I watched Eminem’s freestyle about Trump. I thought he hit on a few good points, regardless of if it’s been said before. It doesn’t mean we should stop saying it. In fact, I don’t think he took into account how far back this thing goes and how the people of America are to blame.
Fact 1. He can’t be president if you don’t vote for him. He was voted in and maybe more people should’ve voted, and I know certain groups claim the voting system meant he got in just by winning key areas in proportional representation. However, if he was such a poor choice then why didn’t more people vote against him? He is quite clearly not fit for office, if people saw this coming then why didn’t more people band together to out this clown. It shouldn’t have been left so close that you must blame the system when the win was so marginal.
Fact 2. People are dumb. People voted for Trump because “he’s not a politician, he’s a businessman who can make deals”. Which makes perfect sense to make him president, I mean… I spoke to a teacher the other day and asked him how he got his job. He said, “I’m not a teacher, I’m actually a convicted paedophile, but I know how to talk to kids”. That kind of logic makes no sense. Maybe better teaching of politics at school could help inform better decisions in the future.
Fact 3. The American constitution is flawed. Trump has support from racist, right-wing groups like Neo-Nazis, who also happen to be crazy about the 2nd Amendment and bear more arms than Ganesh. The 2nd Amendment was made to protect themselves from Britain, and to bring down a Tyrannical government, one like Trump’s government. How do you take down a government like that when the ones who own the guns are the ones who support a tyrant? It’s a catch 22 and if you made guns illegal in America, who wants to march into these people’s homes and take their guns? It’s not like they’re gonna hand them over with a smile. The 2nd Amendment splits the nation down the middle, and that could cause a civil war. It’s not like the Pro-guns bunch are without supplies. As long as Trump has support from the far right, it’s hard to get rid of him physically without some kind of a backlash for everyone. It’s inherently wrong to make military machines of war like guns available to the public. It’s not a tool like a spanner, it is designed only to kill.
There are no avenues left to take him down, either physically or constitutionally with an impeachment. He can do what he wants and it’s the average person’s fault that he is where he is now. I don’t think Eminem could say that without pissing off his fan base. The person is smart, people are dumb. It’s always been the same.
The feeling when Jack knew he was destined for the drink and not to float away with Rose as the Titanic sank beneath him. That’s the feeling Britain has every day when someone mentions Brexit. Boris Johnson is Foreign (fucking) Secretary. He has the race relations skills of Tommy Robinson at Ramadan and the involuntary tactless outbursts of a kid with Tourette’s at Sunday church, he’s the only public figure who brings back the nostalgia by using historical racist words, it’s like he attended Eton circa 1850. I heard whispers of Boris eyeing up the job at No. 10 if Theresa May goes tits up, hoping it was just the drivel of delirious old men in some chemically induced psychosis. But no, he genuinely wants the top job, the equivalent of having Crusty the Clown in charge of your tax returns. We do realise he applied for the job of MAYOR OF LONDON by drawing a stickman on the application form, and WON! The scary part about this whole situation is he might just become Prime Minister. I hope the only reason they allow him to win is so that if Britain goes under after Brexit, we can go back to the EU, cap-in-hand and claim insanity for a mulligan, and promise to only elect mentally fit people to positions of power… As we boot Theresa May and Boris into the North Sea on a dingy. Although I wouldn’t want to see Britain sink that low.
The Conservative party conference looked like a bunch of rabid wolves baring teeth at a wounded elk that was struggling to make a coherent sentence between coughing fits and sips of water. We need people to do more about stopping the Conservatives, at least more than Lee Nelson handing her a P45. If he handed her a sword to fall on, the Conservative crowd would have burst into a round of applause, just before they tore each other apart for the top jobs and Boris Johnson waded in on horseback with a pack of bloodhounds, demanding a lift on foxhunting and declaring everybody refer to him as “Lord Blerghghghgbrughblughgh”. Times under a Conservative Britain just sound like a Dickensian nightmare. I constantly wait for the Victorian smog to descend, I’m wearing a flat-cap for some reason, and groups of kids start randomly singing “I’d do anything”.
Obviously, austerity is doing nothing for the average working person in London. The Conservatives keep regurgitating the lie that they’re “looking out for the average worker” but when the average Conservative donor is most likely that worker’s employer, I fail to see how they are “looking out for the little man”. In London, 58% of people in poverty are in working families. How can a government can let working families fall into the poverty line? How do you have to WORK to be in poverty in Britain? Increased rent and travel costs, also failure to increase minimum wage with inflation rates are to blame. Employers could pay the living wage, but most fail to. I still struggle to see how a developed country has poverty. Increased usage of food banks and increased usage amongst NHS nurses, I don’t see how those in an extremely SKILLED career can be struggling to make ends meet. I studied Art, I asked for it, but nursing is a profession. we need to protect them.
The Tories don’t care about running a country, just having the power will do them. It’s an unsustainable government that gives no credibility to the “Strong and Stable” slogan, and even that isn’t really pushing the envelope, so to speak. Strong and Stable, my coffee table is strong and stable. Andy Carroll is Strong and Stable. We should describe our country as “Fearless”, “Resilient”, “Pioneering”… Give the EU something to chew on, she sold us short. We need a leader with some drive and enthusiasm. Not someone who looks like her own Spitting Image doll, and is running the fifth largest economy in the world on a Geography degree. Let’s not get it confused, the EU are just as bad. Their stance on Brexit is that of a jilted 15-year-old schoolgirl, holding her ex’s iPhone 8 out the top floor window of the Shard.
The EU don’t want a deal because they weren’t too fond of us in the first place, and I’m not just using Eurovision to back that up. For years we asked for permission to strengthen our borders and control who comes in, which isn’t a big ask seeing as most of Europe can’t keep track of known terrorists bringing AK-47’s through their customs in hand luggage, we might as well do it ourselves. Brussels are just disillusioned at the fact they thought Britain needed them, which in a weird, co-dependent, unhealthy relationship kind of way, we do. I’d love to think that this Brexit situation could be sorted out in a half an hour on Jeremy Kyle like other unhealthy relationships, but the EU asking for £5 billion in some kind of divorce settlement is taking the piss a bit. They must have seen us hand £1 billion over to the DUP and it made them a tad jealous. Jean-Claude Junker can quite frankly sit and swivel. We only give our money to sexist, right-wing, terrorist nut jobs and not money grabbing, dick swinging, vindictive nut jobs, thanks.
We need better leadership through Brexit. Someone with enough backbone to tell Europe when it’s taking the piss, enough tact to know when to shut up, and enough common sense to know that exiting the EU was always going to be a shit show. Brexit is the outcome of what happens when you slingshot shit at a fan. We need to double down now, I hoped once upon a time that we could go back to how things were, but you don’t go back to an ex. We need to invest our time in creating new financial partners and not concentrate on a “friends with benefits” agreement with Europe. There’s a whole world out there to impress. We need to be pioneering and fearless now, not just strong and stable. We need to invest in the young now and create a better future. Not beg for the scraps off the EU’s table.
Upon detonation of a nuclear bomb, I imagine being incinerated into the cosmic breeze must feel like that moment when someone takes a photo you weren’t expecting with the flash on, you pull a funny face, close your eyes and feel the sudden burn of your retinas as your image is converted to bits and distributed over a screen. Certainly, if you happened to be in Piccadilly at the time, your bits would be distributed over a large screen with a SANYO advert plastered over it. Ironically, everybody being blasted to a fine dust is the closest anyone will ever be to anyone without the use of an iPhone nowadays. The memes would be spectacular, especially the one fella that would be live tweeting his obliteration…
“It must be a heatwave in London LOL JK I’m dying #literally”
“My skin is melting off my bones, better pop to Boots for lotion #sorrynotsorry”
However, if Trump and Kim keep going at it, I might not have to speculate what it’d be like. I imagine Trump doesn’t care about the outcome of a nuclear war because his face looks like it already survived one. Hopefully it comes to nothing, but the trash talk has been great though, especially through the McGregor/Mayweather stuff, I was spoilt for choice. The posturing between Donald and Kim is something I can’t stand, if you’re going to fight, then fight. It reminds me of being at school when two people had a problem, they brought all their friends, and they didn’t want to fight so their friends just pushed them into each other until an accidental headbutt occurred. We’d need to legalise marijuana in Britain just to say we did something useful in our twilight hours. If anything, the positive to draw from that situation would be the hope that when London is a smoking crater, that the smoke would carry THC over the Atlantic and keep Trump sedated long enough to have him tied up and flown to Mars with no suit on the next SpaceX mission.
I have an image in my head of Trump, Kim and Theresa May. Trump is this huge orange truck and Kim is this huge green van and Theresa May is a rabbit caught in the headlights of their collision course, and she’s about to get double fucked on the way to Brexit Farm, to those famous fields of wheat.
It seems like I’m going harder on Trump than Kim, and I kind of am doing. They are both mad, power hungry, psychotic taints hellbent on destroying average people to prove a point that neither of them really understand. However, Kim is a mad man running unopposed, he actively kills people who oppose him. Trump has at least some normal minded people around him, there is an entire senate who can control his actions and still he is allowed to declare war by tweet. How hard is it to confiscate his account and have someone tweet normal things on his behalf? The only problem there would be that he’s been tweeting while in office for so long now, the only way to make it half way believable would be to hire Charles Manson as his public relations.
Nuking Pyongyang may seem like the right thing to do to the type of people who have three kids with their sisterwife and sell Nazi memorabilia on Ebay but, If watching Austin Powers movies has taught me anything, it’s that people like Kim Jong-Un always come back in unexpected ways, and he probably has a pool full of sharks with fricken lasers attached to their fricken heads. You can’t expect normal from someone who has been locked away from the outside world for most of his life. I’m sure fucking a hole in the wall might be normal to a hermit, so nuking countries in a hermit state must be the equivalent of fucking something. It wouldn’t surprise me if Kim pressed the nuke button with his knob in a pineapple. Americans kept going on about the middle east not having freedom, and now they have freedom and no oil, but imagine the people of Pyongyang, where freedom is being able to pick your own haircut. I’m not sure blasting them with freedom nukes will change that. Unless you don’t mind suddenly going bald, then evaporating.
It’s a dick swinging competition with their appendages floating over launch codes. You might have noticed I haven’t mentioned Britain much, that’s because we really don’t have a dog in this fight. With the likes of Russia and America, us talking about nukes would be like bringing a bag of oranges to a terminally ill orange farmer. With austerity, it wouldn’t surprise me if we told the army to bring their own weapons and tried to fire nuclear warheads at Pyongyang with a super-sized catapult. Ironic, that we ploughed money into weapons at one point and now both our nukes and financial situation are decaying at an alarming rate. Kind of fitting in a way.
Britain, nowadays, is the equivalent of the little bloke at the pub who is always in a fight, but can be held back with one arm and gets laughed at while the video is uploaded to YouTube. You’ve got to admire the effort though.
Once upon a time you could walk around Mile End fancy-free and not be attacked randomly, on the violent and sickening whim of disgusting, feral subhumans with not a care for publ… I can’t keep a straight face with that, I can’t hand on heart say that East London has always been safe. I once had a full can of coke thrown at me from a moving car, for wearing an Asda uniform, “ASDA, YOU PRICK!” *WHACK*. One thing I could always say is that I could walk around Stepney and wouldn’t have sulphuric face reorganiser splashed all over my boat. I’d get the occasional, “Where you from, Bruv?” or a “What you looking at?” but never anything that warranted more than a swift put down, certainly not spraying someone in the face with a liquid that leaves them looking somewhere between an avocado and Simon Weston.
East London needs a Judge Dredd type that just teabags the bullet-riddled bodies of the delinquents that use acid in attacks. What happened to just giving someone a slap? If you got a slap, you’d feel bad and hate yourself for a while, but you’d live. You might not be able to look at yourself in the mirror but, with acid you can’t look in the mirror because you haven’t got any fucking eyeballs left. Now the government want to raise the age of buying corrosives to 21, which doesn’t cover everyone. People like the boyfriend of Ferne McCann, the gutless taint that is Arthur Collins, who randomly acid attacked a club in Shoreditch, was 25-years-old. I’d love to staple a pair of bollocks to his forehead so it’d be the first time he owned a pair. Anyone who uses acid in attacks is a coward, I would’ve called him a pussy but pussies are useful.
Acid is just the latest instalment of the “remedial roadman weapon of the week club”. I just want to know what’s going through a DIY shop cashier’s mind when a 16-year-old wearing a stone island, sidebag and Air Max 95’s walks up to him with sulphuric acid. He’s hardly using it for a sixth form science project or for melting a jobbie down in the upstairs bathroom. I don’t know why we haven’t implemented a licencing system. A corrosive substances licence, we used to have licences for dogs like a Pomeranian is more dangerous. I actually thought that an acid licence was already a thing. I assumed common sense would dictate that you would control a substance that was made famous in Breaking Bad for liquifying bodies.
We need tighter controls on acid. They banned the good, trippy kind yet allow people to walk around with something that has the power to leave you looking like Andrew Lloyd Webber’s cum face. There is really no reason for the average person to need acid like that. In 26 years I have never encountered a situation that needed it. We need to licence acid. Aside from 6 acids, which are not permitted to be bought in concentrations higher than 40%, it is essentially an unregulated substance, and the main offenders aren’t even in those 6. You can buy hydrochloric acid and sulphuric acid in any concentration under current law in Britain.
I really don’t see how such an oversight has been allowed to go on for so long. I can’t get on a plane with more than 100ml of Coke, but I can walk around the streets with a bottle of liquid cruciation.
I haven’t really written anything current in a while because I’ve been writing a book. I’m into crime novels, and I’m looking into various themes. I’m keeping them under wraps so no one steals my idea. It comes from when I was flat broke at university and contemplated robbing a petrol station using a balaclava and a RIF (Real Imitation Firearm) Dan Wesson 2.5 Sub Nose pistol I found on the internet. In fact, it was the one pictured below.
It was a desperate time, I had no money, I was in debt and had no way to get out. I left the items (gun and balaclava) in their respective baskets until I had enough to time to think it over and thank god, I wasn’t stupid and decided against it in the end. It’s one of the lowest places I have been to and it’s there I got the idea for Michael. Named for my brother. In all honesty, if we were the same person we would be dangerous. He in many ways is what I’d like to be, personality traits and attitude. If my personality and his were in the same body I might have done it.
This then became my safe way of dealing with it. My innate need to plan out the daring without the insanity to carry it out, teamed with the daring nature of my brother and his can-do attitude. We’d be f**king dangerous in another lifetime.
I love you bro.
So this is an excerpt from my book. a sort of prelude, one of a series of preludes, setting out how Michael gets away with it and who he does it with, backstory, yada yada… Let me know what you think.
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Boltholes and Home
A bolthole is a referred to as somewhere a rabbit or wild animal can escape to. I had two of them. I had 47 Galleon House, on the Isle of Dogs, and 57 Hazel Grove, in Hertfordshire. Galleon House was my childhood home, we acquired it as part of a fortuitous set of circumstances. My mother made an exchange on her council house with my grandfather who lived at our then, current address. My grandfather never gave it up and moved in with us. I was then was put in charge of his finances. I paid him handsomely every month for the flat. I would slip a few hundred in with his pention. I used it to plan our jobs. Right where I played with cars as a child, there was a coffee table with a Webley MK. VI on it, a few dirty mags and one of those cut-glass ashtrays grannies usually have.
We had a few sofas we got from Rhys’ old house. The wall had a whiteboard drilled to it, pictures would usually be tacked to it for the job at the time. Blackout curtains on the kitchen window. Old empty cans of beer and empty whiskey bottles on the floor. This was our boardroom. Not the most professional place but it was mine, and it worked. I have so many fond memories of that place.
Hazel Grove on the other hand, was a dump with a front door, to accurately describe it. We all eventually chipped in and bought it outright when we started making money. We bought it in cash from a friend of William. He asked no questions so we took it as seen, and it stayed that way. Over time it just grottier and grottier. The occasional pizza box here and there turned into a mountain. We never stayed there long enough to think of cleaning it that often. This was our hideaway. If it got too hot in London, or we had too much cash to hide, we took it there. The back garden was on a slope, with a massive peach tree at the top and a shed, it really was a beautiful spot there. When the police eventually dug it up, that peach tree, the shed, the lawn, were all destroyed. I felt like we never really appreciated what we had there. Galleon too, they raided it top to toe and found our guns in the water tank, and the cash stacked inside the doors. They took them off the hinges and smashed them to bits in front of my wife. She had no idea what went on until they started pulling stacks of fifty pound notes out of the wood splinters. I told her I had a snooker table up there.
The police destroyed everything I’d ever built. Everyone will see a raid on the news and will think to themselves, “Good, they should be getting a real job”. They fail to see that to me, this was a real job. I even paid taxes on the money I stole. We laundered it through the use of SIA licences and a few moody receipts and invoices. We all got close-protection licences and put ourselves down as self-employed. Close-protection security pays highly, and for every job we would produce fake receipts all through our company records, all run through Galleon House as a small business of four staff. We even paid tax on our company. We could deposit £2000 per week into our own accounts without any suspicion and if questions were asked, we had “official” paperwork that not only explained the source of the money, but put the right date at the top and it provided an alibi too. We filled out our self-assessments every year and provided the phoney invoices on company headed notepaper. It was perfect. As long as everyone paid their taxes, most criminals get found out because of their taxes.
My home was beautiful. We lived at Urmston House, on the Isle of Dogs. As we did more and more jobs, I needed to hide my money. I threw it at Urmston. I’d tell my mum to point at anything and I’d buy it. I paid for grandad’s care, he deserved the best and seeing as I had it, I got him the best. I bought my brother a car. I tipped homeless people pinkies. Home was somewhere that out of the negativity, I could make a difference. I always felt brand new there. I got into robbery to build a better life for my family. I used to fire blanks into the air to scare people into submission yet, tried to keep my brother from doing what I did and gave him money for a business start-up. In a perverted way, I was saving my family from darkness and obscurity by using darkness and obscurity.
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It’s a work in progress, but I feel strong enough about my idea that I can make it work. It takes time to prefect, and I’m willing to give it that. I want the correct level of smooth and grit. This guy is kinda me you know, I have to do myself justice…
Us millennials are the innocents, born just that bit too late to do anything significant. Born too late to go to the moon first, born too early to travel space. Constantly on the brink of achieving, yet never crossing that threshold. Doomed to create hipsterism and listen to shite music, wear shite clothes and walk around with an undeserved sense of accomplishment. Most of us will only live to serve one purpose, to procreate and provide the next generation. Personally, I don’t think that’s a bad thing because, although innocent in respect of opportunities, we are the most spoilt, deluded and possibly the most heartless generation the Homosapien genus has spawned.
Where to begin with us. All millennials have this belief that you HAVE to be well travelled, and to not be well travelled is to be an uncultured chav, who gets their hair cut at Sports Direct and is often seen outside the off licence in pyjamas, talking to someone in a stolen Vauxhall Astra. The amount of conversations I had with people at university about their fabled “Gap Year” where they did relief work in Africa, repairing the damage that the families of these privileged wombles caused or how they “Found themselves” in Thailand or India and just sound like a walking Thomas Cook advert. How do you “find” yourself somewhere you’ve never been? You couldn’t have left yourself there in the first place. I doubt putting a GPS tracker on these people’s personalities could make them visible. These are the type of white people who tend to return wearing t-shirts with the sleeves ripped off and dreads, talking about spiritualism, and how they’re vegan because meat is murder, but wearing sweatshop Primark leggings and taking pictures on a phone where most of the raw materials were mined using children. Its like a training ground for hipsters. Telling me I need to go travelling to find myself. I’m right where I left myself, I’m not as careless as you. I don’t treat my personality like a set of keys, and leave them in a forest in Thailand, only to be discovered as I’m being ragged out by a tour guide named Tristan who plays ultimate frisbee.
We seem to think festivals are brilliant. Coachella is brilliant. Rio Carnival is brilliant. Festivaling in Britain is paying £400 to camp in the middle of a muddy field, out of your nut on Ket while its pissing down with rain and some c**t stands on stage playing his iTunes music library. Everyone pretends to have fun and then spends the next 2 weeks telling me how “the burgers were expensive” and how they could almost see the whites of a celebrity’s eyes from a distance that if a trained marksman pulled the trigger, would go down as the longest confirmed kill in military history. We convince ourselves that festivals in Britain are amazing but it’s just your favourite singer, singing songs you already know but worse, with half of the words missing in the hope that the audience knows them, then holds the mic to audience like the situation needed assistance from high powered speakers. IT’S THOUSANDS OF PEOPLE, Of course they can hear themselves! The only thing that perks up the weekend is if some prat overdoses in a tent. We always talk about making memories but you can’t pay for a nursing home with memories.
“Sorry sir, we don’t accept memories. We’ve had a few millennials in here asking that and you know what they got? The room by the bus stop. Hope those Leeds Festival tickets were worth it!”
Suddenly everyone is allergic/intolerant to everything. Suddenly everyone is eating quinoa and rye bread. Smashing avocado on everything and doing the “clean living” thing, just to go out on the weekends, down vodka, smoke cigarettes and have unprotected drunk sex with strangers. Bread has been in the human diet for 5000 years, I don’t recall cave dwellers providing warnings about bread in cave paintings, as he smears shit over the wall for it to be unearthed by some millennial wank stain on a gap year, trying to discover himself. Most people’s coffee orders sound like when someone is trying to impress with Italian but knows no Italian, so they press a bunch of Italianesque words together and produce a sentence only comprehendible to anyone with access to a “Rosetta stone” of coffee orders. All girls want to look emaciated and all the guys are gym douchebags with the emotional depth of a blow-up paddling pool on a shooting range. Youtubers show poor people all the clothes they bought or were given for free by companies, and show women how to contour their make up so they end up looking like Pete Burns from Dead or Alive.
We all have an incessant need for likes online. Women contort their bodies into shapes I’d report to the Vatican for an exorcism, just to get their arse and face in the picture, and post it online with a caption like “I’m ugly today”. Most guys would unfollow if they didn’t think they could smash because you look like you’d be wetter than a spastic’s chin. Men post up pictures with their “team”. Everyone’s got to have a “team”. I use the word “friends” but that wasn’t good enough for millennials, we have to make every Friday night sound like a five-a-side. Its 3 for £5 jagerbombs, not penalties against Germany. Birds caption selfies with things like “Rate my pic”. So, am I rating the many filters you have on that or the duck lips you’re pulling that make it suggest you can suck dick? When the only thing that sucks dick is this f**king picture. “I’m like Marmite, you either love me or hate me”. Yeah, you’re like Marmite, because half the world hates you and the other half think you’d look better on the end of a knife.
In short, we are the worst generation. We don’t provide anything. We just live to make the word a little more snobby and unbearable. You’d think spending a month around monks and learning inner peace would make these people into decent human beings. Instead, they just use it to fuel their egos at parties to make themselves seem more interesting, in the hope that no one peels back that veneer of culture to reveal a vast nothingness, the likes of which could only be compared to black hole opening up in Chipping Norton.
Let’s face it, millennials are the worst, and admitting it is the first step.
After my words about Grenfell, I sensed that certain, errr… “affluent” types weren’t quite getting what I meant by “Too poor to live in safety”. I didn’t think I had to spell it out but, hipsters being hipsters I felt I had to facetiously cram their thick frame Raybans so far down their throats that they can heat up the shit they were about to vocalise, simply by tilting their heads towards the sun.
The problem with Grenfell and others like it, is a complex one that goes back to Margaret Thatcher’s government in the 1980’s. I can’t speak for Grenfell per se but I can speak of East London, which has a similar problem that I understand from the ground up.
East London was primarily used for docking with docks such as St. Kathrine’s Dock handling goods from all over the world and various other docks, also manufacturing using factories all over East, with the famous “financial square mile” situated squarely in the City of London (think of it as a city, the City of London, sitting inside another huge city, London, or Greater London). Historically, the east has always been the poor area of London. This didn’t change through the centuries right up until the 1980’s and 90’s. A few big things happened, firstly Margaret Thatcher introduced a “Right to buy” scheme which encouraged council house tenants to “buy” their houses (no one really owned their council property, it was effectively a 100-year lease). Secondly, they built Canary Wharf right at the top of the Isle of Dogs. Smack bang in the middle of the East End where everyone can see it.
Why build Canary Wharf 5 miles from the City of London? It wasn’t going to offer jobs to the locals, most of our residents were labourers. We could help you build it but the business that would take place thereafter had no cockneys in mind. Furthermore, if they weren’t targeting cockneys, then who were they targeting to be the workforce in Canary Wharf? The answer is, the gentry. The people whose families could afford to send their children to university, to get the degrees necessary to do the jobs required in Canary Wharf. The trouble is getting the gentry to move to East London, at the time one of the poorest places in Britain.
This is where Maggie’s “right to buy” makes an appearance. Gentrification takes two forms, what I like to call “Infiltration” and “Reformative”. Right to buy appeals to the Infiltration method. It works by making the housing affordable with a mortgage, tempting the council tenant into “owning” their property seeing as they thought they could never own property. They now own it, property 10 minutes from Canary Wharf with good transport links, and now have the right to sell it. No one local could afford it, so they sell it to someone who can. The people who can afford it are the rich types, at the time yuppies, now it’s hipsters. They would generally avoid “ethnic” areas with “higher crime rates” (we have to remember racism plays a part too). They would move to “safer” parts of East, predominantly white, so there’s some kind of a connection. This created pockets of gentry that slowly spread out over time, infiltrating East London.
The second method started happening in the 1990’s and peaked in the 2000’s. The Reformative method. Every council estate had a kind of community, you probably knew your next-door neighbour at least. However, every council estate has its criminal element. So, if you provide poor education, poor wages, and very few opportunities to those in estates, and make them watch Canary Wharf grow in wealth while they struggle to find a pot to piss in, don’t be surprised if you see the crime rate in an area climb faster than Peter Kay’s cholesterol level. People will find their own way to make large sums of quick money. There’s only so long you can watch someone eat before you make yourself a sandwich. This played into the council’s hands perfectly. They practically cum in their pants at the thought of having a crime estate. Crime sends the value of the area through the floor, which means property investors become interested. So, the council let the crime continue until the price is low enough to turn a profit. Property investors buy the land up from under your feet and before you know it, your council estate is knocked down and you’re moving a sofa into your lovely new apartment in… Dagenham. Most cockneys live outside London now, fun fact.
The property investors build new, luxurious and coincidently fucking expensive flats right where you used to watch Countdown. Of those flats, 10% are made available as council housing. The crime rate drops, property price booms and a few millionaires just got that bit richer, and that’s just YOUR estate, they’re doing this all over the shop. They “Reform” the area. Now, with the infiltrators pricing out the established community, and the reformers absolutely obliterating it, East London is now “safe” enough for hipsters and gentry. Look at Brick Lane, JUST LOOK AT IT! I only go there for the biegels now. Hipster hell.
Where I live, a council estate maisonette (which is posh for “two floors”), we have complained 17 times about our plumbing, as in sewer water comes up into our bath. In that time, the building across from me, a “Reformed” building made by private property investors, just had its stairway rebricked for the 5th time for decorational purposes. To make it look better.
It is this attitude that I believe aided the fire at Grenfell.
When the surrounding area has been gentrified there is no incentive to keep an existing building in good shape. They would rather knock a building down than keep it going if it doesn’t appeal to the gentry, which it didn’t. This fire was unfortunate, but the cladding wasn’t fireproof, the “renovations” were made by the lowest bidder. A £10 million budget, and how much of that went to wages for the labourers, then the salaries of the managers, then the middle men, the serveyers, not to forget the peripheral companies like skip hire, crane hire etc.? That would’ve eaten away at the budget. How much was actually spent on high quality materials? No wonder it went up in flames.
Obviously, now the gentry are the hipsters who can afford the inflated rents, and the posh folk who own the houses, they are the problem. I just hope the plastic cockneys who sold out our heritage to the highest bidder can live with themselves in their Penge drums, fingering their overfed wives while watching Saturday Night Takeaway. We don’t have the money to make our own renovations, so we rely on the state to source the safest renovation. Hence the previous title “Too poor to live in safety”. We are too poor to afford state of the art renovations to our rented properties, that we couldn’t make if we wanted to, because it is technically criminal damage without prior permission. We couldn’t even buy our housing if we wanted to now. My house was worth £55,000 in the 80’s, to buy now would be £560,000.
The gentry and the hipsters have ruined East London. They ruined council estates and have a huge part to play in Grenfell. The cladding, that same cladding has been used all over East London, was put up because Grenfell was an “eyesore” to the surrounding prosperous residents who find poor people an inconvenience. The need for council housing wouldn’t be so high if the same prosperous residents paid their employees a fair wage, and if councils didn’t keep selling our land to the lowest bidder. Boris Johnson and Ken Livingstone both sold us a dream, telling us that they would be injecting money into deprived areas, had I known that would mean injecting rich people and ejecting us, I’d have told him where he could stick his money.
Not just blazing buildings like Grenfell but poor upkeep in general is a direct result of Gentrification. Putting money ahead of people. Not caring enough to maintain the building, or to put a sprinkler system in it. Nor paying the extra £5000 to fireproof the building. This is commonplace, no one wants to maintain a council estate when someone will come over, knock it down, build expensive flats that make the area look nice but have no one from the area actually in them. Failure to maintain a building will result in more tragedies like Grenfell, maybe not to that extreme, but why not? It’s already happened once.