A Viscount Speaks

On the pressing problem of proles on tour

What ho, oiks!

Ah, this is more like it.  This, indeed, is precisely what we men of the shires fervently wished for when we reluctantly passed our pencil over the UKIP candidate and instead wrote our 'x' next to the Tory candidate's name at the last general election:

"We don't want more people from Sheffield flying away on cheap holidays".

No, old bean, we certainly do not!  Poor old Pedro has quite enough on his plate without being subjected to a summer influx of Yorkshire yobbos puking their way across the Costa del Sol.  But why, I ask, are these same oiks permitted to ramble across an Englishman's land from dawn until dusk?  I quite agree that the ghastly stench of the proletarian classes ought not to be inflicted on our poor Continental cousins, but surely the same courtesy should be extended to me and to other landowners?  I spend most of my summers chasing shell-suited plebs off my estate with a shotgun and frankly, chaps, it gets rather wearying.  

Let us hope the admirable Mr Letwin turns his attention to this much more pressing problem. The leafy shires of our own realm require cleansing before we even think about protecting Pedro from the barbarian hordes. 

Yours, etc

Viscount Crouchback

 

 

Let's give Ghadaffi a jolly good beasting

What ho, Britons!

Well, well, well.  So Mr Cameron has a bit of spine after all.  It's bally magnificent to see our Prime Minister standing up to this rotter Ghadaffi.  We should have nailed the blighter after Lockerbie, but better late than never.  The British Empire was built on gunboat diplomacy, so we should have no qualms about despatching a few Tornados to spank Mr Ghadaffi's farty bottom.  He's been a very naughty boy indeed.

Equally pleasing is the manner in which the British and French are palling up to take the lead on this.  It's the old Suez dynamic duo back in action.  At Suez, of course, the British cravenly backed down under American pressure.  Thereafter, we have scarcely been able to take a trip to the potty without Uncle Sam there to hold our hand.  The French, in contrast, drew the opposite lesson from Suez and have been consistently bloody-minded in upholding their proud independent stance in the world ever since.  If this Cameron-Sarkozy operation signals that we are about to take a leaf out of the Frogs' book, then I heartily approve.

However, I fervently hope that we don't stop at Libya.  It's all well and good smacking a few Bedouin tribesmen around, but Britannia should have higher goals, namely to chuck Mugabe and Zuma out of southern Africa and restore Rhodesia, Cape Colony and Natal as sovereign British colonies.  If freedom from barbarism is good enough for Libyans, then it is jolly well good enough for the Anglo-Saxons of Africa too. 

Yours, etc
Viscount Crouchback

P.S. I thought you might enjoy the Sun's front-page.  It really is a marvellous organ for instilling a bit of patriotic pride in the lower orders; furthermore, I really do believe that the splendid knockers on Page 3 help to keep our young men from the dark path of homosexuality.

Three cheers for Prince Andrew!

What ho, oiks!

Honestly, what a lot of rot is being written about HRH Prince Andrew over this Wikileaks nonsense.  Is HRH supposed to be ashamed for taking a pop at the Frogs and the do-gooding busybodies who nearly killed our trade relationship with the Saudis?  The man comes out of it as a bloody hero in my eyes.  Consider this:

He railed at British anticorruption investigators, who had had the 'idiocy' of almost scuttling the al-Yamama deal with Saudi Arabia... His mother's subjects seated around the table roared their approval. He then went on to 'these (expletive) journalists, especially from the National [sic] Guardian, who poke their noses everywhere' and (presumably) make it harder for British businessmen to do business. The crowd practically clapped."

Prince Andrew is spot on.  I can well imagine the uptight American bitch wrinkling her nose in disapproval at encountering such unabashed British patriotism, but really, chaps, that's her bloody problem. 

And then this:

"He reacted with almost neuralgic patriotism whenever any comparison between the US and UK came up. For example, one British businessman noted that despite the 'overwhelming might of the American economy compared to ours' the amount of American and British investment in Kyrgyzstan was similar. Snapped the duke: 'No surprise there. The Americans don't understand geography. Never have. In the UK, we have the best geography teachers in the world!'"

Damn right!  The finest geography teachers in the world, and don't you forget it, you sour Yankee shrew!

Yours, etc

Viscount Crouchback

Make this man PM!

What ho, chaps!

At last, a bit of Tory plain-speaking.  I was worried that the entire lot of them had turned into insipid, wishy washy call-me-Daves.  Step forward our hero du jour, Mr Howard Flight:

“We're going to have a system where the middle classes are discouraged from breeding because it's jolly expensive.  But for those on benefits, there is every incentive. Well, that's not very sensible".

Quite right, old bean!  "Not very sensible"!  Mr Flight's remarks are a classic example of a political gaffe: that is, to tell an uncomfortable and embarrassing truth. 

Personally, I don't object to the lower orders breeding.  What I object to is the current politically correct system which precludes a shire nobleman from rounding them up and putting them to some honest toil in the fields or in the kitchens.  I also object to a system which prevents the government of the day from breeding prole children specifically for the purposes of expanding the Empire.  If the urchins of Stoke-on-Trent and Burnley were to be trained from, say, the age of 12 to re-take Rhodesia and Kenya and Cape Colony, then I doubt that even Mr Flight would object.

Let's hope these remarks inspire the government to put our proles to better use.  Sitting around in their grotty council flats, eating sausages and drinking cider and masturbating like monkeys is no good for anyone, least of all themselves. 

Yours, etc

Viscount Crouchback

 

The plebs are revolting!

What ho, law abiders!

Good God.  Turn on your televisions, chaps.  Have you ever seen such a dirty mob of proletarian scum? What the bally hell is going on in central London?  Why the dickens aren’t the police clearing these vermin off the streets with whips and cudgels?  I’m half-tempted to round up some of the local shire hard nuts and head up there myself to dispense a bit of rough justice!

I say, though, do you think this might be the Bolshevik revolution at last?  Should I be worried?  My father warned me about this day.  The dirty scum might march on Crouchback Castle next!  They'll have me strung up in the courtyard before the night is out!  Dash it, I'm going to take the Purdey out of the cabinet.  If I have to die tonight, then one of these soap-dodging fuckers will go with me!

Yours, etc

Viscount Crouchback

P.S. Some of the young student gypsy fillies in the mob look rather tasty!

An Open Letter to Mr Philip Hammond

My dear Hammond,

As you know, I am a close chum of several of your Cabinet colleagues.  As you also know, I am an exceedingly generous benefactor of the Conservative Party.  I do hope, therefore, that what I am about to say will not fall on deaf ears. 

On 6th November, at eleven o'clock in the morning, I boarded the Number 23 bus at Victoria Station, paid the requested fare, and, with due politeness, instructed the driver to take me to Twickenham.  I was, I should add, carrying a very heavy Huntsman's hamper from Fortnum & Mason.

The driver, who was of the black or 'coloured' persuasion, steadfastly refused to accede to my bidding, stating that he was bound for Bow, somewhere in the East End of London.  The 'rules' would not permit a diversion to Twickenham, where most of his passengers would surely wish to go, had they a choice.  No amount of reasoned logic could persuade him to change course and I was duly forced to disembark and take a so-called 'black cab', whose driver (a most charming Cockney) was thankfully far more amenable to my wishes.

I know you are relatively new to this game, my dear Hammond, but I do hope that this type of incident will not pass without sanction.  As Secretary of State for Transport, it is your job, ultimately, to uphold the high standards of service that any Englishman has a right to expect on the buses of his capital city.  I should be most obliged if you would take the matter in hand.  It may well be that the driver in question would benefit from closer acquaintance with a horse whip.

Yours, etc

Viscount Crouchback

It's time to solve the Irish question once and for all

What ho, Britons!

I say, chaps, have you heard the news out of Ireland lately?  Apparently the poor old Micks are so depressed that the latest joke on the streets of Dublin is that the Irish Prime Minister ought jolly well to return the keys to Dublin Castle to Her Majesty on bended knee and proffer a fulsome and abject apology!  Indeed, I daresay it's only a matter of time before the rebellious rotters knock on our doors and beg to be returned to the warm bosom of the United Kingdom.  I note with interest that Freddie Forsyth (magnificent old chap!) has lately popped up in their media to gee the blighters up for a good old crack at the ghastly EU.

Funnily enough, whilst voyaging around the Caribbean I encountered a splendid fellow named Jeune, whose grandfather served in Ireland during 1920-1.  He kindly showed me the old fellow's papers and I was struck by one particular paragraph:

"A very considerable degree of optimism would be required by anyone seeking to analyse and appreciate the complexities of the Irish question.  Add to the political aspect, the religious, plus the historical, the climatic laziness, and to these the rebellious Irish temperament, and the result is a mixture capable of defying the probing of the most determined psycho-analyst.  Some possible clarification may possibly be derived, however, by referring to the failure of the Romans to exercise their civilising influence in Ireland".

Quite right.  But it rather poses the question that if the Romans could not civilise the Irish, and if the British could not civilise them, and if the full weight of the European Union cannot civilise them, then what possible hope is there for the barbarous spud-munchers?  By all accounts a rum cove named Soden recently suggested that Ireland become the 51st state of America: but I hardly think that a bunch of gun-toting Texans will help the Micks along the path to civility!

No, I fear that nothing can save the Irish now.  Nothing, that is, except shock therapy.  I suggest it is time for the British and Germans (who together own nearly all the Irish debt) to dispense with the niceties and install a stern, unbending, uncompromising Viceroy in Dublin Castle.  This Viceroy must rule the Micks with a rod of iron.  He must whip them into shape.  He must purge their Celtic fecklessness and instil the rigorous Anglo-Saxon virtues that the Irish are crying out for. 

Further, if our heroic Viceroy needs to raise an auxiliary force of ferociously aggressive young delinquents from the slums of Glasgow and Liverpool and dress them up in black-and-tan uniforms and send them onto the streets of Dublin to crack a few heads together, then that is what he must do!

What the Irish need, in other words, is a damned good beasting.  And if Mr Cameron and Frau Merkel find themselves searching around for a suitably imposing figure to take on the role of Viceroy, then I can assure them that I would most certainly find time in my diary for a spot of Mick-bashing!

Rule Britannia!

Yours, etc

Viscount Crouchback

Entente Cordiale?

What ho, men of Britannia!

I say, chums, all this chatter about Anglo-French defence co-operation sounds a bit rum, doesn’t it?  Has Cameron lost the plot?  Relying on Johnny Frenchman to stand by your side under fire?  The mere thought of it gives me the shivers!

No doubt the Grenadiers could do with a few Froggie chefs to improve the food in the officers’ mess, but sharing equipment?  Doesn’t sound too clever to me.  How the dickens will our chaps learn to drive tanks that only go backwards?  Surely that type of specialised, high-speed reverse driving takes centuries of practice?

And if this supposed Anglo-French brigade happens to be ambushed by the Hun, then how the deuce do our chaps know that Jean-Claude won't be caught unawares out on the Left flank with his trousers round his ankles and his todger inserted in some Belgian milk maid's front orifice? 

And the SAS – the SAS! – under Froggie command?  I rather fear that our special forces chaps will return to Hereford as expert cheese makers and distinguished sommeliers and, no doubt, as unparallelled writers of randy love letters – but what will have happened to their war fighting skills in the meantime?  I have my suspicions!

What do our ex-officers make of this curious development?

Yours, etc

Viscount Crouchback

Cheerio, Johnny Scotchman!

What ho, Tories!

The BBC confirms my suspicions: the Tories would have won a great stonking majority if the election had been conducted in England alone:

Full England Scoreboard

Party	Seats	Gain	Loss	Net	Votes	%	+/-%
Conservative	297	95	3	+92	9,911,062	39.6	+3.9
Labour	191	2	89	-87	7,037,229	28.1	-7.4
Liberal Democrat	43	8	12	-4	6,067,303	24.2	+1.3

So it was only the tribal voting of sweaty, heroin-addicted Scotchmen and chippy Welsh coal-miners that stopped Cam the Man claiming his rightful place in Downing Street. Incredibly, there was actually a swing to Labour in Scotland!  Iain Murray sums up my view:

If I had my druthers, I'd offer a deal to the Scottish Nationalists for a referendum on Scottish independence. The Scots have clearly and decisively rejected unionism, so it is time for them to taste the consequences of that rejection. The public finances of the United Kingdom of England, Wales, and Northern Ireland would improve markedly and the Conservatives would have a solid majority. I can't see why this option isn't on the table.

Quite right. Let the buggers go it alone. I don't mind keeping the Welsh for the time being. England and Wales have been joined at the hip for 800 years and the Welsh, to their credit, seem capable of asserting their cultural pride in a non-chippy, non-tribalist fashion. The Tories were the second biggest party in Wales. The Scotch, on the other hand, have far less native culture than the Welsh - stabbings, Buckfast and deep fried Mars bars excepted - and (not coincidentally) are infinitely more insecure. Amenable Scotchmen would of course be most welcome to take the high road south to add their energies to burnishing England's glory. The rest of the Pictish savages should be herded into the Highlands and kept in pens.

I would also put the DUP on notice. This bolshie "England's strife is Northern Ireland's opportunity" nonsense is completely intolerable and wholly unworthy of a party supposedly committed to the Union. Young Paisley Junior needs his bottom smacked.

Yours, etc
Viscount Crouchback

Even the colonials are getting wise to the Celts...

What ho, chums! 

Good heavens, things have come to a pretty pass when even colonial hacks point their fingers and guffaw at the feckless dole bludgers on the Celtic periphery.  The Australian’s Diplomatic Editor, Greg Sheridan, writes:

Once the Scots had a reputation as the most learned and competent people in Britain - the social type in Dr Findlay's Case Book. Now... they are, like the Welsh, a bit of a joke.

Quite right, old stick.  A bit of a joke.  That just about covers it.  Mr Sheridan is shocked that these alcoholic savages are so vastly over-represented in Parliament.  He worries that their addiction to state subsidies will prevent Mr Cameron from  implementing the radical reform that Britain so desperately needs.  Mr Sheridan is too polite to mention that, furthermore, it is difficult to vote rationally when one is addicted to whiskey, heroin and saturated fat. 

I wonder whether the time is drawing near for us to boot the blighters out of the Union?  We've hoovered up most of the oil by now; no harm in allowing the Scotch to suck up the last dregs.  As you know, England is solidly Tory.  If some ghastly Lib-Lab coalition does try to ram through PR then I see no other option than for the freeborn Englishmen of this realm to rise up, grab their swords, and turf the Scotch and Welsh out on their cosseted arses.

Yours, etc

Viscount Crouchback