Archive | April 2019

Cui Bono

Pardon my Latin but it’s the most succinct way I know to put our current political problem into words.  They were originally written by Cicero, who was a famous Roman orator, and whom I read and agreed with when I was studying Latin in the Sixth form.  And he was quoting the words of another famous Roman called Cassius who was a judge and a wise one. When trying a case, he never failed to enquire, cui bono or WHO STANDS TO GAIN? explaining that ‘Man’s character is such that no one undertakes crimes without hope of gain.’ So what I want to ask here is ‘Who stands to gain from leaving Europe?’ So many things are being said about Brexit and passions are running very high and very ugly but nobody is talking about the real reason behind the drive to get us out of Europe. And it is there, if we know where to look for it. The Guardian published it but I couldn’t find it anywhere else. Well there’s a surprise! So here it is.

”EU Finance ministers are battling over a controversial proposal to slap a European Tax on US tech giants like Facebook and Google.” The EU – no less – preparing to take on the mega-rich boys who don’t pay tax. I can hear the howls of anguish. And it doesn’t stop there. According to a report  from Petr Jezek MEP,  seven EU countries – Belgium, Hungary, Ireland, Luxembourg, Malta and The Netherlands  – have been labelled as tax havens, in an EU Parliament report. It is just possible that the mega rich who thought they were so snug and safe in their well-hidden tax havens are going to be winkled out and made to cough up the taxes they owe. And about time too.

So let’s have a look at some of our mega-rich and especially the ones who have pushed Brexit so strongly and incessantly and told so many disgraceful lies to get what they want.


Jacob Rees Mogg is probably the loudest and most noticeable at the moment. He has made £7 million since Brexit and is desperate to avoid the 2019 EU Tax avoidance clampdown. Educated at Eton and Trinity College Oxford. Co-founded a Hedge Fund management business called Somerset Capital Management LLP. His estimated net worth in 2016 was around £55 million (or, if we include his wife’s prospects) £150 million. Wants to be PM





Jeremy Hunt has a net worth of £14 million and was educated at Charter House, Oxford. Another man who clowns to get out of trouble , like his great friend, Boris Johnson





Boris Johnson has a net worth of £1.5 million and was one of the biggest liars in the Brexit campaign. Remember his promise on the big red bus?  He was educated at Eton and Balliol College, Oxford. Plays the clown to avoid getting into trouble. Very ambitious. Wants to be PM





Nigel Farage, the big mouthed white chief of Brexit, now starting a new party with backing from rich friends like Aaron Banks and encouragement and air time from his friends at the Daily Mail and the BBC. Has a net worth of £2.4 million. Went to Dulwich College. Great friend and admirer of Donald Trump. Need I say more?

Arron Banks the mystery man behind the Brexit campaign, pictured here clowning with a ham roll. Excessively wealthy.


And the list goes on. Everywhere you look there are men and women who stand to gain from not paying any of the taxes they owe. And there are milllionaire companies set up everywhere to help them to do it.

And here’s a final titbit. An anonymous employee of BAE Systems – 2016 revenue £16.82 billion, Defence, Security and Aerospace Company – admits that his company does 95% of Saudia Arabia’s work in the Yemen. And guess who is on the board. Why none other than Mr Theresa May. Oh they’re all in it together.

If only the EU could put a spoke in their wheels and we could be in the EU to help them to do it.

Always ask cui bono.


This entry was posted on April 29, 2019. 3 Comments

Another re-print coming out from Agora tomorrow.


Be warned! This is rather a naughty story, although I didn’t expect to find it when that particular day started off.

thegeorgianhouse1 (2)The old darling and I were on holiday in Edinburgh, which was one of our seven favorite towns. I had just started planning a story set in Georgian Bath because that is another of our favorite towns and would give us a perfect excuse to visit it at frequent intervals. In it my heroine was going to work as a wet-nurse in a Georgian House and lo and behold there was another Georgian House in Charlotte Street in Edinburgh, all according to the waitress in the hotel we were staying in, fitted out exactly as it had been in the Eighteenth Century. So naturally, we went to take a look. It was as you can see from the picture an elegant house, but it had a surprise waiting for us in the master bedroom. Everything there was as we would have expected it, four poster bed, plenty of pillows, carpeted floor but… lying on the bedside cabinet was a huge, brass enema syringe, big enough to dose a horse! We had a very friendly guide showing us around this particular room and when I said ‘Good God what is that?!’ He laughed and said ‘Ay it is formidable!’ And then went on to explain why, ‘They were such gluttons’ he said, ‘so they got monstrously constipated and it took a dose like that to get them moving so to speak. They called it a clyster.’  And when I’d finished laughing, an entire scene fell into my mind. So that I had to stop and pull out my notepad and write it all down. 

‘Here is a feisty heroine, who takes up a jug of water to the master of the house in his bedroom and then finds he is making hideous advances to her which she certainly doesn’t want or welcome, ‘adjust your petticoats me dear.’ She tells him over and over again that she isn’t willing, but he is a huge, stout, powerful man and persists. She searches about for a weapon to fight him with and finds the clyster. Whacks him across the head with it and while he is groaning, makes her getaway.’

The new book had started.

And now that new book is an old book being re-issued on Kindle by my new publishers Agora and due out tomorrow! Pre-order your copy here.


This entry was posted on April 17, 2019. 4 Comments

We need to deal with the snollygosters

I’ve been taking a good look at these two disgusting pieces of blatant propaganda and wondering why there are still Brexit voters who don’t know how skillfully they were conned. But sadly there are. We see them out on the streets on TV, men and women alike, red in the face, bellowing their slogans, baying and bullying and mad-keen to start a punch up, attacking anyone they’ve been brainwashed to dislike, or who has a different opinion from them, or the police, or the MPs who haven’t voted their way, full of hatred and aggression. In the 30s, when Moseley led his uniformed thugs through the streets to ‘deal with the Jews’. And watched them baying and shouting slogans and itching for a chance to beat someone up, we called them Fascists.

So let’s analyse the lies the Brexiteers were told, and how they were manipulated, starting with the ones on this bus so that those of us who don’t agree with them have a few facts and figures to answer them with.

LIE 1. It may be true that we send £350 million to the EU. BUT we also receive many millions back in subsidies for groups that need it, like farmers for example, so the sums balance, and often in our favour. The propaganda team who designed these slogans were careful not to tell the bellowers anything about that.

LIE 2  This government are privately committed to privatising the NHS and are well on their way to doing it. (Mark Britnell let that cat out of the bag long before they were elected) so none of this money would be given to the NHS. But you will notice that the designers are careful not to say that. They just suggest that it could be done. ‘Let’s fund our NHS’


Nigel Farage’s chunk of lying propaganda is even more blatant and dishonest. It doesn’t say there are millions of Turks who will crowd into our country when Turkey joins the EU, it simply shows a long queue of men who look like eastern Europeans, with the twin slogans ‘Breaking point’ and ‘The EU has failed us all’ People who had already been told by newspapers like the Mail and the Sun and others of that ilk that the Turks were coming, sucked it all up. But it was a lie.

I’ve said this before on this blog but I think  it’s worth repeating here. Because of an arcane ruling that no MP may call another MP a liar because ‘MP’s are gentlemen and gentlemen don’t lie,’ liars in the House are able to get away with any lies they like, no matter how gross. They are snollygosters, to a man and a woman – people who act for personal gain and are without principles.


So what personal gain did all these ardent, right-wing, propaganding Brexiteers work for? They are already very rich men, every single one of them. Well, perhaps it will help us to understand what is going on to know that the EU plan to bring in a law to make rich men in the Union pay their taxes wherever they are due which seems perfectly fair to me, but has led our rich men into a costly and determined campaign to take us out of the EU before it can affect them.

This morning The Guardian has revealed that ‘a series of hugely influential Facebook advertising campaigns that appear to be separate grass roots movements for a no-deal Brexit are secretly overseen by employees of Sir Lynton Crosby’s lobbying company and a former advisor to Boris Johnson. These guys have spent as much as £1m promoting sophisticated, targeted adverts heaping pressure on individual MPs to vote for a hard Brexit. Their collective Facebook expenditure swamps the amount spent in the last six months by all the UKs major political parties and the UK Government combined, they have paid for thousands of different targeted Facebook ads encouraging members of the public to write to their local MPs and call for the toughest possible exit from the EU.’ Their money is talking and talking clearly. They want out of Europe and out quickly. They are very skilled snollygosters.

And while I’m at it I’d like to say I am getting bloody sick of Theresa May claiming that she is acting ‘for the Nation’ SHE IS NOT. She certainly doesn’t act for me. Nor for any of the other 16,141,241 who voted against Brexit inBrexit-7-lessons the original referendum. The figures are worth considering because the Brexiteers now talk as if none of us who voted against it have any worth or rights at all, they were doing it from the day the results were known. And in fact if you look at the figures with a slightly wider lens you will realise that there were actually more people who didn’t vote for Brexit then there were who did. 17,410,742 voted FOR Brexit which is 51.89% of the total votes cast. 16,141,241 voted AGAINST Brexit which was 48.11%.

But the total electorate in England was 38,386,900 people. 33,551,983 actually voted so a little minor arithmetic will show you that 4,834,000 didn’t bother to vote. A second referendum could well product a very different result, especially if the men who had produced their untruthful propaganda were brought to account. I think that’s why the Brexiteers are opposing it so strongly.

We need to be very, very careful in these dangerous, lying times. I shall let Louis Macneice have the last, wise word.

I am not yet born; O hear me.
Let not the bloodsucking bat or the rat or the stoat or the
club-footed ghoul come near me.

I am not yet born, console me.
I fear that the human race may with tall walls wall me,
with strong drugs dope me, with wise lies lure me,
on black racks rack me, in blood-baths roll me.

I am not yet born; provide me
With water to dandle me, grass to grow for me, trees to talk
to me, sky to sing to me, birds and a white light
in the back of my mind to guide me.

I am not yet born; O hear me,
Let not the man who is beast or who thinks he is God
come near me.

Let them not make me a stone and let them not spill me.
Otherwise kill me.

This entry was posted on April 4, 2019. 8 Comments

My house is becoming a refuge for battered machinery

The bits and pieces are lying about all over the place, speechless and totally useless, rebuking me by their presence, and my guilty conscience is growing larger and more troublesome every time I see them. I’ve tried saying sorry but they just maintain a tinny silence.

But what can I do? I didn’t mean to kill any of them. They were killed by accident.

The first to go wasphoneinfridgemy mobile. Poor thing. I got up one morning and reached to switch it on and it wasn’t there. Much grumbling and trying to think where on earth I could have put it. Under the pillow? No. Under the bed? No. In the wardrobe? In the bathroom? In my handbag? In the kitchen? Among the cushions on my three sofas? But never a sign of it. I tried ringing the thing but there wasn’t so much as a squeak in answer. In the end I got thoroughly fed up and decided I’d have a cup of tea and start breakfast and I opened the fridge to get out the milk and there it was, lurking and silent. I couldn’t for the life of me think how it had got there, but a night in the cold had killed it. It wouldn’t ring and it wouldn’t work.

So I had to buy another one.


A few weeks later theipadinwashingkiller instinct had me in its clutches again. I find it difficult to sleep so my regular bed mate is my iPad on which I read one novel after another, whenever I need to. That morning I was in a rush and I wanted to get my washing done first and had left it all in a heap in the middle of my bed. After breakfast I went upstairs and scooped it all up and took it down and put it in the washing machine, feeling I’d made a good start to the day. Wrong! When the washing was finished, I opened the door of the machine. And the first thing that fell out was my iPad! Dead, dead, drowned and never call me mother. 

So I had to buy another.



The third casualty was a pair of bathroom scales I’d been using for about thirty years and this time I wasn’t the murderer! When I came home from my second stinscalesincupboardt in hospital after my heart attack I was put on statins although I did tell the doctor that I found them very hard to tolerate I was consequently, decidedly ill with constant diarrhea, nausea at mealtimes and considerable difficulty in swallowing. I consequently lost rather a lot of weight, so much so in fact that I became alarmed and weighed my self every other day,which looking back on it, was rather excessive. It annoyed my older daughter very much and she took out her annoyance on my poor weighing machine which she confiscated and took away. Some months later I dared to ask her if I could have it back and she laughed at that and said she had hidden it in the house and it had been under my nose all the time. I passed that message on to my Charlotte who found it almost at once, it was in the airing cupboard, hidden behind a door I rarely opened. It had blushed bright orange and was dead, dead, dead.

So yes you’ve guessed. I had to buy another! And now I have three reproachful corpses, one frozen, one drowned and one baked alive.

Mea culpa, mea culpa, mea maxima culpa!



This entry was posted on April 2, 2019. 3 Comments