Tag Archives: People

Violating community guidelines

Our guests leave today. In one case I am heaving a huge sigh of relief. Baby sister in law has proven herself a scorpion guest, my other sister in law not so much, but still almost as entitled. No wonder their husbands did not come with them.

There are guidelines to visiting. Unwritten rules about conducting yourself while a guest in another’s home. You get fed when the host or hostess says. Because their house is not a f*cking restaurant or a hotel. You behave with good grace, do not insult your hosts, or behave in an offensive manner. Sisters in law have broken all these rules in the last few days and they will not be invited back.

If it was just our daughters, this week would have been much more fun, but the unwritten guidelines of this specific community have been broken and the breakers will not be admitted to Chez Maison Sticker again while the host still draws breath. I’ve literally shed blood in this place (Although I have cleaned up after myself) and done my best to provide sustenance that all would find acceptable. Dietary preferences were accepted and catered for, but this was not good enough and I have been forced to waste the precious commodities of food and time.

The shrieking level also increased past acceptable limits. Tell me, why do some people have to shout so much in enclosed spaces? My dining room can accommodate ten at a push, but six last night sounded like a chicken house at feeding time. Twenty men having a heated discussion would not have made half the racket. But I bit my tongue, knowing that the womenfolk would shortly be gone.

Noting my silence, Mrs S chided me for my lack of ‘social skills’, to which I later retorted that I was not the one breaching the accepted rules of hospitality. I mean really, what does a chap have to do? Methinks when there’s a house full of females, not much apart from hide, which I chose not to do. Whose bloody house is it anyway? Answer; mine. Not theirs, mine. Anyone who doesn’t like it knows where the door is. And the road to the f*cking airport, too.

Even youngest has noticed, and vouchsafed to us while out on a drive yesterday; “Is there any way I can be emancipated from this family?” I know how she feels.

There is a saying, I believe one of Benjamin Franklyn’s “Fish and visitors stink after three days” Well the stinking for me started on Monday, when sisters in law tried to come the high hand in my bloody kitchen. They literally tried to order me about in my own home.

Well this is our home, our private space and I dislike being dictated to just because I am related to someone by marriage. As for anyone ‘reporting’ anyone at my table for ‘hate speech’ as is law in Scotland for example, I would throw them out immediately and never invite them again. Not even as someone else’s guest. Dinner table conversation is sacrosanct, and I will allow any topic of discussion providing people don’t start throwing food. That is not done. This isn’t a drunken officers mess. Ratarsed drunk is acceptable, bad behaviour like ratting to the ‘authorities’ is not.

Putting people in jail for an opinion likewise unless they are confessing to murder or suchlike. As for ‘misgendering’, those getting ‘offended’ are the ones who need locking up. In a padded cell for their safety and others, as the whole gender dysphoria thing is still listed as a mental illness. As is being a ‘Minor attracted person’. These are people who have no place in a tolerant civilised society.

On that general drift, I notice recently that some rather innocuous, mildly conservative ‘saves’ on my Pinterest (It’s the only Social Media I do) feed have been ‘removed’ for ‘violating community guidelines’. No idea why as the posts in question were about as offensive as Lemon Mousse. Just a collection of vintage pulp sci-fi covers, aircraft art, cars and motorcycles, a bit of politics and philosophy, nothing much. One even got reinstated after a manual ‘review’. Not that I care, I’ll save a few more like them and Pinterest can go stuff themselves. They can even delete my account, which I only share with Mrs S for interior design pictures, sod ’em all.

On a general note; anyone who demands my ‘respect’ will be firmly told; “My respect is earned, bone brain. Get lost.”

Now I’m off to the airport to send our guests winging whence they came. Afterwards I will probably sing loudly and happily all the way home. Something bawdy for preference. If anyone objects, I’ll tell them I’m just rehearsing. For what, I’m not telling.

Apropos of nothing

On the way back from a busy day out on Friday, Mrs S and I were confronted by two cyclists on a fast stretch of the link road up to localtown. Now common sense alone would have dictated that said slower vehicles be travelling single file, but instead both were puffing and wheezing across over half the width of the road. I mean who did they think they were? Tractor drivers?

This set off a spirited discussion about the need for some kind of licensing and insurance for cyclists. Mrs S being a now retired teacher, was adamant that all cyclists be helmeted, licensed, insured and taxed up the wazoo just like every other road user. I took the milder position that an insurance scheme for cyclists should be available so that those who fall foul of the law, or are held guilty of causing an accident should have some kind of insurance cover for any damages they are held responsible for. Those without should suffer the full financial penalty for any misdemeanours, just like any other road user, with the exception of horses I believe. but even so I am led to believe that many horse riders carry additional PPE and veterinary insurance, as horses are expensive to stable, feed and care for, and if startled and sent bolting down a road, some form of insurance is necessary to cover the expense of a large vets bill. Here’s the advice from Horse and Hound, who recommend some form of third party insurance for on road use.

An additional thought occurs. With 20mph areas being on the increase in dear old blighty, a speed which a bicycle is easily capable of exceeding, some form of identification for the cyclist in question should be available to the farces of law and disorder to hand parking or speeding tickets to the correct offender.

Then on Saturday I was listening to the GB news YouTube channel, and guess what they were discussing? The licensing, insuring and taxing of cyclists. Mind you, we’ve had this discussion before and Mrs S’ position on cyclists is well known; tax ’em till they glow and then book ’em in the dark.

This is what passes for entertainment because I never switch the car radio on. It’s bad for the blood pressure.

Clockwork mice

Apropos a spin off from a discussion Mrs S and I were having between bouts of clearing up builders residue, grouting tiles and moving furniture. Has anyone else heard of this little phrase? It’s a device used in play writing where:

You have a bunch of clockwork mice. You know how they all behave – maybe some go faster than others, maybe one of them veers to the left, maybe one goes round in circles – and you want them to collide in an interesting way. So you wind them up and put them on a table. However, you must observe this one rule: You cannot touch the mice once they are on the table.

In the current cultural dysfunction, where no side is actually talking to the other in any meaningful way, the reason doesn’t matter, far too many people switch off their higher brain function and go full “Clockwork Mouse”.

Add to the situation that there are a lot of ‘playwrights’ out there who understand how a particular type of mind works, and simply spread information in a way that will cause the clockwork mouse in question to go spinning around the table, bouncing into other clockwork mice and sending them in turn spinning chaotically around the table. Some will fall off the edge, some will be knocked over, little wheels spinning as their springs wind down, and a few will be wound up so tightly that they literally explode in a shrapnel cloud of cogs and springs. Some will keep attacking another clockwork mouse until they in turn are disabled. You get the picture? Does this metaphor make any sense?

What I am describing is a stimulus /reaction loop where the frontal lobes are in shutdown mode and the emotions are in full spate. Like those people who attack people giving a talk or speech, thinking that by silencing one voice they will silence all. Few of these people actually think. Most just react. This goes for everyone, because like it of not, we humans are driven more strongly by emotion than logic, as I keep finding whenever engaging with an opposing mindset. Yes, yes, I know I should just wind my neck in, but they’re all such low hanging fruit the temptation is enormous.

I used to refer to same as the General Dyslexic, because 85% plus of the population couldn’t read, or be bothered to read simple instructions. Now I know that they’re all leading with their pwecious icle fi-fi’s, it just engenders a sense of “Oh well, what the hell, glad I’m not involved with that bunch of comedians any more.” The problem is that if you’re still breathing you have to keep a weather eye out for the bastards, because their poor decision making ability will impact you in all sorts of ways if you’re not careful.

On the upside, my bees are producing some very nice looking honey which will be cropped during the last major hive inspection in three weeks time. I may get my timing right and head off a possible swarm ready to fill one of my spare hives with a new colony, meaning more honey next year.

In these times of chaos and idiocy, it’s good to have a positive goal.

Quote of the day

I was talking to a neighbour and the topic of carbon mitigation came up, because that’s something the politicians are very keen on. Neighbour vouchsafed;

“Ach, these politicians trying to tell us they can control the weather. They can’t control the contents of their own trousers now, can they?”

I almost fell off the wall laughing.

Local swarming

I got stung. Completely my fault. I was careless. I dropped a Nuc while taking it out of the car. I thought it was securely taped up, but the whole thing came apart in my hands as I picked it up. Next thing I’m running down the field, slapping off enraged worker bees as they kamikaze dive bombed me until I was over fifty yards away.

Tally was twelve stings overall, only one of which caused any real swelling. An hour later, smoker going, I walked back up the field, fully suited up, smelling like a bonfire, looking like an urban spaceman to clear my abandoned car of bees and see whether or not I’d lost a colony.

Fortunately the queen had stayed put and the colony looked mostly intact. I think I perhaps lost about a couple of hundred workers. Phew. So I smoked and carefully put the Nuc back together again and put it next to the hive. I’ll go and give it a visual before moving the Nuc frames into their new hive tomorrow. I may just have gotten away with it.

One observation post stings; I have a touch of arthritis in my left knee. All the discomfort and pain I’ve grown to know and curse has disappeared. Not sure if this was down to me getting stung or last weeks physio session. However, my knee now has no discomfort at all, which is very nice indeed.

In the outside world I see the Davos party is in full swing again with talk of people having a ‘tracking app’ (Which doesn’t and probably never will work) or not enough people having continuous injections for a respiratory virus whose time has come and gone. Neil Oliver has a few words to say with which I wholly concur.

He has a point; who do these m0the#rfuck*rs think they are? If looked at dispassionately the WEF’s meddling can be seen as behind many of the world’s problems. Perhaps they would do us all a favour by looking to their own affairs, and not meddle so blatantly in the lives of others?

As Neil observes, there always has been a social contract between rulers and ruled. Leave the peasants alone or suffer the consequences.

Or maybe they should suffer the fate of those anti-meat activists who got sprayed with slurry at a Co Durham NBA meeting. It would be well deserved. Like the time that sanctimonious b!tch Emma Thompson came close to getting slurried. Why can’t she just stick to acting?

The thing is, most meat eaters don’t really care about what vegetarians do, so maybe if these well-funded activists and meddlers wound their necks in a bit, maybe the world would become a better place. As suggested below.

Wouldn’t that be grand, eh?

A couple of memes

Has anyone ever noticed the following?

People who talk about ‘disinformation’ or ‘misinformation’ (and other such neologisms) are usually the greatest liars of all?

The difference between ‘conspiracy theory’ and ‘verified fact’ is currently running at about six months.

Any damned fool

Laid three new concrete hive bases today ready for their new stands. I’m told fifteen inches is about the right height to keep rats and mice out. So I built three stands of that height to place the hives on and oriented them south and east, like the books say you should.

There’s been a lot of ‘project slippage’ caused by unforeseen events. Supply availability, people not doing what you wanted in good time. Getting bees is proving a sticking point and I’m told that the next Nuc availability will be in a month.

As for the banks, the oft repeated words “We are experiencing extremely high call volumes.” have already reduced Mrs S to floods of tears twice this week and thus got me thoroughly discombobulated.

The money is all there, we just can’t get at it without the landline that the builders trashed. So until we’ve sorted out the phone access next week, I can only pay the trades guys half. Which should be an incentive for them to get us up and running, asap.

However, I’ve stripped out the last of the window glass intact, meaning I have plenty of glass panels for various projects like cucumber frames and citrus growing. Ever since I germinated my first lemon seeds I’ve had this notion to grow my own citrus fruit and store it as frozen organic fruit juice. Might even barter a little. We’re a registered farm business now, so why not? I’ve a location in mind and know how to build some hot water solar panels to retain some residual heat during the depths of winter to keep the frosts at bay. Some cheap half inch black plastic tube under double glazed glass over a black back panel is easy to make. An insulated hot water storage tank (or several) might be a good idea too. All do-able on a budget. Primitive but useful.

As for the outside world, the more I step away from the news, every time I have a brief peruse of the mainstream, the more I’m inclined to think; “Surely any damned fool could see that would happen.” It often reduces me to a near permanent state of “WTF!”

Which begs the question; am I ‘any damned fool’? Because I can see the harm done? By the very people we entrust with the public good? Real life measurable harm like (takes deep breath) Overt sexualising grooming of pre-pubescent children in schools by policy, interrupted education by lockdown, children (and adults) psychologically damaged by obsessive mask wearing and social isolation. People driven to madness by the incessant news media diet of fear. And people hate what they fear, so they are driven to hate. Because they are taught to hate by the very people squawking about ‘misinformation’. To name but a few. Yet who are the mis-informers? No pressure. Answer in your own time.

Not to mention the damage to the fabric of society. Despite increased institutionalised enforcement, under the surface we are observably more divided than ever before. There is more racism, more hatred, more intolerance. And it bubbles up from the poisoned wellspring of mandated ‘diversity’ and enforced ‘fairness’. The “You must think exactly this way – OR ELSE!” corporate mindset. Or else you will go on a list. A publicly visible list of the ideologically impure and unemployable ‘haters’. Available to hiring managers, credit agencies and local authorities to name but three. These lists should not exist in a truly civilised society, but they do. I cite the confirmed existence of the Non-Crime Hate Incident list in the UK, where people not convicted of any crime are put in an effective digital pillory.

Fortunately this matters little to me personally. Out here in the rural west of Ireland people are more down to earth, more in tune with the real world and the turn of the seasons. Social media is seen as the province of teenagers. And very few children have cell phones. Neighbours talk over their garden walls, do favours for each other, show unbidden kindness.

In my mind it is a fundamental truth that authoritarianisms suppression and censorship divides us all, while free, open and honest speech allows people to discuss, examine and challenge, not only the beliefs of others but also their own, in a roundabout way promoting ‘social cohesion’ more effectively than any other method. But then any damned fool should be able to see that, and if that is the case then I am happy to be so described.

Oh this could be…

Fun. Elon Musk has bought 9% of Twitter as everyone knows. Twitter tried to block his attempt to buy them outright by offering him a Directorship, with the proviso that his holding would be capped around 14%. Elon rightly refused as his stated objective is to take Twitter private and reform it to be a free speech platform with clearly defined boundaries. Now he has made a hostile takeover bid of $54.20 per share. Ten points above current market value.

A lot of big financials, and the odd Saudi prince have become nervous as Twitter is their key to the communications kingdom. By controlling what is seen as ‘the public square’ they think they control acceptable public opinion. At least the greater share of it. So the share price is wobbling around the $45 mark (Down from $70 last year) as attempts are made to prevent Musk getting hold of it.

So. What is Musk going to do next? I have no idea.

However…… Anyone remember this scene from the movie ‘A Good Year’?

Honestly, I’m all agog. This could be epic.

Update: Viva Frei explains the outcomes below should Musk dump his 9% share of Twitter. Twitter stock will tank. Shareholders lose massively. Directors sued to bankruptcy by angry investors. Musk can do all this with a single sell order.

Anyone who thinks this doesn’t matter isn’t paying attention. The financial ramifications are enormous. This is a stone in a puddle situation. The ripples will get everywhere.

Mrs S and I are thinking of cashing out of our tech and property stocks, but where to go? That is the question. Finance and energy look like the only reasonable sectors. Maybe not even those.

Oh, what is it now?

In my workshop yesterday after a day planting Heather, Willow, Wildflowers and Clover in the top meadow. Jaysus but it was cold. The wind didn’t bother going around me, it just moseyed on through like I wasn’t in the way. And it was a damp, bitter wind. The kind that strips the warmth from your bones worse than twenty below. However, the planting got done and I clambered back into the car and slithered back to the house.

Ah yes, the house. Not so much a house as a husk at the moment. No power, no life. A mere gummy shell of a building. Now I find the builders in their enthusiasm, have trashed my Internet connection, leaving me with a stripped fibre connection hanging forlornly over freshly poured concrete. I specifically told them not to play with the connectors, but something got lost in translation and they ripped the box off the wire. Words have been had.

It’s nothing that can’t be fixed with a little blackmail, but I was careful to instruct them to protect it, and Mrs S has been on the phone to them because I was likely to throw a major wobbler at them. And when I wobble, the object of my ire knows that they have been wobbled at. However, apologies have been made, along with offers of restitution, but it’s still extra money that I will end up paying to get reconnected. Never mind the downtime and delay of getting a Technician to come and do the honours. Our Electrician does a lot of stuff, but I don’t think he’s got the kit for RJ45 Cat 6 cabling or making off the ends of Fibre optics.

What I am going to do is treat this misfortune as an opportunity to get my router relocated properly to a more central location in the house so that the Wi-fi signal can reach everywhere within the building at a reasonable signal strength. Then I’ll connect up a wireless bridge to the sheds so I can enjoy high speed Interwebs without having to traipse across the yard every time I need to check my email.

Might even be fast enough for watching instructional videos and Zoom calls without too much buffering. How cool would that be? I have a spare laptop and MIMO router, so maybe I can configure that with my range extender to give me a reasonable bandwidth out there without too much effort. See if I can remember enough from my old Cisco router training. Although modern software interfaces are a lot less user fiendish than back in ’05 when I passed my course. As for full bandwidth Interwebs out in the garden? I like it. I can do a lot with that.

So maybe it is a blessing in disguise that the builders trashed my Interwebbery. It also means that they owe me a big favour. Now that to me is a harder currency than any other.

Windows

No, not the constant nagging of Microsoft to ‘upgrade’ to Windows 11, but the glass things covering holes in walls that you can see through. Specifically how to get them out intact. My builders, despite entreaties to keep the old units intact, have managed to smash all but one of the four they have taken out so far. Not by malice, but simple lack of technique.

So on Saturday I took a time out with specialist saw blade and chisel to extract the double glazed glass from the frame, which was surprisingly easy. Put a 10mm cut over one of the bevelled seams, then put a chisel in the gap to lever the bevelled section off the frame all around the glass before gently easing the heavy double glazed section out of the frame.

Took me all of half an hour to figure out and ten minutes per glazed unit to do. I’ll finish the rest by Tuesday. Will probably have to adapt the technique to take the upper storey units from the frames from the inside while the builders are smashing up the ground floor prior to the first concrete pour later next week.

So a conversation will be had with my builders on Monday to let me remove all the rest of the glazing before they have at the frames with jackhammers, as they are wont to do. This means I will have the glazed units for an improvement on two of my sheds and some for cold frames or perhaps even a greenhouse. More light in, protecting delicate flowers and veg from late frost, what’s not to like?

The first of the raised beds is also in situ, built from two leftover pallets treated with fence post preserver. I have a couple of tonnes of woodchip mulch with a promise of more to come for free. The plan is to half fill the raised beds with old logs and mulch before any soil goes in. I believe the Germans have a word for it; Hugelkultur.

By contrast, during my off site time, I got into a YouTube comments spat over anti-Semitism. Having known a few Jews and Zionists in my time, I’ve always wondered about why certain people hate them so much. Is it because Jews control the financial sector? No, because for every Jewish owned company there’s ten owned by non-Jews. But Jewish descended people do seem to be prominent in law, medicine, media and entertainment, especially in the USA, and I, with my limited intellect, have worked out why this is.

Family. It’s that simple. Jewish people have a strong familial tradition where children are trained, not just dumped in front of a TV for their forebrains to fester. In Jewish society, the tendency is to involve their children in a process, where they learn skills, be that in trade, the arts or finance. In the more ultra-orthodox Hassidic communities I’m told a boy is expected to become a grown man at fourteen, recite passages from the Torah (I think) and taught how to be. Be that lawyer, tradesman or merchant. Which I think is quite admirable. It’s a recipe for success in life.

Yet why are the Jews hated so much? From my perspective, I think this is down to the personal inadequacies of those peddling the hate. Those peddling anti-Semitic hate, be they Communist or Fascist (Two sides of the same vile totalitarian coin), hate because they feel themselves to be inferior, or that the continued success of a persecuted class despite centuries of murder and repression, is some sort of slight or adverse reflection upon those peddling anti-Jewish hatred. Which, virus-like, mutates and is passed on. My parents were both sufferers while I have largely remained immune.

Those peddling the hate know their statist, top down cultures are structurally inferior to the more tribal, family oriented bottom up approach. So when in or seeking power, their instinct is to point at the successful and use the rather flaccid argument that the hatemongers disciples are poor and downtrodden because those eeevil outsiders are hoovering up all of the resources, when the reality is that the familial structure of training children to be grown ups and passing on wealth works. And the Jews and Zionists prove it works. Not for them the perversion of teaching six year olds about outlier sexuality. Now there’s a Darwin Award in the making.

Well that’s just my view, reached independently by simple observation without doctrine or dogma. All while I was working out how to fix another issue and save money. Which I have. Which was nice.

By such little increments do we move forward.

Big bunnies

First thing I was out in the yard last week dumping stuff in one of my two compost makers. Minding my own business, lost in my own thoughts when something bounced across the yard and halted less than four feet away. “Bill!” Mrs S saw it first. The creature bounded away after giving me a startled look. Well it would, wouldn’t it?

“Well I’m damned.” I remarked as a white bobtail disappeared around the corner of the storage shed. “He was a big one.” For a moment I thought it was a hare, but hares aren’t that big, are they? Having completed my double take. I looked it up. The shape of the eyes, length of ears and gait all said ‘Irish Hare’. And they are, at least in our locale, almost double the size of your average bunny wabbit.

Did think at first that it was a rather large rabbit, but having checked all the game trails that criss-cross my fields, there was no sign of a warren. So that rather nailed it. Rabbits, at least in my experience, don’t tend to stray far from their bolt holes. Hares? No idea, but I know of at least two. One that haunts our fields and another that bounded past the place we have decamped to while the builders are having at the internal demolition.

Speaking of our builders, the little scamps. This is what they’ve been up to. See short video below.

So we’re bunking elsewhere for a while. The money supply is just sufficient, but there’s still a lot of DIY to be done. Mainly in the paint and decoration side of things, but we’ve chosen our colour scheme, ordered the fittings and sorted out what we want on the floors. Mrs S has been most painstaking in this regard. Well the house is her part of the ship just like the fields and planting are mine. We have no intention of being caught in the artificial poverty trap of ‘Green-ness’.

Wonder what I should do about the Hares, if anything, because there’s a powerful lot of meat on one of them. What’s that famous line? “First, catch your hare.” allegedly from De legibus et consuetudinibus Angliae. Attributed to Medieval Jurist Henry of Bratton.

Beer and pizza

To celebrate the removal of a large tree in the yard and successful demolition of a problematic wall ready for the builders next week, I took a short trip out to get some beer and pizza.

The place was full of high school kids and families coming for a Friday night treat. I just kicked back and waited for my order to be processed. To be in this mini-flood of humanity after all the artificial isolation of the last two years was a curiously pleasant experience. Everyone was polite and there was no drama.

Normally I’m not someone who likes crowds all that much. I get defensive and grouchy really quickly if I’m bumping elbows for two long, but after two long years of pointless and damaging lockdowns and mandates, for some reason I just felt really comfortable.

It helps of course that I now have my own house and land to sit out on a sunny evening, glass of beer in hand after a feed of double pepperoni. Enjoying the smell of freshly turned Earth and evening birdsong.

Being in a crowd is fine, but it is also oh so nice just to sit out and watch the bees and birds forage.

I think it’s fishy too

Turning off the news is bloody good idea. Those big corporate media people are only telling you what they are thinking, and what they think you should be thinking, According to their world view. Which is often derived from a surprisingly small bubble.

Funny how the guy who has openly confessed to hacking the GiveSendGo site and giving out the Freedom Convoy donors personal details to the Government and media is not under arrest for what is, according to Canadian and US legislation, a crime which would get anyone else jail time and a ban from having an Interweb connection forever and ever amen. As would happen to anyone else but a paid criminal informant. Which is what he freely brags about being.

Also funny how giving money to send gung-ho idiots over to give the Russkis a bit of target practice is okay. But not to put food in the mouths of those peacefully advocating for their civil rights, or put gas in their tanks and help pay the bills.

We’re being conned. By our own Governments. By a freely co-operating corporate media. Conned into thinking that Government can give you everything. The trouble with that idea is that in order to make it work, the Government and their cronies will take everything from everyone, and they’ll leave you on starvation money if you complain.

Then there’s the whole ‘woke’ and green movements, which in the eyes of the Russki’s and Chinese, makes the West look weak and frankly more than a bit weird. Degenerate. Self obsessed. Hey, but they play along despite their own baked-in societal problems, while the Western world devolves away from the rule of law into political oligarchies where your rights are subject to whether you hold the right opinion or not.

Sod it. All a man can do is build his own little haven as a buttress against the worst of the world. I cleared twenty plus yards of overgrown Ivy, Holly and Rhododendron hedge yesterday with another seven done already today. I’ve put weed killer on the stumps to try and finish them off as recommended here. Mrs S has been hacking at the Azaleas. We’re getting there slowly.

All this work has to be done before the hives go in because nectar Bees harvest from Rhododendron flowers can turn into ‘Mad Honey‘, low doses of which can cause euphoria and lightheadedness, while high doses cause hallucinations and, in extremely rare cases, death. And no-one needs that. Especially if part of your medium term business plan is to brew and distil Mead.

Yes, okay, I know the risk is low unless the bees are exclusively gorging on Rhododendron nectar, but I’d rather not run the risk. The last thing I want is poisoned customers. Even if there is a claimed aphrodisiac effect.

While ordinary Honey is often reputed to put lead in one’s metaphorical pencil, ‘Mad Honey’ has also sometimes been used to ensure that one always has someone to write to. Be it a full essay, short sonnet or just a quick scribble. If you catch my meaning.

I agree

This ordinary Canadian guy speaks his mind and recounts some personal anecdotes of how the perennial drumbeat of fear porn has turned so many against their own families.

I repeat; the threat is low, the vaccinations pose as much risk as not. Masks and lockdowns are no better than placebos at stopping SARS/COV-2, and are probably far worse for your mental health.

Far too many have been driven barking mad. Maybe a real war will bring them to their senses.

Now I’m off out to get digging a fallout shelter like Colin Furze. Byee…..

A Wednesday Post

Talking to my broker yesterday. He seems to have drunk deep on the propaganda pushed out by the bought and paid for press of Canada and their Alice through the looking glass version of what the Truckers convoy is all about.

So what is it these revolting Truckers want? Do they want ‘insurrection’? Do they want to topple Trudeau? Well, why don’t we find out instead of making wild guesses? See the truckers own statement read out in the video below. Kudos to Dr Peterson.

All they want is an end to the restrictions and mandates, then they will gladly go home and get on with the business of living and helping rebuild Canada’s economy.

Typical Canadian language. A little too wet for my taste. Needs to be less conciliatory, or at least a little snappier. Anyhoo. We’ll see how long this stays up before it breaches someone’s warped idea of ‘community guidelines’. Link to Bitchute alternative here.

Personally I think the Trudeau Feds will raise Cain and seek to punish the Truck convoy members, even long after this is all over. The feds have already said they will freeze bank accounts and invalidate licences and insurance, which is a stupid move. Because that’s literally shooting the whole Canadian economy in the foot. This peasants rebellion will not go unpunished if the Trudeau Liberal government remains in power.

On a happier note I’m thinking Trudeau and cohorts will suffer the equivalent political fate of Richard II. Eventually deposed and figuratively left to starve to death (Or forced to retire, permanently). If there is any justice in this world.

Update: Regarding the ‘200 guns’ and ‘violent agitators’ narrative at the Coutts blockade. What is the actual truth? Did the RCMP actually search vehicles and find the firearms shown to the press? The convoy organisers say no searches and no discoveries.

A protest that ends in hugs and handshakes? Is that the act of ‘violent insurrectionists’? Like I say, this whole business has a through the looking glass air.