The Soho Riflemen - Communiqué #2

Communiqué #2

They've all headed up country and left the back door to no.10 open. Bring the decks, bring the drinks, bring some gear... 

We are gonna have a party.

PS Don't tell Dave...

Their club house was in a tiny yard off D’Arblay Street...

 THE SOHO RIFLEMEN

Est. 1984

I

Their club house was in a tiny yard off D’Arblay Street. They took it over from the recently disbanded facilities team of a local magazine company that had, up until then, used it to either; a) store re-purposed (i.e. stolen) gear from local shops, b) conduct midday card schools or c) conduct drunken midnight manoeuvres with Lilibet from accounts on a rather rotten looking mattress.

The Soho Riflemen were an odd bunch. A disparate group of stylish outsiders, creative collaborators and hard-living innovators. They predated the current bunch of self-obsessed influencers by a good three decades. Soho phone boxes were decorated (daily) with polaroids depicting the latest clothes the Riflemen were wearing. Typewritten poems were left pinned to pub noticeboards and startling new music filtered out from numerous speakers that were seemingly linked (or synchronised) to play the length and breadth of Soho. 

In addition, collection boxes were sent round various West-End pubs every Friday night. In those days, the implication of any collection taken up in a London pub with ‘4 the boys’ on the side was obvious. However, instead of the money wending its way back across the Irish Sea to support the families of those ‘on the blanket’. It found its way to “Riflemen’s Yard”, as it became known. 

By 1987, activity had reached warp speed. Paper aeroplane poems were literally being flung out of the barely open windows of Gt Windmill St knocking shops and from the top deck of tour buses. Cycle couriers were posting them through rogue letterboxes and traffic wardens were placing them on numerous windscreens. 

One such paper aeroplane poem was recently discovered tucked down behind an unopened bottle of Koskenkorva Salmiakki in the back bar of The Finland House (a home from home for left-wing dissident Finns and the latest group of freelance Dadaists plotting the overthrow of international capitalism using photocollage and explicit sexual images). The poem reads as follows:

Transmission will commence in 5,4,3,2,1…

The sun, trapped. Behind glass. A heart, imprisoned. The soul, fired. From a stolen gun. A thousand bullets rain down from heaven. A million tears, fall to earth. A hush descends, across London tonight. The lovers have been rounded up and shipped down river. The Thames, awash with blood…  

Making love is a revolutionary act.

Other activity involved subverting street signs, billboards and other prominent advertisements. Notably, one of the Riflemen offered to look after the sandwich board of the famous Oxford St ‘End of the world is Nigh’ man – Gregory Pinnock. When Mr Pinnock returned after a brief visit to the staff toilet in the Pantheon Marks & Spencer at 173 Oxford Street, he took back the Sandwich Board and carried about his business of reminding the infidels and holidaymakers of the perils of protein. It was only some three hours later, when yet another group of awayday Scallies (down for the Everton v West Ham game) gave him a massive thumbs up did he stop to check his sandwich board again. It read, quite simply:

‘The End of the world is High’

Mr Pinnock never let anyone, even a kindly looking Vicar from Bexhill-on-Sea, get hold of his sandwich board again. However, that didn’t stop the Riflemen from trying! They even went as far as dressing up like a kindly looking Vicar from Bexhill-on-Sea. 

The Riflemen’s musical output was equally inventive and omnipresent. At 6:00am on a bright June morning, a brisk martial tune struck up from a vast array speakers that stretched from Regent St, to Charing X Road and Shaftesbury Avenue to Oxford St. After a triumphal opening, the NEW Soho anthem bellowed out:

Arise, arise, Soho wake & rise. 
True to these sacred streets

we shall remain until death.
People of Soho, free and fearless.
My Drink and Drugs, are my shield, on You I rely.
On You I will build; never leave me,
So that I may remain pious, your servant at all moments,
Dispelling the tyranny that wounds my heart.

Arise, arise, Soho wake & rise!

And then silence returned to the streets. Shopkeepers, discombobulated nightclubbers wending their way home, early rising office workers, blitzed media executives sweating night excesses out and Soho’s slip sliding slew of homeless and dispossessed stared at each other in degrees of bemusement and pride. From that day forth until the First Banishment, the Soho anthem blared out every morning at 6:00am, a veritable call to arms for the People’s Republic of Soho. 

Other musical interruptions included the 24-hour Summer Solstice rave. Even now, gnarled old washed out ex-cycle couriers still talk in wonder of the low almost subterranean throb of tribal drums and super-funky wah-wah guitar that accompanied the ebb & flow of the traffic, that clogged the arteries of the heart of London. 

These aural assaults were not appreciated by everyone by any stretch of the imagination. The resident squares (Ad agency hacks) were forever up in arms about The Riflemen’s activities – not least because it shamed their own turgid creativity and general piss-weak plagiarism. Complaints and representations were made to the much-despised SPF (Soho Police Force). 

The leader of the SPF Commander Serena Perry went on television urging anyone with connections to the Soho Riflemen, to come forward in strictest confidence. She was quoted as saying “The Soho Riflemen are nothing but anarchists and socialists threatening the very fabric of society”. The Riflemen responded with a series of posters directly quoting Commander Perry’s obvious endorsement of their ideology. ‘CMDR Perry speaks the truth’. 

The Soho Riflemen - Communiqué #1

 

The Soho Rifelmen have been re-activated

Communiqué #1

Day in the Life... (September 2020)

Espresso

-- Days as dark

as Espresso.

The rule 

of six...

--- Clandestine.

The law

of diminished

returns.

13:00 hours

and the 

short-wave radio

repeats the 

same message...

Black lightning.

Perfidious Albion - #2

I wake up in the middle of the night and have to check the news. What ghastly horrors await? What have they done this time? How much have they stolen? Can nobody stop them? Just exactly when did all the adults leave the room? Does integrity count for nothing? Does honesty count for even less these days? I always believed that the notion of 'one rule for them and another rule for us', was a rather trite appraisal of the situation. But it would seem that I was kidding myself... The old and oft spouted adage adage that "if you are not a Socialist by the time you are 21 - then you haven't got a heart. But if you are not a Tory by the time you are 40 - then you haven't got a brain" is something that has stuck in my craw ever since my very first day at work. 

Although in these days, it would seem that even the old time 'One Nation' Tories would be tarred with a similar brush. The new brutalism of the current Eton crop leaves many traditional Tories gasping for air. And the thing I don't understand is that, if they played the old game, they would still be in control. This new approach seems so hellbent on leading us at breakneck speed towards chaos that they are going to break everything they once held dear. 

Or is this all part of Der Masterplan...

Perfidious Albion - #1

I've done well. I mean credit where credit is due. I've tried really hard to keep my part of the bargain, anyone can see that. The problem is, when I promised myself to commit to updating https://thethingsimissaboutengland.blogspot.com on a more regular basis. I challenged myself not to fly off the handle at the incompetence, laziness, ineptitude, brazen pilfering, backhand deals with dodgy Eton mates and comfy arrangement with coked-up/messed up city chums and demonic overseas backers. 

In fact, I swore to myself that I would not call out these feckless bunch of Neo-fascist chancers with their ghastly anti-immigrant stance and their divisive; smash the poor, starve the weak, kill the old and feed the rich policies. 

I also made sure I wouldn't draw attention to their numerous U-turns, vile distractions and abysmal solutions. 

I've done well. Unlike...

Day in the life of a Poet (August 2020)

The Mask

I can see you now
two-way mirror
trying to convince yourself
that all will be well
looking round the room
hoping someone
will catch your
bloodshot eyes
the dull lids
conceal nothing
the hollow words
betray everything

only highlighting

the yawning chasm
between truth and you.

May Daze

The red eagle has flown from the jade palace. I repeat... The red eagle has flown from the jade palace. I repeat... The red eagle has flown from the jade palace. I repeat... The red eagle has flown from the jade palace. I repeat... The red eagle has flown from the jade palace. I repeat... The red eagle has flown from the jade palace. I repeat... The red eagle has flown from the jade palace. I repeat... The red eagle has flown from the jade palace. I repeat... The red eagle has flown from the jade palace. I repeat... The red eagle has flown from the jade palace. I repeat... The red eagle has flown from the jade palace. I repeat... The red eagle has flown from the jade palace. I repeat... The red eagle has flown from the jade palace. I repeat... The red eagle has flown from the jade palace. I repeat... The red eagle has flown from the jade palace. I repeat... The red eagle has flown from the jade palace. I repeat... The red eagle has flown from the jade palace. I repeat... The red eagle has flown from the jade palace. I repeat... The red eagle has flown from the JADE palace. I repeat... The red eagle has flown from the jade palace. I repeat... The red eagle has flown from the jade palace. I repeat... The red eagle has flown from the jade palace. I repeat... The red eagle has flown from the jade palace. I repeat... The red eagle has flown from the jade palace. I repeat... The red eagle has flown from the jade palace. I repeat... The red eagle has flown from the jade palace. I repeat... The red eagle has flown from the jade palace. I repeat... The red eagle has flown from the jade palace. I repeat... The red eagle has flown from the jade palace. I repeat... The red eagle has flown from the jade palace. I repeat... The red eagle has flown from the jade palace. I repeat... The red eagle has flown from the jade palace. I repeat... The red eagle has flown from the jade palace. I repeat... The red eagle has flown from the jade palace. I repeat... The red eagle has flown from the jade palace. I repeat... The red eagle has flown from the jade palace. I repeat... The red eagle has flown from the jade palace. I repeat... The red eagle has flown from the jade palace. I repeat... The red eagle has flown from the jade palace. I repeat... The red eagle has flown from the jade palace. I repeat... The red eagle has flown from the jade palace. Out.

The only good thing about a Fascist Coup - The resistance!

ⓒ2019 Reproduced by kind permission of 'Who gives a F'

I am English, I loved England & everything about it but...

The ironic thing about this blog is that when I first moved to Australia, my homesickness manifested itself in a number if rather alarming ways that I now shudder at. I would blithely wear English sporting attire at any opportunity (well, our cricket team was better then - although Joffra Archer's wonderful performance at Lords might suggest better things are still to come). I would openly display a Union flag and felt compelled to pick holes in my current circumstances and compare everything unfavourably to 'back home'. 

This was partly triggered by the sense of displacement I felt but equally it was a response to the the local Australian pride in their own  country. As time passed on, I would head back to the UK ostensibly to 'work' but more often than not, just to stock up on all the invaluable items I could not purchase in Sydney. Including (in no particular order of preference: Fred Perry t-shirts, Trickers Brogues, Marmite, John Smedley, decent selvedge Levis...). Sure there were a few quirky aspects that made me uncomfortable but I could even (very vaguely) tolerate those funny but obviously mad little Englander types like that odious little twerp Farage (rhymes with Garage) and that blithering buffoon Johnson. Only be cause they were harmless idiots! 

I am English, I loved England and everything about it!

But then...

A pack of lies, Russian influence, neo-con posturing, talk of Project Fear, the supine leadership of another Etonian dimwit Cameron, the ghastly horror of Prime Minister May the walking mothball, a misguided and lazy Labour opposition and now Britain finds itself staring down the barrel of abject disaster and humiliation. No deal = no medicine, food shortages, fuel shortages, port blockades, civil disobedience etc etc. This will be followed by a hard border for Northern Ireland, the return of the troubles (a few unsettled scores there), Scottish independence.... None of which is fantasy any more. 

We have the most right-wing government in Britain's history. We have two openly extremist political parties in the Brexit Party and UKIP. The members of whom actively share platforms with various Neo-Nazi groups including but not exclusive to the holocaust denying AfD of Germany... The sight of Anne Widdecombe and the rest of the Brexit Party turning their back on the European Union anthem is the most soul-destroying thing I have ever witnessed (and don't forget I once sat through a Tears for Fears gig, so I've suffered)! Ok, that is me being trite and frivolous... 

The prospect of martial law being imposed after the 31st October however is decidedly not funny and a real prospect. The fact that this scenario was given legitimate credence by of all things the Brexit championing The Sun might not mean it is true but does suggest it is on the agenda. Martial Law in Britain? Soldiers on the streets to stop riots and looting, where does it end?... Truly the stuff of a far-fetched dystopian nightmare. 

I am English, I loved England and everything about it!

But now...

I am English, I loved England and I am now aghast, horrified and feel utterly betrayed.

The Eton Mess - A recipe (for disaster)

The Bullingdon Club

The government of the people, for the minority, by the elite! 

The Eton Rifles

They are coming for you...

Anger was an energy

There was a time, not so unimaginably long ago, when we would express our anger and frustration in the most basic of window-smashing, meat-wagon trashing and general rampaging ways. We would feel free to unleash our RAGE.

Now, we are merely content to tweet, post and indeed blog(!). We have lost any sense of rebellion, happy to have gifted it all away in exchange for faster broadband and free wi-fi. 

However, all is not lost...

The Ruling Elite

I've missed them you know. I've missed the arrogance, the ignorance, the superior nature, the supercilious tone, the blinding pomposity. But they are back, boy are they back with knobs on. From Cameron's off-shore cover story, via Boris channelling Trump to poverty stricken 'underachievers'. The gloves are well and truly off.

The Spartacus Hour is coming...

Offshore Banking Business

Who'd have thought it...

The Members - Offshore Banking Business

Poll Results - What should you do if a friend suggests they might vote UKIP?

1. Shoot the f------

2. Disown them

3. Seek Medical help

A very considered and well mannered response from you all. Thank you.

Guy Fawkes Night

Remember, remember the fifth of November,
The gunpowder treason and plot
I know of no reason
Why the gunpowder treason
Should ever be forgot!

Ka Boom!

Poll results - Countries ripe for regime change

1 - United Kingdom
2 - Syria
3 - Israel
4 - South Korea
5 - USA
6 - Iran
6 - Russia
8 - Australia
9 - North Korea
10 - Zanzibar

Revolution #1 - The Show Trial

Back in the day, when regime change was far more of a gentlemanly pursuit, the show trial held sway as the most appropriate way of denouncing the previously untouchable leader. Nowadays regime's blunder on (in some cases for over 60 years) clinging to the last vestiges of power or are found hiding in a hole in the ground and summarily executed by a rampaging mob.

Take for example the demise of the Ceaușescu's. How much more elaborate and petty it seems compared to simply stringing them up from the nearest lamp post!

Nicolae and Elena Ceaușescu were condemned to death in a Stalinist-style show trial, wherein even their forcefully assigned lawyers began accusing them of having committed capital crimes, instead of defending them.There were absolutely no proofs offered for their alleged crimes, just mentions of the name of the crimes they would have had committed in the opinion of the prosecutors and of press reports about their alleged crimes. E.g., the accusation of genocide remains unproven to this day. They were also accused of saving USD 1 billion in foreign accounts, and even today there is no proof of such secret accounts. The judges' verdict offered the possibility of making appeal to a higher court, but the condemned were killed five minutes after the court reached the verdict.One of their lawyers has motivated before the execution that since the condemned do not recognize the court, there is no way left for making appeal to the verdict, and therefore the verdict should become final. Romanian law prohibited carrying out death penalties in less than ten days since the verdict remained final and irrevocable.After their execution, death penalty was abolished in Romania.

Nicolae Ceaușescu said that he did not recognize the court, and lawfully seen he seems to have been correct about that. The person signing the decree for organizing the court (Ion Iliescu) lacked any credentials for doing it, except that of being one of the leaders of the coup. The decree was apparently handwritten in a toilet of the Romanian Department of Defense. Later, the leaders of the coup said the decision to kill the Ceaușescus was necessary in order to stop the terrorists from attacking the new authorities, but it seems that there were no terrorists active. Initially, Iliescu did not agree with having the couple executed, but general Victor Stănculescu offered the support of the army only in exchange for having the couple executed.After few hours of debating this option, Iliescu agreed with Stănculescu.

Before the execution Nicolae said: "We could have been shot without having this masquerade!" However, the Masquerade is what it is all about. Just ask Richard Jobson of The Skids "Arrange new attacks, Demand a new decree, Listen to the ploys, Destroy them as they flee. Holy to the high masquerade masquerade. Fanfares in the sky masquerade masquerade"