In any normal society, the Chief Constable of the PSNI, Matt Baggott, would have been out on his ear by now. But the pudgy peeler obviously knows that in the abnormal conditions of northern Ireland, he can carry on to his heart’s content frittering away public money and fucking people about.

Last month, Baggott blew the guts of £20 million of Northern taxpayers’ money on a security operation to protect G8 leaders in Fermanagh. The advance estimate had been £6 million. Out by a factor of 300 percent...
Baggott was like a pig in shit as he revelled in the scale of the G8 operation – 3,500 police and “special forces” including “covert patrols of armed Ghurkas” brought in from Britain, 350 new prison cells made ready, courts open all night, 14 judges on standby, miles of razor wire strung across the county…
Two arrests.
In the weeks before the gangster get-together on the shores of Lough Erne, senior PSNI officers phoned a range of individuals and organisations planning protests, asking what turnout they expected in Enniskillen. Everyone offered the consensus estimate – between 1,500 and 2,000 – which was to prove spot-on.
There was no possible basis for Baggott’s propaganda about waves of anarchists sweeping across Fermanagh like wolves on the fold. So we have to ask ourselves – why?
And why did Baggott then bring over 600 Brit-cops to help police Twelfth marches when reinforcements weren’t thought necessary in recent marching seasons of more fearful prospect?
The first ever British police chief in the North was Sir Arthur Young, imported from the City of London in November 1969 as a key component of a “reform package”. He said he’d “bring British standards of policing to Northern Ireland.” Now, Northern Ireland policing standards are being exported back to Britain – perhaps to deal with the sort of turmoil far-Leftists have been predicting for, oh, years now.
If you are predicting riots, where better to tool up than in Northern Ireland?
Maybe this is monster raving lunacy. Or maybe Baggott is as thick as pig-shit. But I don’t think he is. We shall see.

I was wandering up Creggan Hill surveying the sun-kissed city, exuding the panache and style of a man who had once triumphed in the Knobbly Knees event at St. Eugene’s Annual Parish Sports, when a couple of 10-year-olds chorused their appreciation from across the road: “Who wears short shorts/We wear short shorts, they’re such short shorts/We like short shorts/Who wears short shorts, we wear short shorts.” Word perfect. Those are all the words.
‘Short Shorts’ was a huge hit for New Jersey band The Royal Teens in 1957. I don’t think it’s been heard or heard of since. So how come Creggan urchins have it at the tip of their jeering tongues? I’d have crossed over and asked them were I not such a dignified person.
The four-line lyric was written by Tom Austin, Bill Crandall, Bill Dalton and Bob Gaudio. They all made a mint, which is some kind of wonderful. Bob was four years older at the time than the cat-calling Creggan scamps are today.

If you are wondering what becomes of the tax money Google scams by taking advantage of the tickle-me-tummy buffoons running the Republic, wonder no more. Last month, the company’s top three billionaires, Eric Schmidt, Sergey Brin and Larry Page, bought a big chunk of San Jose Airport so they can hangar their jets without hassle. Between them, the three own eight private jets, including a customised Boeing 767.
Contributing nothing to a society where millions live in want while stuffing their mouths with gold, they aptly symbolise Obama’s America: cool dudes on the outside, rotten to the core, jeans and sneakers camouflaging corruption. Bush and the oil barons were gentlemen by comparison.

I wouldn’t trust that Muslim Brotherhood crowd as far as I could throw them. But they did win last year’s Egyptian election. Mohamed Morsi pulled 51.73 against 48.3 percent for Ahmed Shadik, prime minister under deposed dictator Hosni Mubarak.
Last month, military chiefs moved in and turfed Morsi out, to the great glee of Western leaders who had backed the aforementioned Mubarak until ten seconds before he was toppled. I’d have been happy to see the back of Morsi, but not when he had a bayonet pressed up against it.
A couple of weeks earlier, over in Iran, the moderate candidate (these things are relative), Hasan Rowhani, won the presidency by a hefty margin. Brit Foreign Secretary William Hague said the following day that sanctions on the country might have to be tightened. Barack Obama promised increased military aid to Israel.
In January 2006, Hamas easily won an election in Palestine acknowledged by all as free and fair. Within 24 hours, Tony Blair and George W. Bush let it be known they wouldn’t recognise the result. In March the following year, Suzanne Goldenberg revealed in The Guardian that within a week of the election, Bush had formulated a plan to arm the defeated party for an armed uprising.
If you were an Islamist in the region, would you not be thinking by now that this ‘democracy’ is a load of old cock and you’d be better off trying some different strategy to get your point across?

I had intended this week to explain how the Duckworth Lewis Method works but, unfortunately, we have just run out of space.