Tate Bros

So, the Tate brothers have slithered out of Romania under what can only be described as curious circumstances. One minute they’re wailing about persecution, the next they’ve wafted off like a bad smell, and suddenly the usual suspects are whispering that Trump had a hand in it. Given Trump’s track record with grifters, misogynists, and blokes with dodgy hair, it wouldn’t be entirely surprising.

But it does get one thinking – if Trump really is running some sort of ‘bellends witness protection programme,’ could we, in Britain, leverage this to our advantage? Specifically, if we were to finally lock up Tommy Robinson, could we count on Trump to orchestrate his grand exfiltration to the land of the free (free to be an unrelenting nuisance, that is)?

It would be a win-win. Robinson gets to bask in the adulation of people who don’t mind if their ‘freedom fighters’ are actually criminally inclined gobshites, and we in the UK get a little more peace and quiet – or at least one less shouty man clogging up the courts with appeals against his latest bout of self-inflicted martyrdom.

Think about it: a well-placed conviction, a bit of whining about oppression, and before you know it, he’s being bundled onto a plane bound for Mar-a-Lago. Trump would probably host a press conference about it, flanked by Bannon and a bloke wearing a raccoon as a hat, droning on about ‘cancel culture’ and ‘free speech.’ Robinson, meanwhile, could take up residence as the UK's unofficial ambassador to the far-right peanut gallery, living out his days grifting in a country where the market for his schtick is far from saturated.

And what’s the alternative? We continue letting him roam about, staging his tragic little stunts, filling up police time and getting dragged out of pubs for the umpteenth time? No, let’s be proactive. Jail him for something – shouldn’t be hard – and wait for the Trump extradition squad to sweep in like some bizarre, unholy SEAL Team.

Frankly, if we’d thought of this earlier, we could have cleared out a whole rogues' gallery of ne’er-do-wells. Imagine Katie Hopkins getting ‘rescued’ by Trump and spending her twilight years ranting about ‘woke police’ in a strip mall somewhere in Florida. Or Farage, finally gifted the full MAGA citizenship he’s been drooling over for years. We could even sweeten the deal with a ‘buy one, get one free’ on right-wing grifters – chuck in Laurence Fox as a complimentary extra.

And why stop there? Boris Johnson was born in America anyway – technically, he’s their problem. He’d fit right in, guffawing his way through another shambolic leadership bid while the Republicans pretend not to notice his complete lack of competence. As for Liz Truss, well, if anyone could make a case for ‘political asylum,’ it’s her – surely she’s got a better shot at reviving her political career among the deranged cheerleaders of ‘Trussonomics’ across the pond.

At this point, it’s just basic diplomacy. If Trump is indeed running a charity service for washed-up reactionaries, then by all means, let’s make the most of it. A little creative sentencing, a well-timed media storm, and whoosh – off they go. America gets its latest ‘political prisoner’ (their words, not ours), and we get one less pain in the arse. Sounds like a fair trade to me.

Speaking of the Tate brothers, they've got more in common with the Taliban than they do with your average grifting right-winger. Their views on women are about as progressive as a 13th-century warlord’s, and if they had their way, half the population would be locked indoors, obedient and veiled. Maybe Andrew Tate's next move will be to declare himself the Supreme Emir of Afghanistan – though given his apparent knack for getting into legal trouble, he’d best start planning his next escape strategy now.

Aid for Defence

Keir Starmer is making a right pig’s ear of things. He’s so fixated on the idea that Reform is peeling off working-class votes that he’s now running after Farage’s lot like a desperate ex trying to prove he’s still relevant. His latest wheeze? Raiding the foreign aid budget to boost defence spending. It’s performative, it’s pointless, and worst of all, it’s Tory thinking dressed up in Labour clothing.

Let’s be clear. Labour did not just inherit the economic straightjacket from the Tories, they willingly strapped it on. Rachel Reeves has tethered herself to fiscal rules designed for austerity politics, all while the country desperately needs investment. Borrowing is not reckless. It is how economies grow. Every pound invested in defence contracts, infrastructure, and recruitment does not just strengthen national security. It feeds into manufacturing, R&D, and jobs, boosting GDP and tax revenues in the process.

Starmer is running after Reform voters who were never his to begin with, while alienating the people who actually put him in power. He is not in danger of being outflanked by Reform. He is in danger of boring his own voters into apathy, handing the Tories an easy win.

And cutting development aid is not just cruel. It is idiotic. Aid prevents the very instability that leads to war, migration, and security threats. Slash it and we will spend even more dealing with the fallout later. If Starmer thinks gutting aid is the way to bolster defence, he has got it backwards. The less we invest in global stability, the more we will end up spending on military interventions and crisis management down the line. But there is another problem. Where Britain retreats, China steps in. Beijing has spent years using development aid and infrastructure projects to expand its global influence. The UK slashing its already meagre foreign aid budget will not just weaken our global standing. It will hand influence in Africa, Asia, and the Middle East to the Chinese Communist Party on a silver platter.

Foreign aid is not just charity. It is soft power. It is the ability to persuade developing nations to vote with you in the United Nations, support your diplomatic efforts, and reject the influence of authoritarian regimes. Right now, as Russia and China work to reshape global institutions in their favour, cutting aid is an act of strategic self-sabotage. If the UK is not investing in relationships with the Global South, Beijing and Moscow will. That has consequences on sanctions, on security resolutions, and on international legitimacy. When Britain abandons its allies, it loses its voice on the world stage.

Of course, there is an election on the horizon. Labour faces a serious test in the local elections in May, and it is possible Starmer’s judgement is being clouded by short-term political calculations. He might even have a point. A weak showing in May would embolden the right-wing press and Tory MPs desperate to reclaim ground. But here is the thing. Most of us could not care less who runs our councils, so long as the bins are emptied and the buses run on time. Starmer is acting like this is a national referendum on his leadership, when in reality, most voters just want basic services to work. Labour is overestimating the threat while underestimating how much damage they are doing to their own base.

And let’s talk about defence. If Labour is serious about it, the real solution is not scrimping and saving from aid budgets. It is proper investment. That means borrowing to fund defence increases in a way that actually strengthens the economy. Infrastructure, technology, workforce expansion. None of it happens without capital. The UK is in a far better position to borrow than the doom-mongers in the Treasury would have you believe. Yet Starmer is still dancing to the Tory tune of debt-phobia while pretending he is being pragmatic.

Labour wants a bigger military while cutting migration, despite the fact that 10 percent of armed forces personnel are foreign-born. Do they want a stronger defence or fewer migrants? Because they cannot have both.

Then there is the unavoidable fact that borrowing to fund defence will itself increase GDP. That is how economies work. More spending means more jobs, more industrial output, and more tax revenue. The UK defence industry is a massive employer, with supply chains feeding into manufacturing, engineering, and research. A bigger defence budget means more money circulating through the economy, and that in turn pushes GDP higher. But here is the kicker. If GDP rises, Labour will have to spend even more on defence just to keep up with its own 2.5 percent of GDP target. The better the economy does, the bigger the cheque they will need to write for the military. They are setting themselves up for a cycle where success demands ever greater spending, yet they refuse to make the case for borrowing as a long-term investment and will have to cut foreign aid even further. It is economic illiteracy dressed up as fiscal prudence.

Harold Macmillan was once asked what derails governments, and his response was simple. “Events, dear boy, events.” That is where Labour is headed. By prioritising optics over economic logic, they are setting themselves up for failure. The fiscal rules they have shackled themselves to will be broken sooner or later because that is what happens when reality intervenes. The choice Starmer faces is not whether to stick to Tory-lite economic discipline or to break it. It is whether to do it on his own terms or be forced into a U-turn later.

If Labour had the courage of its convictions, it would be making the argument for a smarter economic strategy, not just nibbling at Tory policies while pretending they are doing something radical. Labour is not heading for a battle with Reform. It is walking itself into an open goal for the Tories.

Reform Questions

I've been working on a set of questions to ask Reform Ltd. supporters. To date I've not received one sensible response. One woman, a dyed-in-the-wool supporter, just keeps diverting the conversation with irrelevancies and staunchly refuses to engage with the questions. In fact, she's done me a favour by initiating more questions than I already had.

Here they are:

1. Brexit Promises vs. Reality 

• If Brexit wasn’t "done properly," what does "proper" even mean? What policies would you implement, and how exactly would they improve growth, trade, and living standards?
• If Brexit was meant to boost the economy, why is the UK now lagging behind the very EU countries we were promised we'd outperform? Nigel Farage promised £350 million a week for the NHS, fewer migrants, and greater prosperity. Can you point to a single one of those promises that's actually been delivered?
• If Brexit was about "sovereignty," why are we now dependent on US trade deals that undermine British farmers, and why did Farage support the disastrous Australia deal?
• If Farage, Tice, and Murdoch are such patriots, why do they keep their money offshore while backing policies that harm British workers and businesses?

2. Immigration Myths vs. Facts

• If mass immigration causes stagnant wages and housing shortages, why have these problems worsened since the UK regained full control of its borders? 
• If immigration supposedly strains public services, why can't the NHS function without immigrant staff? 
• If immigration depresses wages, why have real wages stagnated for over a decade, even after immigration fell post-Brexit? 
• State pensions are funded by current workers, not individual savings. The pensioner population will grow by 14% by 2032, while the working-age population will rise by just 9%, according to the ONS. Since net migration drives most working-age growth, how do you sustain the tax base while calling for lower immigration? 
• The NHS relies heavily on taxes from the working-age population. The 85+ population is set to nearly double by 2047, according to the ONS. How do you plan to fund and staff the NHS while cutting immigration, given that migrants form a significant part of both the workforce and tax base?
• If we want to build 1.5m homes, homes that are desperately needed, it's estimated we'll require 300,000 more builders and construction workers. Where will we get them fully trained and ready to start immediately?

3. Reform's Empty Promises

• Reform UK claims to stand up for the "left behind." Can you name a single policy that would actually lift a struggling community out of poverty? 
• If Reform cares so much about working people, why do they back tax cuts for the rich while slashing services ordinary families rely on? 
• Independent analysis has exposed a £60–89 billion black hole in Reform's election manifesto. Given Farage has already promised £150 billion in public service cuts, how exactly do they plan to plug the gap? Or is this just more fantasy economics with real-world consequences? 
• If both the Tories and Labour are so terrible, why has Farage failed to win a parliamentary seat until now, despite standing seven times before?

4. Net Zero and Energy Realities

• How does scrapping net zero lower bills, create jobs, or improve energy security when renewables are now cheaper than fossil fuels – and cheap electricity could turbo-charge British steel production and manufacturing? 
• The green economy already supports 430,000 UK jobs, projected to hit 1.2 million by 2050. Scrap net zero, and where do those jobs go – or are they just “woke” collateral damage? 
• If the Industrial Revolution was inevitable and, despite initial disruption, created far more jobs and prosperity than it destroyed, why oppose the net zero transition – especially when it promises abundant, cheap electricity to cut production costs, revive steelmaking, and make Britain a manufacturing powerhouse again? 
• If Farage is so confident fossil fuels are the future, why are oil and gas giants themselves investing billions in renewables? 
• Fusion energy might one day be a game-changer, but it's decades away from delivering power at scale. And even if the technology matures, Tritium – its essential fuel – remains scarce, expensive, and difficult to produce. Is waiting for a far-off miracle really smarter than backing renewables that are already delivering cheap, reliable energy? 
• Do you really believe sticking with expensive fossil fuels will protect jobs or lower household bills? And if climate change is just a "myth," why are insurance premiums soaring, harvests failing, and flood defences being raised year after year?

5. Rights, Freedoms, and Dangerous Precedents

• If we were to leave the ECHR, as Farage wants, how would you overcome the Northern Ireland Agreement having the ECHR baked into it? Or does the peace process not matter? 
• If Farage drags us out of the ECHR, what stops a future government banning Reform rallies, shutting down GB News, or arresting leaders under "extremism" laws? No ECHR means no higher court to challenge state overreach. Are you really that naïve – or just that desperate for revenge against sensible people?

6. The Bigger Picture

• What’s your actual solution for improving Britain? Because blaming the EU, immigrants, and net zero isn’t a plan – it’s just lazy finger-pointing. 
• Reform loves to bang on about "British values." Since when did shirking responsibility, scapegoating minorities, offering snake-oil economics and using offshore accounts count as patriotism? 
• If Reform represents "common sense," why do their policies collapse under even basic scrutiny – or is blind rage the only thing holding the movement together? 
• Have you actually read Reform’s 2024 manifesto, or does shouting "immigrant" drown out every rational thought? That’s not patriotism – it's national self-harm.
• Why are you so stupid?

I'm working on some MAGA questions along the same lines - watch this space.

The Concept Album

I recently picked up a vinyl copy of Frank Zappa's Freak Out!, which is often hailed as the first concept album. Of course, this being Zappa, the concept mostly involves ridiculing everything in sight while throwing in a few avant-garde noises that sound like someone torturing a trombone. But the claim got me thinking – was it really the first concept album? Or is this just another case of the rock crowd declaring they invented something that had already been done centuries earlier by men in wigs?

Take Gustav Holst's The Planets. Written between 1914 and 1917, it’s a seven-movement suite where each piece represents a planet and its associated astrological character. It’s basically a concept album about the solar system – except Pluto got left out, though to be fair, even NASA can’t decide whether it belongs. Holst may not have had the benefit of a lavish gatefold sleeve or a Rolling Stone review, but if The Planets isn’t a concept album, I don’t know what is.

Or how about Vivaldi’s The Four Seasons? Composed in the early 18th century, it’s a set of four violin concertos, each painting a musical picture of the time of year. Birds chirp, storms rage, peasants get drunk. It’s practically a baroque version of Dark Side of the Moon, minus the paranoia and sound effects of cash registers. More importantly, it’s got a cohesive theme, and that, I’m told, is what makes a concept album.

Now, some might say, “Ah, but those were suites, written for live performance, not recorded music.” And yes, that’s technically true – Holst and Vivaldi weren’t laying down tracks for vinyl pressings. But what of it? They’re both thematic works designed to be played in sequence for a cumulative effect. Are we really going to disqualify them just because they were released a couple of centuries before someone thought to stick a microphone in front of an orchestra?

And if we’re going to be pedantic about format, we should also consider that neither Freak Out! nor Sgt. Pepper – another supposed “first” concept album – were originally intended as uninterrupted thematic pieces either. Zappa’s was more a collection of loosely related satirical sketches, and The Beatles’ effort was a brilliant but somewhat patchwork affair. The Planets and The Four Seasons, on the other hand, are laser-focused on their respective themes – one cosmic, the other meteorological.

So, is Freak Out! really the first concept album? Only if you ignore a few hundred years of classical music. Rock critics may scoff, but Holst and Vivaldi were dropping themed bangers long before Zappa was terrifying record executives. Perhaps it’s time we gave classical music its due and admitted that the first true concept albums were written with quills, not guitars. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m off to find a vinyl copy of The Planets – because let’s face it, everything sounds better with a few crackles and pops.

Nuclear Fusion

Nuclear fusion. The holy grail of energy. Clean, limitless, and always "just 30 years away." We've been hearing that since Harold Wilson was banging on about the "white heat of technology." Yet here we are, decades later, still waiting for the miracle to land.

The latest projections? Optimists claim grid-ready fusion by the 2030s. Realists lean towards 2050. Even if they crack the physics – which is no small feat – the economics look ropey. Fusion's levelised cost of energy is pegged at around $121 per megawatt-hour. Compare that to solar and wind, comfortably sitting between $29 and $46 per megawatt-hour. One is powering homes today. The other is still burning through billions in research grants.

Then there's the fuel. Fusion reactors need tritium – a rare, radioactive isotope of hydrogen. The global stockpile? About 25 to 30 kilograms. Enough to power a couple of test reactors, not a fleet of commercial plants. It's currently harvested from heavy water reactors like Canada's ageing CANDU fleet, and at around $40,000 a gram, it's hardly flowing like tap water. Future reactors promise to breed their own tritium by bombarding lithium, but that's still theoretical. Without that breakthrough, fusion is like a car without petrol – clever but stationary.

Even if the tech works, the capital costs will be astronomical. Building a single fusion plant could run up to $9,700 per kilowatt of capacity. Solar and wind? Less than a third of that. And they’re already here, already cheap, already getting cheaper. Renewables might be intermittent, but batteries and grid management are advancing faster than fusion ever has.

So, while the boffins tinker and the headlines gush about "breakthroughs," the reality is stark. Fusion won't save us from the climate crisis. Not in time, not at scale, and certainly not at a price anyone sane would pay. It’s not the white knight – it's a money pit with better PR. If we’re serious about clean energy, we’d be doubling down on what works now, not punting our hopes on a technology that’s always just out of reach.

The Death of British Populism?

Trump's return to the White House is the political equivalent of a wrecking ball swinging wildly through the right-wing populist playground. His victory, far from emboldening Nigel Farage and his merry band of Reformists, spells disaster for their long-term ambitions. Why? Because Farage has spent years mimicking Trump’s playbook without the weight of American power behind him. Now that the real thing is back, Farage looks less like a revolutionary and more like a cheap tribute act wheezing through the encore.

Trump's isolationist "America First" stance undermines Farage’s entire pitch. Farage sells himself as the champion of a strong, sovereign Britain standing tall on the world stage. But if Trump guts NATO, cosies up to Putin, and throws Europe under the bus, Britain won't be standing tall. It’ll be standing alone, friendless and exposed. Farage might cheer from the sidelines, but the British public, already weary from Brexit's broken promises, will see through the charade. Sovereignty means little when you're left out in the cold, watching the global economy shift without a seat at the table.

And then there’s Boris Johnson, lurking in the wings like an actor who’s forgotten his lines. Trump’s rise pushes Johnson further into irrelevance. His tired act, once buoyed by bluster and opportunism, now looks painfully outdated. The British right can only accommodate so many populist figureheads, and with Trump casting his shadow across the Atlantic, Johnson is surplus to requirements. He’ll be left scribbling newspaper columns and reminiscing about the good old days when he could bluff his way through interviews without anyone noticing the lack of substance.

The irony is even richer when you consider Johnson's stance on Ukraine. Once an ardent supporter, flaunting his solidarity with Zelensky, Johnson now bends to Trump's disdain for Ukraine. Principles discarded, relevance chased – a pitiful sight.

Trump's return comes at an opportune moment, with Labour only half a year into its administration. The damage Trump's populism will wreak worldwide, and in America specifically, will serve as a stark warning to the British electorate, much as once Hitler's aims became clear, the fascination with fascism in Britain was dead. With Labour still shaping its narrative, the contrast between Trump's chaos and Starmer's steadiness will only reinforce Labour (or possibly the LibDems) as the stable alternative, further consolidating its position ahead of the next election. As the consequences unfold across the Atlantic, voters in the UK will see exactly where Farage's and Johnson's brand of opportunistic populism leads – chaos, division, and decline.

In the end, Trump's return is a death knell for British populism, not a lifeline. Farage will find himself tethered to an American agenda that hurts Britain, while Johnson fades further into irrelevance. The irony is delicious. The two men who spent years hitching their wagons to the populist star will now be burned by its return. And they’ll have no one to blame but themselves.

The Great Old Sodbury Fudge Disaster

I fancied some fudge. It seemed simple enough. Sugar, butter, and condensed milk in a pan, a bit of stirring, and you’re off. How hard could it be? Harder than it looks, as it turns out. What I ended up with was less “melt-in-the-mouth indulgence” and more “runny disappointment in a tin.” A sort of sugary soup. Tasty, yes, but about as sliceable as custard.

Letting runny fudge sit won’t fix it. Water doesn’t just politely evaporate from a pan of cooling fudge. It lingers, keeping the sugar concentration too low for setting. If it didn’t hit the right temperature the first time, it never will without a return trip to the hob. You can’t fudge fudge.

Undeterred, I consulted the internet. The smug consensus? I’d failed to hit the magic number: 115 degrees Celsius. Fudge-making, it turns out, is less about intuition and more about precision – sugar concentration, water evaporation, soft ball stage. It read like GCSE chemistry, but with more chance of heart disease. The lesson was clear. I needed a sugar thermometer.

Amazon obliged. Next day, armed with my shiny new instrument of confectionery righteousness, I scraped my failed fudge back into the pan. I’d like to say my troubles ended there, but no. Foolishly, I’d lined the tin with greaseproof paper, blissfully unaware that “greaseproof” doesn’t mean non-stick. When hot sugar meets greaseproof paper, it bonds like concrete. Peeling it off the cooled fudge was like trying to undress a Velcroed toddler. Baking parchment, by contrast, is coated with silicone, meaning the fudge lifts out cleanly. Why greaseproof paper still exists for home use is anyone’s guess. It’s about as fit for purpose as a chocolate teapot.

This time, I watched the thermometer like a hawk, stirring as the numbers climbed. Ninety. Ninety-five. A hundred. The mixture bubbled and thickened, but nothing revolutionary seemed to be happening. It wasn’t until I hit 115 that I realised the point. It’s not magic. It’s maths.

At 115°C, the sugar solution hits around 85% sugar and 15% water. That’s the Goldilocks zone – just enough moisture left to keep the fudge creamy, but not so much that it stays liquid. Anything less and you’re still in syrup territory. Anything more and you’re heading into brittle toffee land. The temperature itself isn’t the goal. It’s just a proxy for sugar concentration, because once the water boils off, the syrup heats faster. No structural alchemy, no caramelisation, no Maillard reaction. Just evaporation until the sugar takes charge.

Silicone baking trays seemed like a clever alternative, but they’re more trouble than they’re worth for fudge. The flexible ones, at least. When you try to cut the set slab, they bend and buckle, leaving you with ragged, uneven chunks instead of neat squares. They’re fine for muffins, but fudge needs structure. I’d used one of those silicone moulds designed for six small cakes, and that worked well enough. Each cavity held its shape, and the fudge popped out cleanly. Still, nothing beats a rigid tin lined with proper parchment if you want clean, satisfying slices.

Even with the right temperature, the job wasn’t done. Once I hit 115 and took the pan off the heat, I had to let it cool – not until it “felt about right,” but down to 43°C, the sweet spot for beating. Stirring too soon makes the sugar crystals form too quickly, giving you gritty fudge. Leave it too late and the mixture thickens like concrete before you get it into the tin. I waited, thermometer in hand, until the mercury dipped to 43, then beat the living daylights out of it. That’s when it thickened, lost its glossy sheen, and started looking like sand rather than a sticky mistake.

My real mistake was reheating Day 1’s attempt. There was precious little left, and heating it resulted in a slight charring of the bottom. Not disastrous, but it was rather grainy and left an aftertaste somewhat redolent of burnt tyres. I'd invented a new flavour. I should have started fresh.

Which I did, a few days later. This time, I applied the heat sparingly. It’s not the intensity that brings it to 115 – it’s the water fraction reducing. Slow heating over 20 minutes or so does the job without burning the sugar.

When it comes to beating, don’t, whatever you do, use a whisk unless it’s very open, or you'll end up with a ball of immovable fudge in the middle of the whisk. I made the mistake of beating too soon again and the result was admittedly a bit grainy. As it was cooling, I thought that it would too solid to beat at 43 degrees and did it around 60 degrees.

Pan choice matters, too. If you’re using a large pan, the thermometer registers the heat at the bottom. For a single can of condensed milk, a deep, narrow pan works best, so the thermometer’s business end sits halfway up the side. Alternatively, if you’re set on a wide pan, double or triple the batch.

When pressing the fudge into a mould, use a silicone spatula. The fudge will stick to anything else like glue.

So, if you’re thinking of making fudge and reckon you can wing it, don’t bother. Get a thermometer. Boil the mixture slowly and don’t be tempted to boil the arse out of it. Avoid wide pans unless you’re doubling up. Use parchment, cool to 43 before beating (not with a whisk), and steer clear of anything labelled “non-stick” unless it’s been tested under battle conditions and made of silicone. Fudge doesn’t care how confident you feel. It only cares about the numbers.

Here's the final result – a tad dark, as I'd used muscovado sugar.

It certainly held its shape and was much smoother than the previous batch. Not perfect, but I'm getting there.

Next time I make any I will invest in a marble slab and knead the fudge, rather than beating it. Kneading at 43°C often yields superior results – smoother, less grainy, and more consistent. It’s easier to judge when the texture is just right, compared to the more aggressive approach of beating with a spoon. If you’re after indulgent, creamy fudge rather than crumbly tablet-style squares, kneading wins hands down, apparently. There is (or was) a shop in Bath where the stuff was kneaded in the shop window. Bath Fudge - with added Bath water for that authentic, slightly Roman flavour. 

Just as an aside, regional fudge is only designated as such because it uses local cream and butter. Most mass-produced fudge uses butter from anywhere, and the condensed milk almost certainly isn’t local. Read the label. Even then, the amount of cream and butter is tiny compared to the sugar and condensed milk. It should really be called West Indian fudge, regardless of where it’s made.

A Cloud of Convenience to Trap the Gullible

The government has bullied Apple into switching off its Advanced Data Protection (ADP) in the UK, and the usual privacy advocates are up in arms. Apparently, without end-to-end encryption for iCloud backups, we’re all doomed to surveillance and data breaches. Well, only if you’re daft enough to store sensitive personal data in the cloud in the first place.

The cloud has always been a convenience trap. Slick marketing convinced people that uploading everything from passport scans to intimate photos was somehow progress. It’s progress, all right. Progress toward making your private life someone else’s business. Store it on iCloud, and you might as well leave your front door unlocked with a neon sign saying "Help yourself".

Local storage, on the other hand, is like keeping your valuables in a safe at home. Encrypted drives. Password-protected folders. Physical backups tucked away where no government mandate or corporate policy change can reach them. If your data is local, it’s yours. If it’s in the cloud, it’s on loan until someone decides otherwise.

The fuss about Apple being strong-armed into weakening encryption only matters if you’ve bought into the idea that convenience beats control. It doesn’t. Storing critical data locally isn’t just inherently more secure. It’s common sense.

The real irony here? The same people outraged by the ADP shutdown are the ones who happily ask Alexa to add toilet roll to their shopping list while their phones upload every photo they take to a server they’ll never see. Privacy isn’t lost because of government overreach. It’s lost when people trade control for convenience and act surprised when someone exploits the trade.

Want to keep your data private? Stop feeding the cloud and take back control. It's not difficult. It just requires the tiniest bit of effort. If that's too much, you’re not really worried about privacy. You’re just addicted to convenience and looking for someone else to blame.

On Tick

Once upon a time in Britain, people saved up their hard-earned pennies to buy a car outright. Nowadays? It's all on tick – credit cards, finance deals, and the never-ending loop of paying for something you’ll never truly own. It's our boom industry. Britain’s roads are now filled with cars that aren’t really ours. Finance companies own more vehicles than the drivers themselves. We’re not motorists anymore – we’re renters.

 

Over 90% of new cars in the UK are bought on finance. Not borrowed from a mate or paid off in instalments to a local garage – no, these are slick finance deals cooked up by firms that care more about the APR than the MOT. Leasing? PCP? HP? It’s like ordering from a dodgy café menu where you don't understand the ingredients, but you're somehow locked into a £400-a-month meal for the next four years.

Finance companies are laughing all the way to the bank. The average punter, meanwhile, is locked into a cycle of debt – lured in by shiny showrooms and the promise of a brand-new motor every three years. But let’s not pretend it’s all about choice and consumer savvy. This trend is a reflection of economic reality: wages haven’t kept pace with the cost of living, let alone the cost of a halfway decent car. Finance deals fill the gap where savings should be.

And let’s talk about those finance firms. They know full well that the average driver doesn’t read the fine print. "No deposit, low monthly payments," they say. But miss a payment, and you’ll see how quickly the veneer of customer care slips off. Repossession? It’s happening. Credit rating? In the bin. These companies wield more power over people’s lives than landlords – and that’s saying something in a nation plagued by dodgy rental agreements.

Then there’s the environmental impact. Buying a car outright and keeping it for a decade or two used to be the norm. Now? We’ve got millions of cars churning through three-year finance cycles. The constant churn of new vehicles isn’t just about shiny bonnets and better infotainment systems – it’s a major contributor to environmental damage. Yet finance companies and manufacturers are only too happy to keep the conveyor belt moving.

The long-term trend is bleak. In the last decade, car finance has skyrocketed. Even used cars – once the bastion of the thrifty – are now increasingly financed. It’s no longer about haggling with a bloke down the pub for a decent deal on an old runner. Now it’s 48-month terms on a five-year-old Vauxhall Astra, and you’ll still owe more than it’s worth at the end of it.

And who’s responsible for this mess? The government could have stepped in. They could have regulated the finance market to stop it turning into the next PPI scandal. But, as always, the government prefered to sit back and let the market do its thing – even if that means ordinary people being squeezed dry. The sting? All this credit-fuelled car ownership gives people a false sense of wealth. You see a neighbour pull up in a brand-new SUV, and you think, "Blimey, they’re doing well!" In reality, they’re probably drowning in monthly payments, with the finance company ready to swoop at the first missed instalment.

We’ve normalised debt to such an extent that owning something outright feels like an old-fashioned concept. But we need to ask – at what cost? Britain’s roads are full of cars, but very few of them are truly owned by the people driving them.

Maybe it’s time we reconsider our obsession with shiny new motors and financing deals that only serve to prop up the profits of faceless finance companies. Because, right now, we’re all on a road to nowhere – and we’re not even behind the wheel.

Solar Farms and Energy

For all the political hot air about “levelling up” and “reindustrialisation,” there’s precious little discussion about how to sustain an industrial base in the modern world. That’s because the Tories and most of the political class still have the economic instincts of a Georgian aristocrat: farming is fine, the countryside should be picturesque, and manufacturing is some grubby business best left to foreigners. As long as the banks and property developers keep the donations rolling in, who cares if we can’t make a spanner?

Farming, of course, is essential. It keeps people fed and the countryside in some semblance of order, but let’s not kid ourselves – it’s not the major employer it once was. Mechanisation, automation, and a dwindling rural workforce mean that, while vital, it simply doesn't provide jobs at scale. Manufacturing, on the other hand, has the potential to sustain entire communities. Yet Britain has spent decades treating it as an embarrassing relic, something to be outsourced while we pretend the service economy can fill the void.

Sheep farming, in particular, is land-intensive, but here’s a thought which I've expresses before) – it’s perfectly suited to grazing on solar farms. Instead of pitting agriculture against renewable energy, we could combine the two, making better use of land and ensuring farming and clean energy work in tandem rather than in competition. But that would require a level of joined-up thinking that appears to be in short supply.

People love to moan about solar farms eating up good, arable land. You’d think we were about to starve, as if every square inch of the countryside were a bustling breadbasket rather than horse paddocks, golf courses (there is more land devoted to golf courses than solar farms, according to land usage stats) and fields left fallow for subsidies. And even if we are talking about active farmland, the hand-wringing conveniently ignores the fact that sheep grazing fits perfectly under solar panels. The sheep don’t care about the view, and neither would most people if it meant their energy bills didn’t look like a ransom note.

The real issue is the way renewable energy is priced. It’s still tethered to the inflated cost of fossil fuels, which makes no sense when the sun and wind don't charge by the kilowatt-hour. If renewables were priced on their actual cost, the resistance to solar farms would evaporate. People might grumble about panels spoiling the countryside, but offer them rock-bottom energy bills and they’d be campaigning for turbines in the village green and PV arrays in the churchyard.

The British public’s attachment to farming is largely sentimental anyway. We import nearly half our food because it's cheaper, while domestic production limps along, undercut by economies of scale abroad. When push comes to shove, cheap energy will win every time. Once the penny drops, there won’t be enough land to meet demand for solar. Farmers will rip out hedgerows and flatten hills to get their cut of the action. Planning objections will wither like a lettuce in a heatwave.

Then there’s steel – the backbone of any serious industrial economy. But steelmaking isn’t something you can conjure into existence with a few government grants and a patriotic PR campaign. It requires vast amounts of cheap electricity, which is where we run headlong into the great British energy mess. For all the waffle about renewables, we’re still shackled to a pricing system that ties their cost to gas. As long as that remains the case, cheap electricity is a fantasy, and with it, any notion of competitive heavy industry.

The whole point of renewables – wind, solar, hydro – is that once you’ve built the renewable energy infrastructure, the fuel is free. But instead of embracing that, we’re stuck with a market designed to prop up fossil fuel profits, ensuring that even our wind and solar power remains absurdly overpriced. It’s a system that makes as much sense as charging people for rainwater because once upon a time, we got all our water from bottled Perrier.

If Britain is serious about manufacturing – not just steel, but any energy-intensive industry (and that includes AI and all the tech gadgetry) – it has to get serious about energy policy. That means fully decoupling renewables from fossil prices, investing in storage, and ensuring that when the wind blows, industry actually benefits. Otherwise, we’ll keep subsidising the profits of foreign gas suppliers while wringing our hands about why we can’t make things anymore.

Adding to the problem is the tariff situation with the USA, where British steel faces additional costs that make it even less competitive. While American manufacturers are protected, our own industry is left to flounder under high energy prices and market restrictions. Making good quality, cheap steel isn’t just an economic necessity – it’s vital for national infrastructure, security, and the foundation of any future industrial strategy.

Manufacturing needs cheap, reliable energy. Farming needs food security and a workforce that isn't on the verge of bankruptcy. Both are essential, but only one has been completely abandoned by successive governments who think GDP can be conjured out of thin air by selling each other insurance policies. The truth is, without an industrial base, an economy becomes a house of cards – and Britain, for all its posturing, is looking increasingly breezy.

Meanwhile, the government continues to shovel billions into vanity projects while ignoring the basics. HS2 was supposed to be a shining example of investment, but it’s turned into a monument to British incompetence – over budget, behind schedule, and now hacked to bits. Imagine if even half that money had gone into regional transport, green energy, or industrial innovation. Instead, we're left with a railway to nowhere and a lot of glossy brochures about the "green industrial revolution" that never quite arrives.

The irony is that Britain has the resources to fix this. We’ve got wind, waves, and enough clever people to design world-beating technology. What we don’t have is the political will. Instead, we get ministers wittering on about “British jobs for British workers” while outsourcing everything that isn’t nailed down and selling off the nails to the highest bidder. The result? A nation that can’t build, can’t grow, and can’t even keep the lights on without begging the French.

It’s not rocket science. Cheap energy, smart investment, and a bit of long-term thinking could turn things around. But that would require a government that sees industry as more than a nostalgic backdrop for election photo ops. Until that changes, all the talk of "levelling up" is just that – talk. And Britain, once an industrial powerhouse, will keep sliding into irrelevance while its leaders argue over who gets to rearrange the deckchairs.

Useful Idiots

There’s nothing quite as dangerous as a useful idiot – and we’re drowning in them. The term, often misattributed to Lenin, originally described well-meaning but naive Westerners who unwittingly parroted Soviet propaganda. But the species has evolved. These days, useful idiots aren’t just confined to misty-eyed communists waxing lyrical about five-year plans – they come in all flavours, and social media has turned them into a pandemic.

You know the type. The bloke down the pub who thinks he’s got it all figured out, regurgitating half-baked theories he picked up from some dodgy corner of YouTube. The self-proclaimed “free thinker” who, in their desperation to reject the mainstream, laps up whatever contrarian drivel they stumble across. The activist who screams about injustice but can’t be bothered to scratch beneath the surface to see if they’re being played. It’s all the same – the common thread is an absolute unwillingness to ask, who benefits from me saying this?

Take the current crop of anti-democratic bootlickers masquerading as rebels. Some of them have convinced themselves that parroting Russian, Chinese, or other authoritarian propaganda makes them enlightened critics of Western hypocrisy. “Ah, but what about NATO?” they say, as if that’s some grand checkmate that excuses every war crime and kleptocratic lunacy from Moscow to Beijing. They sneer at “mainstream media” while swallowing state-sponsored disinformation by the bucketload. Useful idiots, the lot of them.

Then there’s the conspiracy crowd – the ones who think questioning everything is the same as thinking critically. These are the people who’ll tell you vaccines are a global control mechanism, climate change is a hoax, and the moon landing was filmed in a broom cupboard at Pinewood Studios. They’re not sceptics, they’re just credulous in a different direction. And the funniest bit? While they bang on about how they’re resisting the system, they’re usually just serving the interests of the very forces they claim to oppose. Oil barons, oligarchs, billionaire media moguls – all rubbing their hands as the useful idiots fight their battles for them.

Take Rupert Murdoch, for example – a man whose empire has spent decades churning out sensationalist bile that keeps people angry, misinformed, and distracted. Fox News in the U.S., The Sun in the UK – both have played key roles in pushing climate denial, fostering division, and propping up right-wing populists who serve corporate interests. Then there’s the Koch brothers, funding think tanks and lobbying efforts designed to muddy the waters on climate change, convincing people that fossil fuel dependency is somehow a personal freedom issue. Meanwhile, Russian oligarchs pump money into Western political chaos, amplifying conspiracy theories and stirring up culture wars, all while their own kleptocratic regime tightens its grip. It’s a well-oiled machine – literally.

It’s all so painfully predictable. Useful idiots aren’t stupid in the traditional sense – many of them are well-read, articulate, even intelligent. But intelligence without critical thinking is just fuel for stupidity. They never ask, What if I’m wrong? – because that would require actual reflection, and useful idiots are allergic to that. Instead, they barrel on, convinced they’re fighting the good fight, blissfully unaware that they’re just someone else’s pawn.

And let’s be honest – none of us are completely immune. We’ve all had moments where we’ve been taken in, swept up in righteous fury, convinced we’re the ones who’ve seen through the lies. But the difference between a rational person and a useful idiot is simple: one eventually stops, questions, and recalibrates. The other just keeps on marching, oblivious to the strings attached to their back.

At least I think I'm right on this. I could be wrong....

It Can't Happen Here

At the start of Trump's 1st term as President if the USA I wrote about Sinclair Lewis' 1935 book, It Can't Happen Here. The story is playing out dramatically in the USA now during Trump's 2nd term, and could play out here in the UK

Sinclair Lewis never meant It Can’t Happen Here as entertainment. It was a slap in the face – a stark warning that fascism doesn’t march in waving swastikas and barking German. It strolls in wrapped in the flag, smiling for the cameras, promising to “restore greatness” while chiselling away at democracy. Buzz Windrip, the novel’s tinpot dictator, didn’t seize power by force – he was voted in by people too blinded by fear and grievance to see what they were unleashing. Sound familiar?

Windrip is Trump in a cheaper suit, peddling the same poison. Promise the earth, blame the "other," crush dissent, and call it patriotism. Trump’s 2025 return to power reads like Lewis’s blueprint – a washed-up showman propped up by sycophants, grifters, and useful idiots. He’s not leading the free world; he’s burning the manual and letting Putin edit the sequel.

And who’s helping him light the match? Enter the It Can’t Happen Here supporting cast, perfectly recast for the modern farce.

Mike Johnson, current Speaker of the House, plays Lee Sarason – the real power behind the throne. Like Sarason, Johnson cloaks authoritarianism in the language of tradition, turning Trump’s tantrums into policy. He’s not shouting about walls and stolen elections; he’s quietly gutting institutions while Trump flails for the cameras.

Stephen Miller steps neatly into Effingham Swan’s shoes – the enforcer who enjoys cruelty for its own sake. Swan didn’t just implement Windrip’s policies; he relished watching the boot come down. Miller, with his brutal immigration policies and culture war obsessions, mirrors that sadism perfectly.

Then there’s Shad Ledue, the jumped-up nobody who thrives when power trickles down to the petty. In the US, J.D. Vance and Marjorie Taylor Greene share the title. Vance, once a thoughtful critic of Trumpism, now dances like a trained poodle, while Greene skips the intellect altogether, bellowing MAGA talking points like a Ledue with a social media following.

And what dystopia would be complete without the money men? Francis Tasbrough, the industrialist who backs Windrip not out of ideology, but self-interest, finds his modern avatar in Elon Musk. Musk doesn’t care if democracy burns as long as he’s selling Teslas and Starlink contracts. His transformation of X into a propaganda sewer fits Tasbrough’s playbook perfectly – profit first, ethics never.

But this isn’t just an American tragedy. Here across the pond, British politics has its own Windrip understudies and Ledue lackeys. Nigel Farage, now an MP and Reform Party puppet master, plays Buzz Windrip with a pint in hand – a man whose entire career hinges on telling angry people that immigrants, Europe, and “wokeness” are to blame for their problems. Farage, like Windrip, doesn’t offer solutions – just scapegoats.

Farage’s Lee Sarason is Richard Tice, the brains behind Reform’s bile. Tice, like Sarason, doesn’t need the spotlight – he’s happiest drafting the policies that turn Farage’s pub bluster into government action. Meanwhile, Suella Braverman slides effortlessly into the Effingham Swan role – gleefully pushing authoritarian crackdowns, from immigration raids to protest bans, all while wrapping herself in the Union Jack.

And let’s not forget Britain’s own Shad Ledue – Lee Anderson. A man whose entire political persona boils down to sneering at the vulnerable while claiming to speak for the "common man." Like Ledue, Anderson was a nobody until the populists took power, and now he’s drunk on the scraps of authority they’ve handed him.

Even the propaganda machine has its modern-day Adelaide Tarr Gimmitch. In the US, it’s Fox News; in Britain, it’s GB News. Julia Hartley-Brewer and her ilk fit the bill perfectly – media personalities selling hard-right ideology as “common sense,” all while sneering at anyone sounding the alarm.

And the resistance? Well, it’s as fragmented and beleaguered as Lewis’s Doremus Jessup, the journalist watching his country slide into fascism while the public shrugs. In America, Jessup’s role falls to Adam Kinzinger and Liz Cheney – Republicans exiled for daring to defend democracy. In Britain, it’s Rory Stewart and Caroline Lucas – principled voices crying into the void while the Farage circus rolls on.

Even the fallen believers have their parallels. R.C. Crowley, Windrip’s loyal supporter cast aside when he outlived his usefulness, finds his British counterpart in Boris Johnson. Once the poster boy for Brexit populism, now a political ghost, grumbling from the sidelines as the harder-right wolves he unleashed devour what’s left of his legacy.

Lewis wasn’t writing fantasy – he was documenting how democracies die, not with a bang but with a shrug and a “Well, they’ve got a point, haven’t they?” Every Windrip needs his Sarason, his Ledue, his Tasbrough – the enablers who think they can ride the tiger without getting eaten. But, as Lewis warned and history proves, the tiger always turns.

Trump, Farage, Johnson – they’re not masterminds. They’re just opportunists surfing a wave of resentment. The real danger lies with the Millers, the Tices, the Bravermans – the ones who know exactly what they’re doing and do it anyway, convinced they’ll be safe when the purge begins.

But here’s the thing about populist strongmen: they don’t share power. When they no longer need their enablers, they discard them like empty slogans. Just ask Pence, Baker, or Boris – yesterday’s loyalists, today’s cautionary tales.

So, as Farage struts around Westminster and Trump blusters from the White House, Lewis’s warning echoes louder than ever: Yes, it bloody well can happen here. And if you think it can't, you're already part of the problem.

Putin's Employee of the Month

I'm on a roll at present - 2 posts a day - but there's such a lot of news lately.

Trump being an apologist for Putin isn’t just an observation anymore – it’s practically a job description. If Putin had an employee of the month programme, Trump's photo would be permanently nailed to the wall, gold frame and all. It’s almost touching how he bends over backwards – and occasionally sideways – to defend Vlad’s every move, as if the Kremlin sends him a “What to Say Today” memo with his morning Diet Coke.

The idea that Trump isn't a Russian asset requires the kind of mental gymnastics that'd make an Olympic coach weep. He praises Putin with the enthusiasm of a teenager complimenting their crush, while casually undermining NATO, the EU, and anyone else who’s ever side-eyed Mother Russia. It’s less “America First” and more “Russia? After You, Sir.”

The day before yesterday Trump maintained  Zelensky only had a 4% popularity rating, which is straight from the Kremlin. It's actually way over 50%. Obviously he's supporting Putin in pressing for a new election in Ukraine where he can manipulate the vote. The irony is that Zelensky's popularity is higher than Trump's, which stands at 46.5%.

It would seem Trump parrots whatever the last person who spoke to him says. We have physical proof of that mental incapacity now. Not only that, but his drones fall into line and slavishly mirror him while scratching their heads and wondering how they'll manage the inevitable onslaught.

My honest opinion? Trump is deliberately goading Zelensky, hoping he'll bite and say something derogatory, giving Trump the perfect excuse to turn around and say, "Well, fuck you," before strutting off in a self-righteous huff. A lot of Americans have nailed their colours to Trump's mast, and I'd wager many are quietly regretting it. But they're stuck – once you've pledged loyalty to a loose cannon, you’re obliged to defend him, no matter how absurd the rabbit-hole he drags you down.

As for the 2024 Presidential election, Putin didn’t just interfere – he practically hosted the event. If democracy was a house party, the Russians weren’t just sneaking in through the back door – they were the DJ, the caterer, and the ones picking the playlist. The statistical improbability of that many Americans voluntarily voting for someone who speaks like he's lost an argument with his own brain is staggering. Either Putin’s hackers were very busy, or America had an unprecedented outbreak of mass concussion.

But here’s the real beauty of it: I don’t need a shred of proof for the election rigging claim. None at all. Trump showed us the way. Evidence? Who needs it when bluster and blind conviction will do? He spent years screaming about election fraud without a single fact to back it up – and millions believed him. By his own logic, if I say Putin put Trump in the White House, then it must be true. After all, if you shout nonsense confidently enough, it magically becomes reality – at least in MAGA-land.

I wonder how long it will be before the MAGAs start sacrificing to their God (not that they have one) women who have had an abortion, or unmarried mothers, regardless of their religion.

NATO Replacement

So, the big question. With NATO increasingly strained by political infighting and the looming possibility of American disengagement, what happens if the USA throws its toys out of the pram and leaves NATO? If America storms off from NATO, should Europe crack on and form a new alliance with Ukraine? In short – yes. In fact, it’d be madness not to.

Ukraine isn’t just a plucky underdog. It’s now one of the most battle-hardened militaries in the world. They’ve spent years fighting a proper war against Russia, not just playing war games. They know how to counter drones, jam signals, and hold trenches under constant shelling. That’s more than most NATO countries can claim, achieved with a mishmash of Western kit, Soviet leftovers, and sheer ingenuity. Who else in Europe has that kind of experience?

Let’s face it. If the US pulls out, Europe can't rely on the fantasy that Russia will suddenly play nice. Putin would see an open goal for territorial expansion and political destabilisation. The Baltics would start sweating, Poland would be loading the guns, and Germany would be tutting about "diplomatic solutions" while doing nothing useful. But plug Ukraine into a European-led alliance and the whole picture changes.

Ukraine's geography alone is a strategic goldmine. It pushes the defensive line hundreds of miles east, turning Poland and Romania from frontline states into logistical hubs. Russia would have to think twice before stirring trouble, knowing they'd face experienced Ukrainian troops backed by European firepower. And it’s not like Europe is defenceless without the Yanks. Between the UK, France, Germany, and the Nordics, there’s enough military clout to hold the line – if they actually get their act together.

Of course, the usual hand-wringers will moan about the cost. Defence budgets would need to rise, yes, but what’s the alternative? Sitting around, hoping Russia stops at Ukraine? We’ve seen how that story goes. And economically, investing in European defence industries, especially alongside Ukraine’s rapidly expanding military production, would create jobs and drive technological advances.

The real gap is nuclear deterrence. Without the USA's arsenal, it's down to the UK and France, whose nuclear stockpiles are significantly smaller and lack the global reach of American systems. The US maintains a triad of land-based missiles, strategic bombers, and submarine-launched warheads, while the UK and France primarily rely on their submarine fleets. This makes their deterrent credible but far less imposing, especially when facing a Russia that's still heavily armed and more than willing to rattle its nuclear sabre. And even the UK's Trident system, often touted as an independent deterrent, is heavily reliant on American technology, targeting systems, and maintenance. Without continued US cooperation, its effectiveness would be seriously compromised. Still, pair that with a strong conventional force and you’ve got a credible deterrent. Russia isn't stupid. It picks fights it thinks it can win, not ones that guarantee a bloody nose.

Then there's the Trump factor. If he’s back in the White House and playing silly buggers with NATO, Europe’s going to feel the strain. The gaps would show up in logistics, intelligence sharing, and rapid response capabilities – all areas where the US currently leads. Plugging those gaps means Europe stepping up with better satellite coverage, joint command structures, and more airlift capacity. The EU’s Permanent Structured Cooperation (PESCO) could form the backbone, but only with serious funding and political will. And let’s be honest – Trump’s America already seems to be drifting towards client-state status, like a Russian oblast in waiting. If that’s the direction the US is heading, Europe can’t afford to wait around hoping for a change of heart.

And let’s not pretend Russia wouldn’t kick up a fuss. Putin would scream about "provocation" while his trolls flood the internet with doom-mongering. But he’d also know that facing Ukraine plus Europe is a far riskier gamble than just Ukraine alone. Better for him to stick to destabilising Africa and bribing Western politicians than risk another debacle like his stalled invasion.

In the end, a new alliance wouldn’t just be about defending Ukraine. It’d be about Europe finally growing up and looking after itself, rather than hiding behind American coattails. If the US does leave NATO, the choice is stark – build something new and strong with Ukraine at its heart, or sit back and watch Russia carve up the continent piece by piece.

Europe must decide whether it wants to be a player or just the pitch.

Change of Mind

I've changed my mind. And what's the point of having a mind if you can't change it? 

After reappraising the situation, it's clear that while the proposed changes to inheritance tax may have been introduced with the intention of addressing wealth inequality and preventing land from being indefinitely locked up in family estates, the unintended consequences could be disastrous for independent farmers.

No Farmers, No Food. Sounds obvious, doesn’t it? Like saying “No Oxygen, No Breathing.” And yet, the reality is that without careful consideration, these tax reforms could accelerate the death of independent farming while handing the spoils to corporate agribusiness. The government argues that scrapping Agricultural Property Relief (APR) from inheritance tax is intended to prevent land from being indefinitely locked within family estates and to ensure a fairer tax system. However, the reality is far more complex, and the unintended consequences could be severe. If you thought food prices were bad now, wait until there’s no one left but monopolistic land barons squeezing every last ounce of profit from the soil.

Let’s be clear: farming is not some cushy hedge fund where the money rolls in while you sip Bollinger on a yacht. Land is a farmer’s primary asset – not a luxury. Take away APR, and when a small farmer dies, their family will be slapped with a tax bill so big they’ll have no choice but to sell up. And guess who’ll be lining up to buy? The highest bidder, which won’t be a fresh-faced young farmer looking to keep the land productive – it’ll be agribusiness, investors, or corporate landlords who view the countryside as a tax-efficient asset rather than a place where food is actually grown.

And the irony? This policy isn’t even going to hurt the ones it’s supposedly aimed at. The big landowners – the ones who don’t actually farm but lease their vast estates – will dodge the worst of it. They’ve got lawyers, offshore trusts, and accountants who specialise in making tax bills evaporate. Meanwhile, the family who’s worked the land for generations will be forced to sell their legacy just to satisfy HMRC.

This isn’t just about farmers losing their land – it’s about food security. When independent farmers are forced out, food production becomes concentrated in fewer hands, making the system more vulnerable to economic shocks, price manipulation, and supply chain failures. When farming becomes the sole domain of corporate giants, expect food quality to nosedive while prices climb ever higher. Small farms tend to be more diverse, more sustainable, and more resilient. Big agribusiness? It’s monocultures, soil depletion, and a level of efficiency that works beautifully – right up until it doesn’t. When the next global crisis hits, and our food supply chains collapse because we’ve wiped out the very people who kept it going, don’t say we weren’t warned.

This is exactly what happened in retail. Independent grocers, butchers, and bakers were once the backbone of British high streets, offering local produce, personal service, and a connection to the communities they served. Then came the supermarkets. By undercutting small businesses with economies of scale, squeezing suppliers to the bone, and homogenising food supply, the supermarket giants wiped out the competition. Now, with only a handful of players controlling the retail food market, we’re left with rising prices, reduced choice, and a system that prioritises shareholder profits over consumer welfare. The same fate now looms over farming – corporate consolidation will push independent farmers out, leaving the public at the mercy of a few agribusinesses that care more about bottom lines than food quality or sustainability.

And here’s another twist: the assumption that land prices will fall when small farmers are forced to sell is, I believe, completely wrong. In reality, land prices will rise as agribusinesses and wealthy investors compete to buy up the newly available farmland. When independent farmers leave the industry, the land doesn’t become more affordable for new entrants – it gets hoarded by the highest bidders, making it even harder for anyone but the mega-rich to start farming. The land market becomes just another rigged game, where control is concentrated in fewer hands, pushing the cost of entry ever higher.

It’s also worth noting that a lot of farmers will not be affected by these inheritance tax changes. However, many small and medium-sized farms may still be at risk, particularly those whose land value is just above the threshold and who lack the financial tools to mitigate the tax burden. While the policy is designed to spare most smaller farms, it does little to protect those caught in the middle – too large to be exempt but too small to absorb the costs without selling off land or assets. The belief is that the tax threshold will be up to a total value of around £3 million, meaning many smaller farms will still be exempt. Furthermore, those with substantial estates can make use of gifting strategies and trusts to completely avoid the tax. In other words, those with the resources to navigate the system will continue to do so, while ordinary working farmers bear the brunt of the changes.

The Farmers’ Union, a powerful lobbying organisation, has doubtless aggregated figures over a number of years rather than purely looking at annual data. This means their projections on how many farms will be affected likely paint a broader picture than the government’s estimates, which focus on yearly figures. While the government claims only a fraction of estates will be hit, the long-term impact of these changes could be far greater than officials admit.

Instead of scrapping APR wholesale, the government should be targeting the non-farmers who hoard land like Monopoly money while doing bugger all with it. A ‘working farmer’ test would be a good start – keep the relief for those who actually farm the land and scrap it for those who treat the countryside as a tax-free piggy bank. Or how about a tiered system, where small farms keep APR, mid-sized farms get a tapered rate, and only the sprawling, hedge fund-owned estates cop the full 40% hit?

Of course, that would require politicians with enough spine to stand up to the landed elite and agribusiness lobbyists, and we all know how likely that is. But if the government is serious about food security, rural jobs, and preventing yet another industry from being monopolised by the wealthiest 0.1%, then it needs to rethink this disaster-in-waiting.

Because if we carry on like this, No Farmers, No Food won’t be a warning – it’ll be a bloody obituary.

Gender Neutral Bogs

Funny old world, isn’t it? The very people who claim to stand against rigid, conservative values in one breath are enforcing them in the next. One minute, the anti-Muslim brigade are frothing at the mouth about the supposed Islamic takeover of Europe, and the next, they’re the most vocal defenders of gender-segregated toilets – which, let’s be honest, is about as conservative and modesty-obsessed as it gets. You’d almost think they were, well… being a bit Muslim about it all. But self-awareness has never been their strong suit, has it?

Now, let’s get one thing straight: separate bogs for men and women weren’t always the norm. The Romans weren’t fussed – public latrines were shared, with no partitions, and modesty was an afterthought. Medieval folk had bigger worries, like not dying of dysentery. It wasn’t until the 18th and 19th centuries, when industrialisation meant women were out in public more, that the moral crusaders stepped in and decided that a bit of porcelain partitioning was necessary. The Victorians, being Victorians, made it law – and before you knew it, gendered toilets were as entrenched as bad weather and class snobbery.

Fast forward to today, and we’re seeing a shift – especially in more secular and progressive countries, where studies show that well-designed gender-neutral toilets improve accessibility and reduce wait times. The Nordics, Germany, the Netherlands – all quite happily adding gender-neutral facilities to the mix. Even in the UK, universities and government buildings are catching on. But in the more religious corners of Europe – particularly Catholic strongholds like Poland, Hungary, Italy, and parts of the Balkans – there’s been a predictable backlash. Because, of course, the notion that someone might choose where to pee based on convenience rather than outdated social constructs is deeply distressing to those who see the world in black and white - and everything being a sin.

And that brings us to the delicious irony of it all: the very people who howl about the supposed rise of Islamic fundamentalism are now clutching their pearls at the idea of unisex toilets – exactly the sort of gender-segregation fervour they claim to oppose. If you close your eyes, you’d be hard-pressed to tell whether you’re listening to a right-wing culture warrior, a staunch Catholic traditionalist, or a deeply conservative Muslim cleric, both railing against the supposed collapse of decency. railing against the corrupting influence of modernity. Think of the children! they cry. Think of the women! they wail – just with slightly different headgear.

But the reality is that gender-neutral toilets are neither the death of civilisation nor a Marxist plot to destroy the family. They’re just another step in a long history of public conveniences evolving to match how society actually functions. If you’re worried about safety, lock the cubicle door. If you’re concerned about privacy, make sure the design isn’t shoddy. And if you’re getting all worked up about who’s standing next to you at the urinal – well, that might be your problem to unpack, not society’s.

There’s an unspoken rule in British gents’ toilets – a sacred covenant of personal space that dictates you must always leave at least one empty urinal between yourself and the next bloke. No exceptions, unless the place is packed and you're left with no choice, at which point both parties must engage in a complex social dance of staring intently at the wall and pretending the other doesn’t exist. Head over to the Continent, however, and this rule dissolves like a sugar cube in a strong espresso. In France, Germany, or Spain, you'll often find blokes happily standing shoulder to shoulder, carrying on conversations as if they were at the bar rather than engaged in the delicate business of relieving themselves. It’s a cultural divide as stark as our approach to queuing – the British way is to maintain polite distance, while Europeans seem to take a more pragmatic, less self-conscious approach.

Meanwhile, the rest of Europe will carry on being its usual mixed bag – Germany and the Nordics leading the charge, Poland and Hungary pulling in the opposite direction, and Britain, as ever, caught between nostalgia and reluctant progress. – some countries forging ahead with unisex facilities, others digging in their heels, and Britain, as ever, awkwardly dithering somewhere in the middle. But next time you hear some culture warrior ranting about the sanctity of men’s and women’s toilets, just remind them they’re sounding a little… how shall we put it? Halal and Woke - simultaneously. 

A New Study

A Speculative Study on the Evolutionary Divergence of Homo Brexitus, Homo Remainensis, Homo MAGAensis, and Homo Faragis.

Author: Prof. W. Chairman-Bill, Distinguished Scholar of Cultural Divergence

Abstract

The recent schisms in socio-political landscapes across the United Kingdom and the United States have led to a fascinating evolutionary split within Homo sapiens. This study postulates the emergence of four subspecies: Homo Brexitus, characterised by insular cognition, a heightened aversion to external influence, and a preference for ideological inbreeding; Homo Remainensis, marked by adaptability, intellectual openness, and an increased reliance on cooperative networks; Homo MAGAensis, a North American counterpart to H. Brexitus, distinguished by a hyper-nationalistic worldview, conspiratorial thinking, and a preference for authoritarian leadership; and Homo Faragis, an offshoot of H. Brexitus displaying an intensified distrust of supranational institutions, a heightened susceptibility to populist rhetoric, and a fascination with performative patriotism. While all four subspecies can currently interbreed, increasing cultural and cognitive divergence suggests an eventual reproductive incompatibility. Furthermore, H. Remainensis exhibits a strong aversion to interbreeding with the other subspecies, citing fundamental epistemological and cognitive incompatibilities. This paper explores the evolutionary pressures driving this divergence and its implications for the future of human speciation.

Introduction

Speciation within Homo sapiens is traditionally hindered by high mobility, interconnectivity, and genetic exchange. However, rapid cultural evolution can exert significant selective pressures, potentially driving cognitive and behavioural divergence. This study examines the theoretical emergence of Homo Brexitus, Homo Remainensis, Homo MAGAensis, and Homo Faragis as distinct evolutionary pathways, shaped by opposing responses to globalisation, empirical reasoning, and cultural permeability.

Methodology

Analysis was conducted through longitudinal observations of political discourse, voting patterns, cognitive adaptability in response to new information, and social media interactions. Indicators included linguistic regression, susceptibility to misinformation, and environmental adaptability. Social media analysis focused on echo chamber formation, algorithmic reinforcement of biases, patterns of engagement with disinformation, and a predisposition for dismissive and expletive-laden rebuttals when confronted with opposing views. Genetic predisposition for tribalism and risk-aversion was cross-referenced with sociological studies on echo-chamber entrenchment and the rejection of empirical data.

Results

Homo Brexitus: Insular Adaptation

This subspecies displays a reduced capacity for absorbing new information that conflicts with pre-established beliefs. Cognitive heuristics prioritise nostalgia, fear-based reasoning, and resistance to cooperative problem-solving on an international scale. Over time, H. Brexitus has developed a reliance on echo chambers, wherein ideological homogeneity reinforces itself. Increasing detachment from empirical reality suggests an eventual decline in cognitive plasticity, potentially leading to a form of socio-cognitive speciation. Some subsets exhibit a latent propensity for feudalistic social structures, favouring rigid hierarchies and hereditary privilege as a means of maintaining stability. This is reinforced by right-wing media, to which it is particularly susceptible, encouraging this subspecies to support policies that disproportionately benefit elites while undermining their own economic and social stability.

Homo Remainensis: Evolutionary Fluidity

Conversely, H. Remainensis exhibits traits consistent with evolutionary resilience: increased tolerance for ambiguity, heightened receptivity to novel information, critical thinking, and a propensity for cooperative interdependence. The ability to adapt and integrate within broader systems has enabled this subspecies to maintain intellectual agility. This trajectory suggests a long-term advantage in technological and cultural evolution, reinforcing their dominance in high-complexity environments. Moreover, H. Remainensis has demonstrated a pronounced reluctance to interbreed with H. Brexitus, H. MAGAensis, and H. Faragis, citing deep-seated cognitive and ideological incongruities.

Homo MAGAensis: The Hyper-Nationalist Variant

Distinct from H. Brexitus yet following a parallel trajectory, H. MAGAensis has emerged primarily within the United States. This subspecies is defined by an aggressive rejection of empirical data, heightened susceptibility to conspiracy theories, and a deep-seated belief in national exceptionalism. Selective pressures have reinforced an increasing reliance on authoritarianism and dogmatic thinking. Similar to H. Brexitus, H. MAGAensis faces the risk of intellectual stagnation and reproductive insularity due to ideological entrenchment and epistemic closure. Some subgroups of H. MAGAensis display a marked preference for feudalistic power structures, aligning with figures who promise to reinstate traditional hierarchies. Additionally, this subspecies exhibits a predisposition to insurrection, often viewing violent resistance as a legitimate means of reclaiming perceived lost status and influence.

Homo Faragis: The Populist Nationalist Subspecies

A distinct offshoot of H. Brexitus, H. Faragis shares its aversion to supranational governance but with an intensified inclination towards performative nationalism, rhetorical manipulation, and hostility towards perceived elites. Curiously, its leader is one of those very elites, leveraging populist sentiment to consolidate personal privilege and influence while diverting attention from systemic inequalities. This subspecies thrives in environments where populist figures amplify fears of external control, leveraging simplistic narratives to rally group cohesion. H. Faragis exhibits a unique social dynamic wherein distrust of institutions coexists with an unwavering loyalty to strongman political figures. Additionally, H. Faragis demonstrates a notable tendency towards feudalistic social models, where authority is concentrated in charismatic leaders and hierarchical loyalty structures replace democratic engagement.

Discussion

The primary driver of divergence appears to be epistemic self-isolation within H. Brexitus, H. MAGAensis, and H. Faragis, facilitated by digital echo chambers and social selection mechanisms that punish dissent. While all four subspecies currently share a common gene pool, it is hypothesised that continued isolation will lead to this divergence is not genetic but epistemological, as their cognitive frameworks become increasingly incompatible, making interbreeding socially, rather than biologically, unviable. Cognitive dissonance between the groups already results in significant barriers to communication, suggesting a near-future scenario in which mating becomes socially, rather than biologically, nonviable.

Conclusion

The emergence of Homo Brexitus, Homo Remainensis, Homo MAGAensis, and Homo Faragis as distinct evolutionary trajectories is a cautionary case study in the role of cultural evolution in shaping cognitive capacities. While H. Remainensis is likely to persist and integrate within global networks, H. Brexitus, H. MAGAensis, and H. Faragis face the risk of self-imposed extinction through intellectual stagnation and reproductive insularity. Unlike H. Brexitus, which exhibits a general aversion to external influence, H. Faragis presents a more volatile dynamic, balancing between populist fervour and reactionary tendencies. Its reliance on charismatic leadership and anti-elite sentiment suggests a potential for episodic resurgence, though long-term sustainability remains uncertain.

Further research is required to determine whether external intervention - such as exposure therapy involving factual reality - can mitigate the risk of complete epistemic divergence or whether these subspecies will continue along separate evolutionary paths, ultimately rendering meaningful cross-group interaction impossible.

References

Darwin, C. (1859). On the Origin of Subspecies: A Study in Political Selection. London: Satirical Press.

Orwell, G. (1949). Doublespeak and Divergence: The Politics of Cognitive Stagnation. Ministry of Truth Publications.

Johnson, B. (2020). Have Your Cake and Eat It: A Treatise on Post-Truth Survival. Bluffers Press.

Farage, N. (2016). How to Be an Elite While Pretending Not to Be. Hypocrisy Publishing.

Trump, D. (2021). The Best Words: A Lexicon of Alternative Facts. Covfefe House.

McTwitterson, J. (2023). Echo Chambers and Expletives: The Digital Decline of Discourse. Algorithmic Bias Research Institute.

Von Clownstick, D. (2024). How to Build a Wall and Lose Friends: Isolationism in the 21st Century. MAGA Press.

Keywords: Speciation, cognitive divergence, echo chambers, evolutionary psychology, cultural selection, populism, ideological entrenchment, authoritarianism, nationalism, misinformation, cognitive bias, political psychology, social stratification, media manipulation, collective delusion, conspiracy theories, democratic erosion, epistemic closure, political tribalism, evolutionary anthropology.