We're sat at the kitchen table in the Griffin homestead, to my left is Jenny eating, more gorging, piles of meat and potato. Nick is to my right. Jackie brings him a cup of tea, he sits staring at it for a few minutes, looking completely bored, before pulling the tea bag out and throwing it on the floor, he whistles and there's a thud from further in the house. A grunting sound follows, the heavy breathing of something lumbering down the hall, knocking things over and falling over itself in its rush to come in.
It's Clive Jefferson. He comes crashing through the door, and on making eye contact with Nick sits completely still, his bum planted on the floor, one arm holding his weight and the other stretched ahead, a little like a cross between a dog and a gorilla. Nick looks at the tea bag on the floor and nods. Clive looks at it cautiously and starts to crawl over slowly, clearly being careful on the chance he's misread the situation. As he nears it he lowers his head, Nick stops him by saying "ahhhk, Clive, sit!". He doesn't take his eye off the tea bag, he quivers with a combination of excitement and fear. "OK then" goes Nick and Clive dives on the tea bag, like a starved animal. It's gone in seconds, he licks the floor around the seat Nick is sat at and then sits upright again, looking alert now having woken up properly.
"See, he's learning" says Jackie.
"Not quick enough" moans Nick, "I sometimes wonder why we bother, I know he sleeps on the sofa when we aren't in."
"He's lovely though Nick, watch this" says Jackie as she leans over and gives him a belly rub. Clive rolls side to side on his back, grunting and laughing with his legs in the air. Nick doesn't seem to listen, he just stares out the window.
"Oh god! Oh fucking hell! He's farted!" shouts Nick, "this is why you shouldn't excite him!"
"He'll need to go to the toilet, don't you Clive!?" responds Jackie. Clive's ears lift when he hears his name, "Clive? Toilet?" asks Jackie in a high pitched tone. Clive limps over to the door and looks up at the handle, he whimpers.
"Good Clive!" says Jackie in the same tone giving him a treat, "outside Clive, outside!" She opens the door and lets him out. He tears off to the bottom of the garden. "He can eat when he comes back in, then we can have our night together Nick"
"He eats after us, remember, that's what the book says, otherwise it'll confuse him" says Nick, "what are you giving him for treats anyway?"
"Cheese"
"Cheese!?" shouts Nick, looking frustrated, "cheese is expensive"
"But he likes cheese" says Jackie
Nick looks mad, we hear a scratching at the door. Jackie lets Clive back in, patting him on the head saying "basket, Clive, basket!". Clive crawls over to a banana box in the corner and curls up in it, he seems to fall asleep instantly.
"No more cheese for him, ok?" says Nick picking up a thin, cheap plastic wallet with the label 'IMPORTANT POLITICAL FILE' and leaving the room. Jackie looks at me, she looks embarrassed, we sit in silence for a moment.
"He's dreaming look" she says, nodding at Clive, who is kicking his legs and grunting, "I do sometimes wonder what he is dreaming about?".
Thursday 23 February 2012
Friday 10 February 2012
A Drive with Simon Darby
A Drive with Simon Darby
Simon offered to take me to the station. He seemed very keen to drive me there, and even though I first insisted I was OK walking I figured a bit of time with the man who has self titled himself Press Officer Simon Darby (Press Officer), Press Officer to the British National Party would be both interesting and enlightening.
We walked over to his car, an older model, not quite sure what. It was clearly looked after, the car was immaculate both inside and outside, despite looking dated and a little chunky, you could tell it was his pride and joy. I asked if he had an interest in older cars, he told me no, but explained this car found its way to him, but he gave no further explanation. As I looked closer, I noticed the words Darby Mobile had been painted on the back, and on the wheels, and the bonnet, in fact at just a glance I saw the words Simon Darby in at least 15 different places on just this one side of the car. As I climbed in, he walked round it three times checking it over, he then patted it on the roof and said something in a deep voice before joining me in the "Darby Mobile".
"So what do you think of the Darby Mobile?" He asked. "She's one hell of a beast eh?" I didn't really know how to respond, the car despite being clean and tidy was dated, old fashioned inside, but not in a classic way, just in a mid 90's sort of way, it looked tacky also with red writing all over it and a big 'turbo' sticker across the wind shield. He got a check list out, which seemed unnecessary, quite a detailed check list, and wrote the time and date at the top, he then started the ignition and sat looking at the few dials a car like this has, writing things down every few minutes, this went on for about twenty minutes before he put the clip board down and announced "off we go".
We took off down the drive at a steady pace, he put on a cassette and turned the volume up so we couldn't hear each other speak, the first song was 'Shakira - Wherever, Whenever', and he sang along to every word as loud as he could, only pausing it once in a while at a climax in the chorus to shout "SIMON DARBY". When the song ended he rewound the tape and did the same again, I was beginning to worry about him as he wasn't paying any attention to driving, we were winding down country lanes and he drove through several junctions without even noticing they were there, he was completely in his own world and I saw at least three cars have to take evasive action to avoid an accident.When a car pipped him he looked up and shouted "Fuck you! You filthy immigrant! SIMON DARBY!".
When the song ended I noticed he was making engine noises as he drove, like a child with a toy car. He looked up, suddenly realising I was there, and said "shall we listen to the radio for a while, now we're all rocked out?" I nodded, how strange can listening to the radio be? At least there are sane people on the airwaves I thought, pretending not to notice he put another cassette tape in, "how's about radio 1? That's cool!" he shouted, and after come cassette noise, noise I haven't heard in a decade owing to them being obsolete, a radio 1 intro came through, but clearly already recorded on his cassette, as the date was from several weeks ago. We listened to 'No Regrets' by Dappy, which Simon seemed to be getting really into, singing along with his own lyrics.
Sometimes when I look in the mirror, I don't even recognise myself,
I got the heart of a Simon Darby
But looking back at me is someone else not as cool as me!
Again this went on for a while, he rewound the tape, or radio as he put it, claiming he had radio plus, and you could rewind live radio. He sang along again, twice more, the same lyrics each time, stopping only to shout Simon Darby once every few minutes. By this point I was beginning to realise the man was completely insane.
Then a news beat came on, it was news from weeks ago. But what could I do, at least he wasn't singing now and he seemed to be paying more attention to the road which was my main concern. He started grinning, and all of a sudden the news cut to what was clearly Simon talking, with some strange keyboard sound in the background.
And now for a Radio 1 political round-up. The Conservative party have once again let the country down by opening up the floodgates for thousands of immigrants and Jews to enter the country and take all our jobs. This has led to a huge surge in support for Britain's fastest growing political party, the British National Party, who have recruited over 6000 members each day for the last week since news of this immigration scandal broke. Our political analyst.. err..Simon.. Derby.. shire.. predicts the British National Party will have 400 MP's within the week, and will soon move into Downing Street taking over the UK and returning things to the good old ways. That's it for political news, now back to radio 1.
And it cut straight into the middle of some song, which is where he turned the player off and announced "well hows about that Mr. Reporter man, you have something else to write about now, the British National Party are on the up!". I looked at him, I really didn't know what to do, we also seemed to be driving up and down the same stretch of road. He carried on, the man really didn't know when to stop "I suppose it will be a busy night back at the headquarters now recruiting all those new members, still, we're used to it!". I wondered how many times he had tried this on other people and who would actually fall for it?
We drove a little further, Simon was talking about himself and what he plans to do with his evening. Pointing to a button he said "want some fun?". The button had 'SD Mode' written on it, it was one of the those fake push-start buttons you can buy from car spares, except this one was clearly placed to enable 'Simon Darby Mode'. He slowed the car down on a straight bit of road, pulled the car down a gear and then pressed it, as he did so he screamed "SIMON DARBY" and floored it, although it made little difference, the car made a lot of noise but didn't really feel like much was happening, he slowly gathered pace, going far too fast for the road and conditions, he overtook a family cycling and beeped as he went past shouting "HIPPIES! SIMON DARBY". He was very excited, with his head perched right over the steering wheel, he only took his eye off the dial to look where he was going once in a while, I was starting to fear for my life, "Look! We're doing 55 now! SIMON DARBY", he drove clean through a junction at which point I said I'd had enough. I told him to stop the car and let me out, at first he was quite angry, accusing me of being a red, a wimp and of not being able to handle the Darby Mobile, and then he started to look at bit sad, his eyes welled up. As I got out he looked at the seat where I had been sat as if he was still imagining me, or anybody being sat there while he sang and shouted his name.
"Can I have some money for fuel please?" He asked, this seemed cheeky, considering he offered the lift, and drove me around the countryside for forty minutes, not to mention actually dropping me off further from where I needed to be. Still it had been enlightening, I gave him a twenty and shut the door. He wound the window down, marvelling at the electric windows by telling me to 'watch', he looked up and asked "is she dirty?" I told him there was a bit of mud on the sides now, "ahh, I'll get Clive to come over and clean her then". He revved the engine a few times, shouted his name and drove off. I wondered if he would ever get home alive.
And that was the end of that, although he is mostly harmless, just a bit lonely, at times I had feared for my life and would not recommend getting in a car with that man.
Simon offered to take me to the station. He seemed very keen to drive me there, and even though I first insisted I was OK walking I figured a bit of time with the man who has self titled himself Press Officer Simon Darby (Press Officer), Press Officer to the British National Party would be both interesting and enlightening.
We walked over to his car, an older model, not quite sure what. It was clearly looked after, the car was immaculate both inside and outside, despite looking dated and a little chunky, you could tell it was his pride and joy. I asked if he had an interest in older cars, he told me no, but explained this car found its way to him, but he gave no further explanation. As I looked closer, I noticed the words Darby Mobile had been painted on the back, and on the wheels, and the bonnet, in fact at just a glance I saw the words Simon Darby in at least 15 different places on just this one side of the car. As I climbed in, he walked round it three times checking it over, he then patted it on the roof and said something in a deep voice before joining me in the "Darby Mobile".
"So what do you think of the Darby Mobile?" He asked. "She's one hell of a beast eh?" I didn't really know how to respond, the car despite being clean and tidy was dated, old fashioned inside, but not in a classic way, just in a mid 90's sort of way, it looked tacky also with red writing all over it and a big 'turbo' sticker across the wind shield. He got a check list out, which seemed unnecessary, quite a detailed check list, and wrote the time and date at the top, he then started the ignition and sat looking at the few dials a car like this has, writing things down every few minutes, this went on for about twenty minutes before he put the clip board down and announced "off we go".
We took off down the drive at a steady pace, he put on a cassette and turned the volume up so we couldn't hear each other speak, the first song was 'Shakira - Wherever, Whenever', and he sang along to every word as loud as he could, only pausing it once in a while at a climax in the chorus to shout "SIMON DARBY". When the song ended he rewound the tape and did the same again, I was beginning to worry about him as he wasn't paying any attention to driving, we were winding down country lanes and he drove through several junctions without even noticing they were there, he was completely in his own world and I saw at least three cars have to take evasive action to avoid an accident.When a car pipped him he looked up and shouted "Fuck you! You filthy immigrant! SIMON DARBY!".
When the song ended I noticed he was making engine noises as he drove, like a child with a toy car. He looked up, suddenly realising I was there, and said "shall we listen to the radio for a while, now we're all rocked out?" I nodded, how strange can listening to the radio be? At least there are sane people on the airwaves I thought, pretending not to notice he put another cassette tape in, "how's about radio 1? That's cool!" he shouted, and after come cassette noise, noise I haven't heard in a decade owing to them being obsolete, a radio 1 intro came through, but clearly already recorded on his cassette, as the date was from several weeks ago. We listened to 'No Regrets' by Dappy, which Simon seemed to be getting really into, singing along with his own lyrics.
Sometimes when I look in the mirror, I don't even recognise myself,
I got the heart of a Simon Darby
But looking back at me is someone else not as cool as me!
Again this went on for a while, he rewound the tape, or radio as he put it, claiming he had radio plus, and you could rewind live radio. He sang along again, twice more, the same lyrics each time, stopping only to shout Simon Darby once every few minutes. By this point I was beginning to realise the man was completely insane.
Then a news beat came on, it was news from weeks ago. But what could I do, at least he wasn't singing now and he seemed to be paying more attention to the road which was my main concern. He started grinning, and all of a sudden the news cut to what was clearly Simon talking, with some strange keyboard sound in the background.
And now for a Radio 1 political round-up. The Conservative party have once again let the country down by opening up the floodgates for thousands of immigrants and Jews to enter the country and take all our jobs. This has led to a huge surge in support for Britain's fastest growing political party, the British National Party, who have recruited over 6000 members each day for the last week since news of this immigration scandal broke. Our political analyst.. err..Simon.. Derby.. shire.. predicts the British National Party will have 400 MP's within the week, and will soon move into Downing Street taking over the UK and returning things to the good old ways. That's it for political news, now back to radio 1.
And it cut straight into the middle of some song, which is where he turned the player off and announced "well hows about that Mr. Reporter man, you have something else to write about now, the British National Party are on the up!". I looked at him, I really didn't know what to do, we also seemed to be driving up and down the same stretch of road. He carried on, the man really didn't know when to stop "I suppose it will be a busy night back at the headquarters now recruiting all those new members, still, we're used to it!". I wondered how many times he had tried this on other people and who would actually fall for it?
We drove a little further, Simon was talking about himself and what he plans to do with his evening. Pointing to a button he said "want some fun?". The button had 'SD Mode' written on it, it was one of the those fake push-start buttons you can buy from car spares, except this one was clearly placed to enable 'Simon Darby Mode'. He slowed the car down on a straight bit of road, pulled the car down a gear and then pressed it, as he did so he screamed "SIMON DARBY" and floored it, although it made little difference, the car made a lot of noise but didn't really feel like much was happening, he slowly gathered pace, going far too fast for the road and conditions, he overtook a family cycling and beeped as he went past shouting "HIPPIES! SIMON DARBY". He was very excited, with his head perched right over the steering wheel, he only took his eye off the dial to look where he was going once in a while, I was starting to fear for my life, "Look! We're doing 55 now! SIMON DARBY", he drove clean through a junction at which point I said I'd had enough. I told him to stop the car and let me out, at first he was quite angry, accusing me of being a red, a wimp and of not being able to handle the Darby Mobile, and then he started to look at bit sad, his eyes welled up. As I got out he looked at the seat where I had been sat as if he was still imagining me, or anybody being sat there while he sang and shouted his name.
"Can I have some money for fuel please?" He asked, this seemed cheeky, considering he offered the lift, and drove me around the countryside for forty minutes, not to mention actually dropping me off further from where I needed to be. Still it had been enlightening, I gave him a twenty and shut the door. He wound the window down, marvelling at the electric windows by telling me to 'watch', he looked up and asked "is she dirty?" I told him there was a bit of mud on the sides now, "ahh, I'll get Clive to come over and clean her then". He revved the engine a few times, shouted his name and drove off. I wondered if he would ever get home alive.
And that was the end of that, although he is mostly harmless, just a bit lonely, at times I had feared for my life and would not recommend getting in a car with that man.
Wednesday 8 February 2012
Nick Griffin's New Strategy
There seems to be some debate as to why, last week, Nick 'The Griffin' Griffin MEP (as he likes to be known) would be stupid enough to be photographed with a pair of bonehead's holding up a banner with the white pride symbol. Nick has spent years distancing himself and the party from such things, and indeed its own origins. So why would he make such a mistake now?
The answer is quite simple. Nick Griffin is a rat, he isn't stupid (well, he is, but he knows how to provide for himself and his family, despite many failed business ventures and several bankruptcies, in fact, he is just stupid, and hopeless), but! He looks out for his own survival. And knowing full well the BNP are doomed now, he needs people to vote for him, which is why he tagged along with an EDL demo and posed alongside these bonehead's, to get recognised! So people remember him. BUT WHY? Because he needs his second term as an MEP to secure his own financial security. A second term guarantees a very handsome pension!
He knows his own name and the BNP brand don't pack enough punch now to get him elected to a second term, the brand is so toxic that even people who have previously supported the BNP will likely vote against him! So now he's out there mingling with the minions! Getting his photo snapped with people! So they know who he is. It doesn't matter who, hence, associating with the EDL, the North West Infidels and the CxF. Many, many boneheads to vote for the man! As these organisations don't have any political wing, but many (well, some) supporters who might get out of bed to vote come the next bout of Euro elections. Who else will they vote for when looking down the ballot sheet? That fat shit Griffin is who! The one who said hello to them and asked for a photo with them! The one who had a pork pie in his hand!
Despite this being quite funny, it is actually quite sinister. Nick 'massive Welsh farmhouse' Griffin is keeping the party on life support, harvesting what's left to fund his European campaign. People are still paying membership subs, people are still signing up, donating and working for the party, in the name of British Nationalism. But look at the past few months, very little is being put into the GLA campaign? Several local elections have been completely ignored, meetings are awful! It's all over, and Griffin, Jefferson and Eyebrows all know this! Where is all the money going? Besides paying off massive debts of course? Griffin is biding his time, hoping the party will just be alive enough to get him that second term. That is all he is after now. Fuck the indigenous British who can trace their ancestry back to before 1066, even he isn't sure who they are!
It remains to be seen how the BNP story ends, but we very much doubt it will go beyond the next European Elections!
As an amusing side note, some people have come out claiming the photo is a fake, despite it being extremely popular amongst the more boneheaded elements of the internet at the moment. Never underestimate the power of denial.
The answer is quite simple. Nick Griffin is a rat, he isn't stupid (well, he is, but he knows how to provide for himself and his family, despite many failed business ventures and several bankruptcies, in fact, he is just stupid, and hopeless), but! He looks out for his own survival. And knowing full well the BNP are doomed now, he needs people to vote for him, which is why he tagged along with an EDL demo and posed alongside these bonehead's, to get recognised! So people remember him. BUT WHY? Because he needs his second term as an MEP to secure his own financial security. A second term guarantees a very handsome pension!
He knows his own name and the BNP brand don't pack enough punch now to get him elected to a second term, the brand is so toxic that even people who have previously supported the BNP will likely vote against him! So now he's out there mingling with the minions! Getting his photo snapped with people! So they know who he is. It doesn't matter who, hence, associating with the EDL, the North West Infidels and the CxF. Many, many boneheads to vote for the man! As these organisations don't have any political wing, but many (well, some) supporters who might get out of bed to vote come the next bout of Euro elections. Who else will they vote for when looking down the ballot sheet? That fat shit Griffin is who! The one who said hello to them and asked for a photo with them! The one who had a pork pie in his hand!
Despite this being quite funny, it is actually quite sinister. Nick 'massive Welsh farmhouse' Griffin is keeping the party on life support, harvesting what's left to fund his European campaign. People are still paying membership subs, people are still signing up, donating and working for the party, in the name of British Nationalism. But look at the past few months, very little is being put into the GLA campaign? Several local elections have been completely ignored, meetings are awful! It's all over, and Griffin, Jefferson and Eyebrows all know this! Where is all the money going? Besides paying off massive debts of course? Griffin is biding his time, hoping the party will just be alive enough to get him that second term. That is all he is after now. Fuck the indigenous British who can trace their ancestry back to before 1066, even he isn't sure who they are!
It remains to be seen how the BNP story ends, but we very much doubt it will go beyond the next European Elections!
As an amusing side note, some people have come out claiming the photo is a fake, despite it being extremely popular amongst the more boneheaded elements of the internet at the moment. Never underestimate the power of denial.
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