The Fascism of Political Correctness strikes again!
Dave Thompson, chief constable of West Midlands police, has decided that there are ‘no barriers’ to a woman police officer deciding to wear the niqab – the
I can happily read books until my eyes bleed. I love to learn. I particularly love books that can teach me something new, cause me to stop reading, stare into the middle distance – and perhaps
Dame Lowell Goddard now claims that far from ‘running away to her bach’ her resignation was an honourable protest against a child abuse inquiry that was, in Kiwi slang, well and truly munted.
I don’t like his posturing, his jumping on every available bandwagon, his readiness to ruin the reputation of others and the glee with which he does it.
Ms Raccoon hasn’t had much of an appetite, the past few weeks, for trawling round her usual rubbish dumps. As you probably realised, I’ve been none too well. Hence I had an appointment for an extra
Dee Cole, poster girl for Slater & Gordon, got her caravan on the south coast to gave her ‘closure’ and help her forget the time she was, er, raped by Savile in a caravan on the south coast….if only
The ever gullible Surrey Police seem to have reversed their much publicised ‘arrest first, investigate later’ policy; this time they investigated – then arrested their ‘credible witness’.
I seem to be having a ‘bishopfest’ this month. There are a lot of these Bishops around – due in no small measure to the propensity of ‘The One Holy True Original Church’ to ordain anyone who makes
There is a worrying shuffling of feet and staring into the middle distance in Academia. It is understandable – there is not much point in sticking your neck out so far that you end up with
Ms Raccoon still has her head firmly embedded in another case and it has become obvious that it won’t be ready for publication today – so here is a little light relief to keep you amused
Yet again, the latest example of the manipulation of our judicial system lies languishing in my ‘to do’ folder; and Ms Raccoon has found three more titbits of absolute nonsense in order to distract herself from the hard
I can scarcely believe it myself but it continues to be the case that I am intermittently invited to stay with Ms Raccoon and Mr G – provided enough time has elapsed since my last
Morphine seems to have stunned everything north of the neck as well as its required task, and I can’t keep my mind on any one subject. So have several different ones, and I’ll see you tomorrow.
It has been a long time in gestation. It was back in February when I discovered a dropbox belonging to one Kevin Hurley, then Police and Crime Commissioner for Surrey. Mr Hurley, at that time,
(Corby-Poo:) A floundering leader I — A thing of i-sol-ation, Of ballots, songs and banners, And dreary Labour lies! My manifesto’s long, Through every passion ranging, And to your votes Continue reading →
Remember the days, not so long ago, when to suggest that there existed such a thing as a ‘false sexual allegation’ saw you under siege on Twitter for days on end? It was a ‘vile’ suggestion
Herr Griesbach is in the news today – as an asylum seeker. Fully equipped, as any proper asylum seeker should be, with three accompanying dependant women, and four children…
Colour me confused. I was under the impression that any suggestion of AIDS being ‘the gay plague’ was the ultimate example of homophobia? Didn’t David Cameron and Nick Clegg both demand that the ‘horrific slur’ that
The indefatigable Sean O’ Neill Times £ has elicited the information that New Zealander Dame Lowell Goddard, hired to investigate British failure to investigate sexual abuse in British institutions, has so far this year spent
As night-time falls, the marsh becomes the province of the ‘will-o’-the-wisp’, that mysterious blueish light that dances hither and thither, occasionally picking up the slow beat of the barn owl’s wings, more usually skitting across the
Ms Raccoon has once more ventured down into the lagomorphan labyrinth and returned with a fresh specimen for your amusement in this, the silly season. This one has long floppy ears an’ everyfing.
Not since Sam Tân stood in a whoopsie, which admittedly was only yesterday M’lud, a microscopic time in outrage land; has there been such a scramble to censor a so far unseen episode of ‘baby sitting for busy
