No, I'm Not At Bloody Glastonbury

The Pilton Pops has failed to draw me for another year. Here's why:

1/ Paying £175 for the privilege of being allowed to pitch one's tent in a field full of Guardian readers and their face-painted kids. These responsible citizens are all over you should you drop a sweet-wrapper but later won't see anything at all when your tent gets robbed.

2/ Being accosted repeatedly and performed-at by jugglers, street-theatricals, crystal therapists, pseudo-tribal drummers and new-agers in wacky costumes. A polite "fuck off out of my face you dreadful hippy" is likely to be interpreted as a sure sign that you're a philistine in league with the forces of conservatism and you may be burned as a heretic.

3/ "This one goes out to..."

Usually reserved for victims of oppression/war/famine/disaster somewhere in the world the plebs hadn't heard of before being educated by a millionaire coke-addict but, this year, the next song goes out to a freshly-dead pop-star*. The appeal is designed to do two things; first and most importantly, it is to win cheap applause, making the performer feel good and expanding their self-image from being a mere transient pop-tart into being "spokesman for a generation". Secondly, it is to assert the performer's aura of superiority over their audience, as the appeal will usually be designed to invoke a sense of guilt and collective-responsibilty. It's in your hands, people!

4/ "Making a difference".

Having paid the £175 penance for your realworld subscription to the evils of capitalism; once inside the 10 foot high security-fence and having been fitted with your bar-coded wristband, you are now part of "the experience" and elevated to a position of moral-worth one rung beyond that achievable by those who don't queue up for overpriced pop gigs staged in muddy fields. Inside the security-fence, any kind of "negativity" must be cast aside, along with any decadent western expectations regarding running-water, decent food, electricity and sanitation. By queuing two hours to do a shit in a shit-filled bucket swarming with flies then saving water/"the planet" by not washing your shitty hands, you are empathising with the day-to-day poverty of those in faraway lands, so to look down your nose at the opportunity would be to stick two fingers up at the world's poorest. The festival site is littered with bossy patronising petty-minded signage, reminding campers of their many and continuing responsibilities to the collective. Should you forget any of the salient points and, you know, accidentally light a fag in a corner of the Family Field, a pointless streak of middle-class piss wearing Lennon specs and a small beard will soon be over to explain why he's a better person than you.

5/ "We're all in this together"

Ah, the torches swaying aloft during the power-ballad, the star beaming out their non gender-specific love to the mass of punters below, the feeling that by singing this one together we'll all be celebrating a oneness of such magnitude that the poles will be united, poverty and injustice will be no more, that world peace will be inevitable and all the Bad Stuff will be defeated. The mass of by-now rain-soaked mud-streaked sunburned sleep-deprived half-starved dehydrated and fleeced-dry punterati applaud with all they've got left as the multi-millionaire headline act tosses off their one memorable song ahead of retiring to the air-conditioned backstage limo-reception area; there to enjoy cocaine, champagne and miniature bread whilst checking their half-million quid appearance fee is safely banked before fucking off home through the special traffic-free VIP exit.

6/
7/ Despite low audiences for their festival-coverage, the BBC are there en-masse. 407 of 'em, at the last count. Well they would be, wouldn't they? It's right up their street. All on tellytax-funded expenses, naturally.

8/ The price of recreational drugs. With police on overtime doing stop n' search at all but the VIP entrances, the only people able to ship in the much-needed soma supplies are well-connected gangsters able to charge a hefty premium in this closed-market.

9/ The collective conceit among festival punters that it is all somehow more than just a big gig that costs too much and goes on too long. That Glastonbury 2009, with its high fences, security guards, bossiness and smug hierarchy has anything at all in common with the spontaneous free festivals of yore.

10/ Festival-bores who go on about how much better were the spontaneous free festivals of yore.


*Rumour has it that the King Of Pop [© the Queen Of Pop] is to be recycled. Into something white, plastic and a danger to da kiddies innit.

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Poison Pumps

Have just returned from a birthday party gig. As it is so obviously the government's job to keep me from temptation, I hereby issue the following something must be done!.

Is it right and proper, in this day and age, for the paid-performer to be subject to the various pressures that come from seeing alcohol imbibed at such a function? The people who selfishly get intoxicated... and give every appearance of having "fun" whilst so doing, pose a great risk to the sober and healthy employee. The peer-pressure to "join in" is often intolerable and, sadly, tonight I let my guard down. Consequently I am now fully expecting my life to fall apart, to lose my moral compass, to forget all about getting my 5-a-day and to die a long slow lingering death from something or other that's someone else's fault.

This would never have happened had there been some sensible laws in place to protect me. The link between alcohol-consumption and what the hopeless addicts like to call "enjoyment" is clearly established and the negative-stereotype is only reinforced by allowing the open sale and consumption of intoxicants in public places. Indeed, the poison-pumps are allowed to bear ADVERTISING for their respective brewers and all with NO HEALTH WARNINGS and NO pictures of diseased pigs livers, human-roadkill or octogenarian dentistry with which to facilitate making an informed decision at the point of purchase. OUTRAGEOUS! Furthermore, as the evening drew on, I noticed hitherto plain-looking womenfolk assuming auras of almost irresistible charm and loveliness, to the point where I felt like that reprehensible Sid James character from those xenophobic "Carry On" films so beloved of unacceptable persons.

Alcohol Concern obviously need an urgent increase in government-funding with which to lobby the government for more government-funding. And I'm sure 78% of responsible citizens will agree.

Flint Finally Fucks Off

Morticia's gone; refusing her new job and giving Gordon a big bitchslap on the way. Apparently, this Minister for Europe who had never read the Lisbon Treaty considers Gordo to be anti-wimmins, as she felt sidelined by da bigga boyz in the Clown Cabinet. Aww. And absolutely nothing to do with diverting attention away from her serial incompetence and this ex-housing minister charging her own stamp-duty and legal-fees to the taxpayer. And so says the rest of the sisterhood.

Not going terribly well, is it?

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Gordon's Bunkershuffle - Draft List Leaked

In a last-ditch bid to prove he's a serious superhero for serious times unlike that vacuous image-obsessed populist upstart Dave Flashman, Gordon Brown has been working studiously through the night, assembling the dream cabinet that will really turn things around this time YES THEY FUCKING WILL SO SHUT UP. One surprise is the splitting of the Wimmins Ministry into two departments; my source suggests this may have been down to the necessary horse-trading surrounding the appointment of Alistair Darling's successor. Several new peerages have had to be gifted so as to facilitate Gordon's re-engagement with The People and, in what the bunkerteam insist on calling Government 3.0, some old departments such as Transport and Environment have been absorbed into a new "super-ministry", headed by Caroline Flint.

• Lord Ant n' Dec to be Joint Minista 4 da Granny-Vote

• Lady Susan Boyle to be Minista 4 da Skills an Talintz an that

• Sion Slimon promoted to Minista 4 da Werk n Giros an that

• Arise Lord Sir Alan Sugar to be Minista 4 Lookin Betta on da Tele

• Caroline Flint to be Minista 4 Don't Do This Don't Do That

• Tom Watson to be da new official unofficial Derek Draper

• Ed Balls to be Chancellor [no really, I'm serious]

• Harriet Fucking Harperson to be Minista 4 Heathrow Expansion

• Lord Mandlefondle slides over to Minista 4 da Childrens

• Kerry Mc Carthy-Blogspot promoted to Minista 4 da Multitasking and Patronising Men

• Margaret Becket to be new Minista 4 da Ugly Wimmins

• Arise Lady M'am Sir JK Rowling to be da Minista 4 Trooth

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Dominos Fall - Purnell Resigns from Guvvermint of da Talintz

Oh dear. Oh deary deary me. The polls have closed and the Times have just reported the resignation of careerist Bliarite chancer James Purnell. Oops. The dominos are falling and the Right Laughable Gordon Brown is about to be flushed like a big angry turd, taking the whole stinking party with him. Nulabor is in chaos; banging at the walls of its padded cell, the directionless power now turned in on itself; looking for answers, looking for scapegoats, enemies-within searching in vain for that easy fix. Blears in hiding, Brown in his bunker trying to reshuffle from a dwindling deck of Jokers.

The nulabor Project is dead. Done. Finished. Now I'd like my characterful tolerant imperfect old country back please. And we haven't even started with the nulabor cockroaches' criminal prosecutions yet. That's when my schadenfreude will really hit the fan. Deary deary deary me. How the scum that has risen shall be purged. Collected and neutralised. Couldn't be happening to a nicer bunch of delusional fucking machine-brained psychopaths.

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Off With Them

Patricia Fucking Hewitt, the purse-lipped waggy-fingered hectoring puritanical nulabor wimmins for antismoking and generally Knowing Best has decided to retire as a useless venal troughing parasite MP in order to spend more time with her Pharmaceutical directorships. Scum Hewitt has been named n' shamed by the Telegraph for her various abuses of parliamentary allowances, but wants to stay in her trough-seat long enough to steal her Golden Goodbye from us ungrateful proles. If you are one of Thief Hewitt's unfortunate Leicester West constituents, may I suggest you let her know in some small way that she lacks the moral-authority to represent your interests in parliament for another day and that she deserves not a single penny more from the system she's been allowed to abuse for so many years.

Appalling fembot Jacqboot Smith's resignation, coming about two years too late, is leaked ahead of Gordon's reshuffle. Intends to fight for her seat though. Well, she would, wouldn't she? Without an all-wimmins shortlist to bank on, her employment prospects in any real-world situation cannot be good. Seeing as the snorting snooper's likely to need police-protection for a wee old while yet, I expect nulab's fixers are doing deals to get her onto the undemocratic EU Commission, where she'll be able to boss everyone around to her little heart's content, whilst hubby flicks himself off over some of her next victims.

Tubby Tommy Watson, petty-thief and wielder of the knife that entered warmongering mass-murderer Toady Bliar's back thus paving the way for the odious Gordon, has also acknowledged that the game's up and is disassociating himself from his position until his party are a bit more popular.

Beverley Hughes' snorting on her £164,000 a year "expenses" + ministerial salary will also end with the General Election. Hughes, who denies her resignation has anyfink at all to do wiv doin a spoiler against any Telegraph revelations yet to come out, but who has claimed the maximum Additional Costs Allowance for years whilst, as Minister 4 da Chiiiiildrens, presiding over record levels of measured "child-poverty", is perhaps best-remembered for condemning as "unbelievably sick" a TV programme she'd never seen and for being "not knowingly misleading" with her lies about immigration loopholes in 2004. With such impressive form, little wonder she was promoted to the Cabinet in Bogeyman's guvvurmunt of da talintz. Is it cuz she's a wimmins?

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The Rt.Hon. Bitchface Trufflesnort MP

A pertinent reminder as we count our piggies:

My local council, Vale of White Horse DC, a pseudo-democratic front-group for a collection of robo-drones, themselves wholly-owned by nulabor-donating government contractor Crapita, is today boasting on it's front-page about how it has secured a suspended prison-term for someone who had been in arrears on his council-tax. "Prison Sentence for Council-Tax Evader" is their headline; we have to get nearly to the end of their sub-Pravda gloating before we learn it's only a suspended sentence. The appeals to a collective righteous-indignation at this man's alleged Theft From The People are clear enough, but clearer still is the threat. Gladly give to The Party or be smited with the fury of the proletariat and forever shamed.

And then we remember how the state treats those over whom it has most power, such as those who are unemployed or living on such low wages they need help to pay market-rents. The penalties for claiming a measly pound over one's entitlement are severe. At every stage of the application and during the claim, one is humiliated, threatened, deliberately inconvenienced and bullied into useless timewasting "courses" by a watchful and petty bureaucracy intent only on meeting their provide a pool of cheap labour for Tesco targets.

What then about the old people who've paid direct-taxes for maybe fifty years and indirect taxes all their lives; the generation now in their final years who saw their friends and sweethearts die to save this country from National Socialism, who have worked hard to achieve financial-independence; after a lifetime of toil finally owning their own homes, only to have them taken away by our caring state should they need non-medical care at the end of their lives?

What of disabled people, now being pushed into unsuitable employments because nulabor want to ensure that government is seen to be undiscriminating in the provision of awfulness? The propaganda-tone is different to that used against the undeserving poor, but the result is just as dehumanising. Effectively, were Professor Hawking able to trade his fancy speaking-machine for a pair of functioning legs, our caring peecee overlords would have him pushing Tesco trolleys.


Bear all these in mind then as we move back to that fucking outrageous offence to fucking creation; troughing oink oink snort snuffle snort quota-filling nulabor wimmins-effort Margaret fucking Moran and the parasitic political-class she represents. The screw-faced oinksnort piece of weasel-shit.

Elected from an illegal all-wimmins shortlist in the rotten borough of Luton South, this troughing parasitic whore has claimed ten times more in housing-allowances than her neighbouring Luton MP Kelvin Hopkins, who lives in the same street as the Luton branch of Moran's public-funded property-empire.

Moran has set about earning the reespeck of her constituents in a way neatly illustrated by the piece below; reproduced from the Luton local press.


Madam - I note the exchange of views in your letters pages on how the MP for Luton South interacts with her constituents with interest.

Unfortunately her reputation for not replying to correspondence and her failure to turn up to diary commitments is the stuff of local legend.

There are numerous local organisations who have extended invitations to their MP and to have her simply fail to turn up is a matter for which she should be deeply ashamed.

As a county councillor who has an overlapping electoral area with the parliamentary seat of Luton South I have corresponded with the MP's office since 1997 on issues concerning our shared constituents.

I rarely receive any response, unless the subject is of immediate interest to the MP and it offers the chance of press coverage. I find this regrettable and compare her modus operandi with colleagues in adjacent constituencies who are without fail polite and diligent in responding.

I no longer bother passing on issues that we pay her to deal with as a parliamentarian, because it is simply a waste of my time.

Richard Stay
County Councillor for South East Bedfordshire


In return for such sterling service to those parts of her brief she cares to fulfill, which generally start with the word "Women's", here's a quick rundown of a few trough-privileges Bitchface Trufflesnort thinks she's entitled to claim on top of her whopping salary:


Oink! Travel-expenses for driving 26,000 miles a year: over 400 round-trips between her constituency and Westminster, the only allowable travel-claim. But she also claims the train-fare for these journeys.

Oink! £4,000 to pay off an employment-tribunal brought against her by an ex-employee.

Squeeeeal! £900 legal-bill to Carter Ruck, once they'd seen the Mail on Sunday evidence contradicting her shrill denials about intimidating the locals around her Spanish holiday-home, illegally using HoC notepaper to bolster her illegal obstruction of a public right of way. She gets caught lying so charges the bill for her malicious libel-action to the public purse.

Oink! Renovating three homes at taxpayers' expense; flipping the designation of her main-home continually, so as to screw the absolute maximum from the system.

Snort! Sending out political propaganda as unsolicited mail to her constituents, some containing deliberate lies about political opponents, then claiming the cost from parliamentary-allowances.

Oink! Improper use of parliamentary-resources to promote her husband's business. Moran denies this but the FT have seen the evidence.


Trufflesnort oinking on the Daily Politics:

• Andrew Sinclair: "But why should the taxpayer pay for your home in Southampton when clearly you are not using it for work?"
• Trufflesnort: "Well, I... I... I...you could argue that I use it to be able to sustain my work..."

Update! 2PM: Truffles has oinked that she won't contest her trough-seat at the next election. Not enough. She should be made to resign her seat immediately, thus forcing a by-election. She should also be facing criminal-charges for her various crimes and should not be allowed to keep any of her ill-gotten profits. Let her be treated as her laws would treat one of us.

Update! Some time later:

Awwwww. Poor diddums thinks everyone should feel thoroughly ashamed of themselves for saying all these howwid howwid things about her, so now she's spinning that she's not feeling very well. Dark hints of some underlying serious medical-condition. But, upon investigation... err, no. She's "stressed" by all the ridicule and loss of reespeck and feeling a bit down in the dumps. The "stress" is underlying though... she's felt this curious not getting what you want feeling before. Not very often, mind. I expect there's some tax-funded counseling helping there.

The Scrubs will restore your sense of perfuckingspective, dearie. They're gonna really love you in there.


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An Oink a Day Keeps the Voters Away

Now I resent being part of any majority, but here I’m perfectly in accord with Aggrieved of Alton. The juiciest issue on the MP expenses-scandal is, for me, that of hypocrisy.

First Labour and the LibDems. These are the people who favour high taxation on the understanding that this will be spent on the greater good. As a naïve young man, I supported this. But who is defining the greater good? None other than the cheating lying venal parasitic whores who have used leftist politics to feather their own nests, bolster their egos and legislate on the back of vested interests and personal prejudices. Those who have preached sacrifice from the pulpits of wealth, those who have given us mass-surveillance and the micro-monitoring of our private communications, now to be heard squealing like writ-throwing pigs because their little racket’s been rumbled.

The Tories: I have, in recent years, given half-hearted support to the Conservatives. I am under no illusion about them adequately representing my interests… I am still some way to the liberal-left of them on many matters but they are, for the most part, a little more liberal-minded than nulabor and are, importantly, able to replace them. My own MP, Ed Vaizey, has given prompt and satisfactory answers whenever I’ve communicated with him. But the Conservative Party are all about low taxation and a smaller state. Prudent management of public resources and elimination of waste are their mantras. So when a sizeable rump of wealthy Tory MPs are found to have been exploiting every loophole in order to screw the maximum wedge from us ordinaries, we have heard some outrageous attempts at justification. Steen, for example; accusing his accusers of being motivated by jealousy of the big house that we’re paying for. “What right have the public got…” etc. What an utter and complete dickhead. Thinks he’s Prince fucking Philip.

What I have yet to see… and I’d like to see… is a sweepstake on who’s gonna be the first exposed-parasite to top themself. My punt would be on Labour’s Elliot Morley, as he sounds like he might have a conscience somewhere and may now find it hard to look his constituents and friends in the eye. The wimmins… can’t see any of them doing the decent thing somehow, for the puritan is always more dangerous than the charlatan. My own experience of Labour wimmins is that they really do believe themselves worth more than people without a political education [which is how they justify employing Czech nannies at below minimum-wage], so they will feel perfectly okay about using us to fund their little property-empires. These’ll somehow be presented as enabling-devices for which we should all be grateful.