Or rather not. About those little tin boxes powered by electrickery that the powers that be insist we will all be driving in the next ten years. Err, no. Geoff buys cars explains what is happening to the condition and second hand value of EV’s which aren’t all sparkly and brand new.
The law of unintended consequences is strong here.
Update: who would want a vehicle where even a minor shunt, resulting in little damage to the vehicle, is enough for your insurers to write off the entire car? Mostly to do with an increased fire risk.
Out for coffee today and Mrs S and I got to talking about travel. Agreeing that it’s always good to have options. A fallback plan if you will. Always to have a plan B, or C, or any number of letters or the alphabet. Never putting all our eggs in one basket, nor relying on one source of income etc. It’s like having a spare tyre and jack, or a first aid kit. You might never use it, but when disaster inevitably strikes, at least such items will prevent said disaster being a showstopper.
Have just been through the costly process of renewing my UK and Canadian passports, and noted that the new blue UK one is still from ‘Her majesties government’. I’ll be getting an Irish passport too when naturalisation time comes around in about four years. Which as an expat is always a good idea because some passports will get you on a fast track through specific customs and immigration posts where another might get you seriously delayed. For me this has had the advantage of not joining the queue for ‘outsiders’, just up to the scanners and you’re out of the airport or shipping terminal in jig time, enjoying a nice lunch while everyone else is still in the queue having their entry visa checked. Having more than one passport gives you options.
And it never hurts to have a secondary form of ID, just in case. Less pressure on the blood pressure when travelling sort of thing. It gives you more options. Less fuss with visas when visiting friends and family all over the world. I’ve used my Canadian passport for extensive visa free travel across the USA, and my UK passport has got me into other places, including the Emerald isle. So as a travel strategy more than one passport has much to offer when local politics threatens to get in the way. Might need ‘South’ to sponsor us for entry to the fabled land of Oz, as she has recently obtained citizenship down there, but we’re not due to go again until 2024, when she’s a bit more settled and brother and sister in law have finished rebuilding their new place near Brisbane.
As for any sense of ‘loyalty’, as I have remarked before, my country (The UK that is) left me, not the other way around. Somewhere around 2004 (or before) I think. I used to be an unquestioning Queen and country patriot, but now I am getting older and ever more cynical, well, I don’t think this lot are worth fighting for. Don’t get me wrong, I’ll fight for what I believe in, but on my own terms.
Not that I care much for what Canada has become either. The stain of fascism is deeply embedded there too, especially in the major urban centres. So for the moment, the wilder west of Ireland will give Mrs S and I safe haven. If the Eejits in Dublin, London or Brussels ever think about rescinding the common travel area treaty (Ratified in May 2019) between the Republic and the UK, then millions of expat Irish living and working in the UK will suffer. Mrs S and I won’t because we will, by the time any such legislation gets sent to the scrapheap, have three passports to help us slip past potential roadblocks.
So I work hard ensuring my family have options, as a safe haven in a neutral country, or otherwise. Especially when the powers that be seem intent on reducing far too many into a 21st century form of serfdom. I’m not relying on the power of protest, although will always support the need for others freedom, even if it proves futile and the bad guys get their way. Even if I have to file tax returns in three differing countries. Yes it’s a pain sometimes, but like having the right tools in your backup kit, it’s often a bloody good idea.
The trades are back, finishing up the work we’ve asked them to do. It’s the painters turn at the moment and the house is thick with paint fumes despite all the windows open, I’m busy fussing over small jobs while the weather is cutting up rough, and Mrs S is busy rearranging things and choosing rugs and blinds.
While my kitchen and downstairs are more or less out of bounds, I’m doing a little planning for a UK road trip sometime in early 2023. Just a few scenic places in the UK I haven’t been or just whooshed through. Plenty of one or two night stopovers in the South and up through the Midlands to western Scotland, meandering up and around the roads less travelled. Maybe family visits if anyone is still talking to me.
I’m thinking of maybe the Swindon end of the Ridgeway first and work my way East and North into the Fenlands, back West, then North and East again, then back across the Pennines and North to the western Isles and back into Norn Island thence braving the storms of Donegal and home again.
At this point it’s just a speculative exercise. We may just decide to amble down to the Med via la belle France instead, pausing to pick daisies as we go. Meandering along Plane tree shaded N and D routes, using our creaky French, sampling the local wines and foods, and letting the locals practice their equally creaky English on us. Just an off-season jaunt before the business of the growing year gets underway in March, and I need to get planting.
That reminds me, my UK passport needs renewal, even though my other passports are valid. One of the things about being an Expat, you tend to acquire passports and citizenships in your travels. They all need renewing and perhaps cancelling as circumstance dictates. It’s also quite useful, because you don’t need to fuss around with visa’s quite so much. One passport will get you in easily to one country while another might not be so welcomed. So, you choose whichever passport gets you into the fast lane through passport control. It’s just a convenience.
Talking of the future, despite all the hand waving, I am forming the opinion that the world is not ending. The pound is in the process of bouncing back against the Euro and Dollar. All right, the Canadian Dollar is in a nosedive, but we’ve pretty much sold all that we’re going to sell of anything over there for the moment. When Canadians finally vote out the idiot liberals and that shithead Trudeau, maybe their lives will improve.
Any old road up, despite the provocation of having their pipelines blown up, I think the Russki’s are too smart to throw all their nuclear toys out of the pram, despite what the lamestream say. The Russians are smart enough to know disrupting their gas supply will drive a wedge through NATO and take the Western pressure off, so we can all stop worrying about the last big boom. Unless the Biden administration stage something. I wouldn’t put it past them right at this moment. Because a lot of what this administration are up to is all shadows and market manipulation. For a wider discussion, Redacted has an interesting take on the current situation.
Anything else? Locally the price of Diesel is still way too high at around 1.8+ euros a litre and Unleaded just a little below. This is despite crude oil dropping to below USD$80 a barrel recently, which is a more usual price.
Which, knowing what I do about markets, makes me think that all this ‘Net Zero’ rhetoric is political nonsense designed to enrich politicians and speculators of a certain stripe. Nothing to do with “Saving the planet” because all these shifty types don’t “Own the science” because no one can ‘own’ scientific knowledge. You can either prove a proposition empirically or you can’t. The only ‘proofs’ I’ve seen come from rather dodgy mathematical modelling. Therefore the only possible ‘science’ in ‘Net Zero’ is financial and political. In short, ripping off the general population to benefit those who don’t need any more.
No wonder those in power don’t want opposing views to be heard.
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.
Re: the Ottawa truck convoy. The Liberal government of Canada has sent the dogs in (Armed RCMP) to arrest unarmed peaceful protesters at the Ambassador Bridge between Windsor, Ontario, Canada and Detroit, USA.
Both Federal and Provincial authorities have threatened to fine, jail and take away licences. But who will deliver the goods and move mountains if the authorities reduce the amount of people moving the goods? The truckers, both self employed and otherwise, could easily starve the big cities by simply hanging up their keys, turning off their phones and taking a two week leave of absence. Or a fortnights sick leave by announcing they’d all caught the dreaded lurgi and had to self isolate.
Do the Turd-brains in their clown parliament and local legislatures think they can bring in enough unskilled labour to move Canada’s goods? The freight trains alone can’t do it, the support infrastructure just isn’t there any more and all the delivery points are in big retail stores far from the tracks. There’s also a shortage of new drivers. All the old boomers who formed the greatest demographic of drivers have been retiring. It’s the same all over the world. UK, Ireland, Europe, wherever.
And driving a big rig is a dangerous business. If you’d driven the trans Canada as I have, you’d understand. The broad roads of Canada have their own particular hazards, from wayward wildlife to rainstorms that can wash out even major highways in minutes, whiteout blizzards and windstorms that can blow even smaller vehicles halfway across the highway. That’s without factoring in the ignorance and eccentricity of the average Canadian car driver.
A truck isn’t like a car, it doesn’t manoeuvre like a car, it takes longer to stop for one. it handles differently. So some guy from just off the boat with no experience won’t be able to do the job.
Besides, to get your heavy goods ticket takes a great deal of time and money, not to mention that Canadian licence transfer legislation effectively downgrades your licence if you move countries. Been there, done that, passed my driving test in BC to boot. Lost my light goods certification in the process. Same for Ireland. I’m only just getting my old UK driver certifications back next week after months of writing letters to Service Canada and the DVLA.
So yes, by all means strip the livelihoods from people instead of having the guts to go and actually talk to them. Hobble the Canadian economy. Then whine about driver programmes not being ‘inclusive’ enough because there aren’t enough transgender or feminist drivers. Complain about CO2 emissions then wonder why there’s a lot less on the supermarket shelves and prices are skyrocketing.
The Pandemic is over. It’s been over for some considerable time and there’s no excuse for not lifting all the restrictions. Right now. People want their lives back. They want their civil rights and pre-COVID freedoms back and there is no good reason not to grant this simple request.
Not that there ever was.
Update: and now for a short word from someone who is definitely not our sponsor.
Right, so about a quarter of the parliamentary tory party rebelled over Bojo the clown’s ‘plan B’, which as crap as any plan B can ever be. Plan B is always a poor second choice, and so it is for the dear old UK. Despite their opposition, the restrictions still got voted through.
Not of course that it’s any better over here. ‘North’ is (Was?) due to join us next week, and has gone for her ‘booster’ jab to ensure she can join us unmolested. New travel ‘guidance’ says she has to get a negative antigen or PCR test before getting on the plane. We’re offering to pay for her test, just to make sure she can travel. Just so we can have some quality time together. We’ll do the same for ‘South’ when she can get out of the great prison state of Oz.
For my part, I have elected to ignore the repeated messages saying I am ‘eligible’ for a ‘booster’. Given that the current round of the “OHMYGAWD!” variant is as harmless as a kitten on Valium, at least according to the Sarf Efricans who discovered it. So I won’t be bothering. I’ve had two jabs, and if those didn’t work then what’s the point of another? Thus far and no further. Stuff the mandates.
Yes, yes, I know one death with the “OHMYGAWD!” variant of COVID has been reported in the UK, but ‘with’ isn’t ‘of’. Which means that the deceased was found to have traces of virus (Live or dead) in their sinuses after a post mortem PCR swab test, no matter their actual cause of death. Said test does not mean that they were symptomatic or even infected, merely that they had traces of it in their sinuses when swabbed. That, even with my limited medical training, does not constitute a ‘case’.
Frankly I’m pissed off with the whole business, and a second Christmas ruined by these weak arse politicians and their control freak advisers is not being looked on kindly. Bastards. The f*cking bastards. Right this minute I f*cking hate the whole of the British and Irish Parliaments who voted for renewed restrictions. I hate the EU commission, the Scottish and Welsh assemblies, and I wish them all the harm in the world. I hope they all die of a particularly nasty and painful form of cancer. Next week for preference. Hell, I’ll even buy tickets to watch each of them writhe and die in agony.
Now that may sound like I’m over reacting, but I say, if you’re going to over-react you might as well go the whole hog. However, no matter what happens we’ll survive. I just want to see ‘North’ in person and give her a serious hug to tell her that the family guard dog (Me) is still a good ‘un and all will be well. I want to feed her, share a few daft Dad-jokes, warm her in front of a good Irish fire and in the New Year send her back to the great metrollops relaxed and refreshed. If you are a parent who is worth your salt you will feel this way. Anything that gets in the way instantly raises the red mist of vengeance.
Thinking about this, I can’t think of any other occasion where I’ve hated another group of people so much. And I do mean hate. Not some minor dislike, but borderline incandescent rage at being repeatedly cheated and gaslit over a bug which has done far less harm than the restrictions meant to contain it. I want their (The politicians, their ‘science’ advisers, enforcers and their snitches) lungs to catch fire so I can refuse to piss down their throats.
The other day we went out and bought Mrs S a car. An MPV that came at a good price from a trusted dealer. So now we are both independent of each other as far as transport is concerned, and have a fallback option in case our other car becomes hors de combat for whatever reason. Or if we have two batches of visitors to collect from differing air or ferry terminals.
Of course shelling out for a new wagon means I have less ready money at present than I’m comfortable with, what with the house and all coming up, but we can afford it, and it’s a nice to have in case one of us has to zip off somewhere at short notice. Public transport is all very well, but it takes an age to get anywhere and you’re crammed in with the coughing and spluttering masses. I need the off road capability of the SUV and Mrs S doesn’t, preferring never to drive down anything less than a Motorway or N-Route. I’ll get her registered with a toll card account so the doesn’t have to fuss with all the loose change.
With the easing of restrictions now that the Pandemic is almost (But not quite) officially over, ‘South’ has been let out of her home to picnic on the beach with friends down in the fabled land of Oz, and is talking excitedly about coming over for an extended visit. Indeed as are most of our extended family. For some reason they’re all very interested in visiting our new place. Hopefully we’ll have the decorating done in time for the festering season and any visitors that come our way.
I know Boris the Henpecked over in the UK is not letting go of the petty powers he put in place that have made life so miserable for most of us, but things are turning out all right. Decisions have been made, life changes planned and the next few years promise to be very interesting indeed, but in a good way.
Winter for example promises to be full speed ahead and bugger the politicians. I’ve never had this much land to play with before, but we’re planning our planting and rearing around a nine month active year with three months downtime when we will take extended breaks with family overseas, which suits our temperaments very nicely. This first year I shall be busy putting my ‘O’ level woodwork skills to work on building raised vegetable beds and beehives ready for Spring. There’s agricultural contractors to organise and a fox to get rid of, so I won’t be going anywhere for 2021-22.
I’m quite giddy with anticipation. Sod the ‘carbon footprint’.
Excuse the blogging absence, but we’ve been hosting ‘North’ for the last week and a bit. Our youngest daughter has been with us here in the wilder west of Ireland, putting a smile on our faces and forcing the household to go vegetarian for a week, but that’s no bother as she does eat fish. So it wasn’t really an issue, although I must confess to being all Salmoned out.
There have been times over the last pointless eighteen months when we despaired of ever seeing her again, but the simple joy of her saying “Gimme a hug” at the airport lifted a huge weight from our shoulders.
To hell with the politicians and their silly lockdowns, masks and ‘vaccine passports’. If ever introduced to one such, I will ask them pointedly if they were for or against lockdowns. If against, they will receive a handshake and me saying; “So why did you not speak out more loudly?” If for, then I will withhold my hand and spit in their foetid, narrow minded eyes before walking away.
What I have loved about the last week is that we got to greet a much loved family member in person. You simply cannot put a price on such events. However, I will never forgive those who have repeatedly extended lockdowns and mask mandates for the damage they have done. I may run out of spit.
Notwithstanding, last night ‘North’ went back to her London flat, much to our regret. She filled out all the right forms, went through all the pointless motions and walked away from us into a near-deserted airport.
An empty airport is a strange thing to see. Like some huge, lonely creature staring aimlessly out across the landscape, mourning the life and human activity that it is denied. Despite all the mock-cheerful “Glad to see you back!” and “Welcome!” billboards, there is still a long, low sadness that hangs over such places like bad weather. Airports, in spite of what anyone might think of the security theatre and interminable queues, are still a place for human interaction, of greetings and goodbyes, no matter how brief. A place of living, not as at present, of a kind of living death.
We’re a global family. Spread all over the world from England to Australia. Wrested asunder on the flimsiest and most overblown of pretexts. First a virus with less than a 1% mortality rate, and now ‘global warming’ (Again). Neither of which are valid reasons, even if the latter is patently false. All of these doomsday predictions come from a faction of mathematical modellers who aren’t fit to compile a basic spreadsheet. People who seem never to set foot outside of their centrally heated offices, or they would have noticed how brief Summers are becoming.
Unfortunately now the principle has been established, only the privileged will be allowed to travel freely, the rest of us will be discouraged from doing so.
So ‘North’ has gone home. The upside of which means steak is back on the menu as of today. Pass the Dijon mustard. I’ve had a bloody good week.
For the first time in eighteen months, Mrs S and I popped out for an indoors lunch in a pub. In Tipperary no less. As we were sitting there, I was treated to a large screen running footage from the ‘Tokyo 2020 Olympics’ live. Yes, I know that sounds bizarre, but then we are living in bizarro-world, so no big deal right?
Actually the games are being held in 2021. Quite frankly I found the spectacle completely weird. Athletes competing in an almost completely empty stadia. Tier after tier of empty seats with no-one but a couple of dozen or so team members and officials to cheer their team mates and champions on to victory. I found the sight somewhat disturbing and remarked upon this observation to Mrs S.
“I know, but it was the only way they could do it.” She replied.
In reply I wrinkled my mouth in disgust. There was a wrongness I could not put words to, but I saw it in the faces of the athletes before their events when a camera was shoved in their faces. Self-consciousness and embarrassment were how I would describe their expressions, like they wished they were elsewhere. After their event, when the adrenalin was still high, the winners looked excited, but even there I saw shadows, such is the penetration of 4K cameras, nothing escapes.
Still, we had a pleasant lunch and will stop at that hostelry again if passing. Decent pub menu and presentation of the food was good. Pity it was raining, but then you can’t have everything.
Afterthought: What’s the point of a ‘Victory lap’ when there’s no-one there to celebrate with?
Off into the Wilder West of County Clare today looking at houses. Successfully finding a place to buy with all the things you need is a protracted process and needs a lot of serendipity. Failing that, a great deal of persistence and sheer bloody mindedness. Relying on sites like Property.ie and Daft.ie only gives you a part of the story.
Fortunately I have a great deal of bloody minded persistence in my DNA. So the hunt will continue, down leafy Irish lanes, dodging the tractors along tiny boreens and up farm tracks, thankful for decent SUV suspension. Might even book an outdoor table for lunch in Localtown tomorrow. We have errands there, so why not?
Work is slack at the moment, so this means both Mrs S and I have plenty of spare time for reading and research. And I was considering investing in a ground source heat pump, when of course we do find our new building project. However, some fairly reputable sources are making me question this aspiration.
Yes, I know he’s (only) a tradesman and not some highly qualified academic who publishes highbrow papers, but when push comes to shove, he’s got nothing to gain, loads (Over ten years) of hands on experience, and as he states in his video, particularly with regard to Air Heat pumps, there’s a burgeoning legal mis-selling culture. Don’t know about ground source. But I do know that Air Heat pumps do surge at startup, which may mean that any ‘savings’ aren’t worth the candle. I’ll do the sums and see if it has a significant payback between 3-5 years. If not then I think my interest might exhibit significant wane-fall. However, we live and learn.
Certainly I’ve lived in a house with an air heat pump in Canada and wasn’t too happy at being awoken in the middle of the night by the noisy monster. New ones may be quieter, but after four or five years? Experience tells me there’s potentially a big downside.
Maybe if we end up out in the sticks as seems likely, we should invest in a methane digester as backup to a more traditional hot water / heating gas boiler setup. Spend our money on top notch insulation instead. Go for the passive solar option. Keep the heating bills down that way.
We’re buzzing around Sligo at the moment, passing a pleasant break in Sligo itself. Unpleasant name, very tidy university town in ‘Yeats Country’, even though W B Yeats was part educated at the Godolphin School, Slough, England.
Then I got an email. From a no-reply Health.gov.ie address.
Well now chaps, apparently I’m now one of the ‘privileged’ who is ‘allowed’ to travel or access certain services. Which bothers me.
Medical apartheid is here folks, in all it’s ugly glory. I got nagged into getting the jabs, but now I have to provide proof within the borders of the country I live in, for such simple things as visits to hostelries or theatres. Which makes me angry and prepping the excuse that “I left the bloody thing at home. Now do you want my feckin money or what?” I’ve got a ‘Covid passport’, but I’m disinclined to carry the freaking thing around for every Jaysus Joseph and Mary-Ann who asks “Papieren bitte.”. I will be giving anyone who asks a hard time. Expect withering (As in ‘withering fire’ ) sarcasm on a scale as yet unvisaged.
Mrs S by contrast is quite miffed, as she has not had hers yet. Ironic that. I got mine first and am going to resist using it, and she, who desperately wanted one so she can go to London to see Youngest, despite having both jabs before me.
What Yeats would have thought of this state of affairs I have no idea, but as he was by politics an Irish Nationalist, I have the feeling he might have penned some pointed anti-medical apartheid lines woven into a tapestry of magical symbolism.
While we’re in town I’ll raid a few bookshops and busy myself with a little study. Something for the bookcase and maybe the odd quotation.
Update: Mrs S just checked her spam filter and she how has her very own “papieren” for the enforcers of this offensive idiocy. We are now both ‘privileged’, whatever use that is going to be.
Will the UK finally lift its restrictions 19th July? Will the EU stop playing silly political games to try and regain control of it’s major cash cow? (The UK)
Don’t care. I’ve got a midweek break booked into a nice hotel with a restaurant and a bar while we go and size up a property to buy. I intend to have my conversations with Auctioneers and Surveyors before disappearing into a quiet corner, sinking a few pints of recycled Liffey water while Mrs S indulges herself in a few Gin and tonics.
It’s raining (Of course it’s bloody raining-this is July in Ireland) so all the outdoor drinkers will be inside regardless of whether the rules say you can or not.
In the meantime, cheers. Oh, and here’s an appropriate blast from the 1980’s from Tear for Fears.
Currently trying to ignore the discomfort from my old back injuries and doing the odd road trip around the Wilder West of Ireland, from Sligo and Galway down through Clare and Limerick into Kerry and Cork. I’ve just finished reading ‘The Road to Wigan Pier’, Orwell’s chronicle of his journey through working class Britain in the 1920’s and 30’s following on from his personal tales of poverty documented in ‘Down and out in Paris and London‘ .
Chapter 9 is particularly telling as it is easy to draw parallels between the fear and loathing of the petit-bourgeois middle classes of the working class during the 1920’s and 30’s. Attitudes which are still pretty common in the early 21st century.
From what Orwell writes, one can see very similar social forces at work sans-Interweb prior to World War Two emanating from very similar sources. The same predilection for totalitarianism loosely wrapped in a muddle of semi-digested Socialism. Chapter 9 is particularly telling in it’s examples of class and race-hatred that can be still seen to exist when compared to Orwell’s highly incisive first person mid-20th century perspective.
Likewise, 21st Century ‘Woke’ culture can likewise be viewed as an example of middle class hatred and fear of the working class despite protestations to the contrary. “No!”, claim the lefty elitists, “We really luurve the proletariat! We only want what’s best for them!” but even the most cursory evaluation exposes this as a scorpion love with a nasty control freak sting in the tail. And it is endemic throughout the Western political spectrum. From the Champagne Socialists of Islington to much of the metropolitan Conservative party. Or the Democrats in the USA to much of the Urban RINO Republicans. It is why they all have so much in common. Their social racism is firmly encoded in their DNA.
Belief in the pseudosciences, like in the 1920’s and 30’s, is also widespread, and any serious challenge from the ‘lower orders’ such as the election of Trump or the BREXIT referendum sparks a massive counter reaction. Questioning the ‘science’ of SARS/COV-2 and ‘man made climate change’ likewise. These are canon to the ‘sophisticated’ urban middle classes and any gainsaying, no matter how well founded, is seen as overt defiance against the middle class wannabe rulers and are to be silenced for their wrongthink. “How could they not believe as we do?” is the quavering cry. Like in the 1930’s, these are predominantly class based belief systems.
Anything that allows easy social mobility is likewise attacked by measures designed to make everyone an employee, and thus controllable, like IR35. Yet at the same time being in favour of importing large populations that do not share the basic values of the country they are being invited into. Mainly to keep wages down and property values up. Both of which disadvantage the native working and young person in the early stages of their career.
By way of a deconstruction of the kind of propaganda we have been bombarded with, to keep those pesky peons in their place; Ivor Cummins runs the numbers and calculates the real risk factors for SARS/COV-2 in the video below. All using approved official sources. Yet the terrified middle orders still pressurise government to keep the restrictions in place, no matter that their ‘sceance’ is patently flawed.
Anyway, that’s enough now. I shall shortly be posting some of the ‘on the road’ footage I’ve taken on our road trips online, just to show my reader what it’s like pootling down secondary Western Irish R roads. See you shortly. Pubs and outdoor dining is opening next week and Jaysus but I’ve got a powerful thirst on me.
And we know a song about that, don’t we? Well, Lynsey De Paul did. The public response to a nasty respiratory bug has been way overblown and driven by weak politicians, propaganda, profit and bad information. But the more sagacious amongst us knew this all along.
The guys at Spiked-Online interview Luke Johnson on the topic.
Road trip planning today for Tipperary and points South and east for Monday.
The Bill Sticker Alternative 