United Kingdom of Dystopia

I’m an armchair anarchist

No energy to follow through

Whilst the law tells me

What I can and cannot do

I’m an armchair anarchist

Who’s no threat to you

Passively sitting

Awaiting my cue…


But when the law tells me

What I can and cannot think

Then you bulldoze me

Towards the brink

When the law tells me

What I can and cannot say

Then you leave me

With no middle way….


Just did the http://defendfreespeech.org.uk/ extremism test. I’ve proudly scored 80%. To get 100 I’d have to break the law. Funny thing is though, that isn’t seen as compliance enough. Cameron is quoted as saying “For too long, we have been a passively tolerant society, saying to our citizens: as long as you obey the law, we will leave you alone. It’s often meant we have stood neutral between different values. And that’s helped foster a narrative of extremism and grievance. This Government will conclusively turn the page on this failed approach”.

Oh dear. The opposite of “passive tolerance” looks like active intolerance to me. If that is the rationale and reasoning behind Extremism Disruption Orders then


They better slap one on me

Before I leave my chair

And take a pee.


There is a line. The lack of clarity around an EDO means I don’t know if a line has been crossed. I’m guessing it’s safer to assume so than not.


Welcome to the United Kingdom of Dystopia

I wasn’t expecting Utopia

Just a cornucopia

Diversity in all things

Monocultures are doomed to perish and die.




Death to all Fanatics – becoming what you most despise

Another repost with tags

Death to all fanatics

That’s what I say

No matter to whom or what

They bend and pray

Death to all fanatics

That’s what I say

I’ll just put a gun to my head

And be on my way…

One Man And His Dog (In a Brecknock hill farm stylee)

Another re-post with tags

One man and his dog

Not the version you see

Clean and sanitised

For the BBC

But filthy dirty

And truly hardcore

If you want a little taste

And to see a little more

Then buy a brown Mac

And come bye and see

The specialist channel

 In our locality

Triple X rated

As blue as can be

Won’t cost you

A single penny


It’s all for free.


It’s got everything..


 Bad language

 Unpredictable twists in the plot


Dogs specially bred

From a long line of dogs


 Noted far and wide

For their ability

To run off in the distance

Wild and free

A bloodline strong

In anarchy

Specially selected

Throughout history

For the voyeuristic pleasure

Of You




World Weary Baby

Another re-post with tags so it actually might get read


Just met a world weary baby

Sitting in his pram

Too much experience

For his life’s short span

Sat there looking

Like a really old man

Seen it all

 Didn’t give a damn

 Didn’t like the fuss

Or need a plan

 Wasn’t going to work

 For the man

A world weary baby

With eyes that scan

 For any sign of wisdom

 Beneath my tan.


Bloodbath on the eight twenty five

I’m re- posting posts that were originally submitted with no tags adding tags so someone might actually read them


Old men who drive young men’s cars

Blow-up women with cosmetic surgery scars

It’s the morning bloodbath on the eight twenty five

If this were a contact sport you’d be lucky to survive

The shock troop tactics as we all compete

In a Darwinian struggle for a window seat

No place for the weak or the politeness impaired

Look them in the eye and show them you’re not scared

Of Louis Vuitton luggage and a designer skirt

An expensive laptop or a hand made shirt

I’d like to pretend that this is a class war

That I’m just trying to even up an uneven score

The personal campaign of an old grizzled vet

But I just don’t want to stand by a smelly toilet.


It’s Friday evening and all warlike spirit’s long gone

As we wait on the station for the five thirty one

The walking wounded shuffle along

Without even a hint of a Vera Lynn song

As we retreat from Moscow for the weekend

For time with our loved ones and to spend

The meagre spoils of an ever lasting war

Against the flood of bills through a mortgaged door

Our only minor triumphs are when we compete

In a Darwinian struggle for a window seat

On Monday morning it’s an odds on bet

That I won’t be left standing

By a smelly



The Memoirs and Mental Meanderings of a Maladjusted Middle Aged Man

As I neglected to tag earlier posts I’m now resubmitting with tags as someone somewhere might actually read them. I’ll delete former versions as I resubmit.


The memoirs and mental meanderings

Of a maladjusted middle aged man

Aren’t half as easy to write

As you originally plan

Little pieces of poetry

And pithy little pieces of prose

There soon comes a time

When you run out of those

I want to be Walter Mitty

I want to be Billy Liar

I want to expose my very soul

My every hidden desire

But the memoirs and mental meanderings

Of a maladjusted middle aged man

Soon stop doing

What it says on the can..


Money is Magic

“A universe is created by the participation of the participants” I’d love to say I thought that one up but I didn’t. Don’t know exactly where I got it from but I think it might have been Robert Anton Wilson. Related to this is “Money is the Schrodingers cat of economics”, again, probably the same source. Money is magic. It doesn’t actually physically exist. Beyond a small piece of paper promising to make payment, it has no actual value. No bank actually has enough reserves to cover its lending. There are no underlying assets that back money up. This is something that conservative politicians, particularly in the United Kingdom, understand. When they are asked to publish their personal income, they are happy to, they have nothing to protect. Their wealth consists of physical assets. To them, bankers are grubby spivs, who pursue an illusion, personal monetary wealth. By implication, they probably think pretty much the same of the rest of us.

Money is magic

It doesn’t really exist

The cruellest of any

Cruel, cruel twist

A bubble to burst

None dare be first

To challenge superstition

And an empty supposition

Money is magic

Money is magic

Money is magic

Say it three times three

And it will flood

 In the direction of me

Genetic disposition for making the wrong magical prediction

I’ve been pondering on quantum mechanics and relativity

And others definitely live in other worlds to me

There’s no need to step into another universe

I enter otherworlds whenever I converse…

With Daily Mail or Telegraph readers

Or virgin birth or miracle believers

Worlds that are defined by different rules

Knowledge that is learnt at other schools

Where collective belief makes fiction fact

And fact and fiction interact

If enough believe a fiction is true

Then in that world it is a world view

Science and magic are pretty much the same

The only difference is a name

In the search for truth and causality

Scientific fact is the casualty

Our genetic disposition to find logicality

A logical progression and synchronicity

To explain away seemingly random events

Is what, in the end, completely prevents

Any science

Our science fabricates fictions

Which cause frictions

And the wrong predictions

Double Espresso

“Double Espresso”

Oh look at me

Desperately avoiding

A frothy coffee

Real men drink

Proper coffee

From little china cups

And write poetry

About inverted

Coffee snobbery

Come on!

Who wants it?

 You frothy coffee quaffing bastards!

Double Espresso




“Can I have a drop of vanilla syrup in that please?”

“And the nice little china cups?”

“Where do I buy some of these?”