Exclusive footage of the NHS app in action as it sends people into ten day self imposed lockdowns.
Having just been (Or should that be nagged into going?) for my second SARS/COV-2 jab, I was in the queue for getting the needle yet again, I found my mischievous brain rearranging a popular song lyric into the one below.
Everybody’s doin’ a brand new dance now
(Come on baby do the Covid Shuffle)
I know you’ll get to hate it if you give it a chance now
(Come on baby do the Covid Shuffle)
Your little crabby grandma has forgotten ID
She’s here under ten minutes and she needs a pee
So come on, come on, do the Covid Shuffle with me
You gotta scuff your toes now
Come on baby, step up, step back
Well, I think you got the knack, ohh
Now you’re at reception, forget your phone now
(Come on baby do the Covid Shuffle)
Patting at your pockets like a mindless drone now
(Come on baby do the Covid Shuffle)
Do it nice and easy now you ain’t got control
You ain’t got no rhythm and you lost your soul
So come on, come on, do the Covid Shuffle with me
Come on, do the Covid Shuffle
Come on, do the Covid Shuffle
Come on, do the Covid Shuffle
I’m not here for the rest of the week. Play nice
Just in passing; why did the person giving me the jab feel the need to cover the vaccine phial over with a papier-mâché kidney dish? Answers in recycled grey wood pulp please.
Through the satirical anti-logical lens of AwakenWithJP
Ignore the Ad at the end. A Youtuber has to make a living somehow.
Associated; new collective noun. Tyranny.
A tyranny of Doctors.
Diagnosticians A guess of diagnosticians
Dictators A tyranny of dictators
No further comment is required. Enjoy.
Well it had to happen sometime. Yet another ‘Downfall’ parody.
Sweetly apposite. ‘Nuff said.
…that I just want to swear at the proponents of lockdowns like Samuel L Jackson.
Included in this number; The entire political establishment of Canada, the EU, New Zealand, UK and USA, and most of the panic mongering mainstream media. Also ‘Progressive’ NGO’s and anyone who follows their specious diktats are especially included in this number.
None of them have the wit to run a bath without inflicting their half-baked progressive politics on the rest of us. Neither do people who say they believe in ‘science’ without actually reading any of the scientific literature properly. Witless bunch.
My ill temper has been mostly created because I’ve just had a very trying meeting over building design with someone who just doesn’t understand about structure, services or the basics of sketching and don’t see why anyone should be exempted from a damn good swear. The mess we’re in is all the fault of people like the aforementioned. Every last single Muthaf*ckin’ thing.
I feel strangely better for having said that.
We are continually being told that ‘mindfulness’ is a good thing, a goal to be aspired to, the epitome, the acme of all that is good and righteous. To be ‘mindful’, practitioners inform us, is the path to enlightenment, nirvana, and paying off the mortgage on time. Now it seems that this key precept is failing, with many practitioners straying from the path and in the process becoming narcissistic, vile little eejits you wouldn’t cross the road to piss down their throats if their lungs were on fire. But they weren’t nice people to begin with, and no amount of ‘awareness’ and Yogurt can change their true nature, merely the way it is expressed, in saccharine insincerity, passive-aggressiveness and massive self-delusion.
Now it may surprise you, dear reader (Look, there’s one of you out there, I think) but I too once delved into the innermost secrets of the universal soul through meditation and Yoga. Through my contemplations of the infinite and divine, I have become the person I am today. Does this surprise anyone? Yes? No? Don’t give a monkeys? Whatever.
Now my yoghurt and mendicant training goes back a few years to the Dojo where I studied, a small covert room over a Chinese Restaurant in sunny Stoke on Trent. A secret place where ancient masters taught the stoic arts and the ancient, obscure Welsh martial art of LLap Mivitalls, which consists of disciplining mind and body to hardship via the use of large cups of tea and bacon sandwiches consumed in the vast hidden reaches of industrial estates and lorry parks. The major part of which consists of learning how to eat your bacon sandwich in a torrential downpour without diluting your tea or letting your bacon sandwich get soggy. You can brag about the athletic prowess of Shaolin monks all you like, but such things are child’s play when faced with the inner serenity a black belt in this Welsh martial art can attain. Let’s face it, when you can calmly munch your way through breakfast in a heavy Welsh downpour whilst looking totally relaxed, you are indeed a force to be reckoned with.
BC, my home for the last decade or so, is now infested with a plague of ‘mindfulness’ and narcissism to the point where recovery is not possible. There can be no vaccine for this plague, only the burgeoning awareness of the sufferer that all is not well with them, and why their friends seem to clam up or roll their eyes whenever the practitioner of mindfulness opens their mouth.
At my Dojo, we were warned about this outcome by the Dojo’s chief mentor, Lobsang Dai, a Cardiff born man and part time Tom Jones impersonator (Ask your Granny). “Now young disciple, look you.” He would say. “All this talk of inner focus is all very well, but will it keep the rain from getting inn your tea?” He would opine further. “The path to inner serenity lies not in the actions of others, but of looking to yourself and not letting the water in. And putting your right leg behind your left ear isn’t that impressive.” With such sage teaching has my path to inner enlightenment been scattered. If we studied hard that lesson, he would demonstrate his hip twist, and how it could instantly bring down ladies underwear. Never understood why he wore such apparel, but to each their own. We were a very progressive class.
Sadly Lobsang Dai is no more, having fallen from grace to the charms of a Hungarian long distance lorry driver called Magda, but my fellow disciples and I remember his teachings with great fondness.
Now as a grown up I’m told you don’t exist, but if, on the off chance you somehow do, I’d like to point out that I’ve been very, very good this year and would like to ask for a few things. If you think some of my listed items are a bit of an ask, I’d like to point out that I haven’t asked or begged for anything from you before in my entire life, but I would very much appreciate one or all of the following;
1. An end to all the palaver over BREXIT. I’d just like to see no deal happen so the EU wakes up and give the UK a Canada style free trade deal so we can all move on.
2. An end to the relentless propaganda over this virus thingy. Some unpleasant accidents to befall those constantly advocating for lockdowns. The demise or shutting down of Piers Morgan and his entire propaganda team would be nice. Something messy and public please, so we’re left in no possible doubt why it’s happening to them and their fellow travellers.
3. An end to the lockdowns and mask restrictions please would be appreciated. They serve no useful purpose.
4. Some kind of legal safeguard to be put in place so that these lockdowns can never ever happen again.
5. A return to pre-COVID normal life and sanity please.
6. Some kind of serious poetic justice against the most enthusiastic COVID enforcers and snitches would be much appreciated.
You see Santa, I’m not asking for myself, but for the rest of humanity who are continually watching their human rights and livelihoods being trampled. Not by any virus, but by stupid panicky people whose brains have shut down with all the fear being pumped out by the politicians and media.
Would really, really appreciate some intervention. Please and pretty please with sugar on it.
Many thanks in advance and a happier 2021 to us all.
P.S. For me, a small Christmas stocking with a Satsuma orange or two, a small bar of chocolate and maybe a packet of wine gums would be highly appreciated on Christmas morning. There’s a large bottle of vintage Port in the drinks cabinet. Put your boots up, give the reindeer a breather and have a large drink on me.
Food post. As if you didn’t know from the title, but literacy is so neglected in these times that sometimes one is forced to reiterate. Right, this mousse comes with a mental health warning. If it were human it would be a bullwhip-toting dominatrix clad in white stockings, leather basque and no knickers. And heading your way with a knowing smile. Seriously. This little dish is salacious.
There are some times you luck on to something which teases some taste buds, putting the rest in chains then bending them over a chair. Similarly, this is a recipe for the BDSM crowd that punches back through your salivary glands and leaves you with a sensation of pressure at the back of your shoulders. Well it did for me. Mrs S is reporting similar sensations. Caveat; this is very, very grown up. Children will not like it because it is not very sweet. Grown ups will because it isn’t.
Mousse is normally a fairly mundane dish. Soft and billowy in the mouth, tasty and refreshing, but fairly unmemorable. Mousse can be the base of a pleasant savoury starter or a lightweight dessert but this one is neither. The texture is light and billowy like a ballerina’s tutu, but with the bite of a lime flavoured mongoose on methamphetamine.
To experience this sensation you will need;
1 tablespoon of granulated sugar, no more
Half a pint of whipping cream
1 dessert spoon of full fat Greek Yoghurt
A large bowl and a whisk
3-4 raspberries for garnish per serving
The above recipe will make enough for three people. You may also need a bucket of water with five pounds of ice in it. Or not, depending upon your personal predilections. The great thing is that it’s very unfussy. No eggs, no gelatin, no unpleasant bending, just simple ingredients in proportion.
Squeeze the juice of both the lemon and the lime into a small glass. Remove pips but not the pulp.
Put the cream in the mixing bowl and whisk until it begins to thicken.
Add sugar and continue whipping until the cream stiffens.
When mix is stiff enough that most of it forms a soft lump inside your whisk, fold in the Yoghurt.
Mix in the lemon and lime juice.
Decant into serving bowls. I use small Ramekins.
Put in fridge for half an hour to finish setting.
Garnish with raspberries.
You may also garnish with a little lemon and lime zest. If you dare.
Eat and enjoy the savage tartness. At this point you may need to use the bucket of iced water. As for the rest, well disclaimer alert; this blog takes no responsibility for your actions during or after consumption. Do not eat in public. We will not pay your bail money.
Now I must go and polish my mistresses high leather boots.
Having had a look at some of the ‘Vaccination’ cards supposedly to be used as ID, I’m amazed at how easy to fake they will be. A picture of both sides of the card, fake batch number and appointment date and Robert, as they say, will be one’s fathers brother. Any modest home office could turn out hundreds. A photo printer could probably print out better looking copies. I believe there are even pre-cut ID card templates on sale via stationery stores.
No doubt this has occurred to everyone with a working brain cell, but a combo scanner / fax / printer, scissors, card and glue with a small home pouch laminator and you have all you need to charge ten quid a pop. Flash one of these at the average security guard (or below average if you’re talking about ‘COVID Marshalls’) and all of a sudden you’re a solid vaccinated citizen. Keep a few spares in your wallet to sell to friends. Charge your enemies ten times more.
No doubt certain enterprising gentlemen in the illegal intoxicants trade already have copies rolling off backstreet printing presses, out of the back door and via their distribution networks. Soon to appear on every dodgy mobile phone cracking market stall or via some slightly shady home delivery service.
Don’t you just love private enterprise?
Did say this whole COVID restriction business was as flawed as the idea of Prohibition. All you need is a plausible copy of a ‘vaccination’ card and you’re in to whatever gig / pub / club you want to, no dodgy jab necessary.
Only Governments can cock up like this.
I try not to deal in conspiracy theories, only in that which can be independently verified. The numbers contain truth, only people lie. So it is with COVID-19. I’ve been called an ‘arrogant conspiracy theorist’ for saying that the worst was over in May, when the numbers clearly support my view. However, there are those so entrenched in their world view, so poisoned with fear that they have nothing left but insult and denigration in their playbook. They will never be convinced. I say let them hide behind closed windows and curtains for the rest of their days if they so choose. At least let the rest of us get on with our lives. SARS/COV-2 is endemic within the population now.
I wish the idiocacy of the mainstream media would stop trying to sell the same tired old disaster narrative, which is, like the motivation for the second Iraq war, a conspiracy theory based on the notorious ‘dodgy dossier’. But no, the current crop of talking heads drone on with the same old tosh.
On the other hand, ‘awaken with JP’ nails it. The media deals in conspiracy theories better than real conspiracy theorists. Who knew?
Watch and laugh, then cry a little for all the harm that is being done in the name of fear.
Today I have to snarl at a few people. Something that never sits well with me. The dragons scales must flash a little. Not much, just enough to let the subjects of my displeasure know that they have erred. Then I can get on with moving some money around.
Went into Local Store the other day, the local radio station was on in the background. “Er, yeah. So we’re going into level five in a few weeks. We’ve had a doubling of cases over in Ennis to at least thirty, and a report of someone sneezing in Shannon. Two elderly people died of an influenza like illness which we’re assuming was COVID-19. Health authorities believe a sniffle may have been involved and a Gardai task force has been set up. So we’re going to lobby Government to go into level five lockdown at the end of the next three weeks.”
All right, I made that up, but it is closely representative of the non-stop terrorism the mainstream media are inflicting on us all. Endless repetition of the disaster narrative. We’re all doomed unless no one can never ever go out of their house ever again. Don’t listen to the ‘Deniers’ or the doctors who say it’s not that big a deal, they’re all a bunch of cranks and half wits. On and on it goes. All the time.
This is how Hamlet’s father died in Shakespeare’s play, through having “Poison poured in his ear” by the evil Claudius until the King died of despair.
This is terrorism, plain and simple. A hostile act against an entire way of life, and we’re doing it to ourselves by listening to the scaremongers.
Switch off the propaganda, step outside out in your back yard, or open a window and take a breath of sweet morning air instead. Stop, look around and listen to the birdsong. Take a moment to drink in the calm. Masks are no longer necessary. There is little to be afraid of if you’re looking after yourself properly. Life, outside of the media terror bubble, is good. Chill.
This was a public service announcement.
Mrs S and I are taking a time out today, as she has been spending far too much time behind a keyboard. I have baked bread this morning and being an habitual early riser, left it to cool ready for her breakfast. When she gets out of bed there will be tea, coffee and toast. I like early mornings. There’s time to think and consider before the sun comes up and the noise of the day crowds around you. And who doesn’t like waking up to the smell of fresh baking and new brewed tea or coffee?
One of today’s tasks is getting out and about, checking on what’s open and what isn’t. Looking around and packing our bags for the next part of our journey. I’ve been taking advice from locals and they say that as we’re far out of Dublin, there won’t be much to worry about. I fancy a trip around the Dingle peninsula. Our last trip to a beach was a bit lonely as we were the only people in sight. Today’s forecast is for rain, but I have a seeming that it will pass and I’ll end up needing sunglasses by early afternoon.
Well now, we’re well into the third week of the ‘second spike’ or ‘second wave’ of ‘cases’, so can I ask a few questions? What’s the death and hospitalisation count? Anyone? Come on chaps, the rise in cases started over a couple of weeks ago, so hundreds of people should start to drop like flies around about now. Anybody seeing that? No? Riight.
Does this whole wavy hand panicmongering start to look more than a bit foolish to you? Because all the detected SARS/COV-2 infections should start to cycle through the system by now, surely? The ICU’s should be standing room only and the mortuaries should be starting to stack ’em up in refrigerated containers, right? What? It’s not happening? All the potential COVID-19 deaths the ‘Government scientists’ have been banging on about, where are they? Where are they hiding? Is there some dark and super secret government base where all the excess stiffs are being disposed of in huge crematoria, or on ‘black sites’ known only to a privileged few? Do you mean to tell me there aren’t any? What? Only one or two ‘extra’ deaths? Well that’s no fun. I feel rather cheated. I was promised a proper apocalypse and I want this one sent back for a refund.
All that drama, all the flashing red and blue lights and people in smart new uniforms dashing back and forth doing derring deeds? Or is the sad truth that there are few who need saving, apart from the usual falling over a toy on the stairs or one of the many banal banana skins of life. Even Trump is back in the saddle after only a weekend’s treatment. Much to the elevated blood pressure of all those deluded lefties who seem to be seriously intellectually challenged when it comes to understanding how the world works.
I hate to be a Donnie Downer (No I don’t – I love it), forever raining on the panicmongers parade, but the SARS/COV-2 crisis is over. The ‘second wave’ should be crashing down about our ears like a massive Tsunami right about now if all the ‘experts’ had even the faintest scintilla of credibility.
Let’s face it, as I’ve said before, these are the same clique of ‘experts’ whose advice led to the foot and mouth debacle, decimating UK beef and dairy herds, sending family farms into bankruptcy. And the same people who predicted an epidemic of Mad Cow disease in humans. Whatever happened to that?
Where are the zombie hordes staggering around the streets… no, sorry, you’re quite right, they’re the ones still wearing masks, wearing masks in their car with the windows rolled up, or all alone walking across an empty car park, glaring and shaking their heads at people going about their business maskless. Forgot about those. Apologies. The unthinking Zeeps. Gotcha.
Those are the people I intend to avoid today. Despite the forecast rain it might just be a lovely day.
Mockery, and bags of it. These bloody silly restrictions need mocking at every point. Like those you see in lifts (Elevators), where only two people are supposed to be in there at any one time. Has anyone seen the markers where there are two markers on the floor designating where users of the lift are to stand and it looks like they want you to think you’re on the ‘naughty step’ or the ‘dunces corner’ facing the wall, head down, not allowed to look around like some schoolboy being humiliated in front of the class for some petty infraction?
I roared with laughter. “Look Hon.” I said to Mrs S. “This elevator comes with it’s own built in naughty step.”
“Stand on it.” She said tersely. She finds my sense of humour a little trying sometimes.
So I did. “Sorry Miss.” I said meekly.
“You’re not kidding anyone.” She replied.
Moving forward into our new place and getting stuff organised. There’s a lot of detail to go through and I’m busier than a bee on amphetamines. However, each step forward brings us closer to getting sorted. It’s just time and effort. Mrs S is up to her neck in her own affairs, so it falls to me to ensure things happen in their proper order. Fortunately we agreed a division of labour for this move and we’re all good. Money is coming in and we’re actually paying less in terms of rent and utilities for a similar size property than we were in BC. All we have to do is ensure the cash goes to the right places. Such is the life of a permanent expat. Not that I mind, it’s actually fun if you have the right attitude.
As for all the COVID-19 restrictions, apart from masking up to go into shops when we’re in town they’re no big deal. The people who are suffering the most are the urbanites and students under house arrest, particularly if they’re living on campus.
Not that the people who impose these rules are following them, the hypocrites. They still get to go to dinner parties of more than six people any time it suits them. And their bars don’t have to shut at 10pm. I also bet no-one goes peering through their letterboxes.
One rule for us plebs and divine privilege for them. Don’t they understand that we’ve chopped the heads off royalty over divine rights and exclusive privilege? I bet that Charles 1st was thinking as he was being led to the block for a quick bit off the top “I wish I’d told everyone that one rule should be for all, not just the privileged few.” Foolish man. Took thirteen years to get back to somewhere near normal after three civil wars in the 1640’s. What? You thought there was only one? There possibly was one period of civil war, but there were actually three English civil wars where there was actual fighting if you take the time to read the History properly. Charlie boy lost all three. And his head because the silly bugger couldn’t take the hint. Dozy eejit.
Perhaps the current powers that be might benefit from reading their history a little more closely. Because this whole SARS/COV-2 business isn’t the end of the world. If people paid attention it might just be the beginning of a much better one. Which is why the current draconian restrictions are proving counter-productive, but who listens to me? I’m just a blogger with a lifetime of world-experience. They’re just chickens with their heads cut off wearing their face masks wrong. See inset picture and click to enlarge for a giggle.
And I’ve got this terrible pain in all the diodes down my left side.
Anyway, it’s not the end of the world, even if all the over privileged drama queens want it to look like it is. It’s effectively a lot of fuss about what we can clearly see now is a comparatively low risk. The worst is past. Time to move on. I’m sick of writing about it, and I bet my last remaining reader, if they’re still here, is pig sick of hearing the fear-porn about COVID-19 as well.