Your Guide to the (other) Roman Election

As the College of Cardinals prepares to gather in the Eternal City for their solemn deliberations and the Vatican press office hints at possible last minute changes to the laws governing Sede Vacante, across the Tiber there is another change of Government to be examined. The secular state of ‘Italy’ is currently preparing to hold ‘elections’, and with the return of Silvio Burlesqueoni to the contest it is sure to make for entertaining viewing.

In deference to those whose education was light on the classics, I shall offer a brief resumé of electoral tradition in Rome as a window into current events.

In the glorious days of ancient Rome, the inhabitants of the city, known as ‘citizens’, were organised into geographical constituencies for the systematic distribution of bribes by candidates for public office.

The Senate, which was unelected, functioned as a venue for the coquettishly dressed, metrosexual elite to sit among their peers and read poetry aloud, analogous to our modern Starbucks Coffee shops.

From time to time, retired war heroes, scions of the nobility and winners of a gladiatorial version of Strictly Come Dancing would walk through the streets of Rome attempting to incite riots. The two most successful at this were proclaimed ‘consuls’. The function of the dual-consulship was to ensure administrative paralysis.

Government existed mostly in the form the generals of Rome’s legions of well trained and expertly marshalled soldiers. These were perpetually marched backward and forward across the French to pick fights with the Germans, popping home from time to time to proclaim themselves Supreme Dictator for Life.

Despite the haphazard nature of Government, ancient Rome gave birth to some of the greatest works of literature, architecture and philosophy known to man. Following the decline of the Western Empire, custody of the city passed to the Church, which lovingly preserved the treasures which formed her temporal patrimony.

Modern ‘Italy’ was founded in the late 19th century by a swarthy Lombard freemason named Garibaldi. He, like many modern Italians, was out of work and swanning about Europe with a large pair of sunglasses perched on his head. Through the improbable tightness of his trousers, he persuaded the wives of many an important man to subscribe large sums for him to raise an army to march on Rome.

Today, ‘Italy’ has what we in the trade call a perfectly bicameral system of proportional representation. This means that two legislative bodies, with identical and mutually nullifying powers, are ‘elected’ by a complicated combination of sexual harassment, gerrymandering and Buggin’s turn.

The business of Government is handled by the Prime Minister, also called the President of the Council of Ministers. While often said to be seeking election, candidates for this position are appointed solely by the ‘President of the Italian Republic’; a shadowy figure who, while traditionally unnameable by Italians, is widely believed abroad to be German Chancellor Angela Merkel.

With these details at their fingertips, it is hoped that members and friends will be able to enjoy an informed view of the proceedings.


Latter-day Jacobins


This from Burke’s Reflections on The Revolution in France, 1791:

Judge, Sir, of my surprise, when I found that a very great proportion of the assembly (a majority, I believe, of the members who attended) was composed of practitioners in the law. It was composed, not of distinguished magistrates, who had given pledges to their country of their science, prudence, and integrity; not of leading advocates, the glory of the bar; not of renowned professors in univerSitieS-but for the far greater part, as it must in such a number, of the inferior, unlearned, mechanical, merely instrumental members of the profession. There were distinguished exceptions, but the general composition was of obscure provincial advocates, of stewards of petty local jurisdictions, country attorneys, notaries, and the whole train of the ministers of municipal litigation, the fomenters and conductors of the petty war of village vexation. From the moment I read the list, I saw distinctly, and very nearly as it has happened, all that was to follow.

 Eight members of Citizen Blair’s Cabinet are lawyers by training or profession.

Busybody headmaster outfoxed by sagacious mothers

A heartening story comes to us via the BBC from Yorkshire, where mothers at something called ‘Rawmarsh Community School a Sports College’ (we’re fairly sure this means it’s a comprehensive school with an extra games master) have defied the efforts of the powers that be to dictate what their children are and are not allowed to have for lunch.

In common with many schools around the country, Rawmarsh Community School A Sports College has caved in to pressure from the government, backed up by fat-tongued mockney superchav Jamie Oliver, to only allow children’s lunches to consist of something like a celery and tofu roulade with a beancurd jus.

The stout housewives of Rawmarsh are not the sort to take this kind of funny business on the chin. They’ve started running a delivery service from the local chippy, delivering traditional northern fare through the fence which seperates the playground of Rawmarsh Community School a Sports College from the local cemetery.

The headmaster, a Mr John Lambert, is, I’m delighted to say, furious at this subversion of his attempt to run people’s lives for them. ‘The food these parents are handing out’, he prattled, ‘is not part of a healthy eating diet!’

If only more parents would take the same line as the no-nonsense mothers of Rawmarsh and say ‘no’ to the outrageous, fascistic notion that the school should become an agent of state control, not only deciding what children eat and where they go, but also, and rather more seriously, indoctrinating them with their loopy ideologies.

Mother jailed for breaking Nazi Law: teaching her children

Last Thursday the German police arrested Katharina Plett, a homeschooling mother of twelve. Yesterday her husband fled to Austria with the children. Homeschooling has been illegal in Germany since Hitler banned it in 1938.  

The Plett family belongs to a homeschooling group of seven Christian families in Paderborn.

The Catholic website and the Brussels Journal, thus far the only media to carry the story, reported that a female plain-clothes police officer rang at Katharina Plett’s house on Thursday around 11:00 am. When she opened the door other police officers, who had hidden themselves, forced their way in.

Mrs Plett was allowed to change, but a police officer followed her into her bedroom in case “she would arm herself and shoot us all”. The woman was able to inform her husband by mobile phone before the police brought her to Bielefeld.

The authorities later informed her husband that she has been imprisoned in Gelsenkirchen. Apparently she has been given a ten day prison sentence. When Sedlaczek rang the Gelsenkirchen prison authorities to get confirmation of Katharina Plett’s whereabouts, he was told that no information would be given. A written request for information has so far not been answered either.

While it is chillig to the marrow that German policey on education and the basic rights of families are still literally Facist, equally appalling is that the German mainstream media have not written anything about this case.

Yesterday, Katharina’s husband fled with their children to a Christian family center in Wolfgangsee in Austria. A homeschooling couple from Hamburg has also fled to Wolfgangsee. Their case was covered by the media.

In Austria parents are entitled to homeschool during a one year trial period, after which the authorities decide whether the parents are allowed to continue homeschooling or not.

The Death of the Lady

I have recently been hearing an awful lot about a book called “Female Chauvinist Pigs; Women and the Rise of the Raunch Culture” by a woman named Ariel Levy.

Being neither a female, a chauvinist or a pig, I have yet to read it. However, I am informed by the cognoscenti that the book sees the increasingly public degradation and sexualisation of women as a girl-power rebellion against the fuzzy jumper, crew-cut brigade of the feminist old guard.

According to Levy, the modern woman, or girl as they refer to themselves between 14 and 45, embraces the freedom inherited from their dour matriarchs and blends it with a Page 3 engagement with their own sexuality. The results may be viewed on any metropolitan street between the hours of 9pm and 2am Friday – Sunday.

Now, I have been called, by a prominent member of the feminist academy, an ‘unreconstructed male patriarch’ (which, I think,means I have had no homosexual experiences to date and think that its a bit iffey for women to fight in wars) so my opinion may mean nothing here. But nevertheless, I don’t think that this is really the case.

I doubt modern Essex girl (can you still say that?) closely engages with socio-sexual politics. Rather, I think the so-called ‘raunch culture’ is emblematic of a wider social decline. And also its the men’s fault. Well, chav men and media berks anyway.

The prevalence of chavs as a market force in Britain means that they are the target of most mass marketing, but your chav-about-town has the mental dexterity (and facial expression) of a boiled kipper. If you want to get through to them, its best to keep it simple and, I apologise for being crude here, they understand sex (just about). 

So everything is presented to them wrapped in, well, a woman. This is nothing new; women have been a great way of selling a product since the Almighty invented procreation.

Where the malaise sets in is the aforementioned ‘kipper face’ worn by all chavs. Young Gary will lurch down the road wearing a constant expression of offended surprise. Aware, on some level, that he is uneducated, unemployed and thoroughly unpleasant, he subconsciously views the world as one big joke he doesn’t get. He feels every bit as excluded as David “Third Nipple” Cameron says he does.

A beautiful, well-dressed, lady of poise and intelligence would appear so unattainable as to inspire rage in the chav. He’d more like to mug her out of spite than to buy her product.

The original success of the Spice Girls (who kick-started the rot) was because,to the average oaf, they did look like the ‘girl next door’. (By this I don’t mean friendly, wholesome and cute; I mean gobby, cheap, easy, oddly shaped and common as muck.) This is the template image that we see today, in everything from “reality” television to the tabloid press to more or less every advert on the TV. Women made-up, inflated and on display, women mentally absent and conversationally bereft. Women who universally aspire to be blond and “bubbly” – a word which seems to convey nothing other than being a cheery vacuum.

Gary is not threatened, indeed he feels positively superior and as a result women remain second class in his mind and his hard-earned (HAH!) shilling is harvested.

Women, and feminists in particular, have a lot to answer for in the death of the Lady, but the gross sexual exploitation of girls in the media is, I blush to say, the work of men.   


Brighton: 27 Years of Filth

It was 27 years ago this week that the first ‘nudist beach’ in this country was set up by Brighton Town Council.  This ignominious anniversary cannot be passed over by the RCC without our issuing a salutary note to our members, supporters and the general public about the evils of full-frontal nudity, especially when practiced in public places which are properly suited to wholesome family activities.  

In this regard, it is surely profitable to reflect on the words of councillor John Blackman, who was one of the few voices speaking up for sanity and moderation at the time this deplorable matter was discussed by the council. Interviewed by the BBC, he quite properly described the very purpose of  a nudist beach as being ‘the flagrant exhibition of mammary glands’, and went on to issue the following unimpeachable statement on this whole sorry affair: 

“Personally I have got no objection to people showing their breasts and bosoms and general genitalia to one another. Jolly good luck to them but for heaven’s sake they should go somewhere more private.

What distresses me is that people naively believe what is good for the Continent is good for Britain.” 

How right you are, councillor, how right you are! It is notorious that our European brethren, aside from their bizarre fascination with getting beaten by us in wars, are characterised by their love of nudity and exhibitionism.

This is all part of the national temperament of such races as the French and Germans, and is to be condoned as a harmless pastime for these simple folk. One day, perhaps, the gentleman of Europe will learn to love cricket as we do, and then they will have no time to be nude. Until then, we must regard the possibility of encountering nudity merely as something to be cautious about whenever we are abroad, and to take appropriate steps to avoid it.

However, the prospect that we, the very inhabitants of this island of high destiny, might, when taking a stroll at sunset along the seaside, find ourselves face to face with a simpering middle-aged housewife, her naughty bits quivering hideously in the gloaming as she lunges at a volleyball or some such, is a quite different matter. It will no doubt fill all right-minded members of the RCC with that sense of outrage and indignation which that great Englishman Moses felt on descending from Mount Sinai and witnessing all that unpleasantness with the golden calf. ‘It simply isn’t cricket!’ he said, and he was not wrong.

Whatever happened to the bathing machine? That’s what I’d like to know.

Fun With Numbers Makes Shoplifting Educational

The complete inability of the lower orders to distinguish “good” from “expensive” has been well marked for generations, and indeed has provided fertile ground for enterprising individuals to part the proverbial fool and his money.

The modern chav, with the cheeky brashness that is his hallmark, has openly embraced the twin pillars of classlessness; conspicuous consumption and lack of taste and done so in a way that furthers his prospects in life.

In days gone by, your lout-in-the-street would attempt to imitate persons of sartorial discernment by buying what he or she perceived to be “names”. Being unable to read, they were able to distinguish “names” from lower quality brands by the price asked for the item when they were caught stealing it.

In a rousing victory for our public education system, it seems that numeracy has sufficiently permeated the chav subculture that ‘cool’ kids now openly boast of their grasp of figures by displaying the price tags of clothing after having bought/stolen and worn them.

One teenager sporting clothes with labels on at the Bluewater shopping centre in Kent (where else?) said: “It is a huge trend. It makes your gear look fresh and it gives you street cred because it looks like you’ve nicked it.”

When contacted, a Department for Education and Skills spokesperson referred me to the departmental website and the Government’s “long-term communications strategy designed to promote maths as a gateway to rewarding lives.”

Presumably claiming the trend as a government victory.