Monday, 27 April 2020

Double Decker Bread Pakodas


The Potato filling: Boil up some potatoes Maris Pipers or King Edwards are best. Mash them up and mix VERY finely chopped onions (or spring onions), green chillies, ground (not powdered) coriander seeds, some turmeric powder, red chilli powder, amchur, ajwain, a pinch or two of garam masala, finely chopped coriander leaves - stems and all, garlic and ginger paste, some ground black pepper and of course, namak-shamak (salt!).

The batter: Gram flour mixed with copious amounts of ajwain, red chilli powder, dried chilli flakes if you are brave enough, salt, turmeric powder, hing (asafoetida powder), garlic powder, kasuri methi, dhaniya powder and a hefty bit of olive oil. Add water and whisk until you get a thick consistent mix.

The procedure: Use 50-50 bread. Make two-tier sandwhiches in the following order -

Bread
Potato mix
Green chutney
Bread
Ketchup
Potato mix
Bread

Press them down to flatten and cement them together, cut them into triangles, dip in the batter, and fry till they get a sexy tan.

Serve with all desi sauces and take pictures or it didn't happen.

I know it seems like a labour of love, but then it ain't good cooking if it isn't.

Saturday, 25 April 2020

Stupid is with me; I'm not with Stupid

Right, the last couple of days have revealed four new levels of stupid. While the jokes and memes have been fun and entertaining - I've shared a few myself, it is hard trying to stay sane when surrounded by this much stupid without humour, so humour me; here's my list:

1. Entertaining the mere suggestion that the injestion of a disinfectant might rid you of a virus and could merit some kind of scientific inquiry. As dumb as dumb goes, that was right up there with, I dunno, David Lammy? 

2. Misquoting a stupid comment with an even more stupid inference under the guise of 'reporting' is galatically stupid and very, very irresponsible. The Donald did not say 'drink bleach', YOU did. You made it sound like he did. That's why you're dangerous and so very stupid. Whatever you call it, don't call it journalism. It isn't. It's just stupid. And then some.

3. Actually believing that the injestion of a disinfectant could rid you of a virus. Yes, if you think taking shots of Fairy liquid cleans up your insides, or mainlining Dettol is like yoga for the bloodstream, you are stupid. Of course downing bleach will clear your throat; and you along with it. That probably is a good thing - the gene pool could do with some cleaning up anyway. I think we should take "WARNING: May contain nuts" off bags of peanuts. No one can help you. Fortunately, there's not many of you, which is a bit of a relief.

4. Being a politician or a public figure and seriously thinking that a significant number of people would actually injest a disinfectant or shoot up on Savlon to rid themselves of a virus, and publicly warning them not to is very stupid. You don't come out as very bright if you think that anyone who votes for you or avidly follows you - essentially your fanbase is stupid. But then again, perhaps they are. Perhaps that's why they listen to you. Birds of a common feather and all.

Don't be stupid. Wash your hands. And don't come near me.

Thursday, 23 April 2020

Boxitecture


The Lambeth Palace Library describes their new library building as 'magnificent'.

Yes, 'magnificent'. That is what they said, in print and all over their social media platforms. 

Seeing as we're all chucking about superlatives these days, might I venture an alternative suggestion of my own? Say, 'monstrosity'?

I'm sorry, but poetic licence can only be pushed so far. I've seen cardboard delivery boxes from Amazon and pallets of crushed plastic bottes destined for recycling with more soul. Magnificent is way too generous; and on my part, monstrosity is way too kind.

Lego is not architecture, dear Lambeth Council, and Minecraft is not a design software program.

It looks like a Soviet prison, gun turrets and all. Reminds me of Shawshank Redemption; sans the redemption.

*Before the usual suspects pile in, I'd like everyone to know that I now self-identify as a design and architecture expert and critic.

Monday, 20 April 2020

Chicken, Broccoli & Mushroom Stir Fry


Tonight I cooked an inspired chicken, broccoli and mushroom stir fry. Turned out brilliant!

Here's how...

First, ready the sauce: Take 3 cups of chicken stock, 2-3 tablespoons of dark soy sauce, 2 tablespoons of olive oil, a teaspoon each of garlic and ginger paste, 2 heaped tablespoons of corn starch, a teaspoon of sugar, and half a teaspoon of crushed peppercorns. Whisk until everything is thoroughly mixed. Set aside for later.

Next, chop up 3 chicken breasts into bite sized cubes and season them with sea salt, pepper and 3 finely chopped cloves of garlic. Toss them around in a hot wok with a little bit of olive oil until they brown up a bit from all sides. Turn off the heat.

Slice a fairly large red onion into thin slivers; diagonally chop 2 spring onions; thickly slice 200g of large button mushrooms; and cut about 2 heads of broccoli into little florets. Take 2 or 3 green chillies with a single slit along the length of each one.

Turn the heat back on (medium), add another tablespoon of olive oil to the chicken and chuck in the onions, stir for a few minutes until the onions become a little translucent. Add everything else, stirring all the while. Do this for about 6-7 minutes.

Next, whisk the sauce some more and pour it into the wok. Keep stirring until the sauce begins to thicken.

Occasionally, poke at the broccoli with a fork to check if it is cooked through but still al dente. Keep stirring until ready.

Serve in a bowl, on its own or atop some plain, slightly buttered rice - I used Basmati.

Add salt, pepper, Tabasco, or squeeze in some lemon or lime to your liking.

The whole meal takes about 30 minutes from start to finish, serves 4 people and costs a mere £7.

Saturday, 18 April 2020

Money, Money, Money!

Want to get riled up a bit?

Imagine one single penny of Captain Tom Moore's £20 million going towards the £66,928-a-year pay-packet of a Diversity Officer. Or a £500,000 Banksy. Or to Richard Branson. Or to PFI Shareholders.

The one thing it won't do is bolster the wages of the superhereos working on the coal-face or deep in the trenches - you know the ones everyone claps for at 8pm every Thursday - or buy PPE.

Instead, it'll help pay for the latest Muswell Hill investment mortage of the non-medical capos and some 'consultants' previously fired from one NHS Trust, quickly to be snapped up by a different Trust, or even the same Trust they were fired from! Something not vastly different from foreign aid in the hands of third world dictators.

And of course, while these apparatchiks baste their veal steaks in hard-won funds from the people like Captain Tom Moore and taxes extracted from shop assistants and cleaners; teachers and nurses, coppers and waiters; entrepreneurs and shopkeepers under pain of imprisonment, they'll whine and moan to the Left wing press and Sky TV and the BBC about how the NHS has no money and how the bloody Tories need to hand over moar moolah.

The NHS always needs money. It needs more money. It needs ALL the money. When it's had that, it needs some more. Since Tony Blair, the NHS has always been 3 days, 10 days, two weeks, one month, 2 months away from utter collapse and financial ruin, depending on which Trotksyesque-porn rag you read.

Sadly, a lot people buy into the NHS sob story. These will of course mostly be the same ungrateful wretches that wished the likes of Captain Moore, the likes of who while still in their teens, stormed a hostile beach under heavy shelling and gunfire so they could plant the trees of freedom they knew they might never sleep under the shade of, dead; because they voted to leave the European Union.

All over my social media timelines, I see self-aggrandisingly lurid videos of these Bollingers Bolshivek 'officers' clapping outside their 5-bedroom bungalows with a jacuzzi in their back gardens, and a Range Rover out front in the leafy outer London commuter-belt suburbs. Paid for, of course, by you and me.

It sounds like hyenas cackling over the corpse of a dead zebra.

Thursday, 9 April 2020

Fusion Food

Right, here's what I did tonight:

Boiled Ricotta & Spinach Tortellini (supermarket bought, sorry) lightly stir fried in butter and pasta sauce, served with a topping of steaming hot blanched baby spinach stir fried in olive oil, with a blend of onions, tomatoes, ginger-garlic paste, red chilli flakes and assorted spices, topped with chunks of butter and sprinkled with chopped super hot Indian green chillies (yes, I can be quite the masochist), a few drops of red Tabasco and ground (not powdered) black pepper and some lime juice...

Yumzers!

Sunday, 5 April 2020

Where do we go from here, Sir Keir?


My 2¢:

The King is dead; long live the King!

If you think the Corbyn era is over, you haven't seen the grip his apparatchiks, his Momentum thugs, his effnik comoonity leaders, and his groupies have on the NEC and the Unions.

Sir Starmer has his work cut out for him: Purging Labour of rabid commies, Jew-hating, tinfoil hat Illuminati aficionados, college-campus spliffed up, Stormzy-fellating kumbaya-kids, old fogies still in thrall of Marx, Engels, Lenin or Guevara, and establishment Bollinger Bolshevik civil servants high on other people's money, won't be easy.

I don't envy the guy.

And if any of you are wondering, I do care about this. A useless opposition is too easy. Too easy is tiresome. Sir Starmer had better be good.

I was rooting for Nandy though, but hey, male, pale and stale it is.

Saturday, 21 March 2020

Lockdown Roast Baby Chicken



Baby chicken, marinated for about 6 hours. Thick sliced new potatoes, also marinated along with the chicken.

Pour a glass of water into a baking tray and chuck in a few wedges of lime. Place the chicken on a wire mesh so as to avoid contact with the water.

Cover the whole thing in foil and bake at 200° for 40 minutes.

Remove foil and continue baking for another 10 minutes, spraying a little olive oil to get that moist shiny look.

Result: A most succulent, cotton-wool soft chicken you can pinch off the bone.

Total cost: £5.00

Feeds: 2-3 people.

Monday, 16 March 2020

The Joker Was Right


The shelves in most supermarkets are empty.

The SOCIALIST talks of socialism and the faked virtue of social justice, and yet, he went out, and he hoarded and hoarded.

The CONSERVATIVE, him of the Big Society, of community compassion, abandoning all principles of Conservatism, went out, and he hoarded and hoarded.

The CHRISTIAN talks of Jesus feeding the five thousand, of loving thy neighbour, and yet, he went out, and he hoarded and hoarded.

The MUSSALMAN talks of Zakaat and Sadaqah, of Mercy, and yet, he went out, and he hoarded and hoarded.

The SIKH, he of the free Guru ka Langar, open to one and all, went out, and he too, hoarded and hoarded. 

The JEW, him of the Tzedakah and the ethical obligation of charity, went out, and he, like everyone else, hoarded and hoarded.

The Joker was right:
“Their morals, their code; it's a bad joke. Dropped at the first sign of trouble. They're only as good as the world allows them to be. You'll see. I'll show you. When the chips are down these, ur these 'civilized people'? 

They'll eat each other."


Friday, 13 March 2020

Handwashing Tunes


PUBLIC SERVICE ANNOUNCEMENT:

Instead of the mundane 'Happy Birthday' ditty they're suggesting you use to time your handwashing routine, try my suggestions. Each of these should be about just over the recommended 20-second routine...

And you'll feel helluva a lot better.


#1
Well you can tell by the way I wash
I'm a careful man, no time to talk
Water's warm, the soap is slick
I've been touching crap
I shouldn't have been
Well it's all right, it's okay
I will live another day
And you can try, to understand
The fight between virus and man
Whether you're a brother
Or whether you're a mother
You're stayin' alive, stayin' alive
Feel the city breakin' and everybody shakin'
And we're stayin' alive, stayin' alive
Ah, ha, ha, ha, stayin' alive, stayin' alive
Ah, ha, ha, ha, stayin' alive


#2
Oh baby, baby
I shoulda just used some soap
Sanitiser wasn't right here
Oh baby, baby, I shouldn't have touched your nose
Now you're crying out your eyes, yeah
Show me how you want it to be
Tell me, baby, 'cause I need to know now, oh because
This Covid crap is killing me (and I)
I must confess, I touch and feel (touch and feel)
When I'm not with you I like to grind
And give out signs
Grope me baby, one more time


#3
And now, soaptime is here
Right after I flush the cistern
My friend, I'll wash 'em clear
And I'll scrub in haste,
All the pathogens.
I'll live a life that's full
For I've been taught, basic hygiene
And more,
Much more than this,
I'll wash 'em my way


You are very welcome.

Thursday, 27 February 2020

The Racists & the Coconuts of Brexit

This is contributed by Ash Hirani.

Almost four years after our decision to leave the European Union and the rhetoric that preceded and then followed it, if you’re one of those who still believes that voting to leave was only, or mainly, because of racism then stop reading this. It’s pointless. You won't be swayed either way.

Cries of racism and all the mudslinging over our decision to leave the EU is getting tiresome now. I was in my late thirties when I voted to leave the EU but the bile continues nearly four years later, so here’s some context…

I was born and bred in South London to Indian immigrants. At 6 years old I was repeatedly called a Paki at school. My grandfather said it meant that the other kids were just ignorant but it bothered me because of the way it was said more so than the word itself.

Racism took on a whole new meaning when the BNP opened a bookshop nearby and skinheads started marching along our road. Occasionally, we got messages to stay indoors on certain days. When I heard voices yelling 'Pakis out' as they went past our house it didn’t mean much at first.

The skinheads’ marches got more violent with cars and houses being damaged. We barricaded ourselves in the back room with me under the table (usually with my baby brother on my lap) hoping that we wouldn’t hear the sound of glass smashing or the door being kicked in. Our window was smashed once and we just replaced it. The second time round we couldn’t afford to get it fixed so it was patched up for weeks. Dad and grandad took turns to sleep on the sofa to make sure nobody got in. That’s when I felt the real terror of racism.

I remember a day when Mrs Reeves next door dragged me into her house and passed me to my grandmother over the garden fence. The skinheads were on the move and it was home time for the Saturday workers in our family. We were terrified for their safety.

I remember my uncle running into the house a few times. Skinheads used to chase him with lumps of wood full of rusty nails. They hung around at the bottom of the road. He used to finish work at 4pm but often came home late. He’d just wander around in the cold until they left.

A few years later a friend in my class at secondary school came in and told us his cousin Rohit was murdered in a racist attack. A few months later, there was another murder of another Indian lad. I remember all communities coming together to organise anti racism rallies.

A few years later at college, Stephen Lawrence had been playing pool one morning. That was the last I saw of him. We were called in to the Student Union that week and told he had been murdered the previous night. Suddenly, we were back to where we began. The terror was back.

Life went on after that and, apart from the odd idiot, things got better. Racism started to become a non issue. The odd bit of workplace hassle was a doddle to deal with compared to the atrocities of the past.

It now grates me when I hear people race-baiting or using racism for political purposes. People in positions of influence should understand the divisions they’re recreating – divisions that were long eliminated as a result of actual loss of blood and the sheer hard work of many.

Racism does exist. Of course it does. Sadly, it’s becoming harder to stamp out because so many people are too busy muffling out the voices of real victims with their fake allegations and outrage. They see racism everywhere and in everything.

The UK has become one of the most tolerant and welcoming countries in the world. When fake slurs are hurled just because people voted a certain way, it starts to become a very dangerous game. To what end? What do people now hope to achieve by all this except to cause division?

I got so fed up with all the Uncle Tom and Coconut slurs just because I was vocal in my support for Brexit. For all the reasons in this write up, every slur was another wound on an already deep scar. People really ought to be kind and think about their words more carefully. Of course there were racists who voted for Brexit but, in a democracy, even horrible people can vote. Just look at the behavior of some Remainers! 

I don’t think Brexit has caused hatred. I think it has exposed bile that was already there – on BOTH sides - BUT, it was dying a natural death as it was being stifled of oxygen by so many who have worked so hard over the years. What is happening today is the reopening the wounds of the past, breathing new life into the beast, exposing a whole new generation to the ugliness of the past. This has to stop. We’re fellow citizens and a divided country can never prosper. Is that what those who seek continued divisions actually want? Perhaps they do.

I’ve got caught up in the bitterness. I’m only human. I began to hate people for the way they were behaving too. But this all MUST stop. We’re all responsible for our own actions. Brexit has happened and we all have to let the hatred go now. It’ll just consume us all otherwise.

It’s hard to extend your hand in friendship when you know it’ll just get bitten off, but we must. We've got to start taking positive steps towards creating a better post-Brexit outcome because, whether you voted to leave or remain, the outcomes will affect us all.

I want Britain to succeed, but this depends on how we choose to move on. If we can't get past the cries of racism then we'll never deal with all the other ills in society. We'll just recreate the divisions of the past, and that is a very dangerous game to play.

Sunday, 16 February 2020

Panem et circenses

What more is there left to say about Caroline Flack?

The Romans had a phrase for it: "Panem et circenses".

There'll be a moment's lamentation and pulling of hair, calling out the media and the online trolls, by the very same media and the online trolls, and soon enough, it will all be back to normal, cheering on the gladiators, baying for blood to be spilt on the sands.

The Indians have a phrase for it too:
"एनटरटेनमैटं के लिय कुछ भी करेगा।" (Will do anything for entertainment).

And then we carry on till we drive the next fragile soul to slash their wrists.

'Twas ever thus.

Thursday, 6 February 2020

Under The Sensory Overload

Would that a glimpse take my breath away
Would that a whiff of scent drift me away
Would that the mere brush of fingertips send a chill down my spine
Would that I be sensitised within an inch of my life
To feel the little things buried under sensory overload.

Friday, 31 January 2020

31st January, 2020

A cold, shivering figure, wrapped in a soiled kimono, still clutching a baseball bat sobs gently and wipes away the tears running down into his unwashed stubble. A 40 watt bulb flickers in the damp cellar, his final refuge...

He hears a gentle knock on the door and ushers in a sorry figure of a prepubescent black youth, wearing shorts, white trainers, and a snot stained Chè Guevara t-shirt, clutching two cans of baked beans. "You must eat something," he says, his voice cracking as he wipes his nose. "I've been stockpiling." 

The door opens again, and a sniveling, disheveled figure reeking of gin, her pale tear-stained face like parchment stretched too thin, enters wearing a threadbare power-suit, shoulder-pads and all, hobbles in. "Do we have anything to eat?" she says hoarsely, fighting back the lump in her throat.

"We have couple of cans of baked beans and some raw fox meat," says the man in the kimono, "But nothing to heat or cook them with."

A little voice emerges from the shadows and whispers, "I've been hiding here all along. I've got a bottle of £3.75 supermarket Claret, and a few cans of Campbell tomato soup.  I once sexed up a dossier and helped burn an entire country to the ground. I can start a fire, even in this dank, dark basement. Shall we eat?"

The door creaks open yet again, bringing with it a bitter draft of ice-cold January air and a senile old man in a tweed jacket clutching an over-sized marrow repeatedly muttering, "We won the argument, we won the argument..." nodding his head and wiping the frost from his snow-white beard, his teeth chattering as he spoke.

"Do come in," says the man in the kimono, grateful for more company.

The five huddle around the fire, blissfully unaware of the carbon-monoxide filling up the tiny basement, as they tuck into the charred remains of a dead fox from two months ago, baked beans and rancid tomato soup.

Meanwhile outside, the sky bursts into life, with fireworks, strains of jubilant music, the popping of corks, and a renewed energy of a nation freed from the shackles that bound it to failed social and political experiment.

Saturday, 28 December 2019

Qaraar-é-Panjshanbé



If you take anything with you into the new year, take this:

"Qaraar-é-Panjshanbé" is a short film by 20-year old Iranian film-maker Syed Raza Khardmand. The film was recently given an award at the Luxor Film Festival.

"Qaraar-é-Panjshanbé", loosely translated, means "Thursday's appointment" and refers to a common Persian practice of visiting the cemetery and offering prayers for departed loved ones on Thursdays, it being the weekend. Visitors often take dried fruits such as dates and share them with others at the cemetery.

I couldn't find a subtitled version of this film, but then it really doesn't need any.

For those intrigued by the verse recited by the gentleman in the video, it is from a ghazal by Khwaja Shams-ud-Din Muḥammad Ḥafeẓ-é-Shirazi, better known simply as Hafez - Iran's most celebrated poet.

Again, translated liberally, my Farsi is a tad rusty; the verse goes...

"If that Shirazi Turk takes my heart in her hand
I would trade Samarqand and Bukhara for her little mole

Oh saaqi! Give me that eternal wine for in Paradise
You'll never find the banks of Roknabad and the gardens of Mosalla"

Some notes:
Shirazi = from Shiraz in Iran. Hafez himself was born and lived all his life in Shiraz, the region once famed for the wine that bears its name.

Samarqand & Bukhara are historic places in modern day Uzbekistan known for their picturesque beauty.

Saaqi = Wine Bearer or if you like, Bartender.

Monday, 23 December 2019

Grime, slime

The guy who wrote the text in the attached image is being invited to schools to read to and converse with your little children. He is also going to appear on state-funded national television with a Christmas message for everyone.

Back in the day, when I was little, we'd have policemen and firemen and painters and poets and writers and artists visit us at school to inspire our young minds and fire our imagination. We even had a dentist once! They were our heroes.

Today, I'm so sad to say, there's just this kind of sludge that creeps out from under the manhole covers Jeremy Corbyn is so fond of. No wonder it's called grime.

Wednesday, 18 December 2019

Wrapping up 2019

The holidays are just about upon us. Here are some thoughts I'd like to share as you begin to wrap up 2019 and head into 2020, hopefully with 20-20 vision...

If you are fortunate enough to be able to shop for presents for family and friends, or food and drink for a party you may be having, consider buying local, buying handmade, buying from someone you know, buying from the self-employed.

The big stores don't jubilantly punch the air when they make a sale - your friendly local shopkeeper does. Send the little guy home to his kids dancing a jig, with a spring in his step and a warm feeling that it is indeed the season to be jolly.

If you are privileged enough to have surviving parents or grandparents, sit down with them for a good old chin-wag. Look them in the eye and tell them of your fondest memory of them. Ask them what you were like as a child. Trust me on this one - it feels like mulled wine warming your insides.

If you are blessed with many friends and get together a lot, consider inviting and involving one shy wallflower to each of your dos. There's a rock-solid BFF or quite possibly, the love of your life completely unknown to you hiding somewhere out there only because you didn't ask. Go ahead. Ask.

If you are lucky enough to be in the company of family and loved ones this holiday season and someone turns down an alcoholic drink you offer them, please don't insist they accept. You have no idea why they might be declining and how hard that might be for them. Please don't make it harder. Help them win whatever they're fighting. That's what friends are for.

When choosing presents, nothing is more personal or thoughtful than a carefully chosen book. Don't just tick off a bestseller list - do some digging. What would they like to read? Why didn't you know already? You'll be richer for having done that, as will your friend.

The humongous hug you get from the universe each time you do any one of those things comes for free.

And guess what? You can do all of the above all year next year too, and the year after. 

Start today.

Tuesday, 3 December 2019

Coriander, Dhaniya, Cilantro

I love coriander. If you're a curry fan, this is how I source and use it:

Supermarket coriander has no aroma and no flavour, and to add insult to injury, tends to cost £1 or more per bunch. You might as well use grass. Best avoid.

Local Indian shops do great deals, sometimes 2 or 3 generously packed bunches for a quid.

Firstly, wash thoroughly in cold water to get rid of the chlorinated disinfectant.

I buy 6 bunches at a time, using 3 bunches as follows:

1. I chop the stems as finely as I can and pack them *tightly* into an ice tray to freeze. Once frozen, I move the cubes into a tupperware box or a recycled ice-cream tub, and keep it in the freezer. The stems have more flavour than the leaves, so discarding them is a culinary crime and should be punishable by permanent exile to a Gulag in Siberia. 

I use one or two or three cubes of the stems as a cooking ingredient, depending how many people I'm cooking for, adding it last to the onion/garlic/ginger/tomato gloop that serves as a basis for all curries. My measurement: 1 cube for every two portions. Alter as you see fit. You can also thaw a cube or two out and mix into your marinade for chicken or lamb roasts or BBQ.

2. As for the leaves, I pick them out and *very* loosely pack them into a similar box and freeze.

To use as a garnish, I scoop out a handfull and crushing them in my hands, I sprinkle them over my finished dish or salad - they melt instantaneously and spring to life, as if they were freshly picked.

I use the remaining 3 bunches to make a chutney/dip. Here's how:

3. I chuck the bunches, stems and all, along with a bunch of fresh mint, also with stems, several green chillies, a red or preferably a pink onion, the size of a fist, two spring onions - green bit included, 4-5 cloves of garlic, a tablespoon of red chilli powder (or dried red chilli flakes if you want proper fire), salt to taste, 2 or 3 table-spoons of lime juice (not lemon!), a teaspoon of amchur (dried mango) powder, and a little fresh ginger into a blender and blend until I get a rough paste of an even consistency. I use some watered down natural yoghurt if the blender begs for more liquid. You can alter the ingredients to suit. 

This is stored in the fridge. 

You can use this gloop on its own as a chutney or add a hefty tablespoon of it to a little bowl of whisked natural yoghurt to make a different kind of dip.

All of the above lasts my family of 4 for 2 weeks.

Thursday, 28 November 2019

Labour Antisemitism, Conservative Islamophobia and LibDem Maajid Nawaz

This, from Maajid Nawaz,

"My dear media pundits:

On Labour antisemitism, I understand that you’re generalists, who have to be abreast of everything, and therefore can’t be on top of everything, but I’ve been engaged in these issues of political extremism all my adult life, literally from opposing sides, so at least (please) do me the favour of reading a thread I write before repeating the clichè back to me that “all racism is bad, and the Tories are racist too” (as if I - a Muslim survivor of violent racist attacks, and the War on Terror era - hadn’t thought of that angle).

I’m not saying you have to agree with everything I say, I’d be worried if you did, but on this (clearly my fortè) please (for my sanity) read my view in any given thread first and then disagree (preferably without repeating an objection that I’ve already addressed in the thread), or better yet ask me instead of telling me about a topic I’ve spent the last 25 years and 2 additional Islamic languages learning. 

Honestly, before responding please pause to consider if it’s slightly patronising in any way at all for you to respond with tried & tested clichès about Tory ‘Islamophobia’ when the issues are disgustingly incomparable. 

Aside from that annoying misnomer ‘Islamophobia’ (which really reinforces a ‘death for blasphemy’ taboo in my parents’ country Pakistan and here in the UK) the comparison of Tory anti-Muslim bigotry would only be appropriate if Boris Johnson had called the Neo-Nazi Christchurch killer his “friend” and had taken money, personally, from a state that funded that killer (as Corbyn did with Hamas while taking up to £20K from Iran).

So, until the day Boris Johnson flirts with actual Muslim-killing terrorists it’s disgusting to draw such analogies, because they are deeply insensitive to our Jewish friends. 

What’s also disgustingly insensitive is to compare any policy of the Israeli state with a terror group.

Again, the appropriate comparison with Hamas & Hezbollah is to the Christchurch anti-Muslim neo-Nazi killer, not Netanyahu (despite my fierce disagreements with his policies). Netanyahu is a state leader, not a genocidal anti-Muslim terrorist. 

Only political amateurs and/or morally bereft obfuscators equivocate  and confuse statecraft (agree or disagree with it) with genocidal terrorism that eg: targets babies. So please, do try to assume I’m not as stupid as you may think I am (no matter how hard that may be) and consider that I may have already thought of what you’re about to say regarding the very real presence of Tory ‘Islamophobia’. I dunno, just maybe, during the 4 years I spent studying & debating these issues as a political prisoner in Egypt when surely I had time to rethink many of the political assumptions you now may hold and advocate (that I used to fiercely advocate too), maybe that time allowed me to arrive at a slightly unique perspective? Maybe? 

Thank you and forgive me, this isn’t meant to sound like a whinge. It’s just so morally wrong to equate Corbyn’s moral & institutional support for terrorism with ‘mere’ Tory bigotry or crudeness. And before anyone says it, no, I don’t vote Tory. I’m voting Liberal Democrats.

Thank you."

He goes on to add, "I’m really sorry for this, but you won’t believe the amount of ‘splaining I have to put up with."

Me too, Maajid meri jaan. Me too.

Big Brother. For Real.

The girl featured in this TikTok video is 17-year-old Feroza Aziz, of New Jersey.

Pink eyelash curler in hand, Feroza begins her clever click-and-switch video innocently: “Hi, guys. I’m going to teach you guys how to get long lashes.”

After a few seconds, she asks viewers to put down their curlers. “Use your phone that you’re using right now to search up what’s happening in China, how they’re getting concentration camps, throwing innocent Muslims in there, separating their families from each other, kidnapping them, murduring them, raping them, forcing them to eat pork, forcing them to drink, forcing them to convert different religions, if not, or else, they're gonna, of course, get murdured, people that go into these concentration camps, they'll come back alive. This is another holocaust, yet no one is talking about it. Please be aware, please spread awareness."

TikTok has suspended Feroza's
account after she posted the clip.

The widespread fear that the owner of TikTok, Chinese social media giant ByteDance, censors or punishes videos that China’s government might not like is very real.

In recent months, United States lawmakers have expressed concerns that TikTok censors video content at Beijing’s behest and shares user data with the Chinese authorities. China’s communist government rigidly controls the internet within the nation’s borders. It exerts influence over the activities of private businesses.

The concern is that, when companies like ByteDance and the telecom equipment maker Huawei expand overseas, Beijing’s long arm follows them.

China would certainly prefer that the world did not talk about its clampdown on Muslims. Over the past few years, the Chinese government has corralled as many as one million ethnic Uighurs, Kazakhs and others into internment camps and prisons. 

Internal Communist party documents reported by The Times this month provided an inside glimpse at the crackdown and confirmed its coercive nature.

The US Secretary of State Mike Pompeo, recently said at a news conference in Washington that the documents showed “brutal detention and systematic repression” of Uighurs and called on China to immediately release those who were detained.

This is what a big government does, this is what happens when you cede power. The benign wedge that is socialism is just a step towards mission creep into authoritarian communism.

In the words of Feroza Aziz, "Please be aware, please spread awareness."

Tuesday, 26 November 2019

Education or Indoctrination?

I haven’t said anything yet about the plans Labour have to teach ‘the evils of the British Empire’ and the horrors of slavery and colonialism at every level of education. Partly I haven’t bothered because it’s the political equivalent of an open goal. I pretty much suspect that every single person on my Facebook knows how idiotic such a plan is, I’ve also not said anything about it because we all know that what Labour is proposing already happens. Teachers already talk utter shit about history. Teachers already pass on their slavish devotion to Labour. What Corbyn proposes just makes it official. 

But the more I think about it the more I feel that it sums up everything that is wrong with not just Labour but the perverse, hypocritical ideology that the whole of the Woke world subscribes to. So here are a couple of points that spring to mind: 

(1) Let's say you spend every year of school telling black kids that white people have always been sh*ts to them, and that British white people are the biggest sh*ts of all. And you pretend that this is still relevant today, still ongoing today, still something that people today are guilty for. What effect does that have on black kids? Does it encourage them to work harder, to study, to integrate, to like their white classmates and white teachers, or to love the country they are living in? 

Oh, and the lessons are to include telling black kids that their rich and powerful history was stunted and interrupted by the evil white man. 

So what does this actually do? It teaches them only to hate. It teaches them to blame completely innocent people today based on a simplistic and malice driven interpretation of the past. It makes them arrogant, embittered, demanding, resentful. It makes them want revenge. White people are sh*ts, right? It doesn’t matter what I do to them now. Look what they did to my ancestors. 

(2) Let's say you spend every day of school telling white kids that they are and always have been the biggest sh*ts on the planet. Tell them that they are racist. Tell them that none of the achievements of their country are achievements. Tell them that they are moral criminals, and that everything they have is stolen. Tell them that they have no heroes to admire, that they were only ever slavers and oppressors, that there is this moral taint in their blood and their skin colour that they can never escape. Tell them that anything they achieve is unfair anyway.  Tell them every single day that the black kids are better than them. Inherently, morally better. 

So what does this actually do? It teaches them only to hate. It teaches them to blame completely innocent people today based on a simplistic and malice driven interpretation of the past. Because how are they going to feel about those black kids? How are they going to feel anything other than resentment, like a child who knows that his parents only love the other child, the child that is not like them. What are they going to learn, except a deep, bitter, poisoning resentment at their current mistreatment. And if they are evil anyway, if they are guilty....why not do the f**king crime anyway? They’ve already been judged. F**k it. Be a b*st*rd. You told me I was that anyway. 

Replace black with any PoC, and it's the same: the perfect recipe for creating more division and more hate. All in the name of progress, all in the name of compassion and inclusion. It includes everyone in the same diet of hate. 

That is Labour. That is the Left. That is Wokeness. And that is evil.

By Bartholomew Chiaroscuro

Wednesday, 13 November 2019

An Open Letter to Greta Thunberg

I reproduce here, an open letter to Greta Thunberg by Professor Jason D. Hill.

You are not a moral leader. But I will tell you what you are.

You have declared yourself a leader and said that your generation will start a revolution. 

You have comported yourself as a credentialed adult and climate change activist who has fearlessly addressed politicians and world leaders. 

You have dropped out of school and declared that there isn’t any reason to attend, or any reason for you to study since there will be no future for you to inherit. You have, rather than attend your classes, been leading Friday Climate Strikes for all students in your generation across the globe. Your attendance at oil pipelines has been striking. There, you unequivocally declare that all oil needs to remain in the ground where it belongs.

I shall, therefore, against the backdrop of your activism, address you as an adult rather than as a child.

In September of 2019 you crossed the Atlantic in a “zero carbon” racing yacht that had no toilet and electric light on board. You made an impassioned plea at the United Nations in which you claimed that, “we have stolen your dreams and our childhood with our empty words.”  You claimed that adults and world leaders come to young people for answers and explained in anger: “How dare you!” You claimed that we are failing you and that young people are beginning to understand our betrayal. You further declared that if we continue to fail your generation: “We will never forgive you.”

You have stated that you want us to panic, and to act as if our homes are on fire. You insist that rich countries must reduce to zero emissions immediately. In your speeches you attack economic growth and have stated that our current climate crisis is caused by “buying and building things.” You call for climate justice and equity, without addressing the worst polluter on the planet China; the country that is economically annexing much of Africa and Latin America. You dare not lecture Iran about its uranium projects - because that’s not part of the UN’s agenda, is it?

You proclaim that we need to live within the planetary boundaries, to focus on equity and “take a few steps back” for the sake of all living species. You resent the hierarchical distinctions between human and animals and entertain no qualitative distinction between a monkey, a malaria-infested mosquito and a snarling hyena.

You mouth slogans such as: “We have set in motion an irreversible chain reaction beyond control,” and you advocate for universal veganism on the Ellen DeGeneres show. You do not buy new clothes, and you don’t want the rest of us to either. You want us all to stop flying in jet planes without giving us an alternative as to how we would re-transform our financial and trading systems - to say nothing of our personal enjoyment of the world - without regression to a primeval era.

Few can afford to cross the Atlantic in a $6M zero carbon yacht financed by rich people who made their wealth by the very means you condemn as loathsome.

There are a few things that we, the rational adults of the world who are not bowing to you like guilt-ridden obsequious Babbitts need to say to you, Greta:

First, we did not rob you of your childhood or of your dreams. You are the legatee of a magnificent technological civilization which my generation and the one before it and several others preceding it all the way to the Industrial Revolution and the Renaissance, bequeathed to you. That growth-driven, capitalist technological civilization has created the conditions for you to harangue us over our betrayal. It is a civilization that eradicated diseases such as small pox from the word, and that lifted millions out of abject poverty in a universe you think is dying and decaying. It assured you a life expectancy that exceeded that of your ancestors. Most likely by focusing on economic growth which you demonize, and scientific advancement, that civilization will further enhance a robust quality of life and health for your descendants.

Here is a hard truth to ponder, Greta: if the great producers of this world whom you excoriate were to withdraw their productivity, wealth and talents - in short - their minds from the world today, your generation would simply perish.

Why? Because as children you have done nothing as yet with your lives besides being born. This is what we expect of children until such time as they can be producers by learning from their elders. You are understandably social and ecological ballast. You are not yet cognitively advanced to replicate the structures of survival of which you are the beneficiaries. 

Children are important installments on the future. We have invested in you. It is you and your smug generation which think they have nothing to learn from the older ones who are failing themselves.

Whom do you expect to employ the majority of you if you have neither the job credentials or life competency skills to navigate the world? The future unemployable-skipping- school-on-Friday obstreperous children?

The truth, as one anonymous blogger aptly put it, is that your generation is unable to work up to forty hours per week without being chronically depressed and anxious. Its members cannot even decide if they want to be a boy or a girl, or both, or neither, or a “they.” They cannot eat meat without crying. I might add that your generation needs “trigger warnings” and “safe spaces” as pre-conditions for learning in school. Its members have a pathological need to be coddled and protected from the challenging realities of life. Your generation is the biggest demander and consumer of carbon spewing technological gadgets and devices. An hour without any of them and too many of you succumb to paralyzing lethargy. Your generation is the least curious and most insular set of individuals one has ever encountered. Your hubris extends so far that you think you have nothing to learn from your elders.

Yes, we have betrayed you: by capitulating the world of leadership to bored, attention-deficit children who spout bromides, platitudes and slogans that a rudderless and morally relativistic culture accepts because a significant number of its denizens have become intellectually bankrupt and morally lazy.

The logical endpoint of your ecological vision would see us living in primeval conditions eking out an existence in jungle swamps in which we would regard poisonous snakes and man-eating tigers as our moral equals. We would have to adapt ourselves to nature rather than adapt nature to meet our needs, like all members of civilized civilizations do. Your vision would see us foraging for mushrooms and plants without knowing which were inimical to our digestive systems.

Under your system we would swelter from heat, die from rampant plagues and starvation because there will be no air-conditioning units, no sophisticated plumbing and irrigations and sewer systems, no anti-bacterial soap made from animal matter, no pesticides and chemicals to sanitize our food and drinking supplies: just one primordial swamp of human putrefaction.

If civilization is left in the hands of your ecofascist supporters we will be living in grass huts, drinking animal feces infested water, and shrinking in fear from polar bears instead of killing them for food when they attack us.

Greta, living in complete harmony with nature is the death of creativity. Understand this. All great civilizations were forged in the crucibles of proper exploitation of the earth. Those who lived on land with oil and did nothing with it never had a right to it in the first place. Non-usage of God’s resources is the cardinal sin because it results in the un-development of our human capabilities, and makes us indistinguishable from beasts.

Your generation needs to be taught the morality of wealth creation, rather than only parasitically benefiting from it. The only revolution you will lead is one into nihilism and civilization regression. You need to learn about the moral case for fossil fuel. You owe it to yourself to understand how as, Kathleen Hartnett White has detailed, the harnessing of the vast store of concentrated energy in fossil fuels allowed mankind, for the first time in human history, to escape intractable constraints and energy limits that had left all but the very privileged in total poverty and depravity. Before the Industrial Revolution all societies were dependent on a very limited flow of solar energy captured in living plants for subsistence needs such as food, fuel and shelter.

But we, the creative enterprisers, will not go back to the Dark Ages. Your philosophy can be summed up as follows:
  
'What was good for my anthropoid ancestors is good for me. Do not rock the boat, or even build one as that will require cutting down a tree. Do not disrupt nature. Do not dare to see the earth as rightfully belonging to us. We don’t have the right to use our brains in a manner that can transform our needs into a material form. Let’s conveniently forget that production is the application of reason to the problems of survival. Let’s all diminish the grandeur of man and his luminous potential. Crush the Thomas Edisons of this world.'

The apocalyptic world vision you hold has been a strip landing for those who have hated progress throughout history. Your apocalyptic predictions have been made for millennia, and, we’re still here. We will still be here long after you’ve grown up and we have forgiven you for skipping classes, thereby lowering the intelligence quotient of an entire generation.

Monday, 11 November 2019

Could this be our Berlin Wall moment?

Following the secession of Pakistan from India over 70 years ago and the bitter acrimony between the countries that continues to to this day, adherents of the Sikh faith and the people of Punjab of all faiths and on either side of the line in the paddy fields bore the brunt of the bloodbath that ensued. By the time the dust had settled, millions of bodies had been buried and millions cremated. There is not a Sikh alive whose life has not been altered by those tumultuous times. In the etching out the borders, several important Sikh shrines fell in Pakistan, notably the birthplace of the founder of the Sikh faith, Guru Nanak. 

Last week, the Sikh diaspora the world over, celebrated his 550th birthday.

But now is not the time for a history and politics lesson. Something else has happened. Something wonderful.

Just as we in the West mark Armstice Day (or Remembrance Day) once a year to honour those brave souls who fought in the Great War, us Sikhs pray for something every day. Yes every single day, sometimes several times a day:

There is a small section in the Sikh daily ardas (The Sikh equivalent of the Lord's prayer) where AFTER you have prayed for all humanity, for strength, for fortitude and for wisdom, where you are meant to insert your own personalised prayer. In this section, nearly 4 generations of Sikhs have, in addition to their own personal requests or gratitude, asked for one thing unanimously: unhindered access to and the exalted privilege of the upkeep and service of Nankana Sahib and other historic sites of deep significance to the Sikh faith.

So much so, that as the whole prayer is repeatedly droned over and over again, day in day out, that specific part almost fades into background noise, devoid of any impact or indeed, meaning.

We are today looking at the distinct possibility that those lines could be eliminated from the daily ardas completely for there would be no need for them. 

Now I'm no influencer, but I did slip Pakistan skipper, Imran Khan the benefit of the doubt, following his overtures on the release of Indian POWs earlier this year, desperately hoping deep inside he'd have the courage to keep on following through with doing what is necessary. The last week has shown that he does.

A part of me remains cynical though, and I'd be stupid to let my emotions cloud the ground realities which he lives in and operates under and the ugliness of hatred and bigotry that is Indo-Pak relations, the evil forces dressed in saffron and green, and the Hindu-Muslim realpolitik.


Modi ji, ab aapki chaal.

Friday, 8 November 2019

Divide & Rule, 2019

There are only two political parties in the history of the United Kingdom to be investigated by the Equality & Human Rights Commission. One of them is Nick Griffin's BNP. The other is Jeremy Corbyn's Labour. You know why. Every man and his pet hamster knows why.

For now, it is just the Jewish community facing a very visible and shamelessly overt purge from the Labour party, however one does wonder which community is next. I have come to the disturbingly sinking realisation that it is mine.

The Labour machine under Corbyn has figured out that it would be political suicide for them to fully clamp down on antisemitism. They have too many seats that rely on communities which are fundamentally, historically, & culturally antisemitic and by a very conveniently disguised extension, anti-Israel.

Can anyone tell me with a straight face that this is not true? That it is not politically correct to say it out loud is one thing, that it is true is quite another, no matter how much we are terrified at the prospect of being labelled a racist, the truth will always remain the truth.

Case in point: The distinct lack of Britain's national flag at their party conference, replaced by flags of another country was pretty much an in your face challenge of I-dare-you-to-dethrone-us in the said seats. You have to be a special kind of stupid or wilfully complicit to have missed it.

I can see the same games being played with the British Indian diaspora - pitting Muslims against Hindus, pitting Hindus against Sikhs, and vice versa, tapping into nationalistic and separatist rhetoric from sectarian emotions imported from the Indian subcontinent.

A cynical but highly effective strategy, and I am deeply saddened to admit, a very successful one. Divide and rule worked on Indians in 19th century India, turns out it works on Indians in 21st century UK just as well.

No one does it better than Jeremy Corbyn's Labour party.

Monday, 4 November 2019

Doomsday Porn


These are images from an 'emotional protest' (their words, not mine; mine would be 'macabre blood-magik fetish-fest'), by the Cambridge branch of Extinction Rebellion outside the Guildhall from a couple of days ago, featuring, as they proudly proclaim, 'grandparents and grandchildren alongside each other'. 

Yep, loopy grandparents, and permanently scarred grandchildren, together in what can only be described as an anarcho-primitivist death cult equivalent of a sweaty pervert wearing nought but a Mackintosh leaping from behind the bushes in a children's park, except this is politically sanctioned mass child abuse in the new hijinks that is Doomsday Porn.

I'm left with this overwhelming conclusion that we as a species, are done. We've had our run. It's over. That goddamned exinction they keep threatening us with can't come soon enough.

Please, please, dear asteriod, wherever you are, hurry the hell up and put us out of our misery.

Saturday, 2 November 2019

Spare The Rod, Embrace The Blasphemer

Anyone who thinks Rod Liddle actually advocated making it harder for Muslims and young people to vote is an idiot. My take from his article is the point most people are missing entirely - that political parties have effectively used sectarian identity politics to carve up the electorate into vote banks. 

This knee-jerk vilification of Rod against the backdrop of ACTUAL calls for older people being prevented from voting at all - political euthansia, if you will - with nary a protest or condemnation or the slightest bit of outrage is a dangerously disturbing trend.

What's even more disturbing is how satire, poetic license, criticism and lampooning are now labelled as manifestations of blasphemy.

Yes, blasphemy. In two thousand bloody nineteen. 

Mark this, dear reader, if we continue down this road, the way back will be fraught with terrible suffering. Resist it while you still can, or forever lose the right to do so. The West is the last bastion of free speech, and to let it succumb to tyrannical policing will be the end of us all.

Tuesday, 29 October 2019

Vote Brexit Vote Diversity

I have been to mainland Europe only twice in my entire life. I speak seven languages, four of them to a level where I can (and often do) write poetry in them. I can Bhangra, Garba, Qarsak, Disco, Line Dance, Waltz, and hell, even break-dance, (badly). I enjoy Kirtan, Bhajans, Sufi poetry, Pslams & Hymns, Daler Mehndi, Gurdas Mann, Mohammad Rafi, Kishore Kumar, Manna Dey, Bryan Adams, Bon Jovi, Guns 'n' Roses, Metallica, Joni Mitchell, Red hot Chilli Peppers, Googoosh, Ahmad Zahir, Farhad Darya, and a whole lot of others that appeal to my soul.
I've read the Guru Granth Sahib, the Bhagwad Gita, some of the Vedas and Upanishads, The Bible, the Koran, The God Delusion, and a Brief History of Time, and often quote from them. My favourite authors are Tagore, Sada'at Hassan Manto, Munshi Premchand, Shakespeare, Robert Burns, George Orwell, Aldous Huxley, Nasim Nicholas Taleb, Ibn Battuta, Bullèh Shah, Mark TwainWH Auden, PB Shelly, Victor Hugo, Voltaire, Charles Dickens, and a myriad of bloggers that aren't afraid to say what they need to say.
I don't take offence if my beliefs (or lack of them), my appearance or my customs are ridiculed or made fun of. Some of them ARE funny as shit and the stereotypes they invoke are funnier still. My Gods may seem weird to you, but then yours do to me as well, which is fine. Mine have lasted many centuries and many millennia, as have yours, and they'll easily withstand and weather a little bit of ribbing and fingering from the odd comedian or a stupid bigot.
Where I draw the line is when you think I and my kind need to be obliterated or converted. My beliefs and I are not better than you and your beliefs, and neither are yours better than mine. The moment you think they are is when you become a lesser individual, and therefore the enemy. That is the point at which I will resist you and fight you. The Gods I believe in or political stance I take don't need their honour or validity defended by mere mortals. That yours might suggest otherwise shows how pathetically weak they are. Which is why I will win, every single time.
My morality, my moral stance, and how I choose to live my life and raise my children should be no concern of yours, until or unless I seek to coerce you into believing what I believe and doing what I do. Don't agree with me, and by all means make fun of it, but don't expect me to agree with or fall in line with you. Any divine right you think you have, if there is such a thing, is equally mine as it is yours. To expect me and force me to live by your rules is nothing but tyranny, and I for one, will not stand for it.
This is why I voted Brexit. I would still vote Brexit if it came to it - again. This why I am a conservative. This is why this isn't a fight against diversity, it is a fight FOR diversity. We are all different. That is what makes us, every one of us special. I celebrate differences, I am of the opinion that we MUST be allowed to evolve on our own terms instead of being forcibly homogenised into a bland blob of conformity. 'Vive la difference', as the French would say.
My life's motto? "An' it harm none, do what ye will." Other than that, you can fuck right off."

Wednesday, 16 October 2019

Would you like cashback with that?

You know what annoys me most about checkouts at supermarkets? 

It's when they pile up the the receipt, the change, and the coins, and just stuff the whole stack into your palm. These are three different things, they go in three different places.

I know you've made a sale, and you've just knocked your KPIs out of the park and all, but tarry a little. I'm anxious to go home as well. Why don't you chuck the receipt into the bag, hand over the notes, and THEN the coins? And please, please smile. Maybe I'm having a shit day too.

As for those in the queue right behind me, breathing down my neck - back off a tad. Getting where I am has been a mission. Let me have my moment. Consider yourself lucky and blessed, for you're up next. Dwell on that while I put my stuff away.

#FirstWorldProblems

Saturday, 12 October 2019

Greta snubbed, say the snobs

Reportage this week: "Greta Thunberg snubbed for Nobel Peace Prize by committee run by Norway, one of the world's biggest oil and natural gas exporters."

Snubbed? Give me a break!

Funny how Norway weren't "one of the world's biggest oil and natural gas exporters" when they awarded it to IPCC and Al Gore.

Besides, can anyone name any other country in the world that has adopted more climate change mitigation technologies and solutions than Norway?

People are actually disappointed that an upper-class white teenage girl who helps instigate mass hysteria was robbed of a Nobel Peace Prize in favour of an African black leader who, in less than two years of being Prime Minister, ended a 20-year war, bringing actual peace in a region crawling with machete weilding brigands.

Wokism has gone full circle, like a snake eating its tail.

Wednesday, 9 October 2019

The Squatter MPs

To every MP that switched parties midterm and was too chicken to call a bye-election:

You are in the privileged and exalted position of being a Member of Parliament because of many little people, most of them very young with very limited means, who relentlessly distributed your leaflets and knocked on mostly hostile doors, come rain or shine, in sweltering heat or biting cold, fighting your case, only because they believed in you and the manifesto you stood on, often spending their own money and sacrificing their time to get to your constituency.

You've just spat in every one of their faces.

You are a Member of Parliament under false pretenses. You, are a fraud.

Go on, explain to me why and how you are not.

So, this is how liberty dies - with thunderous applause

The youth in Hong Kong are braving tear gas, batons, and live ammunition for democracy, and the youth of Britain are painting their faces blue and blocking streets in a desperate bid to give theirs away.

Strange times.

Regurgitating Racial Epithets, Dhesi Style

I last heard the term 'towel-head' some 37 years ago, in school, that too in a gentle ribbing by a friend.

I mean, what kind of 1980s moron says 'towel-head' anymore?

Or so I thought. I heard it again just 4 days ago from a rabid remainer, who colourfully embellished it as "towel-headed useful idiot".

I know Tan Dhesi is thrilled at his rousing act in parliament, and that it's gone viral all over Facebook and Whatsapp.

Thanks to him though, a whole new generation has been introduced to a hitherto extinct racial epithet.

It just set us Sikhs in the UK back by several decades.

Just what we need - Palpatine

With all the names being lobbed about for a caretaker Prime Minister, we'd do well to remember the last time a socialist was given "temporary" executive control of his country to overcome a political crisis.

It was in 1933, and his name was Adolf Hitler.

Set Your Monkey Free

Sooo... right now, there's a guy sitting in his living room in a silk dressing gown and soft slippers, swirling a couple of ice cubes in a tumbler with 35ml of a 50-year old whiskey wondering if the picture of a bunch of simians in a room was worth the £10 million he paid for it.

I see them for free, every Wednesday, with sound.

Dear Extinction Rebellion

You know, when I was little, a milkman would come round in the morning to deliver milk from a steel cannister into whatever utensil we needed it in, usually a steel pan, which would go straight onto the hob for boiling before being put away into the fridge. My mum would skim off the cream for me to enjoy later.

We used to buy a crate of 24 glass Coca Cola bottles from the shop, and return them when empty, in exchange for refills.

We'd buy cheese and yoghurt in little clay pots, and a guy would deliver fresh grapes, also in sealed earthen pots.

Coffee or tea to go was never a thing. We'd get it in little glasses, made of well, glass.

Grocery shopping was almost always packed in brown paper bags, and sometimes in jute tote bags and wicker baskets which we'd use till they fell apart. We'd buy meat, chicken and fish from the local butcher or fish market, having it cut just the way we wanted it. No one trusted pre-cut and pre-packaged meat.

We'd darn socks, sew buttons on, and wear clothes till they were completely knackered and faded within an inch of their lives.

And we'd cycle pretty much everywhere. And walk to school.

I'm not talking of some idyllic bygone era - this was a mere 25-30 years ago. Pretty much everyone over the age of 40 remembers this.

So before you glue yourselves to pavements and offices and spray buildings with beetroot juice (which WE will have to clean up), block the streets with your LSDesque hippie protests through interpretive dance and prevent poor folk from going to to work so they can feed their families, you might want to remember, it isn't us that clogged the drains, pissed into the rivers and shat in the oceans.

It's you lot. It's all your fault. Just go home. Go home and look on your sins.