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December 31, 2022


KIM Scott’s book Just Work, How to confront bias, prejudice and bullying to build a culture of inclusivity (Panmacmillan 2021 £10.99) starts by outlining instances of sexual grooming of her by older, more powerful males which she, too, did not report but for her were part of a macho management culture which she, too, felt abused and marginalised by. (I didn’t think it was sexual grooming per se, but in these issues, her perception is accepted as fact because she’s “only a little woman”).

I felt a little abused and marginalised by her tone and way too stridently righteous sisterhood-led march. I concluded that the workplace today is radically different to malignantly macho newspaper newsrooms in the 1980s, when everyone called a spade a spade rather than a gardening implement and “girls” had only relatively recently appeared to claim parity of any kind but were generally perceived far more as decorative diversions than deadly rivals, bringing out an old-fashioned sense of admiration extending to (dare I say it) protection in male colleagues (why did so many marry?). Broadly, I think that Kim’s West Coast of America vision of an inclusive workforce is my idea of hell because it tries to pull the wool over your eyes that there is no hierarchy in this inclusive modernist wet dream.

Kim, wielding language, references and book after book written by radical feminist warriors, the sainted Audre Lorde at the head stirring audacious toxic spells of their own at academic, intellectually stimulating frontier disruptive technology glass-fronted settings mainly in California where liberal loonies pontificate and proliferate perched in the lotus position on their chic saffron meditation Zabutons (trendy Japanese cushions, seeks to – really – replace one toxic hierarchy with another.

A toxic radical feminist hierarchy which encouraged scandals of justice like the Carl Sergeant suicide and the Alex Salmond sex case trial to promote and progress the perverted politically motivated anti-men crusade – based on an absolute lie – that predatory behaviour if it is by males towards females or even, crucially, behaviour which newly throned or, possibly, even hand-picked “victims” consider to be predatory, is the business of our criminal courts first with the weighty expectation and clear threat that the “victim” should be believed at the outset and throughout the criminal process with their identity and reputation protected while the alleged predator is ruined for life whatever the outcome.

Elephant traps which men tend to fall into get erected around the photocopier because the drive for revenge and reparation amongst people like Kim for past sins take precedence over everything, warping and poisoning like a serial killer. Everyone suffers equally treading gently one foot extra slowly and carefully placed in front of the other in slow motion fearing a bomb might go off at any moment if, for instance, Mr Thomas holds the door for Miss Tibbs, Mr T calls Miss T “attractive”, Mr T suggests going for a coffee with Miss T or he buys her a cup, Mr T tells Miss T that the colour brown suits her. It all ends badly, of course, with Mr T losing his job at a tribunal and Miss T becoming a Ms and joining a Stonewall sub-committee and both stay trapped in angry celibacy for life safely distanced from each other.

And, of course, this totally unrealistic and dangerously judgemental demand for a kind of Godlike probity and perfection among our leaders by this invading army meant that yet another leadership election in the Conservative Party relied on candidates (I favoured the refreshingly anti-Woke Kemi Badenoch) appearing to be morally righteous in ludicrous face-offs.

I wrote: “The mad rush to seem sanctimonious and raise yourself above everyone to high altar (which, taken to it’s natural conclusion, will bring us unfrocked nun Yvette Cooper dispensing radical feminist, trans, eco BLM neo-Marxist Bibles in coruscating closed convents, permanently affronted and slighted forever on the arid and righteous high ground with a rictus disgusted stare to make you worry that you just let rip a particularly obnoxious smelling and toxic fart directly in her direction until you realise that she looks like that all the time) during the COVID-19 pandemic has now ushered in a political hair-shirt and mask wearing high church priesthood of personal saviours with impeccable ethics and spotless personal behaviour oddly in arenas not noted for such things but which more often harbours oddballs, con artists and perverts a bit like Chris Pincher by name Pincher by nature.”

Another very disturbing new development was the appearance of politicians in the media not being interviewed by journalists or being asked to justify their actions but being allowed to front programmes as if they were bona fide journalists (the odious David Lammy on LBC, Matt Hancock had his own show and Ed Balls sidled up to sexy Susanah on morning TV).


SPLOTT market and boot sale shut for good, depriving hundreds of adorable deplorables their only healthy social outlet in the open air where they could exchange real cash with real people, stock up on hooky and waccy baccy, prescription medication prescribed to the recently departed from house clearances, cheap batteries and out of date cakes and biscuits.

The land had been earmarked for a school and I went to the final session when, co-incidentally, a Pride march wound its way through the centre of Cardiff to celebrate diversity, which used to be called decadent degradation.

What I noticed was a sharp fall in actual pride in the area of Splott itself, evidenced in closed, decaying and derelict business premises and mounting rubbish piles outside houses with eyesore sights galore just a stone’s throw from the Cardiff Bay headquarters of Welsh government, with its modern glass-fronted facade.

Splott people, too, were downbeat and depressed after a combination of overzealous top-down totalitarianism to clamp down on free movement and upward mobility alongside a rapid rise in juvenile drug dependency and dealing to deal with a hopeless, helpless sense of future aspiration left them fearing late night disturbances and low level crime and disorder.

I couldn’t help noticing that the loss of so many family pubs and churches in the area – where I arrived from Bangor as a student in 1981 – left a hole nothing else had filled and so many community activity which centred around pubs and clubs seemed to have been lost forever, leaving a void in cohesion and true caring.


Her Majesty The Queen died aged 96 at her Scottish palace Balmoral, ending her 70 year reign, the longest in history.

I wrote: “The thought of a lean, green, mean too frequently opinionated King Charles the Third on our pound notes and stamps addressing us at moments of crisis and on Christmas Day, however, prompts a chilled reaction and the thought of Camilla as our Queen prompts a rather different though also quite visceral one in me.

A slimmed-down monarchy having finally fully jettisoned wantonly wasteful warriors Andrew and Harry with less pomp and circumstance and fewer palaces and flunkeys in this post-truth anti-deferential age filled to breaking point with angry symbols of arrogant individualism warmly welcomed by political extremists and opportunists will struggle to maintain its dignity and crucial independence and, I suspect, will be fighting most to establish relevance to the fast-growing furious.

I said that in Wales, particularly, our future is too locked in to our past for real, meaningful change so it felt as if a media dominated by the wantonly reverential and supine BBC, with Brian Hoey pointing out dignitaries and hangers-on sucking at the teat at Llandaff Cathedral like pimped up pomp and circumstance junkies for one of too many royal remembrance services in tribute to the Queen as if we were all dependent on this gross, obscene patronage.


2022 was the year I learnt the truth about Cardiff University because I met someone who had been the subject of a disciplinary inquiry at the institution because he dared to speak his mind, outraging radical BLM Feminazis who complained safe in the knowledge they would never have to give their names nor the nature of their complaint (surprise, surprise).

My source, however, had to undergo an inquisition into his “thinking” and agree to cease and desist, like so many academics in the UK who refuse to chant these Social Justice Theory manic mantras.

The university’s newspaper Gair Rhydd is produced by students, not staff with strong guidance from the dreaded National Union of Students, which gave us the robotic Wes Streeting. I wrote: “If Gair Rhydd – which celebrates 50 years not out this year – is anything to go by, Woodward and Bernstein’s great-great grandchildren are likely to be mostly female, timid and terrified virtue signaling snowflakes who would never uncover corruption and crookedness in high places like Watergate because they would be too busy taking offence at the concept of an anonymous source called Deep Throat (using those two words itself a filthy offence worthy of an NUS diversity, equality and multi-culturalism sub-committee’s emergency attention) along with other slight slurs and minor, nonsensical issues around gender, race, equality and diversity.”

I declined an invitation to a book launch by the Wales Governance Centre at the university because it is not a place for open, fearless and uncensored debate about anything but probably least of all about further powers over justice devolved from Westminster to Wales called for by devolution backers and nationalists hellbent on independence with no figures to prove it could work.

Easily the most frightening exponents of that dunderheaded and nonsensical drive for independence in a mandated Welsh-speaking Wales able to control its own borders, imprison its own citizens with its own distinct justice, policing, education, taxing and trading systems, was Gwynedd County Council and its Plaid Cymru councillors running roughshod in Bangor, Caernarfon and Porthmadog to demand the abolition of monarchy, free movement, second home ownership and any kind of prosperity, to, in effect, impoverish on political principle.

I wondered what the difference was between William, newly made Prince of Wales, and Liz Saville-Roberts, the London-born Plaid MP who moved to Wales and Owen Hurcum, the former Bangor mayor, a south east of England native who was educated at Bangor University and joined Plaid and concluded, broadly, that there was no difference.


I noted a growth, too, in what I would call lawlessness in our city centres with weapon carrying youths able to wander at will on bikes and scooters having no apparent regard for others and I was told very firmly by a security guard that a political agenda promoted by commissioner Jeff Cuthbert was actively protecting the crooks and making our shopping centres no-go zones. Should we, I asked, start to police ourselves?

Wales qualified for the 2022 World Cup in Qatar (yes, Qatar) and this prompted an outbreak of Welsh jingoism with fierce fighter for Cymraeg Dafydd Iwan, who once went to jail for protests, stirring old rancid rivalries, resentments and reactionary rows with England for no good reason with his Yma O Hyd anthemic call to arms, happily embraced by Red and Rainbow Walls.

My fear was that vapid and entirely ethics-free agent-led multi millionaires like Ronaldo and Gareth Bale would start to weave their own agendas politically and be regarded as somehow representative of their own countries and their people, reporting back on human rights abuses as if they were Ghandi. Attaching himself cynically to that, Welsh Labour first minister Mark Drakeford ignored Labour’s ban on visiting Qatar to announce that he would be attending at our expense, naturally. I howled and raged inwardly at the despicable double-standards of a supposedly socialist political leader – not to mention so many impoverished members of the Red and Rainbow Walls, including “independent” Professor Laura McAllister – shelling out £8 for a pint in Doha and lapping it up in luxurious hotels built by slave labour while BBC Wales still repeated the blatant lie of a “cost of living crisis” at home with residents reliant on food banks and languishing on buses trying to keep warm.


Matt Hancock turned up like a bad penny on TV competing to win more of our money on I’m a Celebrity Get Me Out Of Here.

This man then goes on to publish a book for cash claiming that health and science chiefs gave government an alarmingly apocalyptic forecast of mass deaths which appears, to me, to be wildly inaccurate, entitling and justifying a draconian totally disproportionate universally enforced reaction with absolutely no cost/benefit assessment either individually or collectively and no consideration either for the individual or for the effect on the individual. The consequent political inquiry (not needed in Wales, apparently) then concentrates almost solely on whether we should have acted in this universally draconian manner sooner to save more lives (which Handsy Hancock promotes largely to save his own skin and to align himself broadly with leftist sympathisers in the liberal centres of power) rather than whether we should have carried out cost/benefit analysis, meaningful qualitative personal examinations to establish accurate data for responses to prevent the needless psychological suffering of everyone, including relatively physically fit people like me, under a punishing regime rather than the more rational shepherding of a small group at real risk.

Hancock’s diaries were an insight not into the true health and science brouhaha which rocked the establishment but instead into the vapid and totally selfish world of politics, with Hancock emerging now as a figure of fun and politics itself as a well rewarded funfair with scary rides and exciting death-defying tumbles from great height to low and arid dumps.

Then Lady Susan Hussey, one of The Queen’s closest advisors, interrogated a black woman about her ethnic heritage, effectively personifying perfectly the blazing row about colonialism. It left a BLM minority suddenly able to demand that royals bow down to them rather than the other way around.

That is where we stand as we move into 2023, a new monarchy has been crowned and enjoys its coronation march embracing supporters and onlookers totally unable to see that this emperor wears no clothes while an old one descends rapidly into disgrace, disorder and expensive irrelevance ahead of a King’s Coronation likely to yet again raise more disputes than heal.

And this is most accurately symbolized, of course, by Harry and Meghan, a mixed race, mixed class, fiendishly mixed UK and USA cocktail, truly a match made in Hell – or, more accurately, Hello magazine – which can only thrive inside this new monarchy of leftist virtue signallers and protectors from “harm” and “hate” but only die cruelly and viciously in the old monarchy of rule and divide.


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