bobby47

Hello John, I've just read your thread relating to this topic and I note your initial concern that my comments 'may' have been in someway xenophobic. Please don't think Im attacking you John because I ain't. Not at all,,but your initial thought that I 'may be xenophobic' because of what and how I'd presented a view is at the heart of all that's become wrong within our society. It's no wonder I can't get a Councillor to take a leap of faith and comment upon this issue because of your honestly and widely held 'first thought' that concluded that in some way I may be a bigot or xenophobic because of a piece of writing. And it's not just you John. You are a part of a huge influential way of thinking that excludes any thoughts or open questions that relate to this social issue. Im not for one moment attacking you. I respect you, admire you and I enjoy reading you but you should have no doubts about me and what i think and I refuse to wriggle on a hook and defend my opinion. I see this vast movement of people from within the European Union as the biggest man made mistake since World War Two. I reject anything that demonises a vulnerable people like The Roma. That points an accusing finger at the Islamic people of our country and truly, I couldn't care less about someone's ethnicity. It's of no concern to me. Truly, I couldn't care a jot. However, I do care about the impact this vast movement of people has had upon my Country. The European Union is essentially made up of two groups, the 'haves' and the 'have nots'. We in the West are the 'haves' and those in the East are the 'have nots'. We in the West don't want what the 'have nots' have got whilst the 'have nots' in the East want what we have and I don't blame them. If I were in their shoes I'd be doing the exact same thing. The problem for my part is a simple and straightforward economic issue. The giving and the taking is a dysfunctional arrangement and its simply economic madness. I want my Country out of this badly flawed social and economic man made disaster before all our nations hard fought for public services are lost to my grandchildren. If my view is truly and genuinely xenophobic, then so be it. It's a label Im going to have to carry with me. Oddly enough, I ain't even a UKIP supporter. I've voted Labour all my life and when they form another Labour Party and rid me of the madness that was New Labour and the lies built upon the Blair years, I'll vote Labour again. Whatsmore, I don't actually want to leave Europe. If there were proper caps upon the movement of people's to the United Kingdom, and it protected the future of my descendants and it stopped the feeling, 'the United Kingdom PLC' is being asset stripped, then I'd gladly sign up to that. This is how I feel John and I ain't apologising for any of it. I don't consider myself to be xenophobic or any other thing that implies that Im in some way less of a man than I should be. I don't want to be ruled over by some mandarins from Brussels who seem intent upon recreating a Soviet style Super State. I want people from all over the EU to come here, be happy, be prosperous and provide a positive outcome for us, them and their home Country. I simply want some control. I want to know who's here and who ain't here and if Hereford does have a 'hidden population' then I want to know why this has happened and what are our political leaders going to do about it. Once again John, the last thing on my mind is to set myself upon a collision course with you. This is how I feel and I refuse to feel badly about any view that I now hold. My very warmest regards John.

Friends, bloggers, and those that want the lights switched neither on or off, but who, under difficult circumstances diligently recycle their rubbish, I admit I've strayed! Yeah I've strayed. Yeah I've left the path of the righteous and walked upon a path of the unrighteousness. Today, whilst minding me own bloody business, fishing for barbel on the banks of the Wye, I succumbed to temptation. Lucifer visited me, whispered in my ear and said, 'sin is good, fidelity is bad, you are a ninny and Jarvis is mad'. And what did I do that was so sinful? I'll bloody tell you and blast me bloody eyes for not secreting this sin from you all. I gave in to sin. Yeah, I went the whole nine yards. There'll be no redemption for me! Some floozy, presumably detached from the Tupsley Troupe, came skipping up to me, chanting, 'How can your wife keep her hands off you'' and guided me into the bushes. A bloody Hawthorne bush if you must be so bloody nosey as to require all the details. And what did I do within that bush? I'll tell you what I did. I sinned! That's what I did. I cast aside our covenant with God and I engaged in an activity that can only be described as an abomination of human dignity. Quite simply brothers, sisters I involved myself in Dogging! I've become a Dogger and anyone who says, 'no you didn't, didn't see me disappear into that accursed Hawthorne Bush with this strumpet dressed up in her flimsy nightie.

You can't get anyone to say a bloody thing. Everyone's to bloody frightened to get their heads out of the sand and simply talk about these things. Look back twelve months ago, it was the poor Polish people getting the blame for the madness of the EU. Now, because of bloody Blunkett and Jack Straw, its now the poor old Roma people. The Roma! A minority group of people that Hitler tried to exterminate and throughout the decades have consistently been persecuted by most European Countries. These people are disliked by just about everyone and then they wonder why some Roma perhaps involve themselves in crime. If I was Roma and I'd had a taste of their history, there's every chance I'd be involved in some criminal activity. We simply can't discuss things sensibly. We have to demonise a group and blame someone. I don't care a single jot about someone's ethnicity, I simply want to know how many people are here and who's paying what for our prized and much cherished public services. And what do our leaders say, 'bloody nothing'. Im serious, Im pumped and charged. If I don't get some response from our elected leaders, Im withdrawing my labour and transmit my codswallop elsewhere.

Dippy, it's a mix of problems. The migrants want to make as much money as possible to send home and many choose to live like this. We've a huge shortfall in available housing in both the private sector and the public social housing. The private landlords take advantage of this and exploit this area of business which pushes up the rents. Then, because of a lack of will by the Council to investigate this fairly open and widespread problem, the problem becomes out of control and a 'hidden population' develops. As for the public social housing, where properties are given over to migrants, they are then opened up to abuse. Tenants, take in huge numbers of lodgers, the council house gets filled and the tenant suddenly finds he's putting out twenty bin bags instead of my one. And round and round it goes and throughout it all, we pick up the bill for a vast number of people who, though paying their wage taxes, contribute nothing toward our public services because they ain't paying any Council Tax. And all the time, the Council and Hereford Housing sit on the problem, doing nothing because its all been placed in the 'to difficult to deal with' basket and as long as there are no reports of anti social behaviour and some other box ticking excercise, then nobody cares a jot. Meanwhile, Im sat in my front room at three in the morning listening to a group of ten gathered around a back garden fire, drinking, enjoying a barbecue and singing along to a strange song that reached number one in some far and distant land who's language and culture is completely foreign to me. Can you get anybody in a position of authority to say, 'heck, I understand your problem'. Not a chance. In fact, while I boil away stewing over the madness of it all, if I don't get a reply from all the Councillors that have read this, Im throwing me bloody toys out of my pram and withdrawing my labour.

The Council of Boston, Lincolnshire have recently applied to Central Government for funding to enable them to cope with their 'hidden' population. This Council have calculated that they have seven thousand resident migrants from the European Union and a further ten thousand that are not registered on the electoral roll. They call this ten thousand, their 'hidden population. They've arrived at this figure of ten thousand because of registrations at public service bodies and obvious places such as GP Surgeries. The Central Government have told Boston Council to prove that the hidden population is resident in Boston and they'll be given funding. Boston Council, like Hereford Council have recently carried out a 'who's living in your house' census and not surprisingly this hidden population has not been discovered, which means Boston must continue providing public services without any additional funding. The hidden population is explained by Boston Council as homes that are occupied by ten or twelve who live cheaply, share the rent and costs which enable them to keep more of their money. Good economics you'd think! And they are good economics if you are the taker rather than the giver. If you are the giver as Boston Council are, then its not good economics at all. It's very bad economics. We in Hereford have exactly the same problem and it may be equally as bad. It's my understanding that our electoral roll shows the presence of around five thousand EU migrants in our County. What do we have to do to discover our 'hidden population'? I know of lots of houses in close proximity to mine that contain huge numbers of migrants living in the one house. In close proximity to where I live social housing has been provided to Bulgarians and Romanians and these dwellings are full of people who form part of our hidden population. The Council have recently carried out their local census by posting their letter to homes across Hereford asking, 'who lives in your house'? It's madness. Do they really think that seventeen migrants living in a three bed semi that's managed by Hereford Housing are going to respond and say exactly who is resident there. Of course they are not. Because its illegal and it shouldn't be happening. But it is happening. It's happening all over the City and it wouldn't surprise me if our 'hidden population' is as high as Boston's. Of course, the last people to acknowledge this issue will be our overwhelmed public services who are spending tens of thousands of pounds each month providing translation services enabling our 'hidden population' to carry out their good economic policy of living cheap, living hidden and prospering. The public service bubble is still clinging onto the shiney, happy and clappy New Labour Multi Culturalism mantra that allways denies that we have a problem being able to absorb these astonishing numbers of people who form our hidden population.

During the past twelve months I've become increasingly concerned at how frequently my wife is playing bingo. It was only after I became stuck in a traffic jam on the New Bridge and a group of five Doggers suddenly leapt out and began Dogging on the bonnet of my car, did I realise that she wasn't playing bingo at all. Brazen strumpet!!! Yes, we've all been aware of the growing membership of the Hoarwithy Dogging Association and, to some degree, we've all given their numbers tacit approval to carry on in their pursuit of personal gratification, but other Associations affiliated to Dogging are springing up all over the bloody place and its becoming nigh on impossible to fish down by the sewage works without people jumping out and writhing around whilst Im watching me Shimano quiver tip. I for one have had a 'guts full' of it and I'll be damned if I stay silent anymore. From hereon, if any Doggers start writhing around by me Im going to tell them to 'clear off.' During the last quarterly, we've now got The Tupsley Ten, the Dormington Dozen, the High Town One and the Holmer Hoard and I ain't for putting up with it any longer. Just because our society is on the fast slope to ruin, we're fiscally skint and bereft of hope, it doesn't mean we have to hurtle headlong into the depths of depravity. I say, to avoid lustful couples writhing around on the bonnets of our cars, lets switch the lights off, avoid traffic queues and get home and inside our houses as quickly as we possible can.

This is how it all happened! One day, when I was a lad I was running up the High Street being chased by a woman who wanted her purse back. As I hurtled toward the Bakery, the proprietor jumped out in front of me and shouted, 'hide in here fat face'. Keen to escape this snaggle toothed harbinger of gloom I raced inside the shop. Once inside, the Baker fell to his bloody knees, raised his head toward the heavens and cried, 'it's him. The one who's coming was foretold'. He shrieked, 'show me your hands'. Well! What could I do? Keen to avoid this woman who had now armed herself with a Cattle Prod, I showed him what he wanted me to show him. Nothing else mind. I'll not have it said I showed him anything else and anyone who does say I showed him more than my hands, wasn't there and they are a liars and an embellishers of this codswallop. Gazing at my hands and still on his knees, he looked up at me and said, 'you are the one. Have you ever considered a career in kneading dough Your a natural!. He then quickly wrapped an apron around me, dragged me into his bakery, produced a huge tub of dough and cried, 'start kneading'. So I did. I very quickly kneaded sixteen lumps of dough and presented each lump for the Bakers inspection. Once again, overwhelmed by emotion, he fell to his knees and yelled, 'I've seen kneaders come and I've seen kneaders go and never have I witnessed such natural talent'. And so I became a kneader of dough. He agreed to pay me and we mutually agreed a trial period of forty bloody years when, if I delivered what he expected me to deliver, I'd get a day off every bloody Shrove Tuesday. One morning, several years later with that bloody woman long since dead and buried, I was in the process of kneading my twenty millionth lump of dough when there was a tap, tap on the window. It was Hurley! I said, 'clear off Hurley. Im kneading dough and I've a tray of bread baking at a thousand degrees'. She said, 'Come away with me. Leave this place of burden and join me in a life of Film Premiers, red carpets and exotic holidays'. I told her straight, 'clear off Hurley. Take your temptations of splendour and leave me be. I'm a kneader of dough, your an international superstar and I'll be damned if I give all of this up for unimaginable bliss with you. Now clear off. Go bother someone else.' And that's why I can't get a decent nights sleep.

Well, if Jet ever comes up my path delivering my weekly Admag, Im going to tell her two things. Firstly, get yourself a decent agent. This is no route back to superstardom and, in future, when you tip toe up my path carrying my Admag dress more appropriately whilst doing your paper round. Bloody celebrities! Last night I was laid in bed when all of a sudden, tap, tap, tap on the bedroom window. I thought, 'funny. Whoever this visitor is they've got a bloody long ladder because I sleep on the fourth floor'. I opened the curtains and guess who it was clinging onto my bloody drainpipe? Bloody Liz Hurley! I said, 'clear off Hurley Im kneading dough in the bakery in the morning and I've gotta get some sleep.' She said, ' Let me in. I can't keep my hands off you'. Realising that there were now two figures clinging to my pipe, I said, ' who in Gods is the second person now clinging onto my drainpipe?' It was only Shane Warne, the worlds greatest ever leg spinner screaming, 'come back to me Liz. This fool will only break your heart' I told them straight, 'clear off. Sort yourselves out and stop bothering me and, when you both scurry back down my pipe, be sure not to pull it off the side of my three bedroom semi.'

I see. I get what's going on. Not content with getting Martin Cassini on board, Colin's now got John Harrington and the mighty Amanda Martin sat by his side. Well it doesn't scare me. Never has and never will. Just because Amanda Martin can frighten the life out of the startled and poorly equipped Johnson and Morgan, it won't bother me. Never! I stand by my pledge that this gathering of incompetent bungling idiots, namely our Counci Cabinet, will never do anything that is based upon commonsense and rational thinking. They've thus far, avoided any contact with success and a positive outcome and I see no reason to believe theyll ever change their Modus Operandi. Why should I become wobbled because Colin James has recruited some serious thinkers. Not at all! In fact, Im going to start my own campaign demanding the lights stay on and, whatsmore, to frighten the Council back into their burrows, Im going to demand some Habeas Corpus, Compos Mentis and some Mens Rea. There's nothing like a bit of bloody Latin to highlight the real issues behind this codswallop which are, I ain't got twenty quid and my wife actually hates my fat face.

For those of you who ain't interested and I for one can't blame you, the new shopping development has salt all over its brickwork. Putting aside the fact that this means the bricks are substandard and we have damp in the brickwork before a single shop has begun to trade, we are now blighted by another problem. It's an all to predictable problem that often emerges when you've salt deposits all over the bloody walls. It allways happens. Simulacra, or as its better known, bloody apparitions. I staggered past the East facing wall this afternoon and they were there. They allways are. Bloody pilgrims, staring up in wonder at the salty brickwork screaming hysterically, 'Halleluzah', they shouted, 'Lordy, Lordy be praised. A sign!' I told them, ' well who in Gods name is this salty image supposed to be?', 'we ain't certain, but we reckon its either the Blessed Virgin Mary of Mary Magdalena. Our monies on it being a gift from Jehovah.' 'Rubbish', I said, 'I know rubbish when I see it and this is rubbish'. Mind, I can understand the fools seeing this as a sign. It's clearly a woman and to be fair it does look like a biblical Icon but I told them, 'I've read the New Testament from front to cover and not once has the good book mentioned that either of these two women were keen participants in athletics'. This salty image clearly depicts a woman pole vaulting over a horizontal bar, wearing a sports bra and clutching a vaulters pole and her skirts, and whilst I accept it could be a genuine apparition, I'd need to hear some seriously compelling evidence to convince me that Mary Magdalene or The Virgin Mary were ever active competitors in Judean sporting events. We don't want lepers, people with headlice and Ricketts tipping up here and draining our already overwhelmed public services, so I say, lets get this salt off the walls before our local economy takes another hit and we become the latest place for these bloody pilgrims to visit.

Look, I like Colin James. As far as Im concerned Colin James is a good lad and I'll fight anyone in a battle cruiser who says otherwise but, you are dealing with the Hereford Council here. Strangers to success. Years and years of years unblemished by any form of achievement and they'll never turn off those bloody lights. Colin James is a lovely lad, so are his family, his ancestors and his descendants yet to be born but Im telling you all now that this bloody Council will never cave in to anything associated with common sense. It ain't going to happen and anyone who thinks otherwise is someone who's beer glass is half full. Never! They'll never do it. Not while I've got lungs to inhale my tobacco smoke and I've got teeth to bite my way through pork rind. Never! And the sooner you all get used to the fact that this bloody Council will completely ignore Colin's crusade the better it is for me, my eczema and anyone out there who's as bewildered as I am. Never! It'll not happen. And just to show how confident I am, if Colin does succeed, I'll donate £20 pound sterling to Hereford Voice and enclosed with this financial instrument, namely a bloody cheque, will be a photograph of me naked sat on my chair nibbling Scratchings whilst trying to restrain my wife who understandably can't keep her hands off me.

Good luck lad. You'll know within the first ten minutes how its going to go. Try and make your bundle of papers bigger than their bundle of papers. They, the ones you are up against, like a bundle of papers and if your bundle is less the size than their bundle you're in trouble. Mind, don't make your bundle hugely bigger than their bundle because then they'll take offence and become angered that you are carrying more than them.

A great piece of writing Brown! I can't write like that. If I could, I certainly wouldn't be sat here tapping out this message. I'd be wearing a red satin smoking jacket and a cravat wrapped around my neck telling my literary agent to sod off and bank the cheques.

I don't play golf. Never have and never wanted to. Mind, there's lots that do and very soon they won't be able to play at Belmont because its going belly up. It's going to the wall because the main building is listed, its roof is in a poor state of repair and some years ago the bloody Council refused a planning application that had large investment behind it. The planning application was hugely impressive and was going to create jobs, a spa and other pleasant things that would draw people in to spend their money. Of course the Council decided that 'it being a listed building' it shouldn't be touched and so the application was refused, the building continues to fall apart and very soon it'll be no more. Another nail in our coffin!

Yes Biomech. If ever there was mitigation to our moaning and groaning about this, that and the bloody other, one only has to glance across at Rockfield Road and witness the havoc and chaos that 'they've delivered us. Rockfield Road is a monument to stupidity, arrogance and a belief that we don't matter and its this place, Rockfield Road, that'll be the millstone around their necks and an acknowledgement that despite our up's our down's and our many faults, we the posters upon the Hereford Times were right to object so loudly. And whatsmore, whilst it does look like the games up on the HT, I think we can look back upon our rantings and ravings about the destruction of Rockfield DIY and be proud that we kept moaning for so long. I'll never park there. Ever! I'd sooner mate with a Barbel than park my car in that place.

Ain't it terrible. And apparently, its all the result of yet another piece of badly thought out planning that allows asset stripping suits the golden opportunity to put their hand in our pockets and take our money. Whoever thought that the building of this Hospital by private enterprise was a good thing for us.

Brilliant! Brilliant for two reasons. Firstly, because its about me and its allways been a subject that I find interesting and secondly, it ain't to far away from what actually does happen when these public servants grab a hold of our money and start dishing it out. A brilliant piece of writing from a retired journalist. I thoroughly enjoyed it Gridknocker and anyone who didn't enjoy this cleverly crafted literary offering, didn't enjoy this cleverly crafted literary offering.

William, You shouldn't do that. Not to Brown.

Hello Will, a recent survey commissioned by some people cleverer than me, produced some conservative estimates concerning migrants working in the United Kingdom. From International Money Transfers they've calculated that every month, on average, every single migrant sends home, to his or her home Country within the EU, between £300 and £350 each month. That works out at nearly five billion pounds every single year. Try and think of this enormous sum of money as gold bullion. Think of it as wealth. Think of it as money earned from our economy but spent in some far off place. This economic model, which we are following, is deeply flawed and highly unsustainable. For an economy to flourish, its wealth, those gold bullion ingots that I've mentioned, need to be spent within our economy. Look....You employ me to pick some fruit. I work hard and you pay me. You pay me as little as possible because Im prepared to work for as little as possible. To help me subsidise my low wage, I move into a rented house that's full of migrants. We all share the high rent and it makes my low wage easier to accept. At the end of the week, I go home to my house that's full of friends doing and thinking exactly the same as me. I keep some of my money. Enough to live on and enjoy myself in a foreign land. The rest I send home. Now Will, imagine a lot of people doing that. Multiply it by a factor of thousands. I go back to work and I continue to pick your fruit but, because you notice that people ain't buying as much fruit as they used to because the levels of disposable income have shot down in Hereford, you decide you ain't got the money to invest in new machinery and consequently your business can't grow. Then you decide to sack me because you've just learned that some lovely Romanian and Bulgarian people will pick your bloody fruit and accept less wages than bloody me. Meanwhile, you've sacked me, I go to Citizens Advice and they direct me to sign on as unemployed. This then means I can't send home as much money as I'd like to and I've got less disposable income than I had before. In the meantime, because levels of disposable income have dropped, loads of other shops are closing because they've yet to learn the lesson. To survive in business you've gotta have very low overheads and you need to share your rent with ten others. Mind, this decision ain't helpful to the bin man, because now, instead of picking up one bin bag from a house, they have to collect twenty bin bags that now places a strain on public services. The bin man, who's getting on in years, developers a prolapsed bloody disc, his back seizes up which means he goes sick and he's now laid up in a Hospital bed in a ward that's over run with other public service workers who've suddenly found they are working harder than they once did. What'd you think Will?

Well I for one ain't stopping with the moaning and the groaning about this, that and the other. Rather than be disgusted with myself for being a moaner and a groaner, I take the view that its an entirely good thing and I ain't for stopping. Nothing will stop me moaning. Nothing! They can collect me from by bloody front door, fly me thousands of miles to some beautiful south sea island where woman are constantly tapping on my beach hut door screaming, 'let us in. Be ours tonight' and I'll tell them to clear off and I'll moan my way through the entire event. These brazen strumpets could tippy toe up to my safe haven, leave me a thousand hand rolled cigarettes, cod and bloody chips whenever I wanted them and an endless supply of booze and the Sun newspaper deliberately flown out to reach me before it hits the streets of Hereford, and still I'll moan. I'll never stop. These shameless women could dig me a vast lake and stock it with Barbel and Carp and despite the glory of it all, the wonderful weather and a deep feeling within me that says, 'you've never felt better', I'd still find something to complain about and anyone who thinks otherwise is a ninny if anything I transmit is ever worth reading in the first place. Oh! And there's plenty more where that came from.

Well it bothers me. It bothers me a great deal. It bothers me that the money gathered in this area of our retail sector is moreoften than not, not recycled within our economy. That bothers me. It clearly bothers Biomech and it should bother anyone who has a faint understanding of economics and how the 'money go round' affects us all.

Ladies, Gentlemen, Boys and Girls, The Mighty Simon Brown! This blogger is truly a relentless 'tapper' of vowels and consonants who has, like many of us, hit the tapping wall and concluded, 'what's the bloody point'. Despite his desperate need to share my medication, still, even now, as his digits hit the keyboard, bent, worn and buckled, he relentlessly transmits his overall view of life in Hereford as being similar to a daily kick in the testicals. The site, Positive Hereford is, I guess, a place where people who love it all go to transmit shiney, happy, clappy messages that imply in some way that alls well, every minute of the hour is a joyful experience and there's allways a positive side to be found in the most horrid of circumstances. Take for instance the salt on the walls of the new shopping development. Whenever I stagger past the place I scream, 'bloody b......d Council. I hope they all f.....g get nits and jump in the bloody Lugg'. On the otherhand, readers and contributors to Positive Hereford will see this salt as a blessing and shout, 'lovely. Next time I stagger past with me fish supper Im going to throw my battered cod against the wall and get it salted'. It's all about perspectives and how you see a bucket of rancid sh.t. It's either a lovely thing or the bucket and its contents are something you'd not choose to have tipped upon your head.

If you're the Editor of a newspaper and someone phones in complaining about a story, perhaps the story about the little ones having to buy iPads for their education, and say there are comments that perhaps someone doesn't like and they threaten to take legal action, what do you do? Me! I'd take the easiest of two decisions. I'd think, 'sod it. This ain't worth the trouble and its a battle I ain't fighting' and I'd delete the whole thing. Why? Because our society has become thin skinned, easy to be offended and hurt and with the new Press Regulations in the pipeline, and open hostility by politicians and celebrities toward the Newspapers, it simply ain't worth the hassle. This is why 'we' are being squeezed on the Hereford Times. When the phones ringing all the time by 'hurt and offended' people who might be threatening to take action because of our comments, I can understand why we ain't getting fed the news we used to be fed. Yes, it's ok saying an Editor should take no notice but when it's 'you' sat in the chair and its 'you' in the firing line it's an entirely different position to be in.

Minds of your bloody own now I see! Taking no bloody notice of me and my tappings. Oh! we'll think for ourselves and ignore Fortyseven thank you very much! We've suddenly become bloody liberated from this endless dross, tripe and bloody codswallop he's associated with and we've suddenly become 'thinkers'. Folk who've suddenly become big time bloody Charlie's quite happy and confident enough to have an opposite view to mine. Well, when they repair the hole on the bloody poop deck of the HT and you all want to come scurrying back aboard you'll find I've pulled up the bloody gangplank and you ain't getting back. Im staying. I'll never go. Never, not while I've got a wifi connection, a single diazepam tablet stuck in the roof of my mouth and there's rum in the barrel. Im staying until the bitter end and if any of you come shouting, 'Biomech is a false prophet, we've changed our minds take us back', I'll tap you a bloody message saying, 'clear off. You'll find no sanctuary here. Im busy posting on a series of unexplained chip pan fires and I'll be bloody damned if I need company aboard the HT.' They can serve me up tales of unusually large marrows produced by some fool who's the most boring man in the world and I'll shout, 'hoorah! Lovely just what I wanted to know'. Each day of the week they can send me a chapter lifted from the book titled, 'A fascinating insight into third party fire and theft insurance' and I'll roll around on my front bloody room carpet screaming, 'hallelujah give me more of the same' and still I'll stay loyal to the HT. And, if the HT bloggers site is doomed to be consumed by the brine and its clear to me that Im stood on the main deck beneath four hundred foot of water, even then, despite there's no oxygen and its bloody uncomfortable, still I'll tap away on my keyboard, transmitting the words, 'Jarvis can get stuffed'. I'll never leave. Ever! And anyone who says I will leave is someone who underestimates my determination to continue blogging even when Im staggering around trying to get a signal whilst tapping underwater.

It's a load of pigswill. Believe me, chaotic problem causing families, persistent and prolific offenders, restorative justice and the whole accompanying sack of drivel is all a huge and costly gimmick, designed to be mused over at a table within Plough Lane by the Partners. The Old Bill, the Council, Probation, Health and Social Services, all the key ingredients to produce a pile of urine that gets turned into a lovely graph celebrating how lives have been changed by this holy experience. Good Lord, this Jo Davidson sounds like some fleet footed evangelical preacher screaming, 'Halleluzah. It's a frickin miracle. It was a problem. One hell of a problem but now theyre saved and its all down to the Council. Thank you Jesus. Thank you Lord. And worse they have a testimonial. Good grief. It makes you want to spit phlegm. This poor soul, keen to get this manic preacher off her back, throws themselves before us and cries, 'I used to hit the kids with a mallet twice a day. Now I only do it once. Lordy I've been saved. I've seen the light and Im all the better for this encounter with the Director if anything I say is worth a jot of notice'. It's awful. To think that it's come to this. To think that we've gotta open our mouths, swallow this tripe and say, 'lovely just what I needed to know. I feel a whole lot better now'. Why do they do this? Because they can. None of them have a clue how to resolve the chaotic behaviour of some families, try as they might they can't stop the same people thieving and so they create a gimmick. A gimmick that takes on a life of its own where the graph will do whatever they want it to do and we are paying for it. And worse, they've now got poor and bewildered people giving them positive testimonials reporting to us how wonderful the whole journey has been. Ching! Ching! More suits. More meetings. More huge Salaries and the game goes on.