Thursday, 30 August 2012

Church Guilty Again

RELIGIOUS crackpots have yet again allowed systematic harm to children, it has been revealed.
  Befrocked freaks in the Diocese of Chichester, which in plain English means Sussex, the south coast county west of Kent wherein lies Brighton,  have been up to no good for years, leading to condemnation by no less than chief God-botherer the Archbishop of Canterbury.
  Rowan Williams' team will now oversee appointments and child protection matters in Sussex, where three of the black crows have been charged with child sex offences... a figure unsurprising to anyone who views the whole religious clown act with the suspicion of a cognitivly aware adult who can see beyond the brainwashing of the compulsory education system.
Sussex Diocese play area
 'A whole series of investigations and reports across nearly two decades bears witness to a profoundly unhelpful and negative culture in parts of the diocese that led to its failure to take the action needed,' the report stated, tip-toeing towards the obvious question.
  Which is - if the high and mighty chief Sky-Angel peddlar in Sussex, Bishop John Hind (recently replaced by Bishop Dr Martin Warner who was quick to distance himself from the old regime) has been shielding an entourage of kiddy-fiddlers - is he himself a paedo?  If not, why the replacement? 
 I have asked the question, and will add to this report as and when I get a response.

  Report by the Archbishop's own office - link.  BBC story - link.
  Email to Sussex Diocese:
'Dear Sir or Madam, journalistic enquiry.  In response to the Archbishop of Canterbury's Interim Report regarding child protection in Sussex, can you tell me when and why Bishop John Hind stepped down, and if it was linked to the Archbishop's enquiry?
Regards, Neil Jackson, Member of the Chartered Institute of Journalists.' 
  Update one day later: response from David Farey, Diocesan Communications Officer:
 'Dear Neil, in answer to your query I include here the original statement concerning Bishop John's retirement below.  Regards, David.'
  The meat of the July 6, 2011 press release read: 'As I shall be nearly 67 I think the time is right for a new Bishop to take over.'
  And that was it.  The sceptical can email me and I'll forward the full reply.  Two months earlier Baroness Butler-Sloss released a church-commissioned report
  No mention of the paedo activities of his lieutenants: contact me on  for the full conversation to be forwarded as I chase this bunch of religious wrong 'uns.  The research is fascinating; Bishop Hind, despite being God's enforcer in the Brighton area, locked horns with Rowan Williams by fighting against civil partnerships (his gofers raping little boys seems to be okay) - Wiki link.  So there's no love lost between Williams and Hind.  Hind is married to a former child protection advisor.
Food for thought - link.  Bishop Wallace Benn, Bishop of Lewes, is now under my scrutiny.  He intends to retire this month.  Coincidence?
  Benn's record: delayed passing on paedo priest crime check - BBC link.
  Gay hassling; gay priest Rev David Page who moved into the Diocese was banned from officiating at ceremonies - link.
  Bishop accused of covering up priest's CRB check - Eastbourne HeraldLink.
  Jesus - this dig around dosn't stop throwing things up - a previous Bishop of Lewes was cautioned in 1993 after being cautioned by police after fiddling with a teenager - local paper Eastbourne Herald link.  Bear in mind a normal perv with no Establishment links would have been locked up.
  Google: Wallace + Benn and the list goes on.  And easy-life PR scumbag David Farey didn't think any of this was worth mentioning.   


Monday, 27 August 2012

Selling 'Labour' To Sheffield

Man of the people and Harriett Harman’s predecessor, John Prescott surprisingly managed to attain the role of Deputy Prime Minister without the family support of city slickers and landed gentry.  John, who’s credentials as a former ship’s steward was the gritty link between the scrubbed modernising Yuppies of New Labour and the blue collar workers of the industrial heartlands.
Lord and Lady Prescott at a recent civic function
Oop There In That There North
  Ship’s stewards occupy a servile role; he was a waiter: a far cry from the skilled craftsmen of the mines, building sites and factories but to the Mandelsons and Blairs of this world the ‘Working Class’ are one homogeneous mass, where waiters, window-cleaners and warehouse stackers fresh out of nick occupy equal status with electricians, engineers and emergency medical technicians.  They don’t; and I speak as a craftsman.  So lauding Prescott - who waited on the rich as they cruised the world’s exotic corners - as a man of the people because of his background just exposes the complete lack of familiarity that ‘Labour’ leaders have with what Labour and the working class is.  And what it isn’t is the Guardian-set talking Marxism in their half million pound Islington town houses.  Or Mandelson giggling on an Oligarch’s super-yacht as he simpers how he is, ‘intensely relaxed about people getting filthy rich’ as he slowly strokes a gangsters knee.  (Real working people know that the gangsterism of Russia’s oligarchs has stripped the earnings of the workers of that country.)
  So on to John Prescott, the guy scrubbing his boots on next door’s stoop prior to sorting out his whippets, or homing pigeons, or whatever northern stereotypical shite Two Jags is peddling to the Daily Mirror and Guardian hacks this week.
  Who he is: Baron Prescott of Kingston upon Hull, a Lord.
  What he earns: £300,000 income for his four-year term as Humberside’s Police and Crime Commissioner, when he gets the gig.  And he will get it.  £75,000 annual salary for his peerage – and in the Aug 2011-2012 year he claimed £40,950 in expenses.  That pays for a lot of clogs, ferrets, flat caps and roll-up baccy… unless the image is all a total sham.
  What he said circa 2008: 'I don't want to be a member of the House of Lords.  I will not accept it.'
  What he did: The keen croquet-player became a peer in July 2010, perhaps to appease Elsie Tanner lookalike wife Pauline, a former hairdresser who becomes, er, Lady Pauline.  Maybe there’s a row of them in Aldi on Manor Top, all married to past Yorkshire Labour heavyweights.
  ‘Lady Pauline, ‘ow much is tinned carrots, babes?  It’s all in Jeerman.’
  ‘Dunno, babes.  Sorry, Lady Hattersley.  Tell you what, though – that new blusher makes you look proper gorgous.’
  ‘Ahhh, ta mate.  An’ I got a new leopard print skirt for our special night coming up, babes.’
  ‘That’s nice, babes.  Garden Party at Hampton Court is it?  Next!  You got ID for that White Lightning?’
  Can’t those dopes in the Miners Welfare back in Rotherham wake up to the sham and stop voting en-masse for a bunch of liars?  It’s one big con – once the politicos taste that cash and that power… they are gone; them, the missus and the kids.  Straight up the arse of the Establishment like a rat down a Park Hill drainpipe. 

  Kids off to private school – Britain’s first black woman MP Diane Abbott’s sent son James off to private school – and she’s a Labour MP in tough inner-city Hackney North/Stoke Newington. 
  She carried it off!  She said that kids today join gangs, so it was fine for her to do it.
  And so it creeps in.  First a bit of privileged schooling for Little Johny and Jenny, then an unpaid internship at the PR firm which runs Mummy’s and Daddy’s political campaign, then the next thing we know these Oxbridge bastards are parachuted in to safe seats like Rotherham, their sharp elbows knocking aside the good men and women of the area who’ve worked their socks off at grass roots level to get the gig because the suave lawyers who’ve stolen Labour have given the nod to a ‘socialist’ spiv.  Or academic.  Or other middle-class bastard.
  Ever noticed how so many of these politicians are related?  The Miliband brothers?  Cooper and Balls?  Cameron and his fellow merchant-banker-spawn gimp, the Clegg-in-the-box?
  Dear reader – you may be wondering who am I to criticise, who am I to lay claim to knowing what labour is?
  I’m a photojournalist who walked away from a sycophantic trade 20 years ago, and now I’m a bricklayer.  I know labour – real labour - inside out; I’ve worked on sites from Glasgow to Munich and beyond.  And I can tell you this – two years ago on site I asked a London hod carrier, a guy in his forties, what he reckoned to Labour.  And this man knew how to labour.  Old hoddies body’s are carved into the hod; their calves are like cooking apples, their shoulders seared and scarred.  They would never talk to a journalist.  I’ve been bricklaying for fourteen years.
  ‘Labour, Neil?  What do I reckon to that lot, speaking for me?  There isn’t a fucking ounce of labour in ‘em, mate.  I shit ‘em.  Now; where do you want these bricks?’
  I sit and drink my coffee in the August sun, and study the guys on break.  Their red-top papers, ribald comments and haste in eating before the trowel and the hod take us in thrall again.  Totally disengaged, neither Labour nor Tory.  These boys don’t vote; neither do I.  There’s no difference any more.  They’re all the same.  Not like it used to be.
  The pit face, factories and building sites are a mere memory, Labour folks, as the crevettes get cracked by tomorrow’s Prescotts and Blairs in Knightsbridge and the champagne is swilled in Chelsea.  In short, Old Labour - you’ve been Royally mugged.  All those whip-rounds at the miners welfare have succeeded only in transporting a pair of class traitors into the House of Lords. Well done!