Tuesday, November 5, 2013

Governing Golgafrincham: the Slow Death of Great Britain.

Most of the customers in the Tavern are Anglophiles of one sort or another; one degree or another. The effects of the English are probably greater in world history than any other nation or people, although not all effects were good and useful.

Much was of course and mostly from the 'heyday'.

Your host, me, is an Englishman by birth and inclination although I do presently permit a claim by Australia. I am nonetheless, first and foremost a man, a child of God and a knackered old Knight, King and Keeper of the Grail and Taverner. I am pleased with my fortune of having been born English, but even I recognise that all is not well, and the 'Old Dart' is as knackered as I am.

Not a Happy Chappie.

It is not as though the English sprang from the soil ready perfected like me. We evolved as a 'people' from the repeated invasion and butchery of and by many other sorts, mostly jealous of the 'Green and Pleasant Land' our ancestors occupied. So we are in fact a mongrel people with so many blood-types coursing through our veins that many people throughout the world and time could claim to be English too.

But even with infusions of fresh blood a body gets old and dies.

The United Kingdom is dying, I am sad to say.

And we had Stefan Molyneux  in today to spell it out for us.

Stefan is an Anglo, being Canadian. Canada is one of the offspring of England and I suspect he has more than a touch of one or two of our past invaders about him.

He has that presence of mind and integrity that gathers the facts and presents them, unvarnished, un-truncated so that we can make our own minds up.

He paints a picture of Golgafrincham as it would have been had it not built the 'B' Ark and all the useless buggers had stayed.

A bit of history:

 Golgafrincham , as described in the Hitch-Hikers guide to the Galaxy,  is a red semi-desert planet that is home of the Great Circling Poets of Arium and a species of particularly inspiring lichen. Its people decided it was time to rid themselves of an entire useless third of their population, and so the descendants of the Circling Poets concocted a story that their planet would shortly be destroyed in a great catastrophe. (It was apparently under threat from a "mutant star goat").

Modern Britain, like most Anglo countries has the Greenies and Global Warming as their destructive threat, although Greenpeace has yet to announce their Ark plans. Gaia is not the peaceful, fertile Goddess but a rather threatening Feminist beastie.
The useless third of the population (consisting of hairdressers, tired TV producers, insurance salesmen, personnel officers, security guards, management consultants, telephone sanitisers and the like) were packed into the B-Ark, one of three purported giant Ark spaceships, and told that everyone else would follow shortly in the other two. The other two thirds of the population, of course, did not follow and "led full, rich and happy lives until they were all suddenly wiped out by a virulent disease contracted from a dirty telephone".

The Captain of B-Ark.
Barking Mad.

It is not so much insurance salesmen and telephone sanitisers in Great Britain today, but a vast army of almost dead people in Government non-jobs. And in Government.

We, the People, threw off Kings and Warlords long ago. We virtually created democracy (despite the early prototype in ancient Greece). 

We devised, demanded, fought for and won FREEDOM.

We replaced the Kings with 'Commoners'.  These greedy, stupid, lazy, liars from our own 'lower orders' now Rule. The Telephone Sanitisers have their own Minister of the Crown. The Government have the TV producers in their pockets in the BBC.
The B-Ark was programmed to crash-land on a suitably remote planet on one of the outer spiral arms of the galaxy, which happened to be Earth, and the Golgafrinchian rejects gradually mingled with and usurped the native cavemen, becoming the ancestors of humanity and thereby altering and distorting the course of the great experiment to find the question for the Answer to Life, the Universe, and Everything.

Or so Ford Prefect presumed. A lot of them didn't make it through the winter three years prior to Arthur Dent's reunion with Ford Prefect, and the few who remained in the spring said they needed a holiday and set out on a raft. History says they must have survived.
But we have now embraced the ideal of  
rather than Freedom. 
And it ain't free, of course.

We hear a great deal about America's doleful economy and political  bastardry, but the noise from there tends to drown out news and information about the smaller economy and politics of what used to be Great Britain. Not that many folk take the time to listen. It takes effort to gather the pieces and paint a picture.

So Stefan does the job for us.

My advice is to sit back and educate yourselves. Have a drink or three. Free.

On the House.

The Fall of the United Kingdom

Look. Life will go on.

History is a 'long game'. Nations rise and fall. We see it in our history books.

But right now we are living through one of the greatest falls of all time.

Do not let it go un-noticed.

Bye the way, if you think that there is an obvious culprit in all of that mess and in need of  some 'correction', remember that today is November the 5th.

Guy Fawkes Day.


Pax Dei.


  1. I am nonetheless, first and foremost a man, a child of God and a knackered old Knight, King and Keeper of the Grail and Taverner.

    Plus a cyclist. :)

    1. There are some things that are so personal that a chap keeps them to hisself.


Ne meias in stragulo aut pueros circummittam.

Our Bouncer is a gentleman of muscle and guile. His patience has limits. He will check you at the door.

The Tavern gets rowdy visitors from time to time. Some are brain dead and some soul dead. They attack customers and the bar staff and piss on the carpets. Those people will not be allowed in anymore. So... Be Nice..