The new acronym in town (Serious Organised Crime and Police Act, 2005), was given a stern test last night by a bunch of fearsome, aggressive, militant…carol singers. This savage mob of Jinglebellers was attempting to test this ludicrous law to its limits by arranging a gathering of people to sing some carols. The test was whether the Police would interpret this gathering as some kind of "protest" and so chuck everyone in jail. Unfortunately for the blood-thirsty media, the police were far too busy mugging motorists to pay much attention, or just maybe they were told what idiots they'd look had they try to intervene.

Just in case you were not aware, those free spirited parliamentarians that you voted for, decided to create a law that makes any form of protest an offence, within 1/2 mile of the houses of parliament. Oh, unless you obtain prior permission from, erm…the police. Yes, yes, this really is Britain in 2005. I was having a good whinge about it to a hairdresser yesterday during my annual pre-xmas chop, and found he was genuinely quite astonished to hear that this law even existed. I then wondered how many other people live in this world of apathetic, blissful ignorance? Probably far too many. This still doesn't excuse him for giving me possibly the worst haircut I've ever had (and I've had some bad ones, believe me).

So, I thought I'd go and check it out. I managed to infiltrate these almost-protesters by cunningly disguising myself as a bloke who'd just left the office. Clever eh. I obtained a "carol service sheet" (no doubt a coded Al Qaeda training manual) and proceeded to sing deck-the-halls and other assorted gems for the next 60 minutes. My apologies to the lady in the red hat in front of me who's ears were at the same level as my gob. I suspect it was obvious that I hadn't sung a carol for years and her trauma was apparent by her constant necking of whiskey.

Brain Haw was ranting about not being able to rant, the diminutive and gutsy Maya Evans was there looking a bit startled with her recent accent to cause celebre status, there was also a lone hoodie, some young kids (tomorrows hoodies), me (an older hoodie) and the remainder of the 100 or so singers were just…..people, utterly normal people who happen to share a belief that what is happening is wrong. 100 people doesn't sound very much, but perhaps everyone else was too busy doing important stuff, like Christmas shopping or getting hammered at the annual office toe-curling party. But we all have an MP who represents us and a 10 minute letter with a 30p stamp can be surprisingly effective. But apathy's a very debilitating condition and I've found that it does go away if ignored for long enough.

Incidentally, every Sunday there is going to be a picnic outside the houses or parliament. Obviously this won't be a protest or demonstration of any kind. Just a nice little picnic…

4 Responses to “SOCPA!”

  1. Charity Sweet Says:

    Baa, Baa, Baa: Tony’s Liberal Sheep

    News Item: All Cabinet Sheep MUST support “genocide” in the political barnyard. Baa, Baa, Baa.

    Some years ago on the Funny Farm in the land of the political cronies we have seen some political sheep follow their master, the political sheep-herder, into supporting ‘genocide’. It would have been a sight to behold; these woolly headed Cabinet Ministers all Baa, Baa, Baaing on cue when their shepherd and political ewe ram herds them all in the direction of the barnyard NONSEnse; watching them rise from their sheepish positions and bleating Baa, Baa, Baa, which means YES, YES, YES in Liberal lingo, to this deviation of law called ‘genocide.’

    Hear them bleat: “We’re Liberal sheep and we can bleat, and you know where to find us. Following Tony, your pal – our crony, leaving our principles behind us.” This is a true Baa Baaing statement. The Liberal sheep, having no principles, just followed their sheep-herder as the sheep are fed, watered and housed in the ‘well guarded’ Funny Farm Houses. Some of the sheep have been there for years and have no desire to lose any of their feedstuffs and perks at the political trough. You see, ‘good’ sheep always follow their master’s voice. Baa, Baa, Baa. The political shepherd and his political lap police dog lead the way for the sheep to follow.

    “WOOF, WOOF, WOOF!” barked Sir Ian Blair, the political lap police dog as he sent 78 British bull terriers to remove ‘free speech’ and all traces of ‘genocide’ from the SQUARE. “We must protect the ‘rights’ of those who are different from us sheep. We are a ‘non-discriminatory’ and ‘tolerant’ Funny Farm of ‘equality’, subject to the invented Barnyard rules of our Charter.”

    Baa, Baa, Baa bleat the Liberal cabinet sheep in unison. Then they will all sing in bleating sheep language, “We’re Liberal sheep with no Bo Peep and we don’t know where to find her. But we’ll follow the Blair’s, the naughty pair, we’ll vote yes – we don’t need a reminder.” Hey, a nice tune from a bleating good herd.

    A few years before that song and dance, on another Farm where everyone is ‘Lordly’ and small ‘c’ conservative, those sheep had voted against lowering the legal age of sexual consent for homosexual males. In fact,,, three times the ‘Lordly’ ‘c’ Farm said, “NO!” to the Funny Farm Houses. The ‘c’ sheep had no intention of changing this accepted ‘normal’ age of consent for homosexual males. But many of Tony’s cronies were going Baa, Baa, Baa in support of this perversion of the ‘law’. And so, it came to be, Tony and his barnyard buddies invoked their very first Act of Parliament, effectively over-riding the ‘c’ sheep, and lowered the legal male/male age of sexual consent. Now that’s Baa Baa Baarking mad!

    Tony says it’s all about ‘freedom’ and ‘security’. Funny Farm watchers have wondered if mad ‘Cow’ disease has infected the Blair’s and most of the other sheep for this sheepish behavior. Some humane animals are worried that perhaps these political sheep have swallowed their own sheep dip, resulting in a poisoning of their minds.

    At one point, even the QUEEN BEE, had to remind Tony that the Army Ants were ‘hers’ and not ‘his’ – no ‘his and hers’ allowed. Could there be an explanation for this mind madness in the sheep? Rumour has it; there is a worry of mad ‘Cow’ disease in the Funny Farm Houses. A recent news headline said: “Mad Cow Disease found in German goat.” (NAZIsm? /HITLER? Ringing any bells folks?) Which raised the question: Did the German ‘goat’ interfere with the English ‘Cow’, and if this happened, could Liberal sheep get infected as well?

    These are strange times on the Funny Farm, indeed. Still, this mad ‘Cow’ disease should be very worrying to the Liberal sheep. If this disease could jump from a ‘goat’, it could jump to a sheep as well. And wouldn’t that be ‘goat’-awful. (Hey, isn’t that an awful pun?) But here’s hoping no German ‘goats’ have infiltrated the Funny Farm Houses. Certainly, our Liberal sheep are acting very strangely. It would appear they are unable to think for themselves anymore. Their shepherd has trained them to stand up on their hind legs and show their support for ‘genocide’. Are they again planning to be Baa, Baa, Baaing YES to this in sheepish language denying ‘free speech’? Their shepherd says no sheep exemptions allowed.

    Could mad ‘Cow’ disease have infected these cabinet sheep? Is their a German ‘goat’ loose in the Funny Farm Houses and chasing the sheep? If so, could the ‘goat’ be charged for sheep interference? Could this be an animal ‘hate crime’? Mad ‘Cow’ symptoms do attack the brain and can cause unnatural behavior to the thought processes. Does this mean the Funny Farm Houses across from the SQUARE will need to be QUARANTINED?

    This is a very worrying situation for the inhabitants of the Funny Farm currently governed by this madness. Who will run the Funny Farm if all the cabinet sheep are QUARANTINED? Would some other Liberal turkeys take charge? Is this ‘1984’ or 2006? Is this England or ‘Animal Farm’? These are important questions that need answers.

    Hopefully, Tony, the ‘master political sheep-herder’, will hold a news conference and declare there is no mad ‘Cow’ or German ‘goat’ infecting his sheep and that they are all healthy to vote ‘stand trial’ for ‘genocide’ and a ‘failure of duty to protect all God’s children – small and great’ as this is no bull poop. Baa, Baa, Baa. The Liberal sheep have all been ‘swined’ and dined and now all must join in a celebration song of a sheepish victory: “We’re cabinet sheep who have lost their way, Baa, Baa, Baa. Liberal sheepsters not really free, Liberals in the grip of Insanity, Lord, have mercy on such as we. Baa, Baa, Baa.” What will the QUEEN BEE say?

    (Paraphrasing, with apologies to Stephen Gray and the Whip and Poof oops I meant Whippenpoof song.)
    Anti copyright acknowledging the farcical/genocidal/eugenical British/American/Canadian
    Baa Baa Baarking mad government

  2. Charity Sweet Says:

    Truth or Dare…

    Truth or Blair

    1395 words

    My opinion/ my heart – July 5, 2006
    A love Letter 2 ?


    It was good to see you yesterday. You always look and are such a decent bloke; a pleasant change from some other idiots I am dealing with, albeit by choice. Just seeing you is oh so nice. I am a ridiculous romantic – I know. I like what I see, the way you are, the things you say and do, simple as. And you wonder ‘why you’ give me butterflies the size of prehistoric 747’s? Think on it.

    I’m thinking ‘why me?’ as I do live a somewhat ‘odd’ life.

    I am getting more comfortable with my emotions where you are concerned. If we happen, it happens; if we don’t, it wasn’t meant to be. That’s kind of the way I think on everything. What will be, will be.

    In my world, tings are getting a bit LARRY! All good fun though and definitely interesting. Going back up London soon for another kick at the hornet’s nest as the dirty side of the Metropolitan Po Po almost broke my mates arm. That was his intention and she is a girl. That’s not cool. A real man would never lay a hand of aggression on a woman.

    The Blair’s have got to go. I don’t like their kind. Let them go live in America as they worship the Bushy brand of idiocy, so clearly. I doubt the Germans or the French would have them over for a pizza or a curry. I wish people understood that I think England is worth fighting for; and that the elite few like that tosser and his witchy immigration meister/Mrs. at 10 Downing Street or next door (wherever they live), have and are currently ruining your country – my country too.

    I love England as I still love Canada and things are really bad there for some; just not many outside the country know how truly bad things have deteriorated just across the pond in Canada… yet. Canadian children are knowingly being placed at risk through corrupted legislation.

    Questions of integrity and abuse of human rights – children’s rights – are starting to loom around the Canadian government, in specifically the old money bit – ‘Lower Canada’ – the Maritime Provinces of Lords and serfdom. Ever been taxed to death by your government? No time to talk? Too busy working? Sound familiar? Recognize the tune?

    Speaking of tunes, which, I went out last night with a bunch of girls dancing – what a laugh. Tomorrow we are over to the Wagon at Hale for a sing song. I would love to take my eldest daughter to Iraq to learn about their rich cultural heritage that is hers, to learn about where she comes from. It just ain’t gonna happen. No holiday for us to go see the extended family in Baghdad (if any of them are still alive, that is) whereas, I started coming over to England, as a child, to meet my family and learn about my roots.
    Canadian summers were swimming in beautiful lakes and sometimes, family over from England, as well. The winters were lovely and white, usually before Christmas.

    I remember well, the good times – drinking too much beer down at the railroad tracks in the woods, as a teen, into the night; good friends, good music, good times. Canadians are cool folk… no doubt. And just like here, a few assholes are running my country and their lives into the ground. Do you ever hear much about Canada in the news? Ever wonder why?

    We are Uncle Sam’s bitch and I demand a divorce.

    Canadian ‘government’ needs immigrants/$$$ to tax and wants refugees/voters to blame for where all the money is going, but don’t let the tourists see or the citizenry find out what the Canadian/American media turns a blind eye to: 2 + 2 = 4 no matter what country you come from, if you are educated. War is THE big business – the most bang for OUR buck, on our/their(?) ‘privatized’ democracy. It’s nothing personal folks, just big business. ‘Representative’ democracy is a crock of shite. Give me grass roots any day of the week.

    “People have to die,” was the response I was given by Mr. Limp Dick MP, outside Westminster Abbey when I interrupted him from returning to his lush banquet with BAE, the bomb makers, I do believe. What was my question?

    “Why are you dropping bombs on my daughter’s people?”

    My response?

    “People have to die so you can sell bombs and sup, sup with the bomb makers in the church gardens and feed from the trough across the street? People like you are why I teach my children that that building over there houses the second rising of the Third Reich. Good night, sir.”

    I also enquired of said ‘good’ MP, if he would aid in drafting legislation that would classify pedophiles as the dangerous offenders and permanent threat to humanity’s children that they have become. We agreed that this was an egregious act of violence and something must be done to separate their kind permanently from society’s children. His response?



    I know my life may be a bit mental for some to understand and it makes perfect sense to me. I love to sing and I understand clearly that it’s the politicians that have lost their marbles. I am just me – a small town Canadian girl with an English heart who knows right from wrong, like most. I am far from perfect. I have been known to swear like a sailor, on occasion. I do what I do because I care that much. I take my job as mom very seriously. I do lurve to have a laugh and a joke, as you know. Love a bit of Monty Python.

    No sex please, we’re British! Great play. Great memories of London.

    Speaking of sex, someone down the pub was silly enough to say that he had had sex with me… oops, a mate told me. I chewed him up and spat him out; put my chair back directly in front of him and sat down with my back to him and his tattoos, after a load of verbal – mine. He never said one word.

    Soon after, I turned around to him and offered that if he were a man, he would apologize and I was woman enough to accept his apology. Then his mates and my mates were on his case, telling him, that he owed me an apology. My mates know what I’m like in most ways. I will speak my mind and I don’t mince my words. I don’t hold grudges, either, unless well warranted. (Tony…)

    Being the English man that ‘he’ is, ‘he’ did apologize. I shook his hand and we sat down and chatted over a pint. Tony should take a lesson from that man. If only he could… Shall we let some other countries decide his fate and teach him the lesson he needs: genocide is a war crime? Nuremburg anyone?

    I am a peaceful chick who doesn’t take any shite. I don’t talk shite either. I have fallen in love with England and have been feeling something personal and passionate for you too, for some time. The question in my mind is whether you can accept what I do and who I am because I am not likely to change. With you, is where I want to rest my heart and this crap might not be your scene. It is a bit much.

    Lord knows Tony would like to be rid of my voice outside his doorstop and like Arnie said, “I’ll be baaackkk”. You, I hope, understand me well enough to realize I don’t take kindly to any threats or harassment directed at myself, my mates, my children, or anyone’s children for that matter – thank you very much.

    Too right I am glad I count amongst my friends some good English men(especially you) and English women(my matesXXX), who stand by and stick up for me amongst the many other nationalities I call friend.

    Thanks for being a friend and always being you with me, regardless of circumstance. Thanx for those lovely butterflies…

    Guess Who? is feeling you?

    anti copyright Charity Sweet

  3. Charity Sweet Says:

    My opinion/ my heart 8.7.06


    As usual, I am sitting down the pub, surrounded by just normal folk, trying to earn a crust and keep their little families/lives afloat. These people do not deserve such an evil bastard playing havoc with their lives – taxing the death out of them and harassing their youth.

    Am I worried about tomorrow? Mildly… I know there are good English men on the Metropolitan Po Po and I know there are some prize $%£4s.

    Do I fancy being man handled by a prick? Not really.

    Do I believe 110% in what I am doing? Definitely.

    It’s mad that I am contemplating the consequences of exercising my right to express my opinion, free speech, and I have to take into account the bullying tactics, including assault, both me and my children have witnessed (the man on the Clapham bus), used by officers of the Met at the gates of Downing Street, in full view of the public.

    Insanity comes to mind. I cannot take my kids on a holiday for fear of being denied re-entry to my homeland, England, where my children are born and bred. I am a terrorist? %$£” right off Mr. Tony Blair. I may be banned from entry from how many countries because I have been cautioned as a ‘terrorist’ under Tony-the-Toad’s ridiculous legislation known as SOCPA, which curiously is also a complete travesty of our civil rights.

    The right to have an opinion and express it must be the most fundamental aspect of life, let alone democracy – otherwise you are just cabbage waiting to die.

    The Irish, the Northern Irish were denied a voice in politics for how many decades? What’s that all about? Gerry Adams, who represented the majority and wanted peace, believe it or not, was not allowed to be heard on the media? Is that right? Have I been misinformed?

    When my ex-neighbour, ex-SAS, has very real problems adjusting to his past in view of his present – a beautiful blond-haired blue eyed boy… When he was just a lad, he was naughty and the government offered him jail or the army, he chose the army. As a trained assassin, he was sent into Northern Ireland to ‘exterminate’.

    He finds it hard to accept that he placed the sole of his boot across the neck of an infant and shot point blank. When he was sent in to exterminate, that meant the entire household – the whole family. Is this military pride or a tortured broken soul only doing as he was told and trying to live with himself?

    A very good mate of mine who was one of nine children that were molested on a school trip to the Chatham Dockyard, none of whom received absolutely no justice, explained to me how impotent the men carrying their weapons like huge male penile projections, up in London, actually are with regards to myself. I am 5’3”. I’m a size 5 maybe and I am not armed with anything more than my mind, my voice and my wits. I will not tolerate any verbal or physical threats whatsoever, especially from a male. I witnessed the scars of the beatings from life my mother took and have never allowed a man to lay a hand on me.

    This is where the insanity comes in…

    Is it really the Metropolitan Police Force that I am including in this thought process of whether I am going to be physically man-handled?

    What is wrong with this picture?

    My crime… singing a few songs without permission from a war criminal who grins and signs autographs. (This ain’t Hollywood Tony. It’s London, England!)

    (I’ll be) ‘Sitting On The Dock Of the Bay’
    (cuz) ‘I Heard it Throught the grapevine’
    ‘Jesus loves the little children’
    (and I) ‘Always Look on the Bright Side of Life’ to name a few…

    Why do I do what I do?

    I can’t see or hear any more sad stories of broken people and broken children and broken lives. No more.

    I don’t want to go to a counsellor and talk about it, Mr. Freud. I personally think Mr. Kinsey and his NONSE study have done nothing for the sexual revolution of humankind other than steer humanity towards his barnyard NONSEnse, over-sexualising the youth of the rat race. Thanks must be given also the Canadian Eugenics Society for this Nazi train of thought.

    Action speaks louder than words as I cannot act and I will not act, I will sing out and stand my ground.

    I will be heard. God as my witness.

    I demand justice.
    I demand democracy.
    I demand peace.

    God is watching!

    Anti copyright Charity Sweet acknowledging Barbara Tucker who has been arrested some 38X? since notifying the Metro Po Po of her right to free speech and Steven Jago for his true English nature as a gentleman and standing by Babs XXX

  4. Charity Sweet Says:

    My opinion/my heart 10/07/09

    Holy Shite Batman!

    I get off the hook from taking one of my mate’s to his mom’s funeral tomorrow only to be asked to take another mate to her baby’s grave. WTF mate?

    Do you know why I am finding it so hard to speak to you in person? I do. The emotions I am feeling now are very raw and very painful and I am hiding them as best I can. With, you, I don’t think that is possible. You seem to break down all the walls and barriers I protect my heart with.

    I saw off 5 Metro Po Po from the tree outside Downing Street in my ‘Mary Poppins’ way. I was “advised” to leave and declined. My response after being stopped under the Terrorism Act after needing to “ascertain her details and identity” and “what she was doing”. “singing loudly” was already written down as a reason to stop me along with my “small placard” regarding bullying. Give it a rest. My name is Charity Sweet and I will sing out where and when I like. Get the picture?

    I don’t get why I can deal with that shite and I am so chicken with you. I know – I don’t want you to see my cry. You mean something to me where they don’t mean S.F.A. I care about good people and the good coppers, not the puppets of this police state. They are part of the problem!

    I am so into you it is ridiculous and this is such an insane time in my life. The Canadian media has reported some 23 Cabinet Ministers have been busted as paedophilic ‘nonses’. Alarm bells going off folks?(Today I have received a page stating my IP address from the public café I use is blocked to ??? Where I read this info and wanted to re-check my facts?)

    I started crowing about them bastards when I cottoned onto the nonse ring in the school system my children were required by Canadian law to attend – Halifax Regional Municipality; HRM, Nova Scotia Canada – as they class their eugenic selves.

    Teachers and school board members will come forward to who? Our Chief of Police – Danny Sykes who went to school with my brother? Another nonse? It’s insane. The situation is insane, not me. More alarm bells, Sir Ian Blair?

    I wish I didn’t know what I was talking about. I really do. I wish I didn’t meet the man who was molested by ex Premier Buchanan before our ex Prime Minster, the cocaine baron. I wish that nonse wasn’t rewarded from the Canadian tax payers pocket, a Senatorship and a lifetime salary for the egregious crimes he committed against the boys of the Shelburne Boys School of Nova Scotia. Paul Martin, Buchanan, and Regan the Rapist can all go spin!
    I wish I had never met so many boys like him, so many girls like him, so many women like him, so many men like him. I wish I didn’t know and I do. It’s killing me inside.

    Under ‘normal’ circumstances, I would be such a shy, sensitive girl. I truly would. This ‘abnormal’ life has taught me to come out of myself… which can only be good. I am singing out for my mother; for what she saw and what they did to her. Good people who speak out generally get severely punished in Canada. Everything good I am is because of her. She taught me love so well and it’s been ripping my heart apart to bear witness to such atrocities against children.

    It must have killed my mum to see the things that she saw, back in her day. I remember well the stories.

    I remember being there to see that old boy, who everyone else treated as just a bit of nothing; couldn’t speak, couldn’t walk, couldn’t feed himself or wipe his own bum. Then, she was an activities director at an old folk’s home where not many cared how the elderly were treated. They were having a sing song of all the old war songs… yes, it was November.

    She bent down, held his worn out face in her two hands and sang to him. It’s making me
    cry to think about it. Tears started to roll down his face. I will never forget.

    I can’t forget Father Bert either, the man who christened my son; a real man cut from the Catholic cloth that was “always in shit with the Bishop” as he put it. He said right is right and wrong is wrong. He said he was a man and wanted to be married. He debated that he would clearly be more effective to his ‘flock’ if he could advise them on such a serious institution as marriage, from an educated, experienced position.

    His closing argument was “Half of them are gay and the other half are at it anyway”, in reference to the Catholic Priesthood. He wanted to keep it real.

    The next thing I knew, good ‘ol Father Bert was on the telly – on BBC – being used as a sacrificial lamb to defend the freeing of Myra Hinley, him being the man of the God of a second chance. I can’t fault him and I do disagree with him on that one specific issue.

    Forgive the paedophile – yes. Knowingly set him free to re-offend – not in a million years please; the children must be protected, first and foremost in our society. I am speaking from life experience, he wasn’t; only from the profound compassion he held for all humanity.

    I remember listening to the message – the poor woman who informed me of his death. Oh my good God, I cried – I cried like the day Diana was murdered. I didn’t know why? He was just so young and so good. It felt so wrong.

    Last week I was curiously informed that this all took place during a holiday to Ireland. Father Bert fell asleep in front of the telly, probably after a drink or two and a curry or a pizza. The television ‘imploded’ and the resulting ‘gas’ leakage finished him off.

    “It was a terrorist attack”, are the precise words I was told. Eh? Huh? Father Bert has been Dr. Kelly’d and beamed up? Do what?

    There is gonna be hell to pay Tony, and hell is a long time a blazin’. While I know that Father Bert would forgive you, I’ll say $£%& you, you evil bastards

    Maybe now you can understand why my emotions are a bit raw and must be expressed. With you, I have been holding back which is almost impossible. These embers have been glowing for some time now. Life for me right now is very intense. I am always passionate, regardless, just not so intensely focused.

    Raw emotion has produced raw determination. Lots of very deep emotions are surfacing. The emotion I feel around you is deeper than I am willing to recognise.

    Maybe ‘willing’ is the wrong word.
    ‘Able’ might be more appropriate.

    Maybe a complete re-phrasing is warranted. I am able to recognise that I am starting to feel something rather deep where you are concerned. I am willing to dare to believe in this thing called love. I don’t know if you are willing to dare to believe in me. Time will tell, as always.

    P.S. Today my lovely little black kitty had three beautiful black kittens. They are wonderful! And so are you.

    All my Love