Competition – Panoptica

Ten chapters posted so…

I wanna play a game

Up for grabs. Four books. Two of your own choice from the Leg Iron Books catalogue and two more random choices from me. If you’ve actually bought any of them and are a member of that elite group, let me know so I don’t send duplicates. Plus a Leg Iron Books mug.

Second prize is a Leg Iron Books mug and a random book.

Okay. So here it is.

10538 was not a random character. He was inspired by an old song. To win this, I need the name of the song, the name of the band, the album it first appeared on and the instrument Roy Wood played in its first iteration.

It’s easy if you google it. It’s easier if you own the album.

Did you see the man running through the streets today.

Did you catch his face, was it 10538? Ah!

If this song didn’t chill you, you’re already cold.

Watching the world burn

The UK election is in full swing and this one is looking more South American than British. Howling mobs on both sides, lies, utterly undeliverable promises, I can well believe there’ll be street battles by Thursday. Popcorn at the ready.

When it’s over there will be screeches of ‘cheating’ from the losing side and most likely they’ll want to do it again because we didn’t know what we were voting for.

I know what I’m voting for. The least deadly Pennywise the Clown on the ballot paper. If the real Pennywise is on there, he’ll get my vote. The rest are far more dangerous.

There has been rampant antisemitism to make Hitler and Stalin blush. There was a photo of a child on a hospital floor (it was clearly faked, no hospital has coats lying around to cover patients, and has now been proven fake). Pro tip: if you use a professional photographer to take a fake photo for political purposes, don’t let him tag it with his name.

Boris has been declared racist by Diane Addit, but that’s no big deal. Everyone paler than Bob Marley is a racist in her world. Except, strangely, her boss. Boris, meanwhile, has promised to reverse all of Beeching’s 1960’s cuts to the railways for £500 million. That should get maybe five miles of track relaid…

The Lib Dems have declared they want every child on puberty blockers so they can decide their gender when they grow up – except, of course, on puberty blockers they won’t grow up. It turns out they have had a load of cash from the puberty block makers and let’s be honest, the Lib Dem vote does rather depend on those who never grow up. So it does make a kind of sick, twisted sense. Still, who needs puberty blockers? We already have protestors playing dress-up, dressing like toddlers and having tantrums in public that would embarrass a two-year-old. They aren’t growing up anyway.

Coffee in sippy cups, ‘sports’ water bottles with babies’ dummies on top, onesies that are just big romper suits, the infantilisation has been going on for a long time and it’s close to complete. They actually dress and act like infants now, and have about as much understanding of the world around them. I’m just going to sit back and fire up the popcorn maker. I’m not going to do anything about it, it’s too late. Just watch it all burn.

Nicky the Fish thinks her Spiteful Nannying Party should run the whole UK so they can balls it up in equality with Scotland. Really, the Scottish NHS is not in great shape under the SNP. Neither is the Labour-run one in Wales. The English NHS might be suffering but under the Tories it’s actually less bad than the SNP or Labour versions.

I don’t have much contact with the NHS. I’ve spent a total of two nights in hospital in nearly 60 years and apart from the appalling food, it was okay. The doctors and nurses, especially the nurses, seemed very attentive and very nice indeed. I did find out the hard way that morphine doesn’t work on me though. I’ll stick with single malt painkiller.

My first visit involved general anaesthetic. I was in my twenties so was back at work – carefully – within three days. The second one was *cough* alcohol related. I had two broken ribs and a bashed kidney and had been barely mobile and peeing blood for three days before I gave in and called the doctor. They sent me straight into hospital and made me stay all night. I told them, ‘it all grows back’ but they wouldn’t listen. It did. Still, it got me two days off work.

Therefore I am possibly least qualified to speak on NHS care, having needed very little of it. I do have a niece who works as a nurse on children’s wards so I have access to some level of information – and I have worked with doctors on geriatric wards in cases of Clostridium difficile, but that’s a different story. That involves management, obstruction, lunacy and waste and a lot of it is still under confidentiality, unfortunately. Some of what I learned could get me Clintoned if I let it out. It’s that bad – and it has nothing to do with the doctors, nurses, or any of the staff who do actual work in the NHS.

It’s always ‘our NHS’ in the political world. As if any of those bastards use it. They all have private healthcare. On expenses. The wasteful layers of management in the NHS, the Departments of Nannying, do not feature in the private medicine of the wealthy. Oh and if you think that’s just the Tories, you really need to take off those blinkers. Socialism is a highly profitable business for those at the top. As it was designed to be. Reality check – neither side gives a shit about you. Look after yourself, because all government does is slap you down and rob you, no matter which party and no matter what they promise for votes. None of them have any intention of honouring any of their promises. Look at past election promises and see how many actually happened.

Over in the Rebel Colonies of the Americas, Trump seems to be fighting impeachment and at the same time welcoming it. If he is doing what I think he is doing, he must have planned every detail of this for years before running for president. Or he could just be a bumbling oaf who has no idea what he’s doing. Time will tell. Kim Jong Jinglejangle has threatened the USA with a ‘Christmas present’. If he sends a nuke, with Trump in charge, expect North Korea to be a slab of radioactive glass shortly afterwards. Trump won’t bother with discussion.

Meanwhile, poor Gritty Thunderbird is still being used and her life is being ruined by those who pretend to care. Including her parents. Tell you what, try this with my daughter and they’ll never find your body. I had a career working with pigs 😉 On the plus side, at least she is out of Sweden, which is currently not a safe place to be a young lady. Think Rotherham, but countrywide.

This is a sixteen year old girl with Aspergers. Her parents have sold her to the Green God’s acolytes and let them use her as they will. She has now missed a year of schooling at a critical time in her life and is likely to end up with poor or no qualifications. Which makes her an ideal leader for the modern UK Labour Party, but not for any actually useful work.

I have seen videos where her Aspergers has her on the point of a panic attack in front of a large crowd. Recent photos show dark rings around her eyes. She is 16! Don’t her controllers care about her at all? Stupid question. Of course they don’t. She is no different to the Druidic sacrifice to the sunrise. When they have finished with her they will discard her. She is going to really suffer when that happens but the Church of Climatology will not care at all. They will have a new indoctrinated totem to hide behind.

Just as the doctors and nurses are not to blame for the NHS disaster, little Gritty is not to blame for the nonsense she has been indoctrinated into and forced to spout. Attacks on her are what ‘they’ want. It makes it so easy to deflect from the real argument.

Well, the Grand Solar Minimum is not ten years away. It’s started now. I’m not bothering to argue with warmists any more. Let them freeze. Population reduction is a big part of their dream but I bet they don’t think they will be first. Actually they won’t be. They can watch all the people they moved north from the tropics die first. Don’t worry, it’s all part of the plan.

As is the forced sterilisation through transgendering children, turning the common people into ant- or bee-like worker drones, the destruction of transport for any but the wealthy, turning all of Africa into a human-free nature reserve, and so much more.

Yeah, I know, it’s all tinfoil-hattery. Ignore, sneer, I genuinely don’t care any more. I’ve had enough of trying to tell people what’s happening and anyway, it’s too late now. Just be happy in your beliefs while you can.

I’m just going to watch it all burn.


What are we supposed to give up this month? Smoking? Drinking? Driving? Meat? Dwarf Hustling? Otter Prodding? Breathing? I can never remember. It doesn’t matter anyway, I’ll just ignore it. I have to, there are unprodded otters in the river. Well someone has to do it. Those otters won’t prod themselves. Prodding poles at the ready…

Apparently we have once again failed to leave the EU. I don’t actually think that matters either. It’s already starting to fall apart, it’s just the BBC pretending it isn’t happening. Soon there’ll be nothing to leave.

November used to be, and probably still is, NaNoWriMo. National novel writing month. You are supposed to get the first draft of a novel completed in a month. No editing, no going back and changing anything, just blast it out.

I did it once. I wrote ‘Norman’s House‘ that way. Oh I completed the story within the month but it took years to get back to it and edit it. In the meantime I wrote the prequel, ‘Jessica’s Trap‘ and that was published first. Then ‘Samuel’s Girl‘. So the whole story came out in the right order in the end.

It’s not over. Demdike comes back in the next book, and there’s another one part-planned-out after that. There is mileage in the grumpy bastard Romulus Crowe yet.

The first of November marks the official opening of submissions for the Christmas Underdog Anthology. Number ten. And to think, when I started this, there were those who told me it was going nowhere. Every anthology has introduced at least one new author and the Christmas one already has its new voice. I won’t give a name yet in case he wants to use a pen name.

Still, Christmas 2019 has three stories locked in, two more likely, and it’s only just opened for submissions.

I have two other books to publish. One by Marsha Webb which only needs a cover. I decided to get arty and do it myself, but as always I have overreached. The cover is composed in acrylic paint, ink with a brush, ink with a glass pen, coloured pencil… and more. It’s taking ages. So there will be a first edition with a simpler cover in under a week and we’ll put out a second edition when the real cover is ready.

The other is by the new author in Well Haunted. Gastradamus is the name he goes by and he has a collection of pretty mad short stories to share. I need to get that done fast too. I’d like to engage a real artist for the cover but there might not be time if it’s coming out for Christmas. So it could be a first edition with a photoshopped picture cover and a second edition later too.

I also want to do this with some of the early books. Mark Ellott’s first novel, ‘Ransom‘, would benefit from a better cover and so would Lee Bidgood’s ‘You’ll be fine‘. Covers are important, it’s the first thing anyone sees. My cover image preparation has improved with practice, the early ones could do with a revamp.

Margo Jackson’s ‘The Mark‘ has a decent cover for an early attempt. It has a weirdo lurking in the woods (it’s actually me) which is integral to the story.

Some authors provided their own cover images – Dirk Vleugels and Justin Sanebridge, and later Mark Ellott – but since those first two tend to write in Dutch and French there wasn’t really much editing involved at all.

I’m probably digressing but I’m not sure I had a point to start with. Perhaps it was about building up and collapsing.

I never intended to build up Leg Iron Books. I genuinely did not expect it to get as far as it has. It was meant as a hobby business for retirement. It’s taken off far faster and bigger than I expected but I’m not forcing it. I set it up to get authors into print so they can go to an agent and say ‘Look, I’ve already published these’. It matters. Literary agents do not want one trick ponies. They get about 15% of the royalties and if you’re selling ten copies of your only book per year, that’s no good to them. They get pennies. They want to see you put out more books.

The big publishers do not accept direct submissions from authors. They will only work with agents. If you don’t have an agent you are never getting into the big publishers and if you are not published you will have a hard time getting an agent.

This is what Leg Iron Books is for. I want to lose authors to agents and big publishers. I’d like to think those authors will remember where they came from and maybe send some new ones this way but this is never going to make me rich. Leg Iron Books is small fry and staying that way.

Will Leg Iron Books collapse? Probably not unless I pack it in or die. It’s not being ramped up, it’s not leveraged, it has no debt and is not looking to be anything other than a backwater way in to the world of publication.

The EU is ramped and leveraged to the eyes. Riddled with corruption, bad debt and vanishing cash. It’s doomed. The Church of Climatology depends on its believers and on free grants from taxpayers. The believers don’t seem keen to chip in and the taxpayers are starting to wonder why their heating bills are going up rather than down. The scam is collapsing, hence the sudden panic-driven push to get as much as they can before the glaciers roll over Birmingham.

The new anti-vaping crap is falling apart too. What a pity so many vapers have joined the antismokers. They’d have had a lot more allies otherwise. But then…

First they came for the smokers. I was a smoker, and nobody spoke out for me.

The rest of you can suck it up.

The UK parliament is wringing its hands over what the public thinks of them. The truth is, the real aims of those bloody parasites are now clear and we’re thinking what we should have been thinking all along. That’s falling apart too.

The next election is going to be worth staying up to watch. Results finalised on Friday the Thirteenth and I hope it’s unlucky for all of them.

There has been no writing tonight. I took the day off. It’s Halloween so we watched a film called ‘The Nun’. Lovely. I laughed often. Tomorrow is back to work for me, I have those two books to get ready, then I have visitors to deal with for a week, then the Christmas anthology.

December to February, we are closed to visitors. We need some sleep!

It never ends…

I don’t just mean Brexit, although that is verging on the immortal. No matter what Boris does, Jerry Cordite and Jo Swindles will vote it down. There is a way to make use of that attitude, if he’s smart enough to see it and use it. Maybe his pal, Demonic Cummings, can do it.

I know, I didn’t invent that name, but if I was called Dominic and people called me Demonic, I’d absolutely revel in it. I spend my days wishing my surname was De’ath. I’d never use the apostrophe, particularly not on my doctorate. I mean, I have a scythe, black hooded robe, the lot. I’d just need to lose a lot of weight. Almost all of it, in fact.

This place has been silent because I had to go to Wales for my parents’ 60th wedding anniversary. I couldn’t miss this, it’s a big one. It’s a diamond anniversary but CStM and I can’t really run to diamonds just yet so we went for practical. They wanted a soup making machine so that’s what we bought. I’m glad my mother mentioned it, I had never heard of such a device so it would not have occurred to me.

It now takes 12 hours to drive to Wales because we no longer have to get through the mess of roads that is Aberdeen. There is a very nice road that goes right around it. It took 13 hours on the way back, I was driving slowly as it got dark and late because we’re in the potential frost and ice part of the year. A bit early this time but it’s not the first time. In the event, we made it alive, which is always good.

Before we left I was engaged in a last minute panic finishing off ‘Well Haunted‘, the ninth Underdog Anthology. It’s done, the cover is professional this time, and if that helps sales I’ll be back to ask the artist for more. It has to help sales to be worthwhile – cover artists don’t work for free (well I do but there’s no point paying myself).

Next I have two more books to get ready before Christmas and there’s a Christmas anthology with a closing date of November 30th. November is going to be a busy month – and there will be visitors in it too.

You know, CStM and I moved to the middle of nowhere because neither of us are particularly sociable and no matter how nice the neighbours are, we aren’t likely to get along with them. We are the kind of people who assemble shelving units at 3 am and cut the grass at 10 pm in summer. So we thought it best if we just live well out of everyone’s way.

Unfortunately this place is a visitor magnet. Except for Halloween trick or treaters, it seems. None of them have so far made it up the driveway after dark. I wonder if it’s the tiny red glowsticks attached in pairs to the gnarled old trees? Nah, can’t be. Those are normal Halloween decorations. This year I might try green ones.

Still, we have had relatives on both sides visiting all through this year, to the point where we plan to seal the place for December and sit around scowling out of the windows. We have garden ornaments that scowl back.

While in Wales, we had to visit That London. The posh part where the embassies are. CStM had to renew her passport and that can only be done at the Danish embassy in London because they now want fingerprints. She had offered to cut off a finger and send it to them but they wanted all of them. Besides, she would then have to carry the mummified cut-off finger like a lucky rabbit’s foot because that’s the only one that matches the fingerprint. In the end, we decided to just go there and get it over with.

While there, we met Martyn K. Jones, one of the authors in recent Underdog Anthologies, for a quick drink. Also Tom Paine of The Last Ditch blog. I have met very few online people in real life, so few that I have wondered if the entire internet is just me, and everyone else is the creation of a supremely talented impressionist who lives in a bedsit in Truro.

We didn’t go shopping. We were in a part of London where we couldn’t even afford to look in the shop windows. The sort of shops where if you have to ask the price, you really shouldn’t be in there.

Anyway, all the visitors this year have slowed down work. And it’s not over yet. I would blame my granddaughter for attracting them but she is turning out to be as antisocial as me, so I can’t fault her.

At least the Halloween book is done, and the authors should now have their payments or copies. I posted all but one from Wales, since Amazon seem happy to deliver to just about anywhere. I was missing one address but it’s on the desktop computer so I can finalise this job tomorrow. Then it’s on to the next.

I have two authors waiting for their books to be finished and by the end of November I’ll be locked into Underdog Anthology Ten. All of this must be finished in time for me to take a Christmas break. After spending September in a state of knackeredness exacerbated by infected insect bites, I have a lot of catching up to do by the end of November.

After that, I’ll probably sleep a lot.

Flying saucery

I have sometimes wondered about buying one of the little drone things with a camera in it. It could be fun to take some aerial photos around here and I’m far enough away from anyone else that even when I inevitably crash it, it won’t bother anyone. A couple of things put me off.

My son used to be really into radio controlled helicopters. You know you need insurance for those? Not for the model, but for the damage it can do, which can be spectacular and potentially fatal. Insurance doesn’t cover the model, it covers the costs of getting a shattered rotor blade out of someone’s car door or chest.

Crashes always ended up with a three-figure bill. He’s a homeowner and father now, such expenses are no longer a good thing to have on your home budget and he doesn’t have a lot of spare time anyway.

The cost of crashing a little cheap drone is probably a lot less, but how many crashes before I get the hang of it? It could soon add up…

I once had a go at a radio controlled plane at one of my son’s club’s open days. Fine when it’s going away from you but you have to reverse your hand movements when it’s coming towards you and that’s not easy at all. You have to watch the plane, not the controller. I did learn one important thing. If you crash in farmland, try to crash in a field of sheep, not cows. Sheep will run to the far side of the field from the crash. Cows will come over to investigate the new thing and when they’re done, there’s not likely to be much left to salvage.

The little drones I’ve looked at won’t do much damage if they crash into something. They probably won’t even break a window and if they hit someone, it’ll be a few scratches at worst. There is another problem though.

Unlike the model plane which only goes in one direction, these things don’t have a clearly defined ‘front’ when viewed from the ground. You can make it hover, great, but which way is it going to go when you next press ‘forward’? Unlike even a helicopter there’s no way to tell until you move that lever.

I have radio controlled trains. Much more sensible. Speed control forward and back and they are on rails so they aren’t going to surprise me by spontaneously deciding to go in an unexpected direction. It doesn’t matter if they are moving away from me or towards me, the lever only controls speed.

This does have relevance to the title, which is something mostly studied by people whose wardrobe looks like this –

I’m being a little unfair. I cannot be certain that no UFO sighting is of an alien craft. I could argue ‘well why have they never made contact?’ but a little thought tells me a likely reason. Imagine you arrived here after crossing interstellar distances, with all great intentions to make contact with the monkey people on this new world. Ten minutes of any major news channel and you’re going to engage reverse gear and floor it, right?

There was a time when ‘cigar shaped UFOs’ were all the rage. That was back when zeppelin test flights were floating over rural areas. No internet, few phones, limited news of any kind. Nobody knew what they were. They were ‘unidentified flying objects’ to ground observers, but the people in them knew exactly what they were.

In the UK, we had a spate of sightings of mysterious black triangle ships that never showed up on the nearby airport radar. Naturally, anyone reporting one was dismissed as a crank. Then the new military stealth planes were revealed – black, triangular planes that didn’t show up on radar. Just like that. There must have been test flights, right? As it was secret those test flights would have been at night.

How do you keep a new military advance secret? Well, you make it obvious and deny it exists. Let the Forteanists claim it as a UFO sighting. Few will take it seriously and those that do will be those who think it’s an alien craft. It’s wonderfully deflected into tinfoil hat territory even though the military know those people really saw something.

Towards the end of the second world war, the Nazis were working on some interesting flying designs. Let’s gloss over Dornier’s clearly drug-fuelled flying insanities. They had the rocket propelled Me 163, whose major drawback was its propensity to spontaneously explode. In jets, apart from the well known Me 262 there was the Horten 229, which didn’t get into service before the end of the war. Lucky for us, really. It had the same Junckers Jumo 004 engines as the Me 262 but it ran rings around the earlier plane.

The Nazis also worked on disc-shaped aircraft although there seems scant evidence to suggest they actually built one, much less flew it.

What would be the point of a flying disc? Aerodynamically it would be horribly unstable unless some serious gyros were installed. It would have no aerilons, no tail, no easy means to control its flight.

The alleged German designs were just disc shapes with a cockpit in the middle and a definite front and back, with jet engines at the back. The disc shape seems iirrelevant in this case.

However, a sharp military mind could have seen potential.

Remember that toy drone, with its equally spaced lifting propellors? Make it a disc and replace those propellors with louvred jet engines such as those on a Hawker Harrier. All of them under the disc, no engine at the ‘back’.

The Hawker Harrier is a plane. It has a very clearly defined front and back, When it’s hovering, you can hazard a good guess at which direction it’s going to go in when it fires up the main engine. A hovering disc, however, gives no such clue. Like the little toy drone, which way will it go if you press ‘forward’?

Imagine a fighter aircraft that can make turns the way a house fly does. Ninety degree turns in the air. A disc with a central cockpit able to rotate, and louvred jets that rotate with it. You don’t turn the thing, you just change its direction of travel. If you paint a dot on the ‘front’ as you see it now, when it makes a 90 degree turn to the left, that dot is now on the right side. There is no ‘front’ nor ‘back’, the ‘front’ is whichever way the cockpit is facing now.

The g forces could be horrifying, of course, but if it could be made to work, how can a modern jet fighter chase something that can turn like a fly? An observer seeing it hovering could have absolutely no clue as to which direction it’s going to move in next. Don’t you think the military would be interested in something like that?

Don’t you think they’d be experimenting?

Perhaps that’s what the Roswell crash was about. Not little green men but an early attempt to get one of these things going. Maybe that’s what really happens at Area 51. Sure, the air force have not so far unveiled any kind of flying disc but the aerodynamics must be horrible and controlling something using only jets must be difficult. It’s not an easy project but if it could be made to work it would be well worth the effort.

I think the rim of the saucer would have to spin, to give it a frisbee-like aerodynamic. That just makes it harder to control the jets and harder to change direction, since the whole damn thing is now a gyroscope. Are these problems insurmountable? I have no idea but I bet they’d take a hell of a lot of trials to figure out.

I won’t be at all surprised if, one day, the military reveal a new, saucer-shaped fighter plane.

I also won’t be too surprised when nobody asks how they managed to spend decades testing it without anyone finding out.

The Chance I Missed

I spent four years working as a janitor in Local Shop. I was there over a year before anyone other than Boss knew what was really on my CV and when they found out, they inevitably asked ‘What the hell are you doing here?’

My answers ranged from ‘Hiding from the Mafia’ to ‘It’s a secret Government experiment and I can’t talk about it’.

Really I was there because my consultancy business went down the tubes for a variety of reasons and I was skint. In the end it actually did me a power of good. I learned a lot about the inner workings of food shops, who worked there, how they thought and why food poisoning happened. I now have a few reasons for food poisoning events that I could just share here but well, this kind of information is worth a lot.

I’ll tell you what though. It’s not the staff. Well, in a very few cases it could be but the mainstay staff? No, they get the blame but they aren’t the problem.

Anyway, I digress. The point is that I had Devo’s song ‘Whip It’ on vinyl for many years before I worked in that shop and I missed an incredible opportunity in the four years I worked there. It only came to light in a conversation with CStM this very evening.

So here, much too late for me but perhaps of potential use to any current cleaning staff out there, is what might have happened if Devo had been cleaning staff:

Wipe It

Grab that wipe
Clean the surface right
Dust in the seam
Scrub it till it’s clean

When there’s dirt upon the floor
You must wipe it
Later on there will be more
You must wipe it
Every surface, every door
You must wipe it

Now wipe it
Get it clean
Wipe it up
Use the spray
Get the brush
And the mop
Get all that dirt out
There’ll soon be more
So wipe it
Wipe it good

If it’s spilled upon the ground
You must wipe it
It’ll stain and turn to brown
Unless you wipe it
Clean that mess away
Really wipe it

I say wipe it
Wipe it good
I say wipe it
Wipe it good

Grab that wipe
Someone’s spilled the milk
If it gets in the cracks
You cannot get it back

When a table’s soaking wet
You must wipe it
Oh you haven’t finished yet
Still you wipe it
When it’s done, there’s something else
Go and wipe it

Now wipe it
Shine it up
Make it gleam
See your face
Clean that toilet
Hold your breath
Oh it’s a bad one
It’s up the walls
So wipe it
Clean it up
Perhaps repaint
Go outside
Take a breath
Hold on to breakfast
Or you’ll be forced –

To wipe it
Wipe it good

Eradicate Whitey

Can’t happen.

Oh you could wipe us out and replace us with Africans but guess what? That’s where we came from.

Humanity, science is pretty sure, started in north-east Africa. Side note: real science is never more than ‘pretty sure’ about anything. All of science is open to question and open to new data. When you hear ‘the science is settled’ and the Word cannot be questioned, that’s religion. Especially if it has a repeatedly-predicted apocalypse that never actually happens. Climate ‘science’ has predicted far more Days of Judgement, and been wrong more times, than any religion on Earth.

Even so, science is pretty sure on this one. Humans first appeared in north-east Africa, pretty close to where the Bible says Eden was situated (yeah, couldn’t resist chucking that cat among the pigeons :D).

So, in the beginning, we were all black-skinned. Had to be or we’d have died of sunburn and skin cancer. White skinned at or close to the equator is not a good mix – okay these days we have sunscreen and clothes but back then, no.

It is therefore no surprise that the much-vaunted Cheddar Man, apparently the first human in the UK, was black. Of course he was. He would have migrated here from Africa. Just like everybody else, everywhere on the planet.

The thing is, having black skin when you’re getting close to the poles is a disadvantage. You cannot produce enough vitamin D in your skin to survive.

Note for the obvious retort – Vit D carries calcium and helps with bone growth. You can get rickets in Africa if you have all the vit D you need but not enough calcium in your diet. You need both. Oh, and no, you could not nip to the chemist for a pack of Vitamin D pills. In many places you still can’t.

So those who were born lighter skinned in the North did better that those who were born really dark skinned. Eventially we lost most of the melatonin and became the Honkies who are so despised, even though we are actually the same people.

It took thousands of years. It will take thousands to do it again but it will happen.

So sure, wipe out Whitey and fill the North with black Africans. Wait a few thousand years and you’ll have to do it all again.

They might come here hating us, but the very act of coming here, as we did thousands of years ago, means their descendants will become us.

We are not a separate species. White people did not come from different stock than black people or brown or any other shade of skin. We are one species. We all came from the same place, we just adapted to the place we lived in. All you white people who hate black people, your ancestors were black. All you black people in Europe who hate white people, your descendants will be white.

In the end, as with most things in life, your fevered rantings and violent purges will end up changing nothing at all.

Have a cup of tea. Smoke. Relax.

In the end, nothing matters enough to get a heart attack over.