James Delingpole
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Erudite but accessible; warm and witty; definitely not woke
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Venice - Lots of Nice Canals, Churches, Paintings, Views, Trattorias and Stuff; but You Need One More Key Ingredient to Make It Magical

I’ve just been to Venice but I’m not going to bore you with the details*. Instead, I want to use the occasion to observe something which may seem stunningly obvious but which nonetheless I don’t think any of us talk about nearly often enough, despite it being one of the most important truths of our existence.

The thought occurred to me on the water taxi back to the airport (yes, they’re stupidly expensive; no, they’re not a waste of money) and I was trying to rank my top experiences in my head. Many of the usual candidates came up - the golden mosaics in St Mark’s basilica, and so on - but it struck me that most of the really special moments weren’t so much about the objects themselves but about the human interaction that went with them.

For example, though the Fawn and I loved the morning we spent checking out the Carpaccio scuola and a couple of old churches in the Castello district, what really made it for us was the company of a random, delightful stranger we’d met that morning on the Vaporetto.

He was an artist from Berlin. We talked about everything from Anselm Kiefer to the genius of Werner Herzog (not rated in Germany, apparently), about our likes and dislikes of Renaissance art (we agreed that the earlier, more decorative stuff is nicer - Bellini over Tintoretto), about how amazingly fortunate we were to have visited the San Giorgio dei Greici in the middle of a service, which meant all that incense and chanting and mystery that the Orthodox Church does so well. His father had fought with the Wehrmacht in the Battle of Kharkiv and was full of shrapnel from the wounds which had sent him home and probably saved his life. We stopped for espresso. We looked at more art. I’m not saying it wouldn’t have been fun doing these things with just the Fawn. But somehow, having an extra person to bounce ideas off and share the experience with made everything so much better.

Another day we went to get neckache craning up to look at the trippy ceiling painting in San Pantalon by an artist you’ve never heard of called Gian Fumiani. It’s one of the must-see sights, of that there’s no doubt. But I wonder whether the experience would have been half so pleasurable if it hadn’t been for the lovely, thoughtful old caretaker so evidently proud of the church and so delighted that anyone should come to visit it. Without his solicitousness and enthusiasm we might have missed the small side chapel housing a generously gold-embossed Vivarini and a late medieval alabaster statue of the Virgin. ‘The sign says it is French, but in fact some believe it may be from your country because of the style of the face, which looks like a doll’s,’ he explained to me, after discovering I was English.

Then the Vivaldi concert, of which there are many all over town. Obviously the music was very easy on the ear, as Vivaldi always is. But I doubt the evening would have been half so enjoyable without the English couple next to us sharing a bit of pre-match and interval chat. The woman was a cellist, so could give us insights on the quality of the playing and the acoustics (a bit muddy, she reckoned, though I can’t say it was a problem). Better still, she started a game in which we identified which role each of the eight players - all with very strong Quattrocento features - would have played in a Renaissance painting. The harpsichordist was quite obviously a Doge; the second violin was a soldier; the cellist, with his balding pate spotted with a small tuft of hair was obviously a monk, and so on. It gave you something to look at when you got bored of the Carpaccio altarpiece.

And our favourite trattoria, Ai Cugnai, so good that we went three times so that we could try all the key dishes on the menu. But it wasn’t just the precision of the cooking that brought us back. It was the atmosphere and the way we were treated by the staff, neither haughty nor ingratiating nor indifferent - as can be too often the case - but rather like old friends conspiring with you to ensure that everything about your lunch/dinner from the food on your plate to the speed with which it arrives is exactly as you would wish. I like my food. But the older I get the more I’m convinced that a restaurant’s ambiance is as at least as important as the quality of the cooking.

For ambiance, read company. What you’re really after in a restaurant is a place that’s full. Partly this is because we like to feel we’re somewhere popular rather than unpopular (thus vindicating our choice) and partly because we like to people-watch. But I think mainly it’s because we’re naturally sociable beings who like being among other people. We feed off their enjoyment vibes, which amplify our own. We talk about a restaurant’s ‘buzz’ but I don’t think it’s the noisiness we covet, so much as the feeling of being not a solitary bee but of being in a hive.

I noticed this one afternoon, searching for somewhere to have coffee in the Campo Santa Margherita. There was one cafe that stood out for no other reason than that every table bar one was occupied. I’m sure its coffee and its pricing and its view were no better than anywhere else’s. It’s just that, like all the other customers, we wanted to be close to other people. (Which is quite odd when you think that half the time when you’re in Venice you’re cursing how oppressively crowded the streets are in the heavily touristed bits around the Rialto and San Marco…)

My point, as I said, is not a startlingly original one. But I do think it’s something that we too often take for granted: people need people; we like one another’s company; crowds can be annoying and yet perversely we’re drawn to them.

This is not accidental. I believe that we were designed to be this way. We were meant to commune and bounce ideas off one another and share together the joys of art, of beauty, of creation.

And they know this - the misanthropic, anti-human predator class who wish to weaken us, to undermine us, and ultimately to destroy us. It’s why the lockdowns were such a masterstroke of evil, denying us perhaps the most important thing we need after food, water and shelter - engagement with our fellow man. It’s why the next stage in their infernal plan, after having destroyed most of our small businesses - pubs, especially - is to stop us travelling. It’s why their goal with schools is to have all the teaching done online.

We say we want to get away from it all; we fantasise about living somewhere remote from civilisation. But I don’t think for most of us this is heartfelt - it’s the just the way we’ve been programmed.

Note how people react on Desert Island Discs when Sue Lawley or whoever asks the castaway how they think they’d get on, all alone on their desert island. It’s quite obvious that most of them couldn’t hack it - and understandably so. There’s a reason why just about the worst punishment they can give you in prison is solitary confinement. Human company isn’t luxury. It’s an essential.

*Oh all right. Here are my top tips for Venice.

The island of Torcello. It’s only a 50-minute-ish trek by Vaporetto and you need it to decompress somewhere tranquil and eerie. And also to see the awe-inspiring Byzantine frescoes in the basilica.

San Giorgio dei Greici - Shakespeare (aka Edward de Vere, Earl of Oxford) worshipped here when he came to Venice

Ai Cugnai dal 1911 - Perhaps there are other trattorias as good as this but we couldn’t find one. The Seppie in nero con polenta is just about the best thing you will ever eat.

San Pantalon - That painted ceiling is mind-blowing. It took Fumiani 24 years to complete, after which, supposedly, he fell to his death from the scaffolding.

Museo Correr - A great and varied collection. The highlight for me was Fra Mauro’s world map (c.1450).

Water taxi from the airport - it costs Euros 130 (they only take cash) but you arrive in such style it’s worth it.

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Good Food Project

James talks to Jane from the excellent ‘Good Food Project’.

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They would also like to offer your subscribers a special discount off the virtual tickets for the event we are hosting with Barbara O Neill in Crieff next week. The promo code is: delingpole10

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The discount ...

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James catches up with old friend and ‘Osteo’, Michelle Davies.

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00:24:34
David Icke

Delingpod LIVE: 15th November 2023, Manchester

Finally, in lavish technicolour, the confrontation you've all been waiting for: Delingpole v Icke. It wasn't meant to be this way. The plan was for it to be an entertaining conversation between two truthers about their respective journeys down the rabbit hole. But something went badly wrong. Listen in to decide for yourself what the problem was - and whether you're now Team Delingpole or Team Icke...Very kindly sponsored by Hunter & Gather:https://hunterandgatherfoods.com

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If you need silver and gold bullion - and who wouldn't in these ...

02:01:02
Christianity 1 New Age 0

If you haven’t already - I’m a bit behind the curve here - I urge you to watch this car crash encounter between Christian apologist and scholar Wes Huff and ‘ancient civilisation’ researcher Billy Carson.

It’s an excruciating experience - probably best to watch it on double speed - for a couple of reasons. First, the hapless podcast host/debate moderator Mark Minard is somewhat out of his depth and is also clearly embarrassed at having one of his guests (Carson, sitting right next to him) eviscerated in front of him by his other guest. This causes him to interrupt the debate at intervals and expound well-meaningly but not very interestingly on his own half-baked views on the mysteries of the universe. You feel a bit sorry for him but you do rather wish he’d shut up.

Second, and mainly, it’s painful to watch Carson being outclassed and outgunned by someone who knows and understands his purported field of expertise so much better than he does. Carson was reportedly so upset by the encounter that he ...

Mark Steyn: Climate Hero

“The world is ****ed. What practical thing can I do to make any difference?”

It’s a question we’ve all asked ourselves at one time or another. And I don’t think that the answer is one that many of us would like to hear. Let me give you an example of the kind of tenacity, courage and self-sacrifice required if you really want to take on this ineffably corrupt system.

I give you: Mark Steyn v Michael Mann.

Michael Mann - as you’ll know if you’ve read my account of the climate wars Watermelons (now available in an even punchier updated edition - https://jamesdelingpole.co.uk/Shop/Products/Watermelons-2024.html) - is the creator of probably the most overrated and fraudulent artefact in the entire global warming scam: the infamous Hockey Stick chart.

In order to scare the world into believing that catastrophic, man-made ‘climate change’ is real and that we need to act now to avert disaster, the architects of the hoax needed some kind of experty expert to come up with some plausible-looking evidence.

Enter an up-and-coming American ...

Bovaer is Bullshit

Perhaps the best thing to come out of the Bovaer/burping cows scandal was this Tweet by me.

The point about Bovaer is not that it may or may not be harmless and that it may or may not have a significant impact on cow methane. The point is that it is entirely unnecessary because man-made climate change is TOTALLY made up bollocks.

I like the Tweet because it’s true and succinct. But I like it even more for the reaction it got: almost everyone out of 215,000 people who saw it agreed strongly with the sentiment.

Here are some sample reactions:

Said it all in one short paragraph

Bingo! (Get this man a pint, please)

Glad someone said that

Totally unnecessary!!! Let the cows fart!

I could go on. 629 people commented, most of them positive. 4.6K were sufficiently inspired to share it. And 19K people liked it.

OK, so these aren’t Elon-Musk-level or Russell-Brand-level numbers. But unlike Musk, I do not own Twitter, and unlike Brand I’m not a closet Satanist with an eerie, Svengali-like hold over my audience. Also, unlike both of them, my ...

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Welcome to the Golden Age of Lucifer

‘Time will tell” is one of my least favourite phrases, especially when - as so often - I see it being deployed by some semi-awake person on social media urging us to be more cautious with our gloomy prognostications because, hey, it’s too early to judge and we might yet be pleasantly surprised.

I dislike it for various reasons. One is its aura of self-satisfied reasonableness, with its implication that this person considers himself to be more measured and more worldly in his judgements than the fools-rushing-into-judgement hotheads he is lightly chastising.

Another, is that it is a pusillanimous, fence-sitting excuse for delaying action and, potentially, addressing the problem that has been identified while it’s still early enough to counter it.

But I think my most particular objection is that it is so ineffably Normie. That is, it subscribes wholesale to the false paradigm that history is just a series of random events which no one could possibly predict. Most people think this way, I know, because it’s what we’re repeatedly told. But there’s really no excuse for any person whose eyes are open to go on thinking this way. Is it not, after all, one of the most entry-level discoveries you make on your journey down the rabbit hole, that almost no major event happens by accident because almost everything is pre-planned?

So to Donald Trump who, amazingly, despite all the predictions to the contrary by lots of experts on Twitter etc, has somehow survived the machinations of all those Dark Forces bent on denying him a second term as US president and actually been inaugurated.

Whoulda thunk? Well I, for one, and if there’s a trace of boastfulness in my tone it is entirely unmerited. I knew Trump was going to make it not because I am Nostradamus but because it was bleeding obvious that his victory had been preordained by the Powers That Be.

This had nothing to do with the voters. (If it had been, he would have beaten Biden in 2020). It had everything to do with The Plan which, it is now becoming clearer, required Trump to spend a performative four years in the wilderness while a growing body of Americans wailed and gnashed their teeth at the ravages inflicted on their great country by a senile, incontinent child-sniffer - or, rather, various actors in masks playing a senile, incontinent child-sniffer - controlled from behind the scenes by Satanic high priest (and homosexual Kenyan) Barack Obama.

The faked - sorry but it was! - assassination attempt was part of this softening up process. Do you remember how, in the run up to the elections, there were all sorts of rumours doing the rounds that Trump would never get to enjoy a second term as president because ‘They’ would never let him? Either the Biden administration would cook up some national emergency, a new ‘pandemic’ say, to close down the polling booths or even cancel the election altogether. Or ‘They’ would simply assassinate him.

Well that was one of the reasons they went to all that trouble to stage it: to whip even doubters into a frenzy of yearning for a saviour figure. Just in case anyone had missed it, Trump re-emphasised this point at his inauguration when he declared “I was saved by God to make America great again.”

If this is what you believe, then I strongly recommend that you don’t watch or listen to this analysis of Trump’s second term prospects by the Nations Conspire channel on YouTube.

It notes that the ‘golden age’ promised by Donald Trump is worryingly similar to the ‘golden dawn’ promised by the dark magician Aleister Crowley and thence by the New Age movement. But will this prove to be the false light we are warned about in scripture and will Trump turn out to be one of the false prophets whose seductive message will deceive even many Christians?

I’m banking on ‘yes’ and believe me, this is not a ‘yes’ of enthusiasm. I don’t want the world to go to hell any more than the next parent or grandparent does. I’d so much prefer it if Donald Trump turned out to be the guy who was going to sort out all this mess and make not just America but the whole planet great again.

Trump - or if you want to be cynical, the machine that controls Trump - understands our desperation for things to get better, and plays on it. Hence, for example, that crowd pleasing promise that from henceforward his government would recognise only two genders.

Yes - like his remarks about green energy, about uncontrolled immigration, about ending the war in Ukraine - this is obviously a good thing. But the point people miss when they’re punching the air, going, “Yay! Finally a politician who is speaking my language” is that they’re watching the political equivalent of a pro-wrestling performer striding into the ring to play his good guy role. We’ve had four years of the bad guy - the incontinent clown who pooped himself when he went to visit the Pope - who allowed the swarms across the border and let his State Department escalate the war in Ukraine and let the transgender freaks run riot. Now comes the orange man wearing the white hat to clean everything up and make everything nice again.

That’s the idea, anyway. And lots of people buy it because we like to believe in fairy stories with a happy ending. But I’m not one of them because, though I used to be a fan of Trump I have since read and watched much to make me suspicious about his true nature and his true purpose.

If Operation Warp Speed wasn’t a tell - c’mon: are we really to applaud the guy that fast-tracked the death jab that killed tens of thousands and incapacitated millions? - then that bizarre inauguration really ought to have been. To me it looked liked an occult ritual ushering in the age of Lucifer.

All that bronze make-up Trump wore, for example. We’re so used to Trump being strange looking - “Orange Man” - and talking in that strange, dislocated way, like he’s channeling spirits or he’s part of an MK Ultra experiment, that we’ve ceased to find anything he says or does truly extraordinary or weird. “It’s just The Donald being The Donald,” we think. This gives him cover to act out all manner of seriously bizarre occult ritual under the full gaze of a bedazzled, hypnotised public so determined to give him the benefit of the doubt that they affect not to notice anything strange. Like, maybe, when the next president of the USA begins his term with his face shimmering gold like the incarnation of Lucifer himself.

And if anyone does point out that something’s not right, they make excuses for him. Was it not a bit disturbing that rather than place his hand on the Bible when he swore his oath, Trump instead let his wife - dressed in Masonic black and white - hold it beside him? Well apparently not. It was all OK because the oath was rushed and Trump just didn’t have time to move his hands across that vast, six-inch gulf to grab the Bible Melania was holding. People actually believed this.

There was similarly bizarre excuse making for Trump’s son, Eric. His flashing with his hands of the Illuminati power symbol, the inverted triangle, was so blatant that his wife had to have a quiet word in his ear. Almost all world leaders, Trump included, make this gesture whenever they are on the public stage, to reassure their dark overlords as to where their true allegiances lie and, simultaneously, to indicate their contempt for all those billions of useless who have not the slightest clue what the hand gesture means. But when sharp-eyed rabbit holers pointed this out on Twitter, Trump fans were all ready with their excuse. Eric was just trolling the Illuminati. Apparently.

Matthew warns us in his gospel:

For there shall arise false Christs, and false prophets, and shall shew great signs and wonders; insomuch that, if it were possible, they shall deceive the very elect.

No disrespect to all you very elect out there. But over the next four years I’d say one or two of you are going to be in for some very nasty shocks.

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Elon Musk Wants To Rape You

Do you know what it’s like to be the only panellist on a live BBC TV debate show speaking up about Muslim rape gangs? I do and I still shudder at the memory.

It was on a youth programme called - I kid you not - Free Speech and, as you’d expect of the BBC, the panel was stuffed with a representative selection of modern British archetypes: a leftist; a hard leftist; a green; a Muslim; an ultra hard leftist; a radical Muslim; etc. And then, representing the entire spectrum from conservatism to libertarianism, me.

I can’t say my comments went down terribly well with most of the multi-ethnic studio audience. At least one bearded guy near the front, I remember, was wearing a sweatshirt with “I heart Sharia” on it. When I brought up the Muslim rape gangs I might as well have been talking about unicorns because, to judge by the general response - including from the woke presenters - I was describing a purely imaginary problem.

Obviously I knew I wasn’t because I’d spent a long time looking into it and writing articles about it. I’d read the official inquiry reports, the case studies, the investigative journalists, even spoken to some of the witnesses and victims. It was shocking, horrific, inexcusable - the sort of thing that you might imagine would never have been allowed to happen in a ‘civilised’ Western democracy where the rule of law applied.

Essentially, over a period of decades going back at least to the 1980s, loosely organised gangs of mostly Muslim men in towns all over Britain were predating on mostly white and Sikh girls, most of them underaged, and drugging, torturing and raping them, often gang-raping them, again and again and again. And the system allowed these evil predators to get away it, partly because potential whistleblowers were frightened of being called racist, but mainly because the authorities were complicit. The local councils, the police, even the child protection services either turned a blind eye or, sometimes, actively participated in these crimes.

That’s why I wasn’t afraid to poke my head above the parapet on that TV programme. I didn’t care if the BBC wanted to caricature me as a far-right Islamophobe. What mattered was that we stopped turning a blind eye to this behaviour and that, especially, we stopped institutions like the BBC gaslighting the public into believing that the problem wasn’t widespread.

Anyway, a few weeks later, I felt sort of vindicated. I was hurrying down Oxford Street, about to catch the tube home, when a lovely girl standing outside a pub suddenly grabbed me and gave me a hug. “Thank you for speaking up for us!” she said. She was a Sikh girl and she knew all about the rape gangs.

The reason I tell you all this is not to demonstrate how brave and amazing I am. But rather to offset any criticism I might incur from all those readers who think it’s bloody great that everyone, even people in America, even Elon Musk, is finally talking about those evil Muslim rape gangs.

Indeed, Elon has been trolling the subject on Twitter like a boss.

In one retweet, he has brought to public attention the awful fate of 16-year old Lucy Lowe, raped from the age of 14 by a taxi driver called Aznar Ali Mehmood, then murdered with her mother and her disabled sister in a house fire. (This happened in 2000)

In another retweet, he has shown a picture of UK prime minister Keir Starmer with, superimposed over his face, “I FACILITATE CHILD RAPE”.

In yet another retweet, he has broadcast (to his 210.4 million followers) the following message:

British girls are being sacrificed on the alter [sic] of multiculturalism, and the perpetrators are being protected.

Fight back British man.

Now it’s not that I disagree with any of the sentiment here. Organised rape gangs are an evil and should never have been allowed to get away with it for as long as they have. Keir Starmer undoubtedly has many skeletons in his cupboard from his stint as head of the Crown Prosecution Service where he turned a blind eye not just to child grooming gangs but also to the activities of Jimmy Savile. Yes, multiculturalism has been a disaster (as it was always planned to be).

Rather, my objection is: why now?

The rape gang issue is one that anyone, anywhere could have got worked up about in at least the last forty years. It’s not some new and terrible thing about which the details are only just emerging. And if we’re going to blame political parties, the former Conservative government was at least as reluctant to address the problem as the current Labour one is.

No. There’s an ulterior motive behind all this confected outrage, currently being hyped to the max on social media, Twitter especially.

I suspect it has a lot to do with the global swing to the authoritarian right which has long been planned by the Powers That Be - hence Donald Trump being allowed to win his latest presidential election (where he wasn’t in the election before that), and Nigel Farage very obviously being teed up to be Britain’s next prime minister, leading the fake alternative Reform Party.

And possibly also it is part of the general psyop designed to persuade us all that Muslims are so barbaric and dangerous that we shouldn’t worry too much about the ones currently being genocided in Gaza, or the ones that will die when the West finally gets to enjoy its long-planned war with Iran.

Elon Musk is not your friend. He’s a technocrat; a transhumanist; probably a Satanist; definitely a liar.

If he says stuff you like to hear it’s not because he’s a groovy guy who shares your values. It’s because he thinks you’re a gullible idiot whom he can twist round his little finger.

 

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On Realising That I'm Never Going To Be Lord Delingpole

I’m never going to be Lord Delingpole. Nor Sir James Delingpole. Nor even a mere James Delingpole OBE. All this would have come as a bit of a shock to my younger self. I know this because I once found a story I’d written, aged about 10, whose dashing hero was Sir James Delingpole VC. Back then I believed, as most people from my background did, that the surest sign you had made it in life was when you became an ornament of the Establishment.

But I don’t think that way any longer. In the latest New Year Honours one of my old friends, whom I’ve known since we were 19 year old freshers at Oxford, has just been made a lord. And I don’t feel even slightly jealous. On the contrary, I feel rather sorry for him because I know the terrible price he will have had to pay for his £361 per day attendance allowance, subsidised dining and agreeably well-located riverside premises on the north bank of the Thames.

Yes, superficially, it would be nice to have one of those wife-pleasing honorifics that impresses the postman, bags you tables in the best restaurants and increases your chances of getting a flight upgrade on those rare journeys where you’re not already travelling free, first class, on some taxpayer-funded fact-finding mission.

Personally, though, I prefer being able to sleep at night.

No, I’m not so high-minded that I’d reject all the above perks if they were given to me purely as a reward for being me. But that’s never the deal. When you get ‘elevated’ to the House of Lords with a peerage it’s not you that they want. It’s your soul.

Time and again I have watched, aching with disappointment, as friends whom I used to think of as spirited, independent-minded, original, courageous, outspoken have been reduced, on attainment of their titles, into cowed, toothless, spavined jades of the Establishment.

I’ve noticed it especially with the ones who used to be vaguely readable journalists. Once they become lords that’s it, game over. Not a word they write thereafter is worth reading because they are so obviously in hock to whichever political party it was that bought them with their peerage and, beyond that, to the pet causes of the Establishment generally.

By ‘Establishment’ I suppose what I really mean in this instance is the Deep State. So, for example, if the Deep State wants to promote the notion that Putin is the new Hitler, that what the world needs more than anything right now to promote peace is more Storm Shadow missiles sent to help the hero Zelenskyyy in his principled struggle against the Russian bear, and that this - rather than say, struggling to pay their bills - is what all patriotic Britons should really care about most, then that’s what you’ll get to read, every other column, delivered without the slightest glimmer of apparent shame.

It’s this lack of obvious embarrassment I find most puzzling. Do these ex-journalists genuinely believe this drivel or is it that their hearts have hardened and that they have simply come to accept that this is how the world works: that now they are officially part of the Establishment one of their jobs is to keep the little people in check by feeding them noble lies?

I suspect it’s a bit of both, though that could just be naivety and wishful thinking on my part. I’m perfectly open to the possibility that everyone in the Lords is a Satanic paedophile and that this is the entry level deal: you go to the party, do your terrible things, get filmed for Kompromat purposes, sign your pact with the devil in blood - and then, in return, you get your ermine. But the Normie sentimentalist in me still wants to give at least some of these people the benefit of the doubt: no they’re not totally evil, at least not all of them; rather they are just tragic victims of their own blind ambition, a bit like Marlowe’s Doctor Faustus.

Doctor Faustus, I think, is a bit of a shambolic play. But one of things it gets absolutely right is the cruelly unequal nature of the arrangement when you make your pact with the devil. The pleasures Faustus gets to enjoy are fleeting, trivial, and tawdry - I don’t think he even gets actually to shag Helen of Troy; only to glimpse her tantalisingly - while the horrors that await him when he is grabbed by demons and sent screaming to hell are eternal.

I’m not necessarily predicting that this is the fate awaiting every single member of the House of Lords. (God can, famously, be merciful on occasion). But definitely if I were in their shoes, I’d be worried. In order to be worried, though, you’d first need a moral conscience which I don’t believe many of these people actually have.

Yes, that’s a jolly harsh thing to say when some of the lords and ladies to whom I refer are old friends or formerly liked and respected colleagues. But here’s the thing: how is it not totally obvious at this late stage in the game that institutions such as the House of Lords do not remotely serve the interests of you and me, only those of an extremely tiny minority of genuinely wicked people?

The House of Lords, like governments across the world, like the corporations, like the big banks, like the academic institutions, like the entertainment industry, like Big Pharma and the rest, is part of the Beast System. Not everyone who works in those institutions is wholly compromised. But those who rise to the top - and that includes anyone made ‘Lord’ or ‘Baroness’ - are compromised by definition. There are no accidents at the highest levels. You are there because you have sold your soul to the forces of darkness.

Selling your soul to the forces of darkness does not have to involve, say, running an adrenochrome factory in tunnels under the Ukraine or being Hillary Clinton. There are myriad less obvious ways in which the devil can ensnare you, many of which involve the ensnared person feeling really quite good about themselves and persuading themselves that they’re making a difference.

I expect that this is the case for a lot of the people in the Lords. They’ve been given their peerages for services to this or that worthy cause - free speech, say, or education - and they imagine that their consciences are salved. Sure, they might find themselves sharing ermined bench space with one or two people who’d be better suited to a maximum security prison than the Upper House, but the important thing is they can now do useful stuff like scrutinising legislation and dignifying committees and steering the nation in the right direction.

No. Sorry. Not buying this excuse. It’s like accepting a job in Hitler’s cabinet and reassuring yourself that because you’ve only been appointed Minister for Frankfurters and Lederhosen you bear no moral responsibility for any of your colleagues’ more nefarious decisions…

I apologise to the Nazis for any offence that may have been caused by that analogy. Of course, I appreciate that much of what’s being done to us all now under the encroaching New World Order is quite literally worse than Hitler. And the reason this terrible stuff is happening - the chemtrailing; the weather manipulation; the population cull through enforced or semi-enforced vaccination; the destruction of property rights; the war on children’s mental health through bad education, occult ritual pop videos, confected confusion over gender identity; the torture, murder and harvesting of trafficked children; the needless, cooked-up-to-order wars; the Gaza genocide; the green tyranny; to give but a few examples - is that the people who ought to be talking about it aren’t talking about it, and the people who are supposed to protect us from it are looking the other way.

Every member of the House of Lords fits into both those last categories. Every one of them has failed us.

And the ones who have failed us most, oddly enough, aren’t the obvious crooks who effectively bought their titles and are only there for the perks and the prestige. No, the far more dangerous ones are those who do occasionally speak up on issues that matter - but only within the boundaries of what their peers might consider to be politically acceptable discourse.

So, for example, on green issues you might get a sceptical lord prepared to challenge the government on the disastrous economics of Net Zero or the flaws in the modelling of its climate forecasts. But what that sceptical lord is never going to say is: “This is a scam, pure and simple. Climate change is a hoax, pushed for decades by families like the Rockefellers, in order to impoverish us, immiserate us and speed the advent of One World Government.”

On ‘Covid’, you might hear one of the edgier lords retrospectively questioning the necessity of lockdown or even promoting the faux-daring (but actually Establishment) narrative that the ‘virus’ was a result of a Chinese lab leak. But you’ll never get any of them to admit: “This was a Cabal-led cull project, co-ordinated by their cronies at the WHO, nodded through by obedient governments, promoted by a bought-and-paid-for media to weaken, disable or kill millions of people and to train them for the draconian restrictions planned for their future.” Nor will any of them admit: “Vaccines are and always were a con.”

On education, you’ll never hear them say: “Home school your child. The entire education system is broken beyond repair - as was always the plan, for the systematic dumbing down and brainwashing of children is how They will reduce the world’s population to slave status.”

On Gaza: “It’s genocide. They staged October 7th to justify it and it has nothing to do with self-preservation but with border expansion and ethnic cleansing and stoking the next world war.”

On child abuse: “It’s rife. Not just among the Muslim rape gangs that the British authorities have long enabled as part of the Deep State’s divide and rule strategy but among many members of this very institution, the House of Lords. Only in the Lords’ case, it often involves Satanic ritual and child sacrifice, which never comes before the courts because too many Establishment figures are involved, including Cabinet MPs, judges and senior policemen, and anyway that’s how the entire system runs: on Kompromat and demonic energy harnessed from Satanic ritual.”

On ‘terrorist’ attacks: “False flags designed to sow fear, justify increased spending on security and more draconian restrictions on personal freedom.”

You might argue that I am asking too much of our lords and ladies. They have to work within the System. They can’t just go and blow the whole damn thing up.

But that’s exactly my point. They didn’t get elevated to the Lords in order to make things better. They were chosen because they could be relied on not to rock the boat. Their job is to prop up the stinking edifice, not to point out how infested it is with rats, maggots and dry rot.

The House of Lords is a Potemkin village. It exists in order to maintain the illusion of normality in a country which has long since lost any claim to be a civilised ‘representative democracy.’ The state is at war with its people. It steals from them, it represses them, it culls them. Everyone, even non ‘conspiracy theorists’, can feel this, even they can’t put their finger on exactly what’s wrong.

And the reason they can’t put their finger on what’s wrong is because the alarm bells have been disabled. The people and institutions - from the media to the political class - who are supposed to warn them and protect them are instead running cover for their oppressors. That includes the House of Lords, of course. Traitors, the whole lot of them.

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