Ed Lines – February 7, 2020

Ed Lines – February 7, 2020

IN THE end there was no whooping and hollering from the Lockies, no flags flying, banners waving, no taunts of “looooosers!” at any downcast folk who happened to be out and about at 11pm on January 31st, 2020.

(I doubt that the feeblest of our quivering bottom-lipped Remainers were frequenting pubs flying Union flags. They were probably huddled beneath their duvets – a nice French word, duvet – anticipating power blackouts, a stock market crash and perhaps Boris-sympathising Chinese folk poised on their doorsteps, waiting to sneeze Coronavirus germs on them).

I trust – most sincerely – that Saturday February 1st dawned as bright and cheery for them as the rest of us, and that they manage to raise a smile eventually.

I’d driven through Morley on Friday night and briefly considered dropping into the Big Brexit Bash being staged at the rugby club, but thought no, I’d get back home to wife and daughter. 

Big Ben sadly didn’t bong – one last ‘win’ for the Westminster Remainiacs – but as clocks ticked past the Leaving hour, we raised a glass to toast democracy. 

Our tipple of choice was prosecco, because when push comes to shove I’m a tight Yorkshire-man and that Moët et Chandon could one day save an endangered anniversary or birthday. 

Mrs L was a Remain voter back in the distant, divisive days of 2016, but had become increasingly disappointed with the blatant thwarting of Brexit until she was finally ‘turned’ by the treachery of the establishment. I suspect a great many folk were.

Her industry had been one of those forecast to be massively hit by a Brexit vote, thanks to Project Fear. She’s the UK and Europe sales and marketing director for an overseas hotel group and the economic dread was very real in June 2016.

Forty-four months on, it may well be that she’s just brilliant at her job (and she is), but the economic doom-mongering notwithstanding, she’s blown her multi-million pound targets out of the water. Crisis, what crisis?

(I was briefly tempted to draw parallels with Nelson at Trafalgar or the sinking of the Bismarck, but enough already with all the jingoistic triumphalism).

People speak worthily about a national ‘healing’ and ‘coming together’ now that Brexit is over, but that rather suggests we’re an even bigger bunch of wimps than even social media suggests.

That’s not to say social media is wrong by the way, far from it. Because while most balanced people will crack on, working and saving for their Spanish,  French or Canary Island holidays, buying their BMWs or Renaults (other global brands are available), eating at Italian restaurants and focussing on the things that really matter in life, plenty will not.

I suspect the worst of the anarchist Snowflakes will have already decided on their next ultra-liberal cause célèbre. Ditch their EU flags and Leave-hating banners? Not a chance, they’ll be in storage but close at hand for next time. 

They’ll already be busy daubing posters dedicated to Saint Greta of Thunberg, firing out their daily doses of Twitter-hate at any/everyone with a dissenting view, while possibly demanding that every child be registered gender neutral on its birth certificate.

But for now and by way of farewell, I think I’ll afford myself  one gently hummed chorus of Rule Britannia … oh go on, followed up by a  rendition of Land of Hope and Glory – rounded off with a rousing Jerusalem! But not in front of anyone with a weak disposition, obviously.

(What I wouldn’t give to be  at  Last Night of the Proms. I wonder if they’ll give us an impromptu chorus of “You can shove your EU flags right up your ***!” Probably not. I’ll stop now. Sorry).

I’M standing shoulder to shoulder with R Trace over the horrible online trolls who were offended by her exposed flesh in the House of Commons this week. 

How very dare they? “Banged over a wheelie bin?” I mean, she’d probably slip and break her ankle if she tried that (Ms Brabin actually has a broken ankle – Editor). 

You tell ‘em Tracy – and if you’re ever minded to flash your threepenny bits at the Speaker, or better still bare your backside at his predecessor, that poison dwarf Bercow, then not just I but entire swathes of the enlightened brotherhood will back you right to the hilt. Go, girl!

NO OFFENCE Boris, but don’t be too much like that orange-faced idiot Trump when it comes to kneejerk ‘solutions’ – because cancelling automatic releases for terrorists after serving 50% of their sentence, is not a solution.

It might keep some murderous maniacs off the streets a while longer, which is a sticking plaster of sorts and no bad thing. But you’ll need a bit more than a Band Aid when these brainwashed killers do get out.

So what to do – throw away the key? Bring back the rope? Best pretend I never said either of those, because put to a ‘People’s Vote’ they’d probably be neck and neck, if you’ll pardon the pun. 

But the tragic fact is that they’d be the only solutions guaranteed success. Everything else is left mightily to chance.

I’d suggest Boris and his Home Secretary Priti Patel talk not to under-pressure prison governors, with their calm reassurances that they’re “on top of things”, or liberal ‘rehabilitators’ always happy to cash-in on endless government funds (like the project where Usman Khan killed two of his new-found mentors in November).

Instead talk to frontline warders, probation officers and even ex-prisoners to hear where the real problems are.

Rehabilitation – inside a prison system with a 70,000 ‘capacity’, but 90,000 inmates? Where wings are segregated and often effectively self-governing? I’d like to hear some of those success stories.

I’ve heard about rehabilitation in people like Maajid Nawaz, imprisoned as a member of the radical Hizb ut-Tahrir, but who ‘saw the light’ and has made a prosperous career out of his government-funded Quilliam anti-extremism group and the media.

But opportunist knife terrorists like Sudesh Amman don’t have Maajid’s smarts. They are marginalised young men of low intelligence or hugely impressionable – as anyone brain-washed into the jihadi death-cult must be, by definition.

Targeting radical home-grown preachers might be a start (if we had the will) but the Suddesh Ammans of this world, like Dewsbury’s teen jihadis Hassan Munshi and Talha Asmal – who blew himself up in northern Iraq – find ideological hatred on the internet, not alongside their dad at peaceful Friday prayers. 

What else can we do? Well, having armed undercover offices follow unreconstructed fanatics like Amman and pumping him full of bullets might be a deterrent for a few waverers, but they’re probably not the problem anyway.

As long as the violently extreme global ideology endures, so will the problem, no matter how much stern determination Prime Ministers affect. 

In the meantime, every wet-eared Liberty spokesperson who wants to fight for these terrorists’ freedoms, should be made to take one home and give them room and board...

IF YOU feel a bit of the Agatha Christie coming on, go on the t’interweb and try to find rational, science-based arguments that fairly examine different aspects to the climate issue.

Good luck. I say ‘issue’ but it’s now a de facto religion, one where anyone with a dissenting view, however expert, isn’t just ignored but demonised as an evil tool of the globalist, industrial establishment. 

I’m making no case either way, but this manic silencing of reasoned debate – and the herd’s willingness to submit to it – is more worrying to me than temperatures that have been far warmer in the planet’s past. 

That probably makes me a vile apocalypse denier. Hey ho.

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