IT TAKES a hypocrite of some magnitude to look in the shaving mirror every morning, as Labour deputy leader Tom Watson MP presumably does, and start the day with any kind of clear conscience.
Watson has destroyed reputations and families with his fantastical allegations of a paedophile network centred on Westminster. He blithely shrugs off the fact that despite throwing millions at investigating his own dirty little fantasies, Scotland Yard can’t find a shred of evidence.
Watson claims the shelter of the left, cossetted by a socialist supremacy, in a world where everyone else is at best wrong, at worst outright evil. It allows Watson and his ilk to rationalise the damage they cause to innocents because they see themselves – and only themselves – on the side of the angels, the ‘victims’.
That’s how he/they smile in the mirror of a morning and sleep at night – total self-delusion.
Watson is by no means the darkest and most dangerous of the left’s bog-eyed fanatics, despite what should have been a career-ending exposure last week.
This man, who considers himself the moral compass of British society, is bought and paid for by a former fascist thug and self-confessed sexual deviant.
Step forward Max Mosley, whose father Oswald would have been Adolf Hitler’s placeman running the UK with a swastika flying over Downing Street, had matters in the summer of 1940 turned out differently.
Mosley has gifted Watson a stunning amount, £540,000, nominally to ‘help run his office’ – what?! – but in reality to fight Mosley’s battles for him. By any rational judgment, Mosley owns the Labour no.2 and Shadow Minister for Media, Culture and Sport.
The irony of that is almost as staggering as Tom Watson’s “what’s the problem?” response to it.
Since he was outed as a keen participant in sado-masochistic orgies, Mosley has had it in for the media, specifically newspapers. He set up and funds the Government-approved press regulator, Impress.
Not surprisingly, no newspaper worth its salt will subscribe to it.
If Watson using his money to indulge his own ideological kinks is a by-product of owning one of the most powerful men in British politics, Mosley clearly thinks it’s a price worth paying.
Still, it does not surprise me that Watson is rebuffing strident calls from within his own Labour Party to return Mosley’s half-million quid, if only because it’s probably gone; spent.
And if Watson can lay his hands on such a substantial amount of cash, the police need to have a nosey.
(And let us hope the police are poring intently over the transcript of Mosley’s libel trial where he vehemently denied the existence of a violent, racist political tract that he authored, and which has now resurfaced. That’s usually called perjury).
Fingers crossed that mad Max’s next all-in orgy is big on iron bars, confined spaces and tattooed convicts, and rather light on busty birds in stockings and high heels, brandishing whips.
As for Watson – someone please explain the twisted logic here. He despises, from whatever soul he proclaims, anything marginally to the political right of his sainted self.
He campaigns, with mouth-frothing fervour, against sexual deviants.
Yet he defends a self-confessed fascist, racist pervert?
Sorry, but this one’s beyond even my comprehension.
WE NEED to get on and deliver Brexit pronto, as a national imperative. The 48% of depressed Remain voters need our help and they need it fast.
The sooner we can reclaim our billions of wasted money a year, they sooner we can offer the snowflakes the help they clearly need, both psychological and medicinal.
(I was going to write that they need a good slap and an order to get a grip, but these are fragile souls who don’t know any better. Kid gloves are called for).
Frantically, desperately they keep howling, louder and louder: “But no one knew that voting Leave meant, like, reeeally Leave! We were lied to! Aaaggggh! We want another vote!”
Well petals, yes we were lied to – by your heroes Cameron, Blair, and their Project Fear. The world didn’t end. Financial institutions didn’t collapse. Our economy is doing just fine – and imagine how it will thrive once the deal is done? Happy days!
We knew it meant leaving the single market and customs union. Crystal clear.
So no, war hasn’t broken out – but it might, on our streets, if you petulant, hysterical morons manage to sabotage democracy. Now go lie down somewhere quiet and dark until this is all over.
Or move to Belgium or France because that’s okay, too. There are some lovely tents just outside Calais.
Be sure to take your big coat ... missing you already.
SO, WHOSE word do we take?
That of a great Olympian, a Tour de France winner and all around top bloke, Sir Bradley Wiggins, or a bunch of nondescript, jobsworth MPs who accept as gospel anonymous ‘evidence’ from a disgruntled ex-employee.
The media doesn’t help matters, jumping all over the so-called findings of a Parliamentary Select Committee that said Wiggins and Team Sky “crossed an ethical line”.
Wiggins is having his reputation traduced, his life turned upside down, by 11 nobodies who are cowering behind the legal cloak of Parliamentary privilege to publicly hang, draw and quarter a bloke without any due process.
Where was the opportunity for Wiggins and Sky to question this snivelling tell-tale? Where’s the evidence? What part of this disgraceful public stoning is fair, trustworthy or even-handed? None that I can see.
And what is this imaginary ‘ethical line’? Because the situation is worsened by the idiot MPs adding, almost as a footnote, that actually Sir Brad and Sky did nothing wrong. It was within the rules. The bloke’s an asthmatic, he took a permitted medicine.
And yet in an effort to justify their public salaries and puff up their pitiful egos, they wilfully impugn the reputation of a sporting hero. Isn’t that just so ‘British’?
As with Chris Froome and last year’s hullabaloo, this wasn’t EPO doping or anabolic steroids, it was an asthma drug. I spent 20 years playing rugby with my Ventolin inhaler in the trainer’s pocket. At times I wouldn’t have finished a game without a few blasts.
Guess I’d better get my old trophies out of the garage and find the people to give them back to…
OH DEAR. I’m not sure whether the well-meaning souls in one of the district’s public-spirited voluntary groups are mischief-minded, or simply the most sweet, naive of souls.
Our towns, benighted by gangs of prowling criminals on the lookout for properties to plunder, vehicles to steal from or just steal, have never needed the community-minded presence of Neighbourhood Watch groups more .
The meritorious community campaigner Pat Crisp is a regular contributor to our letter pages and is the chairwoman of the collective of Neighbourhood Watch groups that beaver away around the district, eager to take in hand the problems rubbing our residents up the wrong way. Apparently Pat’s group, which is inviting new members and holding its AGM at Staincliffe Cricket Club later this month (more details next week) has been getting a grip on anti-social issues for 19 years.
But I can’t believe I haven’t noticed them before – the Neighbourhood Watch Association of North Kirklees, or NWANK as they term themselves. I’m going to be tossing and turning all night wondering how that got by me...