metough Looking at Richard Harrington MP’s career history – commercial acumen coupled with some very worthy philanthropic causes – you could be excused for quite liking the cut of his gib. But yet again, the promise has not been turned into behaviour. And so Deputy Underling reception typist Harrington is emerging as something of a Hampton, if you’ll pardon the cockney rhyme. Cheated 1950s WASPI women face decision time as never before.


The campaign to get State Pension Age ‘reform’ women (WASPIs) their rightful, promised pensions has been asked, over the years, to deal with a sticky selection of misogyny carefully scraped off the bottom of the Westminster barrel by first David Cameron and now Theresa May. Just when they thought things couldn’t get any more sociopathic than Iain Duncan-Smith, along came Stephen Crabb to add the sensitivity of a flying brick to IDS’s natural seal-clubbing instincts. The hasty Coronation of Theresa May moved WASPI claims outside the Cabinet – where taxidermist’s victim Damian Green is now Secretary of State – and down towards Richard Harrington.

Harrington has chosen to apply the darker principles of his metier – property development – to that of dealing with the shameful situation in which innocent traditional housewife Mums now find themselves….thanks to the pointless austerity of Showboater Little Osborne.

This is Richard’s position on government (small g) culpability in the matter:

harringcunt151116

Or in other words, f**k you.

Of a morning, you can often see Theresa Shoebucket outside 10 Downing Street – headscarf in position and fag in mouth – attacking the steps with a stiff brush and lots of vigour what does her proud, Gawd bless ‘er. Not like the dragged up filth next door cor blimey, them ‘ammonds, I could tell yer a fing or seven an’ no mistake.

But as Mother Theresa has uttered several profoundly lachrymose and superficially convincing words on the doorstep, it’s hard to tell exactly which of the wise pearls Undermanager Harrington was referencing. So I’m very grateful to the many voices in WASPI for jogging my memory re this one; she said:

maystepshit

Well yes, quite. “Where there was division, let there be…” etc etc. 1979: who was it who said that? What was her name? Rooftyler, that was it – Madge Rooftyler. And then there was that “things can only get better” bloke. Phoney Blur. Waving on the steps. Always on the steps. Always out of step. Collective noun: The Stepfords.


Around the globe, a backlash is taking place. Its ferocity, I admit, scares me – because one never knows where it might lead. But to ignore it is merely to turn its newly liberated enthusiasm into violence.

It is a backlash against superior élites of the Left, and barrow-boys on the Right. It is a backlash against controlling liberal Utopianism, and corporate fascist Dystopia. It is a rejection of lies promoted by both Left and Right….bare-faced lies emitted by multifaceted faces in a futile attempt to hold back the dispossessed, and hold on to their own thoroughly unearned privilege.

There is no place in this process for a stickleback like Richard Harrington. He may raise his hackles, vow to stand firm, and draw lines in the sand: but he is just another fish, swimming in the waters of a foetid pond pond bequeathed to him….a pond he does not even begin to understand. He has no arms to draw a line, no legs to make a stand. He is a booby. He is a paper stickleback. Above all, he is just another bubble dweller.

This is why: for all his commercial experience, he has been cushioned by his genes. Born into a prosperous Leeds family, he went to the city’s élite grammar school, and thence to Keble College Oxford, where he studied Jurisprudence. He used Uni “chums” to set up property development and timeshare operations. He then sold out to American globalist business.

He is to the ordinary, traditional, struggling family matriarch what Bill Clinton is to sexual abstinence.


All the various factions in WASPI should now focus on one thing….the same thing I’ve been hammering on about now for nearly a year. That One Thing is the escape from an image of worthy gentility in the eyes of the media and their power-corrupted legislator siblings.

Forget the dilution of objectives. Forget the ideal of civilised negotiation. You are dealing with Ostrogoths. Join together and present this as a Civil Rights issue – alongside those of NHS professionals, the disabled, Legal Aid and all the other building bricks of a civilised society being demolished by neocon vandals.

And – harsh as this may seem – forget the idea of any substantive help from all but a very few powerless Labour politicians who have remained untainted by Bubble Life. Accept that fellow citizens of decent disposition are the only ones who will help you, and the media will only join your team when the plea for justice has become a bandwagon.


Earlier at The Slog: May is not a man, & she doesn’t have a Brexit plan