This is by no stretch of the imagination a party political blog but it has become impossible not to say something about the British government's disgraceful response to the refugee crisis.
Several months ago the UK prime minister - someone called Cameron - refused to accept any more asylum seekers, even while humans were drowning in their thousands off the shores of Lampedusa and Lesbos.
Oh, well, the British navy would send a vessel, it would help in plucking these people out of the sea - but not a single one of them would find any welcome in this island paradise of the filthy rich, Britain.
In the space of three months Cameron has destroyed Britain's reputation as a fair, tolerant and welcoming country. And now he's willing to pay for some stronger and sharper fencing around the Channel Tunnel entrance at Calais.
This pathetic little play to the UKIP gallery is worse than sickening. The whole country is being dragged down again, having only recently reached a point where it seemed we could claim two cheers for our love of diversity….
One of the few strengths we had left, after everything else had gone, was our talent for accepting and embracing and, yes, exploiting and assimilating, wave after wave after wave of immigration, of asylum seekers as well as "economic migrants".
Hard to say what game this man and his friends are employing - given that their precarious hold on power depends so much on an economy entirely propped up on the foreign money flooding into the City of London.
It's an emotional argument as well as a political one. Cameron is trying to play to the stalls of his electorate - the tory working class - as well as keeping his urban sophisticate supporters happy. He can't do both.
If like Germany he changes tack, and begins to welcome these desperate people from wars he himself has a part in starting, then he might salvage something of a fast dissolving reputation.
The stench of rotting reputations in Whitehall is overpowering these days. The whole of London is sinking under this cloud of repulsive, deathly vapour. It mingles with the stench of corrupt lucre drifting up the Thames from Canary Wharf…a truly toxic smog.
A rotting corpse of a nation, nosegays will not suffice, we will need industrial strength gas masks.
The British Isles, Great Britian, they used to call it that - the great nation of murderers, the nation that never stops washing the blood off its hands. The nation of Lady Maggie Macbeth Thatcher, and her bastard children, Tony and Dave. And the changeling, Farage.
How ghastly to think of these new faces in Hell - Blair, he's already there and he knows it. You can see that, his eyes are the eyes of a damned soul.
Cameron was maybe there all along - hard to tell under the glaze, the layers of expensive suntan, the chilltastic clothing, that smirk….yes, he was always there. Picking the nits pout of Maggie's frizzed up hairdo.
Farage hopping around like a little Bosch devil, his little red-hot fag buggering them for eternity, his cackle. Love the vision. The reality 's less happy.
Spinning happily at thirty-three-and-a-third revolutions per minute, not wanting to stop
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