DID you buy a bunch of lilies and go on a day rover to London so that you could pay homage to the Westminster victims? Light a candle maybe?
If you’re into social media, did you paste a Union Jack filter over your profile picture, perhaps post a Winston Churchill quote to the effect that you too will fight them on the beaches?
Did you, in short, make a complete berk of yourself last week?
I physically cringed, despaired almost, last Thursday night when the usually admirable BBC political guru Andrew Neil, went off on a maniacal rant .. ‘London has seen off the Luftwaffe, and we’ll see off you too, Johnny Jihadi!’ or BS to that effect.
Not your finest moment, old boy.
Mind you, Andrew Neil was fully in tune with the gaping tourists, the weeping flower-layers, the hysterical British national press. They were all wetting themselves with righteous angst.
All because a deranged nutter, Khalid Masood, went rangoon on the doorstep of Parliament.
I refused to join the jingoistic clamour last week for several reasons, the first being that this was as far from being London’s 9/11, or even a repeat of our own horrific 7/7, as you can get.
A Glasgow binman killed more people in 2014 when he blacked out at the wheel of his lorry. It’s a good job Harry Clarke wasn’t called Patel otherwise wee Nicola Krankie might not have emerged from her bunker yet.
But the scale of what was still a terrible criminal act apart, using a car and a knife as random weapons hardly indicated an Isis attack.
If it wasn’t for where it happened, on the doorstep of Parliament, it could have been just another failing of our mental health services.
Indeed and as we soon discovered – too late for everyone who’d already panicked and painted him as the second coming of Osama bin Laden – Masood was as much a troubled man as he was a fanatical Muslim.
Neither could I help notice there were no reports of screaming ‘Allahu Akbars’ as he literally lost control of his pathetic life. It’s usually a clue.
No Isis flags, videos or paraphernalia although you can bet your bottom dollar the police scraped the bottom of the barrel of his life looking for something, anything, to pigeon-hole him into a fanatical jihadist corner. So far however, nothing. Oops.
I wonder how many national newspaper editors, how many BBC producers and people like Andrew Neil, wish they could have their front pages and their on-camera breast-beating back?
All other things considered, how on earth are they going to ramp up the hype to even greater levels of hysteria when those returning jihadis from the vanquished Isis forces in Iraq and Syria finally do unleash hell?
Because they will.
Make sure you’ve saved some flowers and tears for when they’re really needed, folks.
I ALWAYS liked those Charles Bronson Death Wish films, where the rugged old loner plays a lethal vigilante. In the same vein, Clint Eastwood was terrific in Gran Torino. I even have an outline of a script for my own modern version … one of these days.
I’m surprised we don’t see more vigilantism, especially as the police are generally worse than useless and the CPS excels mostly in going after soft targets.
If it was feasible through some online forum (and it may well be!) to get a gun for hire, I think I’d get plenty of financial support for renting one and sending him the address of Phil Shiner (pictured), the discredited lawyer who made a mint pursuing false lawsuits against innocent British troops. Having been struck off and now facing a criminal investigation, Shiner has sold his house at a knock-down price to his daughters and declared himself bankrupt in order to avoid paying the huge legal fees he incurred.
As Sgt Alexander Blackman awaits his long overdue homecoming, my only regret is that he won’t be passing Shiner going the other way. I can’t wish enough evils on the vile creature.
I IMAGINE that arch-opportunist, Baroness Sayeeda Hussein-Warsi-Azam of Dewsbury, was stomping her dainty little feet in glee in the aftermath of Khalid Masood’s attack.
Not celebrating the horrific act I hasten to add. Not at all. But talk about fortuitous timing for peddling her new book telling the world how it’s got Muslims so badly wrong. That woman could fall into a sewer and come out clutching banknotes.
On top of the £350 a day we have paid Warsi for sitting and writing her book in her House of Lords office, this publicity is guaranteed to sell books by the barrowload.
Warsi must have been jumping up and down in delight for quite some time however, because she didn’t even have time to do her eyebrows before trotting off to do The Andrew Marr Show.
Seriously, she looked like Groucho Marx’s mum.
And what about that bouffant hairdo Sayeeda?
Back when she was David Cameron’s pet Muslim, being wheeled out regularly for Question Time, I actually got phone calls asking about which hairstyle looked most slimming. I kid you not.
Her Sunday morning ‘do’ reminded me of the time I went to the Advanced Hair Studio and came out looking like a Grenadier Guard. I kid you not there, either.
I know what you’re thinking – this is a very serious subject, Lockwood, and you’re getting all lookist and sexist which is quite demeaning.
I get that – but we are talking about Warsi, who’s got a better eye for an opening than Leeds Utd striker Allan ‘Sniffer’ Clarke ever had.
She’s not to be taken seriously folks, so why should I play her game? The woman went on national tv and tried to peddle the line that “Khalid Masood was a violent Christian for a lot longer than he was a violent Muslim”.
Seriously? Ergo, he could lash out in a pub as a Christian, but it took converting to Islam to move him onto the next level, of driving a 4x4 at 76mph into crowds of innocent tourists and stabbing a police officer to death?
That’s some justification for your religion of peace.
And no hole’s ever deep enough to stop the intellectually flaccid Warsi from keeping digging: “There are people around the world who are evangelical Christians and commit violent acts, and extremist Hindus, even extremist Buddhists who commit violent acts...”
I don’t know about you lot, but I can’t cross the road these days for dodging a bald bloke in flowing orange robes trying to mow me down while chanting “ohhmmmm” and throwing rose petals out of the car window.
For crying out loud.
Still, Warsi climbed on the bike that Michael Howard and David Cameron gave her, and for all her hypocrisy and opportunism, she’s turned it into a Rolls Royce.
That’s all you need these days kids – a broad Yorkshire accent, and knowing how to balance the burkha with a titillating cheeky wink.
But Warsi remains more dangerous than helpful, if only because the London intelligentsia still imagines she speaks with any Muslim authority whatsoever.
She speaks and acts only for Sayeeda. Always has.