Saturday 31 October 2020

Removal Takes Too Long, and it’s Emotional




“During the 1980s and 1990s, under the new rubric of ‘multiculturalism’, a steady stream of immigration into Britain continued from the Indian subcontinent and elsewhere. But an unspoken consensus existed whereby immigration – while always trending upwards – was quietly limited. What happened then, after the Labour Party’s landslide election victory in 1997, was a breaking of that consensus. 

Although neither a manifesto commitment nor a stated aim, once in power Tony Blair’s government oversaw an opening of the borders on a scale unparalleled even in the post-war decades. They abolished the ‘primary purpose rule’, which had attempted to filter out bogus marriage applications. 

They opened the borders to anyone deemed essential to the British economy – a definition so broad that it included restaurant workers as ‘skilled labourers’. 

And as well as opening the door to the rest of The World, they opened the borders to the new EU member states of Eastern Europe. 

It was the effects of all of this, and more, that created the picture of the country revealed in the 2011 census. 

Of course there are various claims as to how this post-1997 immigration surge occurred. One, famously made in 2009 by the former Labour speech-writer Andrew Neather, was that Tony Blair’s government wilfully eased the immigration rules because they wanted to ‘rub the Right’s nose in diversity’ and create what they unwisely took to be an electorate that would subsequently be loyal to the Labour Party.

After the outcry caused by his 2009 recollection Neather qualified this particular memory. 

Other Labour officials from those years began to say they had no idea who Neather was. But it is not hard to see how anyone, however junior, could have come away with such an impression of what was happening in those years. 


For instance, it was clear from the moment of her appointment as Minister for Asylum and Immigration during Tony Blair’s first term that Barbara Roche was seeking a complete rethink of Britain’s immigration and asylum policies. 

While the Prime Minister was concentrating on other matters, Roche changed every aspect of the British government’s policies. 

From here onwards all people claiming to be asylum seekers would be allowed to stay in Britain – whether they were genuine or not – because as she informed one official, ‘Removal takes too long, and it’s emotional.’ 

Roche also thought the contemporary restraints on immigration were ‘racist’ and that the whole ‘atmosphere’ around the immigration debate ‘was toxic’. 

Over her period in office she repeatedly stated her ambition to transform Britain. 

As one colleague said, ‘Roche didn’t see her job as controlling entry into Britain, but by looking at the wider picture “in a holistic way” she wanted us to see the benefit of a multicultural society.’ 

Neither the Prime Minister nor the Home Secretary, Jack Straw, were interested in questioning the new asylum policy, nor the fact that under Roche everyone entering Britain, whether he or she had a job to go to or not, was turned into an ‘economic migrant’. 

Wherever there was any criticism of her policy, either internally or externally, Roche dismissed it as racist. 

Indeed Roche – who criticised colleagues for being too white – insisted that even the mention of immigration policy was racist.

What she and a few others around her sought was a wholesale change of British society. 

Roche – a descendant of East End Jews – believed that immigration was only ever a good thing. Ten years after the changes she had brought about she told an interviewer with satisfaction, ‘I love the diversity of London. I just feel comfortable.’

The activities of Roche and a few others in the 1997 Labour government backs up the idea that theirs was a deliberate policy of societal transformation: a culture war being waged against the British people using immigrants as some kind of battering ram. 

Another theory, not running entirely counter to this view, is that the whole thing was a bureaucratic cock-up that had already run out of control under successive governments, and only did so spectacularly under New Labour.”




Was Mass Immigration a Conspiracy?
Official figures to be published on Thursday will confirm that foreign immigration under Labour added more than three million to our population.

At the same time nearly one million British citizens voted with their feet, some saying that they were leaving because England was no longer a country that they recognised.

How could all this have happened in the teeth of public opposition? Even the Labour government’s own survey last February showed that 77 per cent of the public wanted immigration reduced, including 54 per cent of the ethnic communities, while 50 per cent of the public wanted it reduced ‘by a lot’.

There are, of course, good arguments for controlled and limited immigration. Migration in both directions is a natural part of an open economy. And there are many immigrants who are valuable both to our economy and our society.

Mass immigration is an entirely different matter. The question now is how did it happen and what can be done about it. Was it all a Labour conspiracy? Was it sheer incompetence in government? Or was it wholesale retreat in front of the race relations lobby?

Landmark

The strongest evidence for conspiracy comes from one of Labour’s own. Andrew Neather, a previously unheard-of speechwriter for Blair, Straw and Blunkett, popped up with an article in the Evening Standard in October 2009 which gave the game away.

Immigration, he wrote, ‘didn’t just happen; the  deliberate policy of Ministers from late 2000…was to open up the UK to mass immigration’.

He was at the heart of policy in September 2001, drafting the landmark speech by the then Immigration Minister Barbara Roche, and he reported ‘coming away from some discussions with the clear sense that the policy was intended - even if this wasn’t its main purpose - to rub the Right’s nose in diversity and render their arguments out of date’.

That seemed, even to him, a manoeuvre too far.

The result is now plain for all to see. Even Blair’s favourite think tank, the Institute for Public Policy Research (IPPR), commented recently: ‘It is no exaggeration to say that immigration under New Labour has changed the face of the country.’

It is not hard to see why Labour’s own apparatchiks supported the policy. Provided that the white working class didn’t cotton on, there were votes in it.

Research into voting patterns conducted for the Electoral Commission after the 2005 general election found that 80 per cent of Caribbean and African voters had voted Labour, while only about 3 per cent had voted Conservative and roughly 8 per cent for the Liberal Democrats.

The Asian vote was split about 50 per cent for Labour, 10 per cent Conservatives  and 15 per cent Liberal Democrats.

Nor should we underestimate the power of ‘community leaders’ who have strong influence in constituency Labour parties and who, of course, benefit from a growth in numbers.

Other activists, nurtured in the anti-apartheid movement of the last century, had no difficulty promoting the interests of minority groups — almost, it seems, regardless of the impact on the white working class.

There were also economic factors. A collection of essays published recently by the IPPR underlined the role of Gordon Brown’s Treasury in this affair. A high level of immigration made economic growth look better and helped keep wages and, therefore, inflation down.

Others, too, saw economic benefits for themselves. The employers’ organisations kept their heads down, but there is little doubt that they were privately encouraging a supply of cheap labour which was good for profits, whatever its impact on society.

Then there were those members of the middle classes who found it convenient to have cheap exotic restaurants and even cheaper domestic help, but were blind to the wider consequences of this population inflow which were, of course, felt in the poorer neighbourhoods.

Another major factor was the attitude of the BBC and, in particular, its devotion to multiculturalism. For years it avoided discussing immigration if it possibly could.

Although in the autumn of 2005 official statistics for the previous year showed an increase of 50 per cent in net immigration, there was no mention of this on the BBC. Its own report into impartiality, published in June 2007, concluded that its coverage of immigration amounted to bias by omission.

Covert

Last December the corporation’s director-general admitted: ‘There are some areas, immigration, business and Europe, where the BBC has historically been rather weak and rather nervous about letting that entire debate happen.’ Indeed so. 

The overall effect was to deter any serious discussion of immigration and to give plenty of space to the Left to accuse anyone who raised the subject of being a covert racist. On this matter the BBC failed to meet its own standards of objectivity.

How about Labour’s competence in government? A succession of six home secretaries and eight ministers of immigration was a testament to their utter failure to focus on a subject of crucial importance to Britain’s future. 

Labour ministers had no sooner grasped the elements of the problem than they were moved to a new post. Government policy was that immigration was good for the economy, so why make difficulties about it?

The first Labour Home  Secretary even to inquire about the numbers was  Jacqui Smith. But she, too, was gone in the twinkling of an eye.

The reality is there was no government focus on the scale of immigration and no serious effort made to reduce it.

In the end, Labour paid the price.

Anger over mass immigration was a major reason why so many of Labour’s working-class supporters did not vote at the last election.

They were not alone in their verdict. An intriguing opinion survey found that, when the public were asked what they regarded as the greatest failures of Tony Blair’s time as Prime Minister, 62 per cent pointed to the fact that immigration had reached unacceptable levels — even more than the 56 per cent who chose the invasion of Iraq.

Blair himself shows no remorse. His memoirs, which run to 690 pages, contain only one page on immigration.

Uphill

The reference describes his strategy for handling the  policy at the 2005 election, saying: ‘Because our position was sophisticated enough - a sort of “confess and avoid”, as the lawyers say - we  won out.’ 

If Blair thinks his immigration policy was a success, he is almost alone.

So, what about the future? What can be done?

The current government has taken one vital step. It has established an overall target range for immigration policy — to get net immigration down to tens of thousands by the end of this Parliament.

It is looking at the issue of work permits and dependants, seeing what can be done to tighten up numbers. 

It has also made a start on economic migration and is ready to address the issue of foreign students, marriage and false asylum claimants which are the other main elements of immigration.

This will be uphill work, and the Liberal Democrat partners in the Coalition can be expected to make difficulties (so it will be essential to remain vigilant).

Nevertheless, Home Office ministers are showing some determination — and the official machine is at last responding to the overwhelming and democratically expressed wish of the British public.

Sir Andrew Green is a former British Ambassador  to Saudi Arabia and Syria

© Copyright of Sir Andrew Green

Friday 30 October 2020

Superman in The City






“These people don’t die.”

That’s why Rocky didn’t die at the end of Rocky V. It’s what the head of the movie studio told director John Avildsen about two weeks into the shooting of the movie.

The original version of the film called for Rocky Balboa to die after a severe in-ring beating by Tommy Gunn, played by boxer Tommy Morrison.

“First of all, in five, Rocky was supposed to die. At the end of the movie he is on the way to hospital, his head is in Adrian’s lap and he dies because he’s taken this great beaten from Tommy Gunn,” Avildsen told 94WIP’s Angelo Cataldi and the Morning Team on Monday. Alvildsen is in town for a special screening of the original Rocky film at the Philadelphia Museum of Art.

“And the last scene of the movie, Adrian comes out of the hospital and there’s the world press assembled because Rocky then is a big deal and she announces that he is dead, but as long as people believe in themselves Rocky spirit will live forever. And when I read that I said, wow what a great way to go out. What a beautiful ending! So we started shooting the movie and a couple of weeks into the shooting I get a call from the head of the studio and they said, ‘Oh by the way Rocky’s not going to die. Batman doesn’t die, Superman, James Bond, these people don’t die’.”


https://philadelphia.cbslocal.com/2014/03/10/rocky-director-avildsen-rocky-was-supposed-to-die-in-rocky-v/

Wednesday 28 October 2020

You Don't Agree, But You Don't Refuse - I Know You.


We put The Police there. Right? 
We put them there. And we don’t want to go there, 
because we are smart people; we are cool people. 
We don’t want to go and hit anyone. 

We don’t want to go and enforce The Law – 
Because we don’t really believe in it. 
But we know some poor bastard has to enforce it.

Why do we hate those guys when we put them there?

Why do we hate ourselves for creating this society?

Why are so many people in America obsessed 
with Marilyn Manson; corpses; dead people; 
misery; John Wayne Gacy… 

John Wayne Gacy’s a fucking prick. 

Y’know, he killed a few people 
and did some shitty paintings. 
What’s that? Why should we be engaged with that? 

And yet that has become.. 
what, “Apocalypse Culture“?

Where do we go from there, that isn’t that? 
Where do we go that isn’t playing with our own shite?

The Answer… back to 
The Individual.




Oh, you look so tired 
Mouth slack and wide 
Ill-housed and ill-advised 
Your face is as mean 
As your life has been --

Crash into my arms,
I want you.
You don't agree,
But you don't refuse
I know you.


Trudging slowly over wet sand
Back to The Bench where 
Your Clothes were stolen


This is The Coastal Town
That they forgot to close 
Down, Armageddon,
Come Armageddon!
Come, Armageddon! Come!



“Babylon?
 
The myth of Tuamat and Marduk, the Enuma Elish... extraordinary.
Absolutely extraordinary.
 
There are archetypal forms... to become as gods... 
The Bacchanal. Apotheosis. It's almost.... It's almost as if... As if the act itself...

The act of violence... Some trigger in the brain. is if it were...

Oh dear God.
Dear God, what is this Aethyr I am come upon?
What spirits are these, labouring in what heavenly light?

No... 
No, this is dazzle, but not yet divinity. Nor are these heathen wraiths about me spirits, lacking even that vitality.

What, then?
Am I, like Saint John The Divine, vouchsafed a glimpse of those last times?
Are these the days my death shall spare me?

It would seem we are to suffer an apocalypse of cockatoos...
Morose, barbaric children playing joylessly with their unfathomable toys.
Where comes this dullness in your eyes? How has your century numbed you so?

Shall man be given marvels only when he is beyond all wonder?

Your days were born in blood and fires, whereof in you I may not see the meanest spark!
Your past is pain and iron!
Know Yourselves!

With all your shimmering numbers and your lights, think not to be inured to history. It's black root succours you. It is INSIDE you.
Are you asleep to it, that cannot feel it's breath upon your neck, nor see what soaks it's cuffs?

See me! Wake up and look upon me! I am
 come amongst you. I am with you always!

You are the sum of all preceeding you, yet you seem indifferent to yourselves.
A culture grown disinterested, even in it's own abysmal wounds.
Your women all but show their sexes, and yet this display elicits not a flicker of response. 
Your own flesh is made meaningless to you.

How would I seem to you? Some antique fiend or penny dreadful horror, yet you frighten me!
You have not souls. With you I am alone.

Alone in an Olympus. Though accomplished in the sciences, your slightest mechanisms are beyond my grasp. 
They HUMBLE me, yet touch you not at all.

This disaffection. This is Armageddon. Ah, Mary, how times levelled us. We are made equal, both mere curios of our vanished epoch in this lustless world.

This World, wherein comparison I am made ignorant, while you....
you are made virtuous.

Do you understand how I loved you? You'd have all been dead in a year or two from liver failure or childbirth. Dead. Forgotten.

I have saved you. Do you understand that? I have made you safe from time and we are wed in legend, inextricable within eternity.

Know that I am...
uh...

— Jack The Ripper


Business!" cried The Ghost, 
wringing its hands again.
  
"Mankind was My Business.  
The Common Welfare 
was My Business; Charity, Mercy, 
Forbearance, and Benevolence, 
were, all, My Business.  

The Dealings of My Trade were 
but a drop of water in 
the comprehensive ocean 
of My Business!"





“I think what we should do is walk away from the crap of the 20th century, and start thinking about what we’ve been experiencing.

My feeling about the 20th century, and about World War II and about Auschwitz and all of that stuff is that we HAD to go through it. We HAD to do it. That was Humanity’s Dark Night of The Soul, and it will never, ever happen again. 
But it HAD to happen.

Every single nightmare image, every image of hell that we have in our minds happened

Everything you can think of; people were flayed, brutalised, gassed, tortured, cut into pieces, turned into pigs – everything you can imagine happened. The world was a wasteland. There were cities completely annihilated. We went through it.

WHY did we do that?

Stanislav Grof has a conception of the ‘perinatal matrices', which was one of the big influences on the film The Matrix

You might recognise some of this. He says that things that happen to us around birth are really profound, and they have all kinds of weird effects. They effect society, they effect the self; they effect everything. They have reverberations.

And he claims that there are several states, that he calls “Basic Perinatal Matrices”.

The first state is oceanic bliss – which we’re all familiar with, I’m sure. Oceanic fuckin’ bliss, mate. And that is the state of the baby in the womb, untouched – everything is provided for; everthing is there; everything you need will turn up out of the blue.

Basic Perinatal Matrix 2 is a different thing. It’s when the womb starts to turn a little toxic, and begins to suggest we’re about to be expelled. And, y’know, we don’t remember this stuff – what happened? What was the feeling of that fetus in there who suddenly thinks: “My entire universe has been overturned and I’m about to be shit out”? 

Does he know where he’s going? “What the fuck’s this? Y’know, I was happy there. It was cool; I was getting everything I wanted.”

And so on into BPM 4 – which is kind of a release from tension; which is the birth process.

So I’m beginning to think.. as a society – and returning to the idea of ontogeny as history.. phylogeny, or whatever the fuck the word is.. what we’re looking at now is humanity’s process through Grofian matrices.

And what we went through is actually a Stanislav Grof Basic Perinatal Matrix 3 experience.

Every image that he talks about: death camps, control, the idea of people.. babies trapped in tubes.. you’ll recognise all this from The Matrix, as I said.

Oil, mechanisms, machines that hate us; destructive technology.. it all happened.

What if this little baby that is The Universe; this little larvae that’s approaching culmination, has had to go through these stages? Because everything does

If you want to get rid of War, 
How Do You Get Rid of War

You inoculate yourself against War by having 
The Worst Fuckin’ War 
You’ve Ever Had in Your Life

And everything after that’s just an aftershock

We’ve done nothing worse than what we did in those few years. Humanity’s never come close to anything like it. We’ve tried; there’s been a few lunatics who’ve tried. But nothing on that scale.

So what if we choose to imagine that Humanity has passed through that stage?

We’ve reached the 21st century, 
and we’re now approaching Basic Perinatal Matrix 4.

Which is: Victory after War. 
Which is: The Struggle is Over. 
Which is: We’re All Here; What Do We Do Next?

There was no apocalypse; there was no Christ
There was no rapture. There is nothing. 
All this stuff is shit.

There is only Us. And we’ve still got another thousand years, and maybe another thousand beyond that, and maybe another twenty thousand beyond that.

What are we gonna do?
Who Are We?

Are we gonna stick to these personalities; these bounded, territorial things?

Are we gonna expand ourselves; 
make ourselves bigger? 

So that if you happen to like.. [say] ‘world music’ and I don’t, I can tap into your love of ‘world music’, and experience it – and it means something.
So all I’m suggesting here is that we all take up magic. 
Because basically it works.”

BRAVE




 O Brave New World,
That has such people in't!

 



  


brave (adj.)
"exhibiting courage or courageous endurance," late 15c., from Middle French brave, "splendid, valiant," from Italian bravo "brave, bold," originally "wild, savage," a word of uncertain origin. Possibly from Medieval Latin bravus "cutthroat, villain," from Latin pravus "crooked, depraved;" a less likely etymology being from Latin barbarus (see barbarous). A Celtic origin (Irish breagh, Cornish bray) also has been suggested, and there may be a confusion of two or more words. Related: Bravely.

Old English words for this, some with overtones of "rashness," included modig (now "moody"), beald ("bold"), cene ("keen"), dyrstig ("daring"). Brave new world is from the title of Aldous Huxley's 1932 satirical utopian novel; he lifted the phrase from Shakespeare ("Tempest" v.i.183).






HOPE :
How can you not see this?! They are bad people, Iris, and they have our dad! 


CIVIC REPUBLIC BRAVE :
Are you talking about us? 
The Civic Republic?

One of your Alliance partners? How are we "bad", exactly? 

 Come on. 
Tell me. 

IRIS :
You don't let anyone in or out. 

You won't let people communicate with your people. Or vice versa. 

You don't tell anyone where you are. 

And you have our dad. 

CIVIC REPUBLIC BRAVE :
I have a daughter. 
She's a bit older than you guys. 

She's a soldier in the CRM.
She's away from me a great deal. 

And that makes me scared sometimes. 
Then I remember that she's helping to protect the Civic Republic. 

She's helping us with the Alliance of the Three. 
She's taking that risk to help us eventually bring This World Back. 

And that makes me Brave

We have to Be Brave in This Life we have. 
Simply to exist now.


barbarous (adj.)

c. 1400, "uncivilized, uncultured, ignorant," from Latin barbarus "strange, foreign, barbarous," from Greek barbaros "foreign, uncivilized" (see barbarian (n.)). Meaning "not Greek or Latin" (of words or language) is from c. 1500; that of "savagely cruel" is from 1580s. Related: Barbarously; barbarousness.


brave (v.)

"to face with bravery," 1761, from French braver, from brave "valiant" (see brave (adj.)). Related: Braved; braving.


brave (n.)
"North American Indian warrior," 1827, from brave (adj.). Earlier "a hector, a bully" (1590s); "brave, bold, or daring person" (c. 1600). Compare bravado, bravo.
Related entries & more 


braw (adj.)
"handsome, worthy, excellent," a Scottish English formation and pronunciation of brave.


bravura (n.)
1788, "a spirited, florid piece of music requiring great skill in the performer," from Italian bravura "bravery, spirit" (see brave (adj.)). Sense of "display of brilliancy, dash" is from 1813.

bravado (n.)
1580s, "ostentatious courage, pretentious boldness," from French bravade "bragging, boasting," from Italian bravata "bragging, boasting" (16c.), from bravare "brag, boast, be defiant," from bravo "brave, bold" (see brave (adj.)). The English word was influenced in form by Spanish words ending in -ado. It also was used as a noun 17c.-18c., "swaggering fellow."
 


bravery (n.)

1540s, "daring, defiance, boasting," from French braverie, from braver "to brave" (see brave (adj.)) or else from cognate Italian braveria, from bravare.

    No Man is an Atheist, however he pretend it and serve the Company with his Braveries. [Donne, 1631]

The original deprecatory sense is obsolete; as a good quality attested perhaps from 1580s, but it is not always possible to distinguish the senses. Meaning "fine clothes, showiness" is from 1560s and holds the older notion of ostentatious pretense.
 


bravo (interj.)
"well done!," 1761, from Italian bravo, literally "brave" (see brave (adj.)). Earlier it was used as a noun meaning "desperado, hired killer" (1590s). Superlative form is bravissimo.

    It is held by some philologists that as "Bravo!" is an exclamation its form should not change, but remain bravo under all circumstances. Nevertheless "bravo" is usually applied to a male, "brava" to a female artist, and "bravi" to two or more. ["Elson's Music Dictionary," 1905]


prowess (n.)
late 13c., prouesse, from Old French proece "prowess, courage, brave deed" (Modern French prouesse), from prou, later variant of prud "brave, valiant," from Vulgar Latin *prodem (source also of Spanish proeza, Italian prodezza; see proud). Prow was in Middle English as a noun meaning "advantage, profit," also as a related adjective ("valiant, brave"), but it has become obsolete. "In 15-17th c. often a monosyllable" [OED].


Kenelm
masc. proper name, Old English Cenhelm, from cene "brave, bold" (see keen (adj.)) + helm "helmet" (see helmet (n.)).

 


Drake Woke.



“My name is Alex Drake.
I've just been shot and that bullet's taken me back to 1981. 

I may be one second away from Life or one second away from Death. 

All I know is that I have to keep fighting, fight to live, fight to see my daughter, fight, to get Home."


So Who WAS Jack Flint/Alex Drake/Gene Hunt anyway?

We based our cover personalities on popular DETECTIVE stars from ‘70s cop shows.



We’re The Sweeney, Son — and we ‘aven’t ‘ad any dinner.

Getcha trousers on — you’re nicked.




The second officially licensed novel based on The Prisoner, published in 1969, refers to Number Six as “Drake” from its very first sentence: 

“Drake Woke.”














“Alexander Crowley... who later changed his name to Aleister from largely numerological reasons when he discovered that the letters in ‘Alexander’ only added up to the second cousin of The Beast.”

— Alan Moore, 
From Hell footnotes.




The expression Dracula, which is now primarily known as the name of a fictional vampire, was for centuries known as the sobriquet of Vlad III.

Diplomatic reports and popular stories referred to him as Dracula, Dracuglia, or Drakula already in the 15th century.

He himself signed his two letters as “Dragulya” or “Drakulya” in the late 1470s.

His name had its origin in the sobriquet of his father, Vlad Dracul (“Vlad the Dragon” in medieval Romanian), who received it after he became a member of the Order of the Dragon.

Dracula is the Slavonic genitive form of Dracul, meaning “[the son] of Dracul (or the Dragon)”.

In modern Romanian, dracul means “The Devil”, which contributed to Vlad’s reputation.

Vlad III is known as Vlad ÈšepeÈ™ (or Vlad the Impaler) in Romanian historiography.

This sobriquet is connected to the impalement that was his favorite method of execution.

The Ottoman writer Tursun Beg referred to him as Kazıklı Voyvoda (Impaler Lord) around 1500.

Mircea the Shepherd, Voivode of Wallachia, used this sobriquet when referring to Vlad III in a letter of grant on 1 April 1551.



KNOCKING

DRAKE :
Did you hear me?
Why is that there?
What is it for?
It's a toilet. I'm a vampire.
Why have you given me a toilet?

DOOR BANGS SHUT

Good morning, Count Dracula.
How are you settling in?

DRAKE :
Well, uh, I have a chemical toilet.
And this.

[ He holds up a Kindle. ]

You have every book ever written during your coma, and somewhere to sit.

DRAKE :
Well, I need more than books, Zoe.

MECHANICAL WHIRRING

POWERS DOWN

Take off your coat and roll up your left sleeve.

DRAKE :
Why?

Because I told you to, and I can break you with a sunbeam.
I'm coming in. Make any attempt to attack me, and my colleague will fully open the roof and burn you to a crisp.
Do you understand?

DRAKE :
So you're a Doctor this
time, are you?
I think I preferred the disappointed nun.

I'm a scientist. 

DRAKE :
Well, that amounts to the same thing.

I'm not Sister Agatha.
I'm Dr Helsing, and I'm the woman in charge of this foundation.

DRAKE :
In charge of it?

SHE LAUGHS
Oh, of course. 
I suppose women's rights are just something you slept through.

DRAKE :
Women's what? 
Did you say rights?

You'll get the hang of it.

DRAKE :
No, no, no, please try and explain.

I missed an entire century.
What are... rights?

Nobody has rights, Zoe.

Man, woman or monster.
No-one, nowhere.
It's just a lunatic fantasy.

Or Civilisation, as we like to call it.
Give me your left arm. 

DRAKE :
Why?

Because you're going to give blood.

DRAKE :
Well, this is a first.
So tell me, what is the Jonathan Harker Foundation?

I can't seem to penetrate the skin.

DRAKE :
Oh?
Give it to me.
Take this.
Hold this.

HE SIGHS

Johnny was a fine man.
What has this place got to do with him?
Oh, you remember Harker, then?

DRAKE :
Mm.

This foundation was set up by
Mina Murray, his fiancee.

Do you remember her?

SHE SCREAMS

DRAKE :
Barely.
Insipid little thing.
Flavourless, one imagines.

But you left her alive.

DRAKE :
Go! Now!

When her father died, she inherited his fortune and with the cooperation of Sister Agatha's extended family, they set up this foundation in Jonathan's name.

DRAKE :
So you run the family firm.
I've always approved of inherited power.
Democracy is the tyranny of the uninformed.
Only in blood... do we find the truth, Zoe.

Our primary purpose is medical research, but with the stipulation that, were you ever to be found, you would be trapped, studied, understood, and humanely fed.

You're a unique specimen. 

DRAKE :
No.
I'm a 500-year-old warlord.
And... I know mercenaries when I see them.
Who's funding this place?
Because people who can afford
mercenaries are very rarely interested in medicine.
You're withholding information.
I'm giving you everything.
Blood is lives.
Everything is in the blood, Zoe,
if you know how to read it.
Do you know how to read it?

You couldn't read mine.
You choked on it.


DRAKE :
I remember the flavour, though.
Um... what IS that?
You're...
You're fast, you're clever, driven.
But driven by what?
Agatha was always trying to
save everybody, but you...
You hold yourself apart.
Friendless.
Loveless.
Childless.
Compromised. Corrupt, even.
Ahh!
Zoe Helsing, there's a shadow on your heart.
I've sampled this bitter bouquet before, and these days, I believe, you call it...

SHE HISSES

..cancer.
That's why your blood was poison to me.
You're dying.

BLOXHAM :
Doctor, I need to talk you.

What is it? Who's this?

DRAKE : 
Oh, hi, Frank.



Sorry. Yes, hello.
Bit late - er, trains.


What are you thinking?
Get rid of him.

Throw him out of
the bloody building!

Dr Helsing, I think you'd better listen.

Who are you?

DRAKE :
I'm sorry, that's rude of me.
This is Frank Renfield.
We've been, um, Skyping.

Hello. Dr Helsing, isn't it?

I-I-I'm sure we can sort all this
out. 

Skyping?

DRAKE :
Ah, yes. Um, thanks for this.


You're online? You're not supposed to be online.

DRAKE :
Well, don't you know how these things work?
Terribly clever.

Who gave him the Wi-Fi password?

DRAKE :
Well, it's my name.

Oh, Jesus.

DRAKE :
Tell Dr Helsing who you are.

Right. Well, yes.
I'm Count Dracula's lawyer.

His what?

His lawyer. 


His lawyer?

HE CHUCKLES
Sorry. Well, not sorry, but, you know.

I'm afraid it does look like you're keeping him here against his will.
And whilst my client doesn't want to make a fuss, well, 
that's not really on, is it?

Since when do you have a lawyer?

DRAKE :
Um.....189...6?

Exactly. Yes.

We've been representing Count
Dracula since September 12th, 1896.
Well, Hawkins and Wentworth have.
Wasn't there myself.
Not that old! N-No offence.

1896?

We purchased some properties for the Count and arranged his resettlement.

Does it bother you that the man
who engaged your firm in 1896 is standing over there without a single grey hair?

DRAKE :
HE EXCLAIMS
Thank you.

Oh, it does, yes.
Quite a lot, really.

In fact, I think it's properly
frightening. Don't you?

But the thing is, you see,
being well over a century old
is not actually against The Law.

What's against The Law is you locking him up.

I think you might have forgotten,
Dr Helsing...
Count Dracula has rights.

He's a bloody vampire!

I-I feel that's an emotionally loaded term.

It is the correct term.

It's not a legal term.
Has he harmed anyone? 

Yes. 

No.

Well, on the beach, he... 

No.

There were rumours of an incident on the beach a few nights ago, but there was no trace of anything the following morning, and everyone has stopped talking
about it.

So either there's been
some sort of cover-up, in which case The Police will certainly be interested, 
or there was no incident to cover up in the first place and my client is guilty of nothing.

Which would you prefer?

After all, why would a medical
research facility have access to, I don't know, let's say... mercenaries?

I'm not curious for myself, you understand, but people are such gossips.

Count Dracula has given a deadline for his release - 11 minutes past eight this evening.

Slightly odd timing, but he has his ways.

It's not odd. It's not odd at all, Mr Renfield.

11 minutes past eight is sunset.

HE CHUCKLES

I'm sending you an e-mail.

Dear Zoe,

Thank you for being such a courteous host.

It is, however, the tradition that the courteous host must speed the parting guest, and I'm sure you will accord with
this.

Also, thank you for your offer of
food.

However, it is not my practice
to eat cattle.

In the matter of blood, I'm a
connoisseur.

Blood is lives.

Blood is testimony.

The testimony of everyone I have ever destroyed flows in my veins.

I will choose with care who joins them now.

Ripeness is the first moment of
decay.

Sweetness is the promise of
corruption.

I shall look for the perfect food
of This World.

HE CHUCKLES
And I will find it.

Never doubt that.

I will find it.

Blood is everything you needed to know, Zoe, if you understand how to read it.

Have you worked out how yet?

If you ever hope to match me, you'll have to.

RENFIELD:
The Jonathan Harker Foundation - terribly interesting.

Did some tremendous work
during the last two flu outbreaks, but their funding stream is, to say the least, opaque.

One might almost say...occult.

Tuesday 27 October 2020

One Man and His Dog


Sirius is Canis Major — The Big Dog

Procyon is Canis Minor — The Little Dog Star






We stand here. And we’re looking ahead. What are we gonna do?
Abandon the personality is what I suggest.
Get rid of the sense of self. Get rid of the sense of “I”, and make yourself something bigger. Imagine that every time you want to learn something new, it’s a new computer program; you can buy the operating system; the update. You can learn to fly a plane in seven days according to Neuro-Linguistic Programming – so why not? Let’s do it.





One man went to mow
Went to mow a meadow
One man and his dog
Went to mow a meadow

Two men went to mow
Went to mow a meadow
Two men, one man and his dog
Went to mow a meadow

Three men went to mow
Went to mow a meadow
Three men, two men, one man and his dog
Went to mow a meadow

Four men went to mow
Went to mow a meadow
Four men, three men, two men, one man and his dog
Went to mow a meadow

Went to mow a meadow




“Really, then?” said Mr. Lorry, as an amendment.

“Really, is bad enough,” returned Miss Pross, “but better. Yes, I am very much put out.”

“May I ask the cause?”

“I don't want dozens of people who are not at all worthy of Ladybird, to come here looking after her,” said Miss Pross.

“Do dozens come for that purpose?”
“Hundreds,” said Miss Pross.

It was characteristic of this lady (as of some other people before her time and since) that whenever her original proposition was questioned, she exaggerated it.

“Dear me!” said Mr. Lorry, as the safest remark he could think of.

“I have lived with the darling—or the darling has lived with me, and paid me for it; which she certainly should never have done, you may take your affidavit, if I could have afforded to keep either myself or her for nothing—since she was ten years old. And it's really very hard,” said Miss Pross.

Not seeing with precision what was very hard, Mr. Lorry shook his head; using that important part of himself as a sort of fairy cloak that would fit anything.

“All sorts of people who are not in the least degree worthy of the pet, are always turning up,” said Miss Pross. “When you began it—”

“I began it, Miss Pross?”

“Didn't you? Who brought her father to life?”

“Oh! If that was beginning it—” said Mr. Lorry.

“It wasn't ending it, I suppose? I say, when you began it, it was hard enough; not that I have any fault to find with Doctor Manette, except that he is not worthy of such a daughter, which is no imputation on him, for it was not to be expected that anybody should be, under any circumstances. 

But it really is doubly and trebly hard to have crowds and multitudes of people turning up after him (I could have forgiven him), to take Ladybird's affections away from me.”

Mr. Lorry knew Miss Pross to be very jealous, but he also knew her by this time to be, beneath the service of her eccentricity, one of those unselfish creatures—found only among women — who will, for pure love and admiration, bind themselves willing slaves, to youth when they have lost it, to beauty that they never had, to accomplishments that they were never fortunate enough to gain, to bright hopes that never shone upon their own sombre lives. He knew enough of the world to know that there is nothing in it better than the faithful service of the heart; so rendered and so free from any mercenary taint, he had such an exalted respect for it, that in the retributive arrangements made by his own mind—we all make such arrangements, more or less—he stationed Miss Pross much nearer to the lower Angels than many ladies immeasurably better got up both by Nature and Art, who had balances at Tellson's.

“There never was, nor will be, but one man worthy of Ladybird,” said Miss Pross; “and that was my brother Solomon, if he hadn't made a mistake in life.”

Here again: Mr. Lorry's inquiries into Miss Pross's personal history had established the fact that her brother Solomon was a heartless scoundrel who had stripped her of everything she possessed, as a stake to speculate with, and had abandoned her in her poverty for evermore, with no touch of compunction. Miss Pross's fidelity of belief in Solomon (deducting a mere trifle for this slight mistake) was quite a serious matter with Mr. Lorry, and had its weight in his good opinion of her.

“As we happen to be alone for the moment, and are both people of business,” he said, when they had got back to the drawing-room and had sat down there in friendly relations, “let me ask you—does the Doctor, in talking with Lucie, never refer to the shoemaking time, yet?”

“Never.”

“And yet keeps that bench and those tools beside him?”

“Ah!” returned Miss Pross, shaking her head. “But I don't say he don't refer to it within himself.”

“Do you believe that he thinks of it much?”

“I do,” said Miss Pross.

“Do you imagine—” Mr. Lorry had begun, when Miss Pross took him up short with:

“Never imagine anything. Have no imagination at all.”

“I stand corrected; do you suppose—you go so far as to suppose, sometimes?”

“Now and then,” said Miss Pross.

“Do you suppose,” Mr. Lorry went on, with a laughing twinkle in his bright eye, as it looked kindly at her, “that Doctor Manette has any theory of his own, preserved through all those years, relative to the cause of his being so oppressed; perhaps, even to the name of his oppressor?”

“I don't suppose anything about it but what Ladybird tells me.”

“And that is—?”

“That she thinks he has.”

“Now don't be angry at my asking all these questions; because I am a mere dull man of business, and you are a woman of business.”

“Dull?” Miss Pross inquired, with placidity.

Rather wishing his modest adjective away, Mr. Lorry replied, “No, no, no. Surely not. To return to business: — Is it not remarkable that Doctor Manette, unquestionably innocent of any crime as we are all well assured he is, should never touch upon that question? I will not say with me, though he had business relations with me many years ago, and we are now intimate; I will say with the fair daughter to whom he is so devotedly attached, and who is so devotedly attached to him? Believe me, Miss Pross, I don't approach the topic with you, out of curiosity, but out of zealous interest.”

“Well! To the best of my understanding, and bad's the best, you'll tell me,” said Miss Pross, softened by the tone of the apology, “he is afraid of the whole subject.”

“Afraid?”

“It's plain enough, I should think, why he may be. It's a dreadful remembrance. Besides that, his loss of himself grew out of it. Not knowing how he lost himself, or how he recovered himself, he may never feel certain of not losing himself again. That alone wouldn't make the subject pleasant, I should think.”

It was a profounder remark than Mr. Lorry had looked for. “True,” said he, “and fearful to reflect upon. Yet, a doubt lurks in my mind, Miss Pross, whether it is good for Doctor Manette to have that suppression always shut up within him. Indeed, it is this doubt and the uneasiness it sometimes causes me that has led me to our present confidence.”

“Can't be helped,” said Miss Pross, shaking her head. “Touch that string, and he instantly changes for the worse. Better leave it alone. In short, must leave it alone, like or no like. Sometimes, he gets up in the dead of the night, and will be heard, by us overhead there, walking up and down, walking up and down, in his room. Ladybird has learnt to know then that his mind is walking up and down, walking up and down, in his old prison. She hurries to him, and they go on together, walking up and down, walking up and down, until he is composed. But he never says a word of the true reason of his restlessness, to her, and she finds it best not to hint at it to him. In silence they go walking up and down together, walking up and down together, till her love and company have brought him to himself.”

Notwithstanding Miss Pross's denial of her own imagination, there was a perception of the pain of being monotonously haunted by one sad idea, in her repetition of the phrase, walking up and down, which testified to her possessing such a thing.

The corner has been mentioned as a wonderful corner for echoes; it had begun to echo so resoundingly to the tread of coming feet, that it seemed as though the very mention of that weary pacing to and fro had set it going.