Friday, 22 April 2011

What is wrong with this picture? A road trip part 2.

We were leaving 48 hours behind schedule. The MOT had taken a week to get through, hence the CBA. This is the penultimate year of the old girl’s existence. Any expense other than the MOT test itself next year and the pirate scrappy that set fire to the M1 will get a new vehicle to conflagrate and further his obvious mission to bugger up UKplc.

So we had 48 hours knocked off the visit. There could be no extension since school started immediately on our scheduled return. So 22:00 hrs blast out of London, 48 hours later blast out of Kilmarnock, 22:00 hrs approx.. That gave us 40 hours quality visiting time after 8 hrs motoring.

Aside No 2. Familes in UKplc as a rule, in the aggregate, tend not to like each other. Now this may seem like a crude over simplification, however if one witnesses recently arrived families in UKplc, Barnet is a great place to watch Iranians, Chinese, Greeks, Turks etc., you can see that the cool chill of UKplc over familial relations has not yet descended. Give them a couple of generations of degeneration and they will be just like the rest of us. Collateral damage. Why?

To answer that conundrum one must simply consider the fact that UKplc is a godless, heathen dump given over to Mammon and criminality at its core. Before getting too offended at that suggestion I would ask you to examine the Bulger case, a brief synopsis of which graced the GGT last evening. Ask yourself this. Would empty creatures like these exist in a society with a healthy philosophy of money and wealth?

So fully stuffed with fried chicken, purchased earlier in the evening at Barnet KFC a not insignificant fact as we will see later, I threaded my way through Tott & Whet to PB T. There to brim the tank so that an accurate measure of just what kind of mileage the machine returned on a break for the border.

Then on into the night. I had fully expected some sort of snarl up somewhere in the journey. Though the idea of travelling through the night is to minimise wastage of precious life minutes in traffic jams the contingency still existed. What did occur was simple bemusement and to my eye confirmation of a sinister, subtle agenda to get us used to pass laws.

Well it wouldn’t be me if I didn’t come to that conclusion, would it?

Throughout my non stop progress to the first pit stop near J38/M6 I encountered two features which, during my solitary cruising everyone else was sparko and La Gaga remixed by The Petshop Boys had helped the miles whizz past, gave me much to muse on.

At semi regular intervals before and after the closure of the M1 at J19 the whole of the motorway traffic would be funnelled into one lane by carefully arranged sets of amber flashing lights atop cones. First one way, then the next. Outside lane, inside lane. And no person to be seen doing much of anything. Also prevalent in the lower M6 and M1 were signs stating that it was “lights out” from midnight until 5am everyday. So the ghosts of expensively procured and installed lighting stands zipped past and reached like ranks of lank extinguished spectres across the carriageways.

It all struck me as a continuing programme to condition UKplc population to a permanent travel staccatto of, as yet unmanned, check points. No matter where one goes in UKplc, for the past 15 years at least, the making of a journey by any mode is subject to punctuation by stoppage. For the only way that all the investment in surveillance and management in UKplc actually works is when the nation is subject to extreme travel restrictions a la WW11.

That got me to pondering a little journey I’d made very recently past Litvenenko’s old gaff. No one wants to live nearby. Not surprising. Who wants to get toxified? Everyone is scared of the Polonium Pill Pharmacy. Do you remember the travel restrictions? Do you remember the scare about “liquids”? Well here’s a little thought for you to conjure with. What if someone was really shitting themselves that there was a liquid bomb coming into/transitting London. A device that could have taken out a city block, though only the size of a suitcase.

No, not a dial up nuke. You don’t dial up a nuke. They are ceremonial weapons, religious instruments and too variable. As I said a while ago, when the smart lads first set off their big sticks they got more bang for their buck than the maths suggested. Way more!! The local celestial mechanics vary the yield. So you got to choose your target AND the planetary alignments if you want to set off a particular scale of kabblangg!!

Aside No3 . There is a big shock coming for those who think that Tarot, Alchemy, Astrology and Necromancy are all bollox.

No; if you want to discretely take out a city block with a guaranteed kabooomm you would use a liquid device based on ballotechnics I reckon. I’ve mentioned them before. Examples, well again I’ve got my favourites. Bali is a prime candidate and judging by the shear forces exerted to the building, OKC. Though if you’ve read my stufff on WTC then that is not on the list, that was high ceremony and got its own very special nuke. SPOOKED is on that trail.

Now if you stick that thought in your pipe and smoke it suddenly all the Keystone coppery and down right fuckwittery surrounding a Russian Mafia Jew’s bitchboy in a London sushi bar makes sense.

I’ve only got to M1/J19, so imagine what other bollox I got to muse on, on just the journey up there. Loneliness and the long distance driver. A febrile imagination and a full tank of gas. Oh and caffiene.