, ‘love’, ‘darling’, ‘chuck’ or ‘duck’ or whistling our approval at the magnificence of them being bloody female, they’re set up and designed to stop me and the lads attacking them with a butter knife or worse stubbing me bloody cigarette on the pavement and saying something that implies to them that we’re in need of a detention under the provisions of the bloody Mental Health Act. They seem to think that for every moment they’re on duty there are tens of thousands of us out there desperately intent on causing them harm. They won’t talk to you anymore!
The consequence to this mindset is that there barely able to get out of their cars and walk about because of the huge weight that’s dangling from their utility belt or their stab proof shell. They can’t walk upright anymore because of the weight. It can’t be unlike being required to lug about to giant sacks of spuds you’ve just harvested from your local allotment.
They’ve got their radio, their first aid kit, the bundles of tickets that can be issued whenever and wherever we’ve carried out some sin, the bloody long armed baton, the side arm baton, the gas canister, the dreadful taser designed to make you ride the lightening bolt as fifty thousand volts thrust their way through your ravaged limp body and into the good earth after they’ve decided that you are an awkward twat and you might be capable of displaying defiance and shouting ‘fuck off. I’ve had enough’. And it that’s not enough, after you’ve been beaten with an array of batons, gassed, electrocuted and handcuffed, in case you spit or wriggle about in the back of the van, they wrap you up in a ‘wrap blanket’, pop an anti phlegm mask on your confused cranium and remove you from society because you are a twat who simply wanted to chat, have a giggle and make your way home to face the horrors of being married to a woman who, when she glares at you and threatens you with her frying pan, you want to crawl into a corner, get into the foetal position and pray for an early death.
And the new generation of recruits all seem much the same. They all want to be stars in their very own movie of life in the eye of a blue light chase that’ll give them the chance to shine and display an ability to use the kit that’s completely responsible for their lower back disc pain and the debilitating sciatica that can only be erased from their minds when they’re given the opportunity to beat you senseless or better still, gas and subject you to electrocution. Talk to people, it’s easy. It’s simple and it’s perfectly natural!
Nowadays, once or twice a year they’ll pop on some pink lipstick, shake hands with a homeless street beggar before burning his cardboard box into ashes, wear some high heels, dance to an LBGT anthem and then revert back to their nature and character, a collection of odd individuals who were once bullied at school.
Give me a thief taker. Give me a tall intimidating bastard blessed with simple common sense who lives in my community, cares about my community and ain’t interested in subjecting me to a society riddled with hurdles and pitfalls designed to buggar up all our young people who’ll be very fortunate to reach middle age and not have their DNA and fingerprints stored on a database at New Scotland Yard.

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

Amazon link

http://paulcardin.substack.com

https://slaynews.com/news/top-who-official-testifies-covid-passports-scam-push-fake-mrna-shots/

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

Amazon link

http://paulcardin.substack.com

He can debate me and/or my misinformation superspreader friends. I think the public should hear from both sides so they can decide who the real misinformation superspreaders are

https://open.substack.com/pub/stevekirsch/p/i-just-challenged-paul-offit-to-a?utm_source=share&utm_medium=android&r=b9xiw

https://www.thebernician.net/noca-demanding-evidence-that-bird-flu-has-been-proven-to-exist/

ABC News reporter Max Zahn said “Gotta go” when I asked him if he was willing to gather data that would definitively determine whether RFK Jr. was telling the truth about vaccines or not.

https://open.substack.com/pub/stevekirsch/p/are-there-any-mainstream-media-reporters?utm_source=share&utm_medium=android&r=b9xiw

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

Amazon link

http://paulcardin.substack.com

THE CORBETT REPORT

APR 16

https://open.substack.com/pub/corbettreport/p/james-corbett-breaks-the-spell-of?utm_source=share&utm_medium=android&r=b9xiw

https://thefalklandswar.quora.com/I-m-a-veteran-of-the-Falklands-War-who-served-in-the-Royal-Navy-onboard-Rothesay-class-frigate-HMS-Yarmouth-Id-origin?ch=18&oid=79610204&share=7a3ec777&srid=ulXsr&target_type=post