During the past twelve months and more of effectively being barred from publishing content on my own web page, some might be wondering, asides the obvious, how I managed to fill my time. It takes a while to get back to normal (or rather the new normal) after being incarcerated.
Since my arrest in April 2020 (for which I am due to stand trial for causing gross offence with another parody song); since that arrest two years ago just as the first Lockdown began, I have learned how to grow vegetables and flowers in containers. A real Christmas tree is flourishing, as well as salads, root veg, onions and herbs. My most successful crop so far is Swiss chard, variety Bright Lights. Spring onions and carrots also did well.
More recently, without a properly-functioning piano keyboard and whilst barred even from looking at Facebook, I learned how to bake bread and, in particular, sourdough. Kneading by hand is an enjoyable chore, as is learning to recognise the stages of bulk fermentation, folding and stretching the dough to build gluten, and experiencing the variety and texture of dough made from different flours.
I began by baking bread with fermented yeast water, which soon led to brewing ginger beer and pinapple tepache. Swiss chard from the garden also nudged me to spot fresh quince on my local market stall, and from which I concocted several jars of quince jelly and then, using the remaining pulp, quince fruit jellies. Delicacies often prepared during my years in the Alps.
Whilst I was away last year, for the first nine weeks, spring was just starting, as can been seen from my post at the time. It was days before my birthday. (Birthday’s are important. From my tenth day of prison onwards, I began to receive floods of mail, mostly cards, half of which came from France and several from still farther afield. Never before do I remember receiving so many birthday greetings. Heartfelt thanks to all those who spared a thought for little old me, locked up for singing naughty songs…)
Thus, for a time briefly last spring, a helper came to tend to the plants and to the rest of the house whilst I was was gone. May 28th I returned home to find a lush, green, vibrant paradise, as seen in the above photos. However, for Round Two, this time in summer with no one seemingly having the energy to do the watering, things weren’t quite so rosy. I did get two overgrown cucumbers, still on show today as souvenirs on the living room windowsill. It’s already been suggested that one should be named G*d and the other R*d.
What to do with these semi-woke snowflakes? Of course, no one can do much in prison, not even on their birthday. The previous April, 2020, also on my birthday, I learned that a guest was coming over, possibly staying the night. Something bothered me about that announcement at the time and, as it turns out, gut instinct proved to be right, once again.
As noted in a similar reply to one of the comments underneath my previous post, a couple of days before last Friday’s latest court hearing, I received — this time a translation from English into French — a predictably long-winded re-rendition of the Great Glorious Dresden Acquittal Victory. Of course, one needs reminding at such moments of the lidy’s importance.
We can surely expect another annual event, like the Prix Faurisson, with its own YouTube channel full of clips of speeches, tributes, scattering of rose petals and self-annointment of praise. Despite a complete absense of press clippings, reports or even a single official court document, we must never forget the sacrifice made, nor she who made it.
(Apparently, real documents including the evidence necessary to win ‘denial’ trials in Germany are readily available… In which case, why was the Dresden court’s supposed offer to drop the case accepted in the first place, and why is Ursula Haverbeck back on trial again, starting next month?)
Back to the story. For the best chance of a custodial sentence being granted last year, another ‘inside’ attempt to undermine support for my case was carefully crafted. The event – a fresh and tasty honeytrap – took place on my birthday, April 4th 2020.
Thereafter, following both of last year’s trials, there was not a single comment on my jail sentences, as far as I am aware, from anyone connected with ‘the far right’ in Britain, nor indeed from any of the rest of the Born A Creepy Grifter Social Club (BACG).
Basically, I was thrown under the bus for the second time by so-called patriots, on this occasion for defending a white male against false rape accusations. I kid you not. Even the accused fell in line and told me to stop defending him.
Unappreciative of being told what to do at the best of times, and more so under these circumstances, later that same year, I referred to the drama in my parody of Anything Goes. Such heresy provoked a rare spat, thankfully short-lived.
It’s always been the same within these movements. Backstabbers, rogues and cutthroats abound. Once-sworn enemies suddenly become best of pals again, doffing their caps at each other, whilst the superchats roll in. BACG Social Club back in business, much to the relief of all concerned. Who cares about an attention-seeking crank musician? Sent to jail for a funny song? F*** her! She blames white girls for being groomed by Muslims. Etc., etc.
Rumour has it that rules are in place, officially banning certain persons from associating with me, probably under threat of being severely pussy-whipped. Aryan alpha Saviours of the White Race unable to save themselves from the whims of a highly-strung ex-model. LOL.
Why anyone would want anything to do with these creatures is deeply puzzling, unless it’s for entertainment? Worse than Hope Not Hate: they are Hope Not Hate; at best, the other cheek of the same a*se.
Some might be fooled for a while by unsourced claims of academic prowess and well-timed VIP namedropping… Sadly, there is nothing positive I can find to say about any of them, nor much about their ever-loyal following, readership, nor frankly about most of the other ineffective members of the UK BACG Social Club.
Newer adepts to the causes of nationalism and/or historical revisionism may be either too gullible or too dim to notice fakery when it’s staring them right in the face, in fancy dress: volkskraft kitsch, bling over brilliance, – the very opposite of folkish authenticity. My advice would be to stay well away.
Do leave a comment if you have enjoyed this post. For my own personal safety (and sanity!), comments are moderated in advance. Thanks for reading. x
Perhaps Putin will continue westwards and liberate Whitehall and Dublin?
From Covid to war in a single breath…
Same thing, different means.
Hello Alison, People can relate and feel comfortable with others only if they are at the same level. True warriors fight for a cause, not the crowds! Once you reached a certain level, your only Friend is God.
Thanks, Corascendea. Thankfully, it’s mostly only a small handfull of hasbeens and other nonentities, useful for Hope Not Hate and Daily Mail op-eds on the grave and immediate threat from the far right. I know who my true and loyal friends are:)
Strange indeed, this English ‘Far Right’! You, Alison, rose in it suddenly as its mega-star. You gave it class; you gave it substance. You were then, and are now, the one true English Nationalist and Revisionist, and the one courageous voice in these movements. Huge accolade greeted you.
And then … and then? The ensconced in these two movements, the embedded Hope not Hate, went for you like enraged sewer rats, no holds nor jagged teeth barred. The Boof’s (the chief of the rats) sagging jowls quivered in painful rage. ‘Mirror, mirror on the wall, whose is the fairest of us all?’ she demanded with choking urgency. ‘Not you by far’ she heard it answer, and howled like a banshee … and is howling still.
This is a terminal case, Alison. There is no point in your bothering with these rats. They are just rats, or the detritus thereof.
Dear Sophie, thanks but you are too kind. There are plenty of others whose voices are relevant and who hit the nail on the head, so to speak.
Regarding sewer rats, people need to know to where their donations are going: precisely nowhere.
I enjoyed reading this, thank you.
I’m pleased to hear you are doing well. I hope things continue to improve for you, best wishes!