Anjem and Me

London’s favourite islamist, Anjem Choudary, was hanging down at Dalston’s [in]famous Kingsland Shopping Centre today.

While I didn’t get a pic of the man himself, I did get some snaps of his death cult followers and have posted them on TwitPic for your information.

Most notable was the ocassional frission between the black Christians and the islamists. This encounter was fairly tame; although I did see it kick off a bit between the sides, I didn’t think it prudent to be taking obvious pics of the handbags.

Quote of the Day: “Jesus was a muslim“.

Nandos: Your New Anti-Social Neighbours

I’ve fucking had it with Nandos.

Our caring sharing friends have a bad habit of having their private bin men showing up at 04:44 (that’s in the morning, folks) waking the neighbours and the dead crashing the evening before’s empty bottles into the back of their bin lorry.

Because it’s becoming a bit of habit, and because of Hackney Council’s non-acknowledgement of my complaints, I threw on some clothes and shoes and thought I’d investigate:

[04:44am: Sound of dumpsters of bottles crashing into a bin lorry]

“Hey! Woah! [trying to get one of the "operatives" attention over the noise]
What do you think you’re doing?”

“Listen, darlin’ I don’t come to your house being rude, so don’t come over here being rude to me”.

My brain’s not functioning. It’s the combination of just waking up and the sheer stupidity and brass neck of what I’ve just heard.

“What time is it?”, I ask.

I’m being looked at like I’m nuts.

“What TIME is it”? I offer, “I’ll tell you what time it is, IT’S 5 O’CLOCK IN THE MORNING”!

“We’re bin men, love, we start early”.

Given that PC Bitseach has already written to complain to Nando’s direct, they can shove their “community values” bullshit right up their collective arses.

As for our chums at Hackney Council’s Pollution Control Team? Don’t make me laugh! Let’s just say I’m awaiting a response to my written complaints from June.

Fuckers.

Did I See You And Him Huffing In The Rain?

Having fallen asleep to Blogtalk Radio, I’ve discovered that the call in numbers are recycled. Out of the blue and loud enough to wake the dead, I heard, “5 seconds to broadcast….BLOGTALK RADIO.”

I get up to turn off my computer and see two boys with hoods walking past my window. Given that it’s 4 am and pissing with rain, that’s somewhat unusual.

Lucky for me, I found some jeans, shoes and a torch (flashlight) quickly and went out the door. I thought they were going to the back to vandalise something. It didn’t register when I saw one up on a bin.

“HEY! What do you think you’re doing?”

“Climbing”.

At this point, about five or six 12-13 year old dopes emerge.

*Don’t you have somewhere you’re supposed to be? At 4 o’clock in the morning? In the pissing rain?

Rather than stabbing me, I was amazed to see them file out and leave with their heads down, like scolded school-boys (this is London, folks.)

Emboldened by their retreat I yelled: “And don’t let me see your asses here again!”

What’s that about?
Who goes climbing at 4am?
Enquiring minds want to know.

The Police Family

American (and many British) friends will not understand what the Metropolitan Police mean when they speak about “the police family”. Along with Police Constables (PC) and the higher ranks, there are Police Community Support Officers.

With the Met busy stretched to the limit foiling Islamo-terror plots along with your run of the mill murder and theft, Nu-Labour created PCSOs to “support” PCs.

Don’t get me wrong. PCSOs are great people, but they’ve got a problem. Armed with a stab-vest, torch (flashlight), ballpoint-pen and only civilian powers of arrest, PCSOs can do fuck-all squared to assist PCs when the shit hits the fan. Nevertheless, Nu-labour continue to think they are a brilliant idea as they “build better relations with the local community and combat anti-social behaviour”. Hummmmmm.

Herewith “PCSO Lesland Amatoe” making the rounds on Stoke Newington Church Street. lol. “Lesland”. Geddit?

Hackney Labour Groupthink In Action: Whites Only Swim On The Cards?

Stoopid is as stoopid does: Flying in the face of common-sense and a clue, Hackney’s own swimming pool Stalinistas bring new meaning to the initials, “PC”.

And Hackney Labour wonder why people voted for Boris.

Overheard In Highbury

20-30 something middle-class mom and nicely turned out and very cute 6(ish?) year old daughter with fetching hat and coat. Mom’s walking her bicycle with empty child seat while the little girl was walking approx 10 yards in front of her. Mom’s working herself up to a good rant, and speeds up to the little girl who cowers and says: -

“Please don’t hit me, Mummy. Please don’t hit me”.

Mummy grabbed the girl by the arm and let her have the full spray treatment.

“Ok, ok, relax” with accompanying “keep it down” hand gesture.

Mummy stopped. Or so we thought. I think she just waited for the coast to be clear. Then she really let rip.

Punctuating every accusation with a yank to the girl’s arm, Mummy screamed in the girl’s face, “Because of YOU fiddling with your hair, WE’RE LATE! Because of YOU messing around with your coat WE’RE LATE! etc, etc…”

Then, out of nowhere, I heard, “HEY! Lady. Give the kid a break”.

There can’t have been one person on the Fields that didn’t hear that, “HEY!!” Even I was amazed.

Mummy spewed worse than any sailor I’ve ever heard. I do however recall her screaming at me, “WHO DO YOU THINK YOU ARE?”

“A human being”. “And so is your kid”. Do we have to call the Old Bill?”

Mummy lost it.

I can’t remember exactly what was said other than, “WELL COME ON!!”. I immediately thought that I made a bit of a stupid move with that one. Sometimes, though, an invitation can be the best defence.

Mummy didn’t pick a fight with someone her own size or hang around for the police. She put her daughter on the back and cycled off into the night, shrieking “fuck you, fuck you” into the air behind her.

I couldn’t resist. I bellowed, “NICE ONE, MOM!”

Just as I was looking around, hoping no one I knew overheard my own intemperance, a lady approached me and said “I’m glad you said something”

“What gets me is that if she feels free to do that in public, imagine what happens behind closed doors”, I despaired.

“She’s scarring that girl for life”.

On The Buses: Kids Say The Darndest Things

 

On the 73, approx 11:00 am today (and no, American friends, there is no Thanksgiving holiday here).

Two school-girls on the bus. Let’s call them “Little” and “Large”: -

Little to Large: “I was with Hayley and Chelsea and I floored him. I fucking floored him and he didn’t do nuffink. Ask my grandad.

Large, shouting down her mobile: “WE’RE ON THE BUS TO KING’S SQUARE, THEN WE’RE GOING OUT WEST”.

Little: “Give me that phone”. Now down phone: “You fucking wanker, next time I see you, I’m gonna scratch your face up”.

Large, taking phone back: “YEAH, OUT WEST, BUT WE’RE GOING TO KING’S SQUARE FIRST”.

Little, looking out the window: “OMG! There’s my school police officer. Tap on the window”.

Overheard In Stoke Newington

Kid One: “No, no, no man. You have to have evidence.  That’s your job. You have to prove I did it”.

Kid Two: “Where were you on the night of the stabbing?”

Kid One: “What night was that?”

Kid Two: “Oh yeah. Where were you on the 21st of May?”

Kid One: “I don’t remember”

Kid Two: “Ahhhhhhh! That’s how they will get you man”.