FROM THE BEGINNING; By Quentin Willson. The Spectator

And so a window opens, and as awakening from a dream, these words echo from the walls. These words, amongst others, disturb my thoughts of tomorow-: Awake for morning in the Bowl of night , has flung the stone that puts the stars to flight. Or even this. A Loaf of Bread, a Jug of wine, and you beside me in the wildernes, and wilderness is Paradice anow. Or even this-::::, The moving finger writes, and having writ moves on, nor all thy piety nor whit shall lure it back to cancell half a line, nor all thy tears wash out one word of it. Such beauty in so little effort. Such love for mankind in so few moments. Such simple things that make our world the viable and only universe we will ever know.
Now take time to examine the utter nonsense that an awful lot of Politics and Governments, insist you, you the poor bloody Taxpayer, are responsible for and must pay for, then do as I suggest, and abandon all central Government demands for the payment of Direct Taxation.
Have a look at this for an alternative:- The following is from the DAIRY of Quentin Willson, as published in the Spectator, 27th June 2009.
" It used to really bother me. Sitting in what I thought was the presence of greatness, I'd leave hugely under-whelmed. Top people in the top jobs who seemed to be rubbish. I even used to tell myself off. Intellectuall snobbery, I self- scolded, is a smugcharacter flaw. But the sneaking suspicion that lots of important people were actually really useless wouldn't go away. I internalised my doubts until they squelched. For years I listened patiently to their patent nonsense. Heads of car companies, television commissioners,private sector chief executives, council bosses and entire government departments all seemed to speak in a language strangely detached from meaning. So many acronyms and abbreviations, so many clumsy invented words, so much tosh and flannel signifying nothing. Why did they all talk such blue-sky tripe?
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That is but the first part of the entire page of the SPECTATOR Magazine. And worth every penny. That is if you can stand some of the bits and pieces. Still, I've just sent off another cheque for another year. Must be bloody daft, or something.
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Whatever next. It has taken me fifteen minutes to set this colour. What chance when it comes to setting the fuse for man kind ????
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And now the end is near, and now we face the final curtain,
My friend I say it clear I state my case of which I'm certain,
I've spent a life of this I've traveled each and every highway,
But more much more than this, I did it my way.

And now, and now again;;; All I want to do is show you, you the silly Bloody Taxpayers, how simple it is for you:::, you, yes you the little people, the "Ordinary People", as Blair the Bastard, used to call you. But what next ???? First, sit down with a cup of tea, or even a large glass of Whisky or even Whiskey, and think of your tomorrows. Yesterdays are long gone. Tomorrow is all that counts.

It must be my age, I was born on the 19th January 1935. I feel as if I'm 90, it must be the whisky. It's a bit of a bugger when you end up being older than the whisky you are drinking. There aint much future in that!!!
Still, I did have thoughts of much to say of this Sojourn amongst the be-wildered and lost tribes of Great Britain and Europe. There is only one thing you need to know;
THE EUROPEAN COMMISSION ARE A LOAD OF
UNMITIGATED FRAUDULENT BASTARDS.
THAT IS MY OPINION