(1112) Happy elevenses all. (1252)
13. It’s not just folly … it’s long-planned destruction …
… by globopsychos above, their henchmen (and freeland type wimmin), the myrmidons, the karen army, every little tinpot god in a position of at least some influence … in every field of human activity. Meticulously planned and in-sane.
“NO ONE WHO is truly awake could now fail to be aware of the tyranny of anti-racism/multiculturalism and the vile assaults on free speech. Yet, following the political activism of the 1960s and 1970s, including the 1968 student-led mass protests, there were worrying developments in the early 1980s: the ultra-Left were invading our major institutions, particularly education, with the specific purpose of dismantling the culture of this country, creating social division, civil strife, and destroying our liberal democracy. That project was then, and has increasingly become remarkably successful, accelerating further under the rule of Starmer.”
I’m leaving it at that … he goes into education, as I could too … esp. around the time of the introduction of the National Curriculum … I’d prefer to keep it to just the far-left, the utter-nutters for now.
12. Well, if I was insulting to the lads earlier
… saying how ugly we were, now it’s the turn of the lasses.
I should have known, really I should. The delivery was organised, the site said it was a girl named Karen … I should have put aside my prejudice towards the ladies and realised there was going to be trouble. The site says four stops, three stops, two, one … then, “You’re next,” plus her name. Uh huh.
Now, rule of thumb is fifteen minutes later, the phone in the top pocket goes, I’ve been downstairs about ten minutes, add ten more now over the phone notification … piece of cake … twenty minutes or so in the cold. In fact, in anticipation, I’d change slipper boots for my steel tipped toecap work boots from boatbuilding days, so tootsies were warm, any miscreants would get steel to the goolies and jaw … all was well.
Fifteen minutes was up.
Twenty.
Twenty-five.
Thirty.
That’s ok … it’s a girl, innit? Probably got lost. By this stage, I was counting drivers. Of the dozen trucks and vans, all but one was a man. Of the little car drivers, all but two were women, alone, the male drivers oldies with wives. Of the passers-by on’t footpath, all but two were males, one in shorts. One lady walking her dog, plus some gorgeous gal in white blouson who smiled from the other side of the street.
Thirty-five. Getting a bit coldish.
Thirty-seven … phone goes … check … yep, tack ten minutes on. Decide not to be narky, just ask her if she’d got lost.
Forty-seven … her little car pulled in.
”Karen?” Shocked that I knew, that there was actually a system in operation. Lovely grandma type, beaming … all angry feelings drained away in me. “Got lost, did you?”
”Yes.” Then: “I’ve lived here xxxx years and never been lost …”
”Never mind, how many packets?” There were three.
We chatted a bit, came upstairs to do the report … had been planning to moan. Gave her 10/10 … how weak … wwweeellllll. END.
