Phoney Blair isn't a Philosopher King; he's an incorrigible nincompoop

I have to say: the self-appointed Philosopher-Kings of our age are, all things considered, a bit of a disappointment. Phoney Blair, for instance, Philosopher-King-in-Chief, claims to be a uniquely enlightened man of considerable erudition, tinged with a dash of urbane sophistication and the uncanny ability to header a football. He really is Narcissus-plus, ordained by God to understand things that us mere mortals cannot.

Since July 2016, this self-styled guardian of Kallipolis has gone into overdrive, desperately trying to reconnect with the plebs who voted to leave the European Union. Phoney is frantically running from television studio to radio studio, determined to change our minds but, failing that, willing to ignore our longing cries for self-determination and democratic accountability. You see, we don't understand these things, by all accounts. We don't know what's good for us. Philosopher-Kings like Phoney and his friends in Brussels are the only suitably qualified class of individuals capable of making judicious decisions. The rest of us are glaringly incapable. He's been to Oxford, after all.

Okay, Phoney doesn't say this in so many words, he's even happy to use the illusion of democracy to legitimise his actions when it suits him - as he did during his time in office -, but his thoughts, words and deeds since the referendum expose his previously hidden contempt for the electorate. We didn't know what we were voting for, apparently. He doesn't trust us, sees us as low-information halfwits and clearly regrets the extension of the franchise. How else can one explain his behaviour over the last 18 months?

But is this egomaniac capable of making decisions for us? Is he the Philosopher-King he purports to be? Well, judging by his track record, the answer has to be a resounding no. This is the man who gave us the dodgy dossier, mass migration and Gordon Brown's fiscal irresponsibility. Back in 2004, before the accession of ten new EU member-states, he reassured us - Remember?! -, based on his refusal to countenance temporary restrictions on migration from the new territories, that only a few eastern Europeans would make the journey to our shores - 14 years and 1 million Polish emigres later...


Honestly! How can he keep a straight face? And let's not forget his decision to give away Margaret Thatcher's hard-won rebate in exchange for reform of the CAP - something that - surprise, surprise - never happened. This bloke was a car crash, not an enlightened, wise philosophe.
Indeed, he's more akin to one of Plato's reviled sophists, more concerned with personal gain than any Socratic conception of justice. He charms and deceives, covets, courts emperors, rogues and potentates of all stripes before trousering their ill-gotten gains and filling his bulging coffers. In short, the man's a crook.
And now he has the audacity - as all crooks do - to claim special status, insult us and strive to reverse a democratic decision. Well, Phoney, I have news for you: you're not a Philosopher King; you're an incorrigible nincompoop. 

Is it me, or is Alastair Campbell the most loathsome creature on Earth?

Alastair Campbell is surely the most loathsome, objectionable character on the planet. I’ve just had the misfortune to witness him, on the Sunday Politics show, attempting to bully and intimidate the phlegmatic and unflappable Gisela Stuart during their debate on the merits - or otherwise - of Brexit. It was nothing short of a disgrace. He interrupted her incessantly – interruptions that, to her considerable credit, she calmly endured and insouciantly swatted away. This further highlighted the brutish mediocrity of her half-witted interlocutor.

He really is an awful human being. He simply can’t accept the democratic decision made by the British people on 23 June last year. He’s fuming. This anger, though, is perhaps forgivable. One can’t switch off one’s feelings and debate doesn’t stop after one vote, after all, as he’s so keen on telling us. What’s perhaps less forgivable is his dishonourable aim to thwart the will of the people and use any means, no matter how unpatriotic and underhand, to do it. Just yesterday he advised the Irish Taoiseach to ‘play hardball’ against Theresa May, his country’s Prime Minister. Then today he had the audacity to say that he loves Britain. Who does he think he’s kidding?!

Gisela Stuart rightly asked him whose side he was on. Do you even want a successful Brexit? she enquired. It appears that his every intervention is designed to undermine Theresa May and make her negotiations more difficult, thus the outcome less favourable to this country. Stuart wistfully urged him to work with her in the interests of the country. He refused point blank - in a typically surly, petulant grunt. Like his fellow Remoaners - Clegg, Clarke, Adonis and Blair - he sides with our opponents in a determined effort to undermine the Brexit talks and get the worst possible deal for Britain. Only then, they perversely conclude, will the electorate change its mind, demand another say and this time vote the right way. In short, along with the rest of the Remainiacs, he is willing to damage his own country in a desperate bid to prove, to himself, if no one else, that he was right all along.

Of course, this all fits into a pattern of behaviour that screams Quisling. Whilst Director of Communications in Downing Street under Phoney Tony Blair, he contrived in the wanton destruction of our communities through mass, uncontrolled immigration – just to rub the right’s nose in it. It is no exaggeration to state that East London, where I live, has been ethnically cleansed of the white indigenous population as a consequence of his government’s policies – a government in which he wielded considerable power. It has become a country within a country.

And why? Because he despises Britain and wanted, with Blair, to radically remake it. It was to become a multicultural paradise, and, in true Marxist style, he was willing to break a few eggs to rustle up an omelette. What’s a bit of ethnic cleansing between friends? The folly and inhumanity are truly breath-taking.

Okay, I accept that the indigenous population of East London wasn’t violently forced to flee. But come on! If you love your community, why would you want to see it changed irrevocably by a massive, uncontrolled influx of non-English speaking, culturally alien foreigners? Indeed, why would you wish to stay and, in some places, hear the call-to-prayer five times a day? So really, in essence, these people were forced out, ethnically cleansed – not by the barrel of a gun, granted, but certainly by decisions made by Blair and Campbell’s Government.

To put it another way, when westerners encroach upon, alter and deface the habitats of ancient, settled tribes, forcing them to move on, it is rightly labelled as ethnic cleansing. Well, what’s happened in East London is no different, and the likes of Campbell are undeniably responsible. This wasn’t a small influx. It was a tsunami – a tsunami that, disgracefully, hasn’t been halted by the Conservative party - but that’s another story.

Campbell’s toxicity goes well beyond his obvious treachery, though. He’s also an amoral bully who’s willing to do anything to get his way. Just look at his treatment of Dr David Kelly back in 2003. This poor man was hounded by the attack dogs of the media, unleashed by Campbell himself, before, desperate, cornered and frantically hopeless, he took his own life.

This same blustering, quarrelsome, iniquitous, loathsome, emotionless bully was in full attack-mode today. Gisela Stuart deserves enormous credit for treating him with the contempt he deserves.

Brexit is Lady Thatcher's baby. Let's hope the eternal pessimists don't undo her good work.

When one considers our historic, ever-changing and uneasy relationship with the European project, one can't escape the conclusion that it's predicated upon a post-war diminution in national self-confidence brought about by the decline and fall of the British empire.

Our victory in the great twentieth-century struggle against Nazism, Fascism and Japanese Militarism may have led to unbridled celebrations and unprecedented feelings of national pride, but, ultimately, and quite unexpectedly, it introduced a period of national decline and soul-searching, punctuated by the odd awakening, until 1979, when a more long-lasting and irreversible revival took place. Indeed, last summer's vote, one could argue, was the consequence of Thatcher's revolution and the resurgence in national pride and confidence that accompanied it.

During World War Two, the contradiction immanent in Britain's fight for freedom against Nazi imperialism whilst presiding over the largest seaborne empire in history was necessarily ignored. After victory, however, this was no longer possible. It had to be confronted. The British empire had become morally unjustifiable and consequently unsustainable, as well as, after the financial strain of the war, economically unviable to boot. In 1947 the jewel in Britain's imperial crown was granted independence and violently partitioned into Pakistan and the new self-governing nation of India; Ghana gained independence in 1957 and Nigeria in 1960; indeed, throughout the Fifties and Sixties, like dominoes, Britain's imperial possessions fell into the hands of charismatic, indigenous leaders armed with the language of freedom used by the British themselves, and promising self-determination.

Britain had become a shadow of its former glory. Britannia no longer bestraddled the world, mistress of the seas, trident in hand; instead, she sat passively, seeking handouts from her new creditor and master on the other side of the Atlantic - an ocean once dominated by the imposing guns of her navy. In 1956, in a final coup de grace, her master and patron chased her out of Suez with a swift, humiliating reproach. Britain's hegemony was at an end.

Let's just imagine for one moment what this meant to its people, how disorienting it must have been. Everything they had known, everything they had taken for granted, their identity and the sense of self that came with it, had been turned upside down. It is unsurprising that a great loss in national self-confidence ensued and, to make matters worse, Britain, exhausted and demoralised, peered across the English Channel and enviously observed the economic miracle taking place in Europe.

In West Germany, for example - as a result of Marshall Aid, currency reform and responsible labour relations, as well as the opening up of global markets -, industrial output doubled and Gross National Product grew by 9 to 10% per year between 1950 and 1957. Between 1947 and 1973, moreover, the French economy grew by, on average, 5% per annum. Both countries, along with Italy, which also experienced phenomenal growth rates during this period, caught up to and eventually exceeded Britain's GNP. Furthermore, from 1950 to 1965, Britain's GNP per capita slipped from 7th to 12th in the world. By 1975 it was down to 20th.

Riddled with inflation, beset by poor productivity, declining industries and truly dreadful labour relations, not to mention a precipitously haemorrhaging empire and concomitant decline in global prestige, Britain's leaders desperately sought to find a new role in the world and forge a new identity by joining the Common Market and, they thought, tying themselves to Europe's economic miracle. After being refused entry in 1961, Edward Heath's Conservative administration finally joined the European Economic Community in 1973 - a decision ratified by the British people in a referendum two years later. The loss of national self-confidence that resulted from our post-war imperial retreat and relative economic decline had led to a decision made of desperation and fear. We indeed joined the EEC in a fit of both pique and panic.

However, Thatcher changed everything. Her radical reforms, unapologetic patriotism, uncompromising will and remarkable character lifted the nation out of its post-war torpor and restored its self-confidence. The unions were tamed, fiscal profligacy was replaced by fiscal restraint, markets were liberalised, inefficient nationalised industries were privatised, inflation was controlled and, consequently, annual growth exceeded 4 percent during the late 1980s. A British 'economic miracle' was being enviously mooted on the continent - a truly remarkable turnaround from the stagnation and misery afflicting the nation just 10 years earlier. Successive governments, even Labour ones, refused to reverse the Iron Lady's reforms and, in 2015, Britain was crowned the fifth largest economy in the world, largely thanks to her courageous endeavours - endeavours wisely left to bear fruit by her successors.

Most important, though, was the national pride restored by Lady Thatcher's indomitable spirit and sense of moral purpose. Along with Reagan, she led the free world's fight against the inhumanity of Soviet Communism; in 1982, she ignored her doubters and successfully dispatched a task force to wrestle back the Falkland Islands from Argentina's military junta; and in 1990, just before her downfall, she encouraged George Bush senior, then American president, to dispense with the wobbling and stand firm against Saddam Hussein after his unprovoked attack on Kuwait. Like Britannia, Thatcher bestrode the global stage, handbag in hand, and gave Britain back its pride and self-confidence.

That this national revival led to rising public disaffection with the EU cannot be gainsaid. Why should a wealthy, self-confident country like Britain sacrifice its sovereignty for a sclerotic, unresponsive, undemocratic, supranational and meddlesome bureaucracy like the European Union? On 23rd June 2016, the answer was clear: it shouldn't.

If Britain joined what was to become the EU in a moment of disorientation and self-doubt, it voted out as a confident, self-assured, optimistic, outward-looking and independent nation state. For this, we have Lady Thatcher to thank. I do hope that the eternal pessimists, with all their threats and scaremongering, don't undo this wonderful affirmation of patriotism and national self-confidence.

John Simpson claims that Brexiteers are as intolerant as Erdogan

Last week I listened to a report from Istanbul by John Simpson, the BBC's world affairs editor,  with a mixture of alarm and disbelief. Maybe it was my own sensitivity regarding the ongoing Brexit debate, but he seemed to put undue emphasis on the 48% who rejected  President Erdogan's proposal to extend his powers in Turkey's recent referendum. In fact, there was so much emphasis on this minority and Simpson's expressed belief that President Erdogan must listen to them, having only received a slim majority thus a questionable mandate, that I suspected an ulterior motive, a veiled message specifically designed for a British audience and, in particular, a pro-Brexit one.

In my view, he was mischievously using the tenuous and entirely coincidental parallels between Brexit and Erdogan's referendum victory to confirm his own prejudices and question the Leave vote's legitimacy. He wanted his audience to believe that last summer's victory was some kind of moral equivalent to Erdogan's rigged vote and corrupt, autocratic regime.

The fact that 48% rejected Erdogan's argument, the exact same as the percentage who wanted to remain in the EU, was too delicious a coincidence to ignore. He thus set out to extract greater meaning from it than it deserved. If Erdogan must listen, so too must the Brexiteers, it said. 

Okay, I thought, perhaps I'm the one extracting too much meaning from a short news report by an experienced and highly respected journalist. Perhaps I'm suffering from 'reds-under-the-bed' syndrome. But then I read John Simpson's article in this week's New Statesman. I wasn't imagining it, after all. My suspicions were correct. On this occasion, though, he was less subtle. He explicitly, unashamedly used Erdogan to denounce and delegitimise Brexit: 

'It's been impossible not to be reminded of...Brexit...during the past week or so,' he said. 'Like the Brexiteers, he only just managed to squeak through; like them, he and his allies are shouting loudly about the will of the people and the duty of everyone else to accept the result. And like them, his instinctive response in victory is to be aggressive.'

So let's get this right: Brexiteers are indistinguishable from Erdogan's administration and supporters. They crush dissent, rig elections and play lip-service to democracy whilst undermining its defining precepts.

Pull the other one, John. You're meant to be an intelligent man. The only aggression in this country is coming from the forever whinging, forever whining Remoaners who control the airwaves through the all-powerful BBC - a fact ironically demonstrated by you this week. I don't see Erdogan's opponents controlling Turkey's primary media outlet, do you? Nor do I see thousands of Brexiteers marching on Parliament and angrily accusing their opponents of racism and xenophobia. The amusing irony is that John Simpson has more in common with President Erdogan than any Brexiteer. He has used his privileged position to make entirely false comparisons and angrily denounce his opponents. Hard to believe and very alarming indeed.

Brexit rejected Blair's utopian vision

'A new age is dawning, is it not?' These were the words of Tony Blair after his landslide election victory in 1997. They were meant to usher in a period of 'friendly' capitalism, unconstrained by the astronomical and punitive levels of personal taxation beloved of previous Labour governments, but ultimately altruistic and caring when it came to protecting society's most vulnerable. Bankers, traders and entrepreneurs of every hue would be free to let rip, get filthy rich and, in doing so, help finance public service reform.

In reality, though, not only did these words inaugurate a shameful period, characterised by stealth taxes as the government deceived the voters and refused to admit to the contradictory nature of its message; they were also and more importantly the starting gun for an aggressive, intolerant, insidious and mendaciously executed assault upon the very foundations of our national identity. Mass immigration was encouraged, multiculturalism promoted, and anyone who objected to the truly radical changes being forced upon their communities was denounced as a bigot, a racist and a xenophobe. Remember Gillian Duffy?

This latter point is of most concern here. Brexit was a rejection of Blair's internationalist vision in which borders and nations no longer exist. It has indeed uncovered a new political battleground, inadvertently crafted by the master of spin himself.  The old left-right divide, based upon the size of the state and reflected by our political parties, still exists, of course, but its remaining, much reduced importance is mainly predicated upon habit and brand loyalty, which is diminishing by the day. In short, our existing political parties are anachronisms that no longer reflect voters' concerns. Due to Blair's disastrous assault upon Britishness, people are now and understandably exercised more by threats to the survival of our culture and national identity than the level of taxation. A new age has certainly dawned.

But anti-Corbyn Labourites (and, in particular, Blairites like Tristram Hunt, the MP for Stoke-on-Trent Central who resigned last week, exasperated by the current leader's open contempt for Blair's beloved centrism, and still kidding himself that elections are won on the centre ground) seem to think, rather astonishingly, that if only a Blairite could take the reins, everything would be okay, the nightmare would be over, Labour would be back in Downing Street quicker than an undergraduate can accuse a middle-aged white man of being a tory supporting, safe space desecrating, racist, misogynistic scumbag. And that's pretty quick. Tony Blair even wants to make a comeback, seemingly unaware of the Leave vote's message. It was a great big collective raspberry blown at the ex-Labour leader's vision and worldview.

He really is, along with his fellow travellers, deluding himself. Labour centrists are now as unelectable as Jeremy Corbyn. They just don't seem to get it.

As Brexit exposed, the public is now split between a minority of internationalists who believe in uncontrolled migration, multiculturalism, open borders and the death of the nation state, and the patriotic majority who still cling to notions of nationhood, loyalty and shared identity. Recently, after years of bullying by the former, the latter has struck back. They have finally spoken and been heard. The nation does still matter, they said.

Both the Corbynistas and the Blairites - once seduced and, in Corbyn's case, still possessed by Marxist utopian aspirations - have naively embraced and pushed the country towards a romantic and delusional vision of a post-nation-state world in which war is abolished and different peoples and cultures, all equally valid and valued, co-exist peacefully. This is a nonsense promulgated by dreamers.

It's also the reason why both factions are unelectable. The public has at last seen through the lies and pretensions and woken up to their real intentions.

So where does this leave the Tory party? Well, Theresa May has rightly promised to honour the referendum result and seems to understand and accept the new mood of the country. But her parliamentary colleagues remain a concern. Indeed, the majority of our parliamentarians, even Tory ones, either explicitly or tacitly support Blair's vision. This is a democratic problem that needs to be urgently addressed. Voters are currently unrepresented.

With its rich history, having been home to the likes of Thatcher and Churchill, the Conservative party is perhaps best placed to reinvent itself as the patriotic political representative of post-Brexit Britain. It needs to encourage integration, reject multiculturalism in practice as well as theory, and control immigration. But to do that, many of its 'heirs to Blair' have to go, especially the ones who still refuse to accept the public's vote last year. They don't belong in a modern, unapologetically patriotic, post-Brexit Conservative party.

If the party doesn't embrace change and re-invent itself, it, like Labour - both Old and New -, will face extinction. A re-alignment in British politics is now inevitable. Whether any of the established parties survive the upheaval is very much open to question.

'The kaleidoscope has been shaken, the pieces are in flux, soon they will settle again.' It wasn't Brexit that shook the kaleidoscope, but the venal utterer of these words - Tony Blair himself.

Obama’s foreign policy closes on a typically low note

Let’s face it: Obama just wasn’t cut out to be the leader of the free world.

First he jetted around the globe and apologised to all and sundry for his country’s previous and myriad misdeeds, by making sententious speeches and highfalutin gestures that amounted to nothing less than America’s humiliating retreat from the international stage.

The era of Pax Americana was declared over in a series of beautifully delivered, high-sounding speeches that, in reality, ushered in an eight-year period of Russian expansionism and Middle-Eastern anarchy. He might make a good speech, but he’s been a disaster, most notably in terms of US foreign policy.

Even his embarrassing intervention in our domestic squabble over EU membership was a cock-up. Just like the Russians and Syrians, we ignored the incompetent numpty.

This brings me to the civil rights lawyer’s latest forays into the realm of international relations. Today he’s been ignored by Vlad the Impaler of House Russia after expelling 35 Russian diplomats over their involvement in attempting to influence the outcome of this year’s presidential election.

Barack is upset. Very upset. The trouble is, nobody cares, least of all Vlad, who decided to dispense with convention and retaliate by inviting all US diplomats and their families to a New Year’s Eve bash at the Kremlin.

Obama’s going. And no matter how many times he implies that he could’ve won a third term in office, if only given the chance by his country’s outdated constitution, he ain’t comin’ back.

Mind you, even if he were to somehow circumvent the Constitution and affirm his pretentions as the chosen one, I’d very much doubt if Vlad’d care. To paraphrase Brian Clough, the man floats like a butterfly and stings like one. He looks the part and certainly talks a good game, but plays the international stage with all the innocuousness of a hot air balloon.

I must be honest: I’m also slightly confused by these Russian developments, and can’t help but doubt their veracity. It seems like a final, last ditch attempt by the sour-faced losers of the liberal-left and Democratic party, led by their outgoing, anointed messiah, to delegitimise Trump’s victory.

Their tactics have been so outlandish, desperate, anti-democratic and extreme so far, along with their anti-Brexit counterparts here in Britain, that I’d put nothing past them, I really wouldn’t, even if it means damaging America’s reputation and strategic position.

Obama hasn’t really done much to burnish his pro-American credentials thus far in his eight-year tenure, after all. So why would he start now?

To add insult to an injurious foreign policy, his Secretary of State has now publicly excoriated Israel’s government for being the most right-wing in history.

That’s correct: he hasn’t criticised Saudi Arabia for sponsoring terrorists; nor has he berated Iran for supporting Hezbollah and other extremist, destabilising Shia radicals in Iraq and Syria; no, his boss apologised to them during his first speech in Egypt back in 2009.

Instead he attacked America’s one true ally in the region. You couldn’t make it up.

Kerry’s attack on Israel is indeed totemic. It neatly sums up Obama’s approach to foreign policy. Abandon your friends; apologise to your enemies; self-flagellate; talk incessantly, but, ultimately, do nothing. Barack, nobody’s listening anymore.

First published on ConservativeHome on 31st December 2016

My colleagues oppose Brexit, hate free speech and spread fear among our foreign pupils

It is Friday 24^th June. As I squeeze into the overcrowded train carriage with the rest of the oxygen-starved commuters, I contemplate how I can approach my colleagues after voting for Brexit yesterday. They’re all Remainers. How can I possibly tell them that we’re leaving the EU because of me? I’ll be lynched.

I decide to keep schtum and, if challenged, and if faced with a blood-thirsty Remainer looking to exact revenge, I’ll tell a big fat porky. I’m going to be an indignant Remainer from now on, whingeing and whining about the ghastly, xenophobic, racist little-Englanders who’ve finally got their way.

Walking into our faculty office, I see a young colleague crying. She is distraught and inconsolable about the result. She’s been a fully signed up member of Project Fear from the beginning of the campaign, forever wailing and railing against evil Brexiteers and their fascistic Daily Mail-reading supporters who inhabit the darker corners of our society. She has spent the last few months publicising her beliefs to anyone who’ll listen, including, of course, her most attentive and easily manipulated listeners – our pupils. I ask if she’s okay before slinking off to my classroom. The schadenfreude evoked is hard to resist.

My first lesson is interesting and worrying in equal measure. The kids can’t stop talking about it and, being mostly first and second generation migrants of Asian extraction, generally feel certain that it’s going to lead to pogroms and deportations. Astonishingly, they’ve been led to believe that those who voted out are genocidal neo-Nazis. I do my best to reassure them without exposing my preference for leaving the European Union.

Their misapprehension doesn’t altogether surprise me, though. Many of my colleagues have spent the last few months openly claiming that the only thing standing between immigrants and the baying, xenophobic British hordes is the EU. As an appendage to Project Fear, it’s clearly done the trick. In a school referendum organised to replicate the real thing, over 70 per cent of our pupils voted to remain inside the European Union.

I later hear about another colleague who has burst into tears, this time in front of her class. There are reports of pupils doing the same. It is pandemonium. They think it’s the end of the world.

At lunchtime, curiosity gets the better of me so I decide to eat in the faculty office. The fury of my colleagues is palpable. I agree, albeit in a subdued and unenthusiastic way, with everything said. It is easier that way, and, more to the point, I remember only too well from past experience how alternative views are received. They are neither welcomed nor permitted, particularly whilst caring internationalists are in mourning.

In amongst the sound and fury is another, male colleague, quietly marking books. He is a young, podgy, gregarious character who usually orchestrates our lunchtime chats. On this occasion, though, he is mute. As the bell goes and everyone eventually disperses, I give him a wink and whisper, ‘You voted out, didn’t you?’ He grins and nods his head. ‘So did I,’ I say. ‘It’s our fault.’ We both chuckle like two naughty schoolkids before heading back to our lessons.

The irony of all this is, of course, that many voted for Brexit because of this suffocating, unrelenting, need-to-conform-lest-you-upset-the-thought-police bullying that is so prevalent, not just in our schools – though they are certainly an extreme manifestation – but across the whole country.

Keeping up politically correct appearances has indeed become exhausting, stressful and all-consuming. I really don’t know what I can and can’t say. This, I think, is compounded by the age of my colleagues. As older teachers have left the profession, exhausted and demoralised by the overwhelming workload and woeful pupil behaviour condoned by inept head teachers, NQTs in their early twenties have replaced them. This is Generation Snowflake – the ruthless no-platformers with an aversion to free speech and representative democracy; these are the cry-babies devastated by the referendum result, the cry-babies teaching – no brainwashing – our children.

Last week, during what should have been a relaxed, lunchtime conversation with one of them, we got onto the subject of women’s boxing. I said, quite innocuously, or so I thought, that although I support their right to do it, I don’t really enjoy watching women hit each other. You can probably guess what happened next: she pounced on me, calling me a misogynist, saying that I shouldn’t be teaching children and expressing her inability to work with a male, sexist reactionary like myself.

The irony was too delicious to ignore. ‘So you want me to say that I love to watch women beat the crap out of each other, instead?’ I asked.

Seriously: these are the unhinged lunatics who teach our kids; these are the people spreading misapprehension and fear among our pupils. They think they’re going to be deported, for heaven’s sake. That’s just cruelty dressed up as moral outrage by imbeciles desperate to publicise their own virtue. It’s also a lie.