Narcissists' Trade Union NTU

 

 

 

 

The NTU Rally (as it happens)

“Narcissists of the World Unite..Behind ME”

“No Behind ME”

“Not at all.. Behind ME”

“No. Behind ME”

and so ….on and on and on and on…..

Through the Looking Glass Revisited – for Lewis Carroll

Through the Looking Glass Revisited – for Lewis Carroll

with guest stars: Priti Patel as Alice

Al Johnson as Humpty Dumpty

“Mirror, Mirror on the wall ,who is the smirkiest of them all?”

The story so far:

Pretty Petal has fallen through a trap-door in the backroom of her parents' Newsagents, where she has been looking for the 'Ultra' edition of the Conservative Review. As usual she lands on her feet but she is aghast to find that her worst nightmare has been realised - she is wandering in a forest of red-tape and regulation. She flails to left and left but cannot find her way out. Then she hears a voice

“Wiffle, waffle, woffle, I'm King of the world; I'm world King; I can do anything...”

Pretty Hopeless emerges into a clearing where an egg-shaped person with a shock of blonde hair sits on a wall.

“I know you” announces Petal “The Cumquat calls you his 'Chubby Marionette'. You're Dumpy Humper”

“Harrumph” Dumpy murmurs to himself “This is not a good start”

Then turning to Pretty he says

“ I can assure you, young Glistening Otter, that Cumquat advises but Humper decides; well at least I think that's what he said. Anyway, what's your name oh girl of colonial disportation”

“ My name is Pretty Ambitious, Fat Mop-Head”

“Well that's a stupid name.” said the Humper dismissively “A name must have a meaning. Pretty Ambitious means nothing to me.”

“It seems to me that Dumpy Humper is a name without meaning” said Pretty defiantly.

“Au contraire, e contrario, puella bella.” responded Dumpy ( Dumpy liked to lapse into a foreign language when he was uncertain, as it showed how clever he was)

“Dumpy refers to the proportionality between my height and my rotundity, which (as you will have noticed) is perfection itself. Humper speaks for itself, I think.” (Dumpy was pleased with this riposte)

“When I came through the forest I heard you say wiffle, waffle, woffle, Mr Humper. What does that mean?”

“When I use a word” Dumpy Humper replied ”It means just what I choose it to mean...neither more nor less.

For example, when I say 40 hospitals it actually means 6 hospitals or when I say 'Do or Die' it means 'I am going to fob you lot off with a load of baloney.'

'Wiffle, waffle woffle' means 'I don't like your question and I'm not going to answer it'; and so on.

Of course, I have to pay some words more than others, according to how hard they work for me – 'Spaffing, bumboys, piccaninnies, letterboxes' are particularly expensive as I use them a lot.

“That's rather good. I like that...” said Pretty Cunning reflectively “So when I say 'immigrant' it can mean all those people I want to keep out of Wonderland, for one reason or another, but it doesn't refer to Ugandan Asians, like Mum, Dad and Me.

Or when I say I'm taking a 'holiday' it means that I am going to meet Bibi 'the bastard' Netanyahoo?”

“By Jove, you've got it.” said the Humper appreciatively “It's the same with 'Turks' sometimes I use it to put the fear of Mogg up people by telling them that 'we're all going to be run over by marauding Turks'. Sometimes I use 'Turk' as a term of endearment for my dear old Great Grandad Ali Kemal Bey, who hails from Istanbul.”

“By the way, coming from Uganda, I don't suppose you would like to climb up here and join Old Dumpy in some 'Ugandan Discussions'* I suppose?”

“I'm afraid I don't speak Swahili” replied a bemused Pretty Awful.

(Pretty is too young to know that 'Ugandan Discussions' is posh boy code for sexual shenanigans)

“Oh that's disappointing” frowned Humper “ Then perhaps I can persuade you to join my 'cabinet'. I think that it would be amusing to have a representative of the Ugandan Tottyship nearby. You could even sit next to me instead of Cumquat (He always smells unwashed)”

“What's a cabinet” enquired Pretty Useless.

“It's my box, in which I keep people, who do exactly what I say; or rather, exactly what Cumquat says.”

“It sounds just right for me” mused Pretty Devious “And can I make words mean exactly what I want them to, like you?”

“Of course, Pretty Unscrupulous; well that's settled.” said Dumpy Humper clapping his hands. As he did so he started to lose his balance. “ Cripes this wasn't supposed to happen...Cumquat...Cumquat... Cumquaaaatt...where are you?...”

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*Editor's note:Ugandan discussions" is a euphemism for sex coined during the early 1970s by the satirical British magazine "Private Eye".
The basis of the term arose at a party in London hosted by Neal Ascherson at which Irish moralist and journalist Mary Kenny, during her early, wild phase, spent some time upstairs with a former Ugandan government minister. On rejoining the other guests, Kenny explained their absence by saying they were "upstairs discussing Uganda".

Workshy4Shytework

A Pritty Dystopian Message 

 

Right you lazy economically inactive (retired) bastards, soon vans will be touring every street where there is a preponderance of people like you. The agents of the state will then press gang all those  unable to flee over the back fence and escort you to the nearest hop field or orchard where you will work for a minimum of 8 hours per day.

Should you expire during this period of work, burials will be arranged on site; quick, neat and economical.

However, this will not only solve the question of immigration, it will also resolve the overuse of the NHS by the Crinklies, because the unspoken element of this policy is the expectation that large numbers will expire on the job; thus dealing with bed blocking and the need for an increase in carers.

See you on the chain gang...

 

 

AND ANOTHER THING 

A Fishy Business

 

 

Throughout the 2016 referendum campaign the mantra of the Brexiteers was the now famous mantra ‘Take Back Control’. Fear ye not, we were told, upon our exit from the evil ‘empire’ the EU, we would no longer be subject to EU rules and regulations on everything from human rights, environmental rights, agriculture, fishing and so on.

Fishing only 0.1% GDP

Of the various elements, to which now we will no longer be subject, fishing is by far the least economically important comprising no more than 0.1% GDP but, emotionally, it has become a significant and potential stumbling block in future trade talks. In addition, it also provides a perfect example of the complexity of our interconnectedness with the EU and the concomitant difficulties of separation.

UN Convention on Law of the Sea – a de facto Common Fisheries Policy

So, ‘Take back control!’ Simply impose a 200 mile exclusion zone and then arrange negotiations with relevant countries and regions to inform them where they can fish, when they can fish and how much they can catch; easy peasy lemon squeezy… but hold your (sea)horses! To begin with we, along with our nearest neighbours, are signatories to the United Nations Convention on the Law of the Sea. As John Lichfield explained in the Guardian newspaper on 10.02.20, the Convention states that… ‘The United Kingdom is legally obliged to manage North Sea and Atlantic fish stocks with both Norway and the European Union. The Convention also requires, but does not oblige, the UK to consider the historical fishing rights of its neighbours.

Ooops! Don’t tell the Brexiteers, but the above sounds a bit like, well, a Common Fisheries Policy. Mm, haven’t we already got one of those?

The Current Quota System

The second element of ‘Taking back control’ relates to the quota system. Every year the EU distributes, on scientific advice for the health and maintenance of fish stocks, a fixed quota allocation to the relevant member states. The distribution of these quotas is then the responsibility of, in the case of the UK, the Department for Environment, Food and Rural Affairs (DEFRA) and thence gives each holder the right to land a certain share of the UK’s total allowable catch (TAC). I know this all sounds rather stodgy but bear with me because this is where it becomes interesting and just a tad ‘smelly’.

Selling and Leasing of Quotas 

 

Once the quotas have been distributed there is a significant trade in selling and/or leasing quotas.

*Taking England as an example, just three families on The Times rich list hold 30% of the quota. A further 49% is ultimately held by Dutch, Spanish and Icelandic interests who have bought up English vessels and quotas. See Crispin Dowler: https://unearthed.greenpeace.org/2018/10/11/fishing-quota-uk-defra-michael-gove/

In total, something like 96% of British quotas is in the hands of a small number of foreign owned and Rich List families. Only approximately 4% of fishing quotas are held by inshore or small scale fishermen. In effect, therefore, a cartel exists whereby governments allow quotas to be consolidated to a handful of super-trawlers while smaller, low impact fishermen who make up 77% of the total shipping fleet, have been progressively starved of access.

One final point to remember: in all this, in the context of ‘taking back control’ of all Britain’s catches 75% is exported to, guess where... the European Community!

Taking back control? Easy peasy!

*Who are the families on fishing's Rich List?

 Alexander Buchan and family are ranked 804 in the 2018 Sunday Times Rich List, with an estimated net worth of £147m. The family’s Peterhead-based Lunar Fishing Company owns or controls 8.9% of the UK’s quota holdings (739,153 FQAs), making it the biggest quota holder in the UK.

Jan Colam and family are ranked 882 on the Rich List (estimated worth: £130m). The Colam family-owned company Interfish is the second largest quota holder, with 7.8% of the UK total (643,927 FQAs)

Robert Tait and family are ranked 980 on the Rich List (estimated worth: £115m). The family’s Klondyke Fishing Company is the UK’s third-largest quota holder, with 6.1% of the UK total (506,953 FQAs).

Andrew Marr and family are ranked 567 on the Rich List (estimated worth: £209m). The family’s Hull-based Andrew Marr International owns or controls 5.1% of UK quota holdings (419,937 FQAs), making it the UK’s 5th largest quota holder. It also has minority stakes in companies and vessel partnerships that hold a further 5.4% of UK quota (445,981 FQAS).

Sir Ian Wood and family are ranked 77 on the Rich List, with an estimated worth of £1.7bn (a fortune built largely on oil and gas services). Sir Ian’s fishing business, JW Holdings, holds 1% of the UK’s fishing quota (83,463 FQAs) and has minority investments in businesses/partnerships that hold a further 2.3% (192,169 FQAs).

(Source: https://unearthed.greenpeace.org/2018/10/11/fishing-quota-uk-defra-michael-gove/ )

Fishy Business in Numbers (You do the maths}

• 3 Times Rich List families hold 30% of England’s fishing quotas
• 96% of British quotas is in the hands of a small number of foreign owned and UK 'Rich List' families.
  • 49% is ultimately held by Dutch, Spanish and Icelandic interests who have bought up English vessels and quotas.
• 4% alone of fishing quotas are held by inshore or small scale fisherman
• 77% of the total shipping fleet is made up of low-impact fisherman; they have been progressively starved of quotas
• 75% of UK catch is exported to the EU 
  
  
  
  
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Sajidfaction

Sajidfaction (or He Had It Coming) by The Strolling Moans

Dom can't get no Sajidfaction, Dom can't get no

Sajidfaction

He's tried (and Lord knows) he's tried

Dom can't get no, Dom can't get no...

When Dom's driving in his car

And Saj comes on that Radio 4

Tellin' Robbo more and more, Treasury information

He's gonna upset all the nation

Dom can't get no Sajidfaction

Dom's at home watchin' the BBC

And Saj comes on and says

It's impossible to work with me

And he can't fund no Vanity Projects

'Cos we still need austerity

Dom can't get no...hey, hey, hey

He'll soon be on his way

Cos' he's fried, fried and he's fried

Dom can't get no Sajidfaction...

Now Bozza's jollyin' round the world

And he's promising this and funding that

Now he's tryin' to impress some girl,

Who tells Bozza

'Baby, better come back maybe next week

Cos' Saj's the one not that Cummings Freak'

Bozza can't get no; oh no,no,no;hey, hey, hey!

Saj just can't stay; out the door's the only way

Bozza can't get no Sajidfaction

Dom can't get no Sajidfaction

No Sajidfaction, No Sajidfaction.

Fcuck off Sajid along with your faction...

Evesdropping

Evesdropping on Labour’s Post-mortem about the 2019 General Election

 

With yet another sensational “Clemantics” scoop we have just received the transcript of the meeting between the Labour Party’s top leadership four following their disastrous results in the December 2019 General Election.

Our source is as yet unidentified but we also have similar access to the top flight meeting of the Liberal Democrat leadership group which we hope to publish later.

“Clemantics” gathers that Labour Party campaign HQ was bugged (buggered? - ed) before and during the Election campaign. At the risk of being fingered as part of a CGC (CorbyGateConspiracy) Clemantics feels an obligation to its readership to bring, that which has fallen fortuitously into our laps into the public domain.

Our source (whose identity we will protect at all costs) believes he has identified those present at this Labour Central summit as follows:

Dramatis Personae

McCluster-Fuck: His strong Liverpudlian accent identifies him to be Len McCluster-Fuck, the head of Unite Union-voted in by 45.4% of the 12% of the membership who bothered to vote….but democracy is democracy and those are the Unite rulebook

‘Maoist Milne' : His cultivated, softer, deferential whine identifies him as none other than Seumas ‘Posh Boy Maoist’ Milne who led the campaign. Educated at Winchester College, Balliol Oxford and Birkbeck his socialist credentials are impeccable and taken mostly from his father Alasdair Milne, a former Director of the BBC. While at Winchester he stood in a mock election in 1974 as a Maoist candidate. While at Balliol Milne passionately identified with the Palestinian cause - he went around (it is alleged) speaking with a Palestinian accent and calling himself “Shams”.

(no kid? great name; a strange co-incidence that the whole Party was identified as Anti-semitic in the run up to the election, ed).

Richard Bygone-Age: The distinctive Yorkshire accent identifies him as Richard Bygone-Age, ex-solicitor and Shadow Justice Secretary. He has designs on the Deputy Leadership of the Party. Besides his accent, there is a mechanical delivery to his voice as if he was a ‘Speak Your Weight’ machine in a former life when these were common place...

J.C: His whimpering, and cries of anguish identify him as the leader himself the man so many had pinned their hopes on, as he had himself: hopes that he could make it from rebellious Labour Party troublemaker; armed rebellion supporter from Ireland to Palestine and Venezuela; Bennite anti-Eu opponent to peaceable libertarian socialist leader to the UK’s ‘promised land’

A chorus of Oh Jeremy Corbyn and Paolo Nutini's 10 out of 10 fades as the discussion gets underway...

McCluster-Fuck: Come on Jeremy. Don’t get downhearted lad. It was a great result. What a manifesto! We won the ideas! Next time with a bit more push we’ll be introducing it!!

‘Maoist Milne: Yes, Jeremy. What you did was sensational; quite sensational. There has never been such a fine manifesto and Leadership performance since….well, Clement Attlee…..and this was well before all our time wasn’t it ‘Comrades’ (he speaks this word as if he’s trying out a script that is expected of him rather than one he is familiar with, matter-of-factly)

Richard Bygone-Age: No, no no lad. Don’t despair. We could’na have won even with Keir Hardy ‘leading the line’ so ta speak, or Arthur Scargill. It was those Tory liars and their press like Murdoch and the Mail. The odds were agin uz, lad. We won the moral victory though. Ours was the right manifesto for the times. You’ll see. Voting public’ll come round once they get a bit more shafting from thar Johnson.

JC: Oh dear. Dearie, dearie me. Woe is me!! Where did it all go wrong? It was me, wasn’t it. ME ME ME

(sounds of startled surprise from the others as if they had never hear THE LEADER ‘do despair’ and ‘self-reflection’)

Mc-F: No lad, no. Don’t be so hard on yourself. It was a great result!

RB-A : Yes Jeremy. Really WE WON. We got the ethics right; told the truth; had a jaw dropping, ‘state of the art’ modernising Manifesto. We just didn’t get the spin of the ball sometimes. We were robbed. Cheated. Mugged. We were RIGHT and they were WRONG. End of….

‘M M’: We’ve nothing to reproach ourselves about. It was a perfect flawless performance and you-with the wonderful manifesto which I helped to draft-were all match winners.

JC: despairingly: But we’ve lost Scotland for good; parts of the North East for the first time ever; the West Midlands. Look at the arithmetic. Hopeless.

‘M M’ : Just a temporary setback old boy. Just temporary. We were taught at Winchester and I imagine it was the same for you at your jolly old Prep ‘alma mater’, Castle House School, that ‘we play to win’ and ‘win when we play’.

JC: (howl of despair again): But we didn’t win DID WE?!

MC-F: But my whole point Jeremy is WE DID. I’ve got this new bright lass Rebecca Long-Grass coming on through. I’ll see she gets to the top and takes over your mantle of success and builds from there. Let’s hear no more about it now, shall we, there’s a good lad. Pull yourself together

JC: (as if in pain) OHHHHHHHHHHH!

to be continued…..

http://clemantics.blogspot.com/

The Journal of a Young Lady in Love

 

“He is My Lover and All Conquering Legendary Hero”

by C S.

A few weeks ago “Clemantics” received anonymously through the post and wrapped in brown paper covers what purported to be “The Journal of a Young Lady in Love”. The author appears to be one ‘CS’ with an address in Whitehall.. We tried to track down the author and the person who posted the Journal to us all without success. We wondered what the motive might have been for posting it because of the nature of the intimate relationship, which it reveals. However, we decided its author wished the Journal's content to be put into the public domain as a manifestation not only of her love; but her good fortune in being in the right place at the right time with a political colossus of our time, as she sees him.

copyright Clemantics

“I call him my Colossus, my Alexander the Great, because that is just what he is, what he has achieved and has yet to achieve for his country…..my country, our country. How could it be, I ask myself, that the second generation member of a Turkish ruling family, bitterly and unjustly assassinated 100 years ago, has reached the heights of becoming the Prime Minister of his adopted country!

“Bloody good gene pool” says his father Stanley who adopted his very English surname from his English grandmother’s maiden name. He didn’t think that Grandpappie's name of “Osman Ali Wilfred Kemal” would cut much mustard amongst the respectable English gentry of the time; not because the gentry could ever be deemed racist but because the family would forever carry the burden of being seen as 'Johnnie Foreigner'.

But my darling love, Great Alexander was put through his paces at Eton where he came top at everything, and was predicted to go far. He told me on many an occasion how they called him “Turk Boy Johnson.” adding “You’ll go far and the further away back to Turkey the better”.

This might have discombobulated anyone else but my love ‘Bojiebabes’. He frequently tells me how he would fire back at them the words of some crusty old German philosopher. I think they went something like

'Was nicht mich umbringt macht mich zum Einzelgänger” (I do so love it when he talks 'dirty' in a foreign language)

”What does not kill me makes me a loner”

Whenever my ‘Mighty Man’ feels down, and up against it, these words come to his mind and he’s back there on top of it all.

I am so proud of how My Colossus has been fighting and fighting and fighting for the country, he loves, to free us up from those 'naysayer' Europeans, who only want to straighten our bananas and steal all the riches of the City of London.

“Brexit to all you crooks and deceivers' became Al's watchword. 

His old mate from Eton, Dave, thought that this was just 'My Man' blowing hot air. But my Alexander the Great faced 'Disastrous Dave' down; now he’s Prime Minister and our country is again free, free as a bird like the cuckoo that can take a nest away from any weaker bird (cos that's what Charles Dawkins says should happen “the strongest survive and the rest just, well die off”) And my Great Alexander is THE strongest of the strong.

All sorts of bad stories have been put about in the press about my Colossus. Our great friend and tower of strength Dom…..(I mean, of course, Mr Cummings since I was told not to be too familiar around him by Alexander)…..said “pay no attention to them Cazzie (his pet name for me). They are not weirdos just idiots and parasites.

There have been scurrilous stories that my Bozza can’t remember how many children he has or the names of his lovers down the years

What tosh; what utter bilgy bilge water.

It is sometimes true when we are in the height of bodily passion I will hear him cry out “I’m coming home, Petri” or sometimes “I’m the second coming Jenny-henny”. It does worry me that 'Petri' sounds suspiciously like one of his 'old flames' Petronella, while I remember reading in the gutter press that Bojji had a passing acquaintance with an American (or was it Pole) dancer called Jennifer Arcuri.

Al tells me that I should not listen to gossip or read the newspapers (except, of course,the Daily Torygraph). Needless to say, I melt when he looks me straight in the eye and tells me that he is a good and caring man, true and reliable. He tells me that I am his only 'Pet' and that 'Henny Penny' is just a character from a nursery rhyme, his nanny used to tell him. I feel reassured when Colossus tells me that he’s really sincere and always tells his version of the truth.('as does the whole Country', I muse.)

It is true that we did have a little tiff some months before my Greatness called the General Election - some weird little snitch of a neighbour reported us to the Police for 'over-loud hi-jinks'. (The course of true love and all that...) PC Plod soon decided that there was “No Case to Answer”. It was just a case of sour grapes - my little Bojo loves me and would do anything for me.(Al's own words!!) So boo to all these nasty people who are just jealous of my man and my achievement and success loving him, as I do.

I must confess my Heart is bursting with song

“He’s mine all mine and the country is his all his. Can it ever get better in life than that…………” (To the tune, the 'Fog on the Tyne')

At this point the Journal ends abruptly as if someone has interrupted the writer and terminated the story. We do , however, hope there may be more offerings exclusive to “Clemantics” from C.S, who just wants the world to know of her love and happiness with a ‘great’ man.

to be continued...