National decline

Could we get worse MPs and ministers than the ones we have already got?

We have people who have no concern for people. Is there intelligent they managed to disguise it very well.

It’s mainly immigrants bringing more intelligence into this country

I heard somebody say about the well-known fact that Jewish people are more intelligent on average than other people in Europe, well you see it’s the survival of the fittest. is persecution and the Holocaust have been such a good thing that really improved the intelligence of the Jews why don’t we kill 6 million British people in order to make the rest of us more intelligent?

Why stop there? Why not kill all of us and wait to see if the intelligence of British people living in other parts or the world will become higher as a consequence

Survival of the fittest does not have that kind of meaning. If you have a very gradual process and does not include murder or in a case of trying to improve your crops it does not involve killing lots of wheat and barley in order to make the next generation better quality

If you kill as much wheat and barley as possible then you won’t have any crops next year or the one after unless you can buy some going to be better than the ones you just destroyed. Natural selection happens naturally and absolutely not by planned killing.

If you killed all the horses that were alive now you would not have better horses born by a miracle.

In my opinion most of the people in Europe and particularly in the United Kingdom are more stupid than their grandparents.

It’s called national decline


I have studied  and I’ve got my last degree

I have studied and I’ve got my last degree
My heart has learned its lessons one by one.
I’m a graduate of the grief academy

I didn’t know how painful it would be
When the man you love is here and then is gone
I’ve been studied and I got the third degree

The tears I wept could wash out the Dead Sea
Remove the salt and scour the shore till done
I’m a graduate of the grief academy

I know now I must die,we cannot flee
We turn to dust and that is not much fun
I have studied and I’ve got my last degree

Ii is not News, not for the BBC.
Unless you’re Stephen Hawkings, that great man
We’re graduates of the grief academy

We can’t control life with a self made plan
God is gone though prayer might well begin
I have suffered till I got a new degree
I’m a graduate of the grief academy

Better writing

You don’t have to do it dawn till dusk
Creative work — while not being on a par with, say, mining — can be a hard slog from morning to night. Many of those I spoke to write in short bursts. “It’s like Ribena — it’s always better when it’s stronger and less diluted,” said the novelist and memoirist Elizabeth Day, who works two hours in a sitting. Similarly, the poet Wendy Cope told me that she does two or three sessions of 40 minutes each; that’s as much as she can write in a day.

Hilary Mantel Stared Down Her Past, and the World’s, With Steely Resolve – The New York Times


unafraid of stating her sometimes fierce views. Her story collection “The Assassination of Margaret Thatcher” — its title story was the result of a painkiller-induced fantasy Mantel once had in the hospital — caused a literary maelstrom. Lord Tebbit, a former cabinet minister, called it “a sick book from a sick mind”; there were calls for a police investigation. (For her part, Mantel said she was “bemused” at the suggestion that “the police should interest themselves in the case of a fictional assassination of a person who was already dead.”)

Deeply intellectual in her thinking, Mantel was also candid about her personal struggles — with poverty, with early professional setbacks, with how people perceived her, with endometriosis and chronic, debilitating pain — and rigorous in her self-appraisal..


No sound, no touch, no smell, no sight, no seeing.

In fields of lushest buttercups we ‘d lie
We’d watch the clouds as gently they blew by.
Love was born we thought would never die.
But you are gone, and so I sadly sigh

That love itself remains without your form
Yet tears of loss enfold me like a storm.
I knew you’d never hurt or do me harm.
I felt your smile’s embrace, so wide, so warm.

How is the world,now emptied of your being?
No sound, no touch, no smell, no sight, no seeing.
How is the world when you have gone ahead
Yet I must linger in this empty bed?

Yet those who’ved loved are grateful for that gift
Our sorrow is that life itself’s too swift