A few weeks ago, I downloaded a letter suggested by The Guardian, and made a Subject Access Request to the Metropolitan Police. I wanted copies of all information held on me. I have now had my reply. There is no police file on me.
Since I can’t be outraged by the oceans of taxpayers’ money wasted on violating my civil rights, I shall instead be outraged that thirty years of spraying bile at the established order have had so little effect.
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You don’t seem to be thinking it through Sean. Any good effect comes by influencing others–not your enemies directly. Be glad they haven’t noticed you. How many people you have primed or helped to prime to oppose them is what matters. Or is everything an exercise in vanity?.
Ironically, there is now.
Not really. They’ve run out of money for spying on people like us. The whole budget, a hundred years ahead, is now earmarked for offices in places like Bradford and Leicester, and for crash courses in Urdu. The useless pigs haven’t even kept the video they shot of a nice speech I gave some years back in Trafalgar Square.
Bah!
It’d be a shame if you yourself haven’t got a video of it. Perhaps someone else has? What was it about and when? Was it the one when Paul Johnson and Tony Benn united for a day and spoke about something to do with Europe? There were at least 200 people present, if not 250 or even very, very, very slightly more. Just wondering, because I was there, but nobody seemed to be shooting video stuff. We couldn’t afford the gear then.
There’s no point in spying on “certain types of people” in places like Bradford, Leicester, Preston, Blackburn, Accrington, Burnley, Darwen, Rossendale, Rotherham, Bolton, Bury, Rochdale, Oldham, and all the other towns where “Commonwealth Labour was initially imported tactically to work” the “British textile industries” “for the future of our children, going forward”. I forgot Dewsbury, Halifax, Huddersfield and all that other swathe. There are too many of them now.
Oh and also Luton.
Even GCHQ, and even with the help of the Aussies in “Echelon” (bet you 2p they don’t know what the word means), they couldn’t ever “process all the product in sufficiently real time” to make it of any value. But they have plenty of money: all that they demand.
The feeble police are the least of your problems, Mr Gabb… Wah Ha Ha Hah Ha Ha Hah!!!
I would be very pleased to learn, if it was me, that the pigs had no file on me.
My first thought is: “How do you know that they are not lying to you?” Do you trust the bastards? How do you know that they’re not “ahead of the game”, and trying to lull you into carrying on doing libertarian stuff very publicly – as you do – to “acquire much more product” about you? (The security-goons call any material “product”.)
My second one is: Never underestimate the wickedness and duplicity of our enemies. However wicked and evil we can imagine that they are (and they are – all the effing crap we have to fight has been put-down deliberately – which is to say: on purpose and by design), they will always be worse than that.
Reading the Guardian newspaper does not seem a good way of keeping one’s sanity. I would not advice anyone to read it.
As for files on you Sean – why should the Metropolitan Police keep a file on you? There is no point. I am not being insulting I am sure they do not have a file on me either – there is no point (after all I do not even live in London – and neither do you).
A police file is about “is this bloke, or lady, likely to commit a crime” – you are not likely to be committing any crimes, so there is no point in wasting space keeping a file on you.
At least no point in the Metropolitan Police keeping a file on you Sean.
If I am wrong and you are, in fact, a Master Criminal (TM), then have you considered the Kent Police?
As you actually live in Kent.
Actually I am warming to this idea of you as the Master Criminal, Master of Depravity, “Napoleon of Crime” – do you have a cat Sean?
What’s cats got to do with it Paul? Ian B had a cat once, but doesn’t now, so far as I know. Does that make him a “reformed criminal” then?
An Australian young gentleman is recently said to have given his girlfriend her P45 for being, among other things, “rude to his cat” – which made him “uncomfortable”. So what’s the thing about cats?
I had five cats at once, once. When I’d drive home very late form London, they’d hear the car’s engine note from about a block away, and would be waiting in a line on the street, for me to open up and pour some catfood out of a tin, into what looked like a riot.
Is this just the normal police clearance thing you need for visas and certain jobs? I found that I was apparently on something called the “Domestic Abuse Register” when I applied for one of these for a visa, meaning that I was at risk of throttling my then girlfriend. Remarkably accurate at the time but 6 years out of date by the time I did the check. It was later removed at my request.
I hasten to add that I never actually abused this or any other woman, domestically or otherwise. We just had a blazing row in the wee small hours outside the house we were locked out of (and I still maintain that she was just as responsible for remembering the keys as I was) and the police ended up coming round to try and tell her she was a victim of domestic violence and would she help them make their numbers look better.
No, I have a clean CRB check. I wanted to see if my political activities had got me into the various police databases. Apparently, such footprints as I may have left there have been periodically smoothed away.
David, think of certain cats … Persian cats … long white fur …eyes slitted … crouched upon the laps of largish men, who ceaselessly stroke their heads as they contemplate their plans to seize the world…. Deep in the bowels of hidden compounds, they control all manner of technological devices, as well as the men who serve them … perhaps in Switzerland … perhaps in other, seemingly unlikely locales … in orbit around the earth? Deep within the sea?
To certain men, like these, cats are their familiars; the soul of such cats is reflected, perhaps amplified, in their own, if they have souls at all. But perhaps they do not, so have the deep need of the Cat to provide a source from which to take an impression of a soul, the soul that would suit them well had they been endowed with one. The soul of the Cat is the model for the soul they don when it seems helpful in advancing their projects.
It is true that most cats are like Pyewacket: Powerful, possessive of their human charges, not entirely anti-social for all that, though one would be foolish to attempt a harmful act toward their wards.
But those other Cats … have far deeper and more disturbing things on their minds and in their souls than merely looking after the men who stroke them.
The affairs of humans are none of their concern. Such a Cat is, truly, his own Cat.
Actually I was not thinking of a James Bond villain Julie – I was thinking of the poem by T.S. Eliot. Hence the quotation marks when I quoted from it.
Still the James Bond villain thing would not be an insult – they tended to have a lot of charm and grace. I can see Sean stroking a white cat as he plots the downfall of the United States.
CRB stuff – I had forgotten about that, yes I was checked out as well (both when I was teaching and for Wicksteed Park stuff).
On this downfall-of-the-West thing – I also remember the last “Fu Man Chu” novel – where the elderly Chinese mastermind rescues his old enemies, and morally turns the tables on them.
The gentleman points out that the British Empire is now collapsing – and that it is none of his doing. And that China is falling into the hands of monsters who will murder tens of millions – Mao and his envy ridden Class War types.
Would not his rule, as Emperor, not have been better than this?
It is difficult to find a crushing reply to the old enemy.
Anyone not prepared to accept their proper position in the Great Chain Of Being by serving cats as they deserve is not worthy of the name of “libertarian”, and that is the end of the matter.
Paul: Ah. Well, at times I misinterpret. I admit it. But then I have no Cat looking after me, and much as The Luce is my dearest and only, her mind runs to two things: “Have you got a treat?” and “Let’s play now!” Apologies.
I read part of Mr. Jellicoe’s book once, if that is the source of the quote, but I’m more acquainted with Prufrock, “Ash Wednesday,” “The Wasteland” even, etc; and I fell in love with the first of the Six Preludes and love it still.
Ian: I think you are probably correct. At our house there is Pharoah, the God-King, who in his heyday existed to be served — and worshipped. (He is also a thief, and hides his stash in his water bowl; for a long time we called him DevilKitty. But only behind his back, of course.) Unfortunately he has grown old and is not well, and his still-loyal servants tend to refer to him more frequently by his familar name: Neko.
Jellicle. And it’s Old Possum’s book, not Jellicle’s. I’m going to go away now and meditate. C’est fini.
Sean,
Don’t worry, GCHQ have it covered. Their file has your emails, phone calls, and location data, as well as your public speeches. I’m sure they’ll pop it in the post to Special Branch as soon as they need to kick your door in 😉
I do not think bidets are quite us.
Ian, or the cat who has instructed him as to what to type, is correct – my own overlord, the Invisible Cat, is quite definite on the matter.
As for T.S. Eliot – an interesting example of someone from one nation coming, as a fully formed adult, to another nation and reinventing himself as part of that other nation.
Someone who met Eliot might have assumed he came from the Home Counties, not Missouri – the land lf the James Brothers and the Youngers (or to those of us of a certain age “The Outlaw Josey Wells”). Even in the inter war period Missouri was the home of the Organised Crime machine of Mr P. (of whom Harry Truman was a faithful servant – oh well the Organised Crime faction of the New Deal was vastly less-bad than the Communist faction) a sort of WASP version of the Mafia, accept one does not need the words “sort of”.
T.S. Eliot did the English thing well – although having his old tutor, P.E. Moore, come to visit was interesting (and not in an entirely good way).
P.E. Moore was a friend, and fellow “New Humanist”, of Irving Babbitt – so some of the “modernist” poetry (including “The Waste Land”) may not have been entirely to his taste
Also Moore developed doubts about Britain. At first he found this island wonderfully relaxing – so peaceful away from all the violent intellectual and political disputes of the United States, where the Liberty League and the New Dealers were busy smashing each other’s heads in (they did not really kiss and make up, and shove real history down the Memory Hole, till World War II came along – and they had other people’s heads to, quite rightly, smash).
But then it dawned on P.E. Moore that Britain was peaceful because there was no more resistance – the elite (including the “Conservative” part of the elite) was united in rejecting the old principles – the ordinary people might still believe in good things (one thinks of Mrs Thatcher’s father Mr Roberts and his lecturers against “totalitarianism”, he used the word, of both Fascists and Marxists – which he used to deliver to the people of Grantham, many years before Mrs T. read Hayek’s “The Road to Serfdom” dedicated to the young “socialists” who dominated “all parties” in Britain), but the elite did not believe in good things – not at all.
Indeed talking to the young men of Oxford and Cambridge, P.E. Moore came to the conclusion that some of them might actually become traitors working for the Soviet Union – what a silly man he was to believe this, after all MI5 and M16 hired them so they must have been fine really…… But it was a lot more than this – it was an intellectual climate that was very deceptive.
The United States was going badly – the counter attack after World War II (the wrongly called “do nothing” Congress elected in 1946 that got rid of a lot of the New Deal) was years away – and there was no way to predict that the enemy (the New Dealers) would not just carry on winning (although they had suffered a big defeat in 1935 when the National Recovery Agency, Mr Roosevelt’s General Johnson and his jackbooted “Blue Eagle” thugs had been ruled unconstitutional). Britain seemed a much nicer place – indeed it was a much nicer place. But the niceness hid the fact that the battle, at least among the elite, was over – and the bad guys had won.
Still there were Metropolitan Police files even then – the best Cong hunter of the post War period was a policeman (Special Branch) who served in Lancaster Bombers during World War II.
Sadly he could only arrest ordinary traitors – not the people permeated with Marxoid ideas like Mr Wilson and Mr Heath.