Thursday, 21 April 2011

What is wrong with this picture? A road trip part 1.

I’ve been away for a short trip and since I’ve come back I’ve been letting my reference frames tend to my natural perspective. Infinitely large and infinitely small.

What did that? The driving? Who knows. Let’s start at the beginning.

The jallopy was parked for it’s “final” MOT. It now costs a multiple of the wheels’ worth to MOT, road tax and physically park the fekker up in this part of pirate zentral. Couple this with the price of, sorry tax on, petrol heading towards 5 quid a gallon, combined with other frustrations I’ll relate later, and the beast is heading for that overly combustable, pirate M1 scrappy. Which is a pity since just as the automobile was turned into a durable and reliable means of personal transport, they, I’ll brook no argument about that, there is definitely a they, decided to remove it from our means.

Since this little tirade is mainly going to be about sunny Scotland a little background will be in order.

As a school boy I used to be wakened every morning, esp. in winter, by my neighbour trying to get his car started in his front drive. I would listen to the pathetic, just off the assembly line, assembly of rusty parts trying to fire up. He’d turn and turn the starter until finally it fired into life, although as often as not the battery would get flat first, then wheeze off down the road,usually to die and restart the whole performance. A collection of sub specced, down to a price, cheap and nasty parts moving in close approximation, usually intermittently. As I lay there I mused that cars, especially Hillman Imps, were a piece of crap and not worth the candle. Now this is important because even at that very young age I realised that I did not want to possess anything made by human hand. I wanted to…well the words were not invented then and still remain elusive. But whatever it was it didn’t come out of some slave runner’s shitty factory.

So when I found out in the 1980s that the US lads who knew about how to make 100% reliable proximity fuses for AAA got the lads out east, who built and let off the fifth A-bomb, interested in building wheels properly in the 50s around Tokyo and Osaka I was thankful and more than glad to finally become the owner of a pit down which you threw money in the late 90s. Bearing in mind the Yen crisis of the early/mid 90s when the Zaibatsu geezers finally started getting the big spreadsheet together and stopped over engineering things, I have been the happy owner of carefully chosen Mr Nissan’s, Mr Honda’s and Mr Mitsubishi’s running gear. Never a failure to get from A to B. Never.

That’s what I want from factories. I want the SOB to do what it says on the box. All marketing, and I mean that most sincerely folks, is there to hide the fact that shit is getting peddled. Which explains why the fools, at the polls here soon, in UKplc will be getting marched into labour camps marketed as revenge, pronto. Boy did they pick a pig in a poke last May. Muppets.

This monotonous barph will unfortunately be full of asides.

Aside No 1. Nothing, absolutley nothing that is peddled from UKplc is fit for purpose. Why is that? All residents of UKplc who have at least one functioning brain cell should surely be asking “Why did I hand over so much money for nothing?” Why does every Windows based PC behave like my old neighbour’s car? Why does everything I do get spied on?

Well one reason is that UKplc has been in a war economy for 100 years. The Milspec accountants, spies, propagandists and social engineers have not been stood down.

So now you know my attitude to stuff, whether it be cars, PCs, iCheeses, dildos and orgasmatrons or financial products. They are all shit and a waste of money. The UKplc consumer society is a war society. 1984 started in 1899. The only thing that separates us from NK is that UKplc is a base of operations for the religioKriminalrats 24/7 party time. Temporarily. That last word should strike the fear of God into you.

Since I came back I’ve idley trundled through my favourite sites and this caught my eye at SPOOKED’s shop. MiB do not realise that when the conditions are judged just so, TPTB will hand them over. It is part of the ceremony. Even Cressida Dick, the CP graduate, cannot escape since she is by her own actions and volition knee deep in the ceremony. Another one that I liked was this at GV’s shop.

That is a beauty and encapsulates everything that the so called equal opportunities and diversity con has to offer the rest of humanity from what ever angle you look at it. TPTB have simply Alinskyised the process that we naturally have no argument with. There is no argument against equality. Except when it is used as a vehicle to recruit more pirates onto the pirate poop deck and ward room for sweet meets and fortified wine. Equality means destruction of the pirate ship and the elimination of all pirates. As I said a while back, to paraphrase one of my mate Tim the tube driver’s favourite INCOMING!!!!!!!isms.

“Equality is not finding yourself bent over a lime filled pit whilst an off colour, transgendered, mute quadraplegic in a wheelchair gets his/her/its guide dog for the deaf to lead pill you. Equality is not inflicting death equally amongst the people of the world through fully diversity compliant death squads and fully quota’d killer lawyers. We don’t want equal opportuntiy fascists, compliant Commie bitchboys and de-glass ceilinged boybitches wandering round organising the iGREEN Einsatzgruppen und SonderKommando. We don’t want a full smorgasbord CIA, NKVD, CFR or OGPU. What we want is for the whole lot of you workshy foundation filth to fuck off and kill yourselves in as fully a diversity compliant way as you want. Knock yourselves out.. Without getting the rest of us involved. What ever your very important mission on this world is we do not want a part of it. Stick it up your arses side ways.”

You can tell I did some driving and cogitating recently.

407 miles door to door the AA routefinder site said. Simples. M1, M6, M74,A71. Travel time approx 7 hours. Well of course your’s truly had a slight variation in mind. Potters Bar Tescos to fill with fuel, never, never hit a UKplc motorway without a full tank of gas, then out through the M10, M1,M6,M74,A71. Sweet. I’d leave around 10pm and drive through the night. ETA 06:00 hours. One pit stop roughly halfway to fill the car with fuel and have a leak. Marvelous. Ominous, though unknown at the time.

Before I belted myself into something I had never ever wanted. Never desired. As I placed the last of our luggage in the boot, the dark night air was filled, stilled I remembered one of the three things I’d promised myself I’d do before I die.

Follow the sakura north, by foot where possible.

One day.