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The exact proportion of white Christian women (known as ‘white bitches’ in some quarters) in London’s population is hard to estimate. Suffice it to say that they are in a minority.

However, London is so vast that even a minority may number in millions, especially considering that many people who don’t live in the city still work here. Hence, for all the giant strides made in promoting diversity, the offensive presence of white bitches is hard to avoid in most workplaces.

And an institution like Great Ormond Street Hospital (GOSH), which employs over 4,000 people, is bound to have its fair share. ‘Fair’, however, isn’t the right word. For many GOSH employees regard this situation as very unfair indeed.

That was communicated to data manager Catherine Maughan in no uncertain terms. Over the three years she worked at GOSH, Miss Maughan had ample opportunity to peruse the riot act read to her chapter and verse.

On many occasions she was called a “silly white bitch” and a “stupid northerner” (she has the misfortune of coming from Yorkshire). She was kicked in the lift and was threatened to keep her mouth shut or else.

When she still had the temerity to complain, her manager, Adeboye Ifederu, told her she “would be sorry”, and the message sounded credible. In parallel, she received a crash course in multiculturalism when her colleagues explained to her that she had to “accept that in black African culture, men are dominating towards women”.

Amazingly, Miss Maughan was less than grateful for this valuable lesson in comparative religion. Realising which way the wind was blowing, she began to compile a diary, carefully documenting each instance of abuse she suffered.

The worst offences were committed by her colleagues Ayotunde Ojo, Margaret King, and Rebecca Eaton-Jones – in addition to the aforementioned manager, Adeboye Ifederu. To wit:

“On July 31 2018 Ayotunde Ojo told me that I ‘can’t drink alcohol after work on Friday, it’s against my religion and it would be offending Muslims’.”

“On August 28 2018 Rebecca Eaton-Jones called me a ‘f*****g silly bitch’.”

“On September 4 2018 Margaret King called me a ‘silly white bitch’.”

“On October 12 2018 Ayatunde Ojo called me ‘a white Yorkshire girl’.”

“With an aggressive tone, Adeboye called me a ‘silly white girl’ and said he was ‘surprised that I had been a manager before being stupid and inexperienced’.”

“Adeboye told me I ‘must ask for permission when leaving my desk or using the toilet’.”

“Adeboye slammed his fist on my desk in anger which, added with his threatening tone of voice when he said I ‘would be sorry for complaining about him,’ made me anxious for my safety.”

And so on, ad nauseum.

As a result, Miss Maughan became depressed, and her hair began to fall out, leaving her “with visible bald patches and very thinned hair.” She was prescribed antidepressants, but the drugs didn’t address the aetiology of her condition.

Finally, having raised the issue on numerous occasions with her colleagues, Miss Maughan made a formal complaint. Her abusers’ response was predictable: 

“On December 17 2018 Adeboye Ifederu discussed my grievance complaints with another colleague Daley Aofolaju at the tea bar in a manner which could be heard.

“Adeboye called me a ‘stupid white girl’ and asked ‘why I had not run away yet like others’.” So there had been others, and why not?

Eventually Miss Maughan had to leave her job, sent on her way with the kind of references that made it impossible for her to get another job. Her only recourse was legal, and she sued GOSH for sex, race and religious discrimination.

The case is being heard at Central London Employment Tribunal, and I don’t know whether or not it will find for the plaintiff. One thing is already clear, however: though there’s still room for improvement in GOSH’s employee relations, its policy on diversity is irreproachable – and that’s much more important.

As to Miss Maughan, she must realise that, while her sex could in theory be a target for discrimination, her race and religion can’t, by definition. Moreover, her race and religion may conceivably invalidate her claim of discrimination even on the grounds of sex.

She and other white bitches must pay the price for the irredeemable sins of the British Empire. If that means getting depressed, bald and unemployable, then so be it. The juggernaut of progress can’t be stopped by a few bodies crushed by its wheels.

The Church of England has succumbed to a two-prong attack, one prong doctrinal, the other sartorial.

The House of Bishops has issued a document densely enveloped in a fog of obfuscation. However, if one manages to disperse it, the message emerges in all its clarity: as early as in 2022 the Church will start officiating homosexual marriages.

The two senior Anglican clergymen, the Archbishops of Canterbury and York, co-authored a foreword, instructing the church to be “deeply ashamed and repentant” over the “hurt and unnecessary suffering” it had caused to gay and transgender people.

Contextually, the refusal to debauch a key Christian sacrament constitutes one factor of said hurt and unnecessary suffering. The only way to propitiate for this sin is to have a vicar, ideally a transgender lesbian herself, to pronounce happy couples man and man, or wife and wife, or any other permutation the English language affords.

In this abomination the church follows the lead of the state, which legalised homomarriage during Cameron’s (Conservative!) tenure. However, this Anglican apostate can’t help pointing out the difference between the two bodies.

A state legalising homomarriage deals a blow to the very institution of marriage, thereby stamping on millennia of tradition and tearing yet another hole in the social fabric. However, that isn’t the first such outrage, and it certainly won’t be the last.

The secular state still manages to muddle through for the time being, and in any case it has been secular for so long that no one is particularly surprised when yet another legacy of our civilisation falls by the wayside. That’s what modernity is all about, isn’t it?

The upshot of it is that the state can absorb, just, a large number of charges going off without necessarily collapsing onto itself. However, a Christian church that marries two homosexuals at the altar is no longer a Christian church. Full stop.

When at the altar, the bride and the groom take vows that include the words “according to God’s holy ordinance”. Or at least they do so in the few remaining Anglican churches that still favour the Book of Common Prayer over Mao’s Red Book, or whatever texts today’s clergy hold as sacred.

And God’s holy ordinance is unequivocal on the subject of homosexuality, which is castigated in both Testaments as a deadly sin. A priest represents Christ at the altar and if in this capacity he blesses a deadly sin, he forfeits the right to act as God’s intermediary. And of course the church that instructs him to debauch its sacraments is effectively deconsecrated.

Against this background, the sartorial revolt being launched by female vicars and bishops doesn’t have more than amusement value. Those dubiously ordained Lysistratas are unhappy about the drab clerical garb concealing their more jutting attractions.

They don’t want sombre black robes hiding their bodies from admiring eyes (although, to be unchivalrous for a second, most female vicars I’ve seen don’t offer much to admire). They want sequins, lace and satin. They want skirts cut at least six inches above the knee and ideally slit. They want décolletage. And, as God is their witness, they are going to get them.

So far they have drawn the line on celebrating mass clad in a dog collar and nothing else, but such outdated modesty may be ousted before long. I wouldn’t be at all surprised if the House of Bishops issued an edict on female clerical nudity, saying “if you’ve got it, flaunt it.”

And why not? Compared to subverting Christian sacraments, what’s a little sartorial indiscretion among friends? A bit of innocent fun, that’s all. And if the church can’t be fun, what good is it?

As a frequent football watcher, I like to have fun with the solecisms peppering the speech of both players and commentators.

Just the other day, a random 10 minutes of commentary regaled me with a few choice examples. One player was accused of a “lacksidaisical attitude”, another of being “adverse” to defending, yet another was to be substituted “momentarily”.

It’s “lackadaisical” and “averse”, chaps, I thought maliciously. And “momentarily” means for a moment, not in a moment. Why, I went so far as accusing our football folk of being ignorant of, or at least insensitive to, the nuances of English.

Turns out I was wrong. Our football community, ably represented by the Football Association (known colloquially as ‘sweet FA’) has linguistic sensitivity in spades, if one may use this word without incurring censure or even prosecution.

In fact, it’s so sensitive to linguistic nuance that it has forced the resignation of its chairman, Greg Clarke, for using language carelessly, crassly and borderline criminally. If you have the stomach for it, here’s a short list of his transgressions.

First, he bewailed the abuse “high-profile coloured footballers… take on social media…”. The sentiment is unimpeachable, the choice of words isn’t. Mr Clarke ought to have known that the word ‘coloured’ is currently out of fashion.

It may come back in the future, but it hasn’t yet. The proper term is BAME (Black, Asian and Minority Ethnic), and Clarke should have been using it, while avoiding the idiotic levity of puns like ‘up your BAME’.

Some stick-in-the-mud tried to defend the culprit by citing the Duchess of Sussex, aka Meghan Markle, who once referred to herself as “a woman of colour”. However, it was correctly pointed to that troglodyte that ‘of colour’ is drastically different from ‘coloured’.

I must admit the fine distinction escapes me. Perhaps I should take a linguistic sensitivity course, if such a thing exists. I’m sure it must; can’t be without one.

And in any case, BAME persons may call themselves whatever they like. Why, black comedians even routinely refer to themselves by the word than which none more appalling exists in English or in any of the world’s other 6,500 languages. But that doesn’t give anyone, including Clarke, the licence to follow suit.

I wouldn’t blame you for screaming that you can’t take any more of this. But on the off-chance that you can, Mr Clarke also made an observation that’s so much more offensive for doubtless being correct:

“If you go to the IT department at the FA, there’s a lot more South Asians than there are Afro-Caribbeans. They have different career interests.” Excuse me?!?

I realise that Mr Clarke actually did the hiring at the FA. Hence one might think he’s in an ideal position to judge the relative numbers in question. However, one would be inexcusably wrong.

Physical facts mustn’t be allowed to compromise a higher metaphysical truth. And the higher metaphysical truth says that anyone who as much as hints at any behavioural or cognitive differences among races is a [TAKE YOUR PICK: racist, bigot, fascist, extremist, chauvinist, Donald Trump].

Clarke is clearly one or all of those things (except Donald Trump, that one is sui generis). A sacking alone is insufficient here – the Special Branch should hear about this. Especially considering that this fossil isn’t just racist but also sexist. This is what he said:

“I talked to a coach… and said, ‘what’s the issue with goalkeepers in the women’s game?’ She said, ‘young girls, when they take up the game (aged) six, seven, eight, just don’t like having the ball kicked at them hard’, right?”

Wrong, Mr Clark. Again a higher metaphysical truth should trump (if you’ll pardon the expression) any physical, or in this case medical, fact. A stickler for empirical knowledge may say that a hard shot striking a man’s chest may only cause mild discomfort, while the same shot striking a woman may cause breast cancer.

That ignores the higher truth that, just as there is no difference – as in none, zilch, nil, zippo – among the races, so there’s none among the sexes, all 74 of them. If some women have to die defending this unassailable proposition, then so be it.

Now, are you ready for this? Clarke isn’t just racist and sexist. He’s also a homophobe. Discussing the possibility of gay footballers openly admitting their sexuality, Clarke said, inter alia: “I’d like to believe and I do believe they would have the support of their mates in the changing room.”  

At first glance, you might think these words are inoffensive. But the current legal definition of an offence is anything taken as such by anyone else. Hence if some people think that Clarke is a homophobe on the strength of this statement, then that’s what he is. Off with his head.

Actually, that’s only a figure of speech, for the time being. All Clarke got was a sacking. He should count himself lucky, though I’m not sure about the rest of us.

Lacking specialised training, I can’t define treason with lawyerly precision. But on general principle, a concerted effort to destroy the constitution of the realm should come close to any reasonable understanding of the term.

If so, then the Maastricht Treaty signed by John Major in 1992 was a treasonous document. Then again, not being the sharpest chisel in the toolbox, Major probably misunderstood the sovereignty of parliament, on which our constitution is based.

He might not have realised that the institution in question isn’t just any old parliament, but specifically the British one. That means the parliament sitting in Westminster, not in Strasbourg – but then geography, or for that matter any academic discipline, isn’t Major’s forte. (In his youth he even failed maths in a bus conductor’s exam.)

Even before Maastricht, in 1990, Major tried to peg the pound to the euro by joining the European Exchange Mechanism. That little caper cost the Exchequer some six billion before the pound was forced out, with Major kicking and screaming.

Having effectively turned Her Majesty Queen Elizabeth II into Liz Windsor, citizen of the EU, Maastricht Johnny then applied his giant intellect and political acumen to home affairs. In that capacity he successfully led his party to the worst defeat in recent memory, a 1997 debacle that wasn’t fully reversed until last year.

In 2001 Major retired from politics and has since practised full-time self-vindication, which in his case means frenetic attempts to prevent Britain from regaining her sovereignty. Such worthy efforts were intensified in the run-up to the 2016 referendum, and especially after it returned a result Maastricht Johnny hated.

Yesterday he rode again, showing that his mind hadn’t noticeably sharpened in the intervening years. First Major made an observation startling in its ground-breaking perceptiveness: “We are no longer a great power. We will never be so again… 

“We are a top second-rank power but, over the next half century – however well we perform – our small size and population makes it likely we will be passed by the growth of other, far larger, countries.”

As Johnny must have told Edwina at one point, it’s not the size that counts. Quite a few successful countries – in fact all the top 10 in the quality of life – have smaller populations than ours.

As Maastricht Johnny espied with his eagle eye, Britain is unlikely to retrieve her empire, much to the chagrin of many countries that used to belong to it. So what exactly follows from his astute observation?

Funny you should ask. For, displaying the mental acuity of his bus conductor’s exam, Major came up with a complete non sequitur: because Britain is no longer an empire on which the sun never sets, she should remain in the EU de facto, even if that awful referendum made it impossible for her to do so de jure.

That logic can’t be reduced to the absurd because it’s already as ridiculous as it can get. In effect, Major is saying that a country of 65 million souls is too tiny to govern herself without help from some supranational entity constricted by its own megalomania and bureaucratic zeal.

Hence, if we regrettably can’t keep the nebulous privileges of full EU membership, at least we must retain the duties. And the way to do so is giving the EU everything it wants to get out of the on-going negotiations.   

“Because of our bombast, our blustering, our threats and our inflexibility,” fumed Maastricht Johnny, we’ll end up with “a flimsy, barebones deal or no deal at all.” That would be a “wretched betrayal of what our electors were led to believe”.

Our electors were led to believe that, as a result of Brexit, Britain would again be governed by her own parliament according to her own ancient laws, and not those imposed by an ideological contrivance with its roots in the socialist dream of a world government.

This is what Johnson’s government is trying to deliver, and it’s something that can only be delivered by a show of strength and resolve – what Major describes as inflexibility.

The situation is difficult, but it has only arisen because of what he did in 1992. Surely Maastricht Johnny must realise that? No, perhaps not.

As he’s probably unaware of the net effect of Britain’s EU membership: untold billions going to that abomination, untold swarms of immigrants coming the other way, our laws made impotent and irrelevant, our government reduced to a gau similar to those circa 1940.

I wouldn’t put it past Maastricht Johnny to collude with Biden in trying to stop, or at least denature, Brexit. After all, four years ago the British people let it be known in no uncertain terms what they thought of his life’s work. I’m sure Major takes that as a personal insult, and that’s not something his brittle ego can stomach.

Gold dust flies off celebrities like down off a poplar tree, and many snobbish hangers-on jump up in the air hoping to catch some of the glitter.

For a few years during her life, Princess Diana’s power to draw such acolytes was second to none, and she has retained some of it even 23 years after her death.

This brings me to Rosa Monckton, otherwise known as Mrs Dominic Lawson. Mrs Lawson still goes by her maiden name that’s considerably more illustrious than the one she acquired through marriage.

That’s understandable. If, say, a Cavendish girl married, say, a Jones, she’d have to be unrealistically free of any snobbery or class prejudice to become Mrs Jones, wouldn’t she? Miss Monckton isn’t entirely devoid of such qualities, which is why she is still tirelessly establishing her credentials as a PROFROD.

I use this acronym for the sake of brevity, since Professional Friend of Diana is unwieldy. Yet this is the role Miss Monckton has been playing for years, squeezing every particle of gold dust out of her association with Diana.

Why anybody would be proud of friendship with a conniving, not particularly bright egotist is beyond me. But gold dust gatherers don’t ever think about such incidentals. Their thirst for social elevation by association is unquenchable.

Yet Miss Monckton doesn’t have regular access to a wide audience gagging for yet another reminder that she’s a PROFROD. Her husband, he of the family where the girls are named after their fathers, does.

Mr Lawson is a popular, and often good, journalist, but he too likes stressing his vicarious ties with the dead princess, and one would think being married to a Monckton would be enough to satisfy most men’s social ambitions.

Hence his article today, snappily titled Callous, Cruel and Calculating, Martin Bashir Poisoned Princess Diana’s Mind. No Wonder She Told My Wife She Regretted It.

The old cynic in me suspects that the only load-bearing words in this title, indeed in the whole article, are ‘Princess Diana’ and ‘my wife’. But, though brevity may be the soul of wit, these four words don’t quite work as a cogent piece.

Hence Mr Lawson fumed for another 1,400 words about the awful BBC and that scumbag Bashir who tricked the saintly girl into agreeing to that infamous interview. Or rather fewer than 1,400, for some of those words were used up to remind those slow on the uptake several times that “my wife Rosa Monckton was one of the Princess’s closest friends”.

Apparently, “it has become clear that the BBC man had, quoting ‘intelligence sources’, been poisoning the Princess’s mind with concocted tales of nefarious plots, even including the disgusting assertion that her son, Prince William, had a watch which was secretly recording their conversations.”

Now, I don’t doubt for a second that Bashir was perfectly capable of resorting to such tactics. He isn’t the first sleazy hack to get a story by dishonest means and he won’t be the last.

However, Mr Lawson also tells us that Bashir didn’t plant such fears into Diana’s mind: “It is true that Diana had for quite a while been convinced that she was the victim of some sort of conspiracy.”

But “he knew that this was Diana’s great fear, played on it ruthlessly and dishonestly to win her confidence – and thus the interview that every broadcaster in the world coveted.”

Nothing in this story sounds unlikely, especially the Bashir part. Yet the Diana part doesn’t quite add up.

I’m sure that the hack had to exaggerate only a little, if at all. For our security services would have been grossly negligent had they not kept a watchful eye on Diana’s shenanigans.

For the princess had been at war with the royal family practically from the first day she joined it. Diana was either too stupid, or more probably too self-centred, to realise that the duties of being our future queen are as onerous as the rewards are spectacular.

Marriage to the heir to the throne isn’t a culmination of a love story. It’s a lifelong job, involving hard and self-sacrificial work. A royal marriage has little to do with ‘lurve’, and much to do with service.

If the heir to the throne cares more about his mistress than about his wife, that’s unfortunate, even deplorable. But it’s not the same as, say, a salesman playing away from home. The nature of the marriage contract is different.

Diana, being a thoroughly modern young lady, couldn’t get her head around that. And being vindictive, she started fighting her husband and his family. At first her response was merely self-destructive, taking the shape of various eating disorders, deliberately falling down the stairs and other such attention-seeking excesses.

In due course, however, she began to fight back in earnest. To that end she recruited a whole army of hacks and paparazzi who were surreptitiously directed to Diana’s whereabouts. They would then descend on her like a swarm of bees on a honey tree – only for the princess to complain bitterly about being haunted by reporters.

Soon, to score hits on her real enemy, she began to weaponise her lovers, of whom Captain Hewitt was far from the first. Again, reporters followed, having been quietly tipped off.

Eventually the couple separated, and Diana began to sow her wild oats on an even wider field, carefully choosing paramours who would most enrage, and more effectively compromise, the royal family. However, she still remained the wife of one future king and the mother of another.

That made her behaviour technically criminal, for adultery by the wife of a present or future king is high treason in English law. Yet no one would have thought of enforcing that. Of greater concern was the potential damage Diana could have caused by consorting with shady characters whose feelings for Her Majesty’s realm were tepid at best.

So yes, while I find it improbable that the royal family was plotting against Diana, I’m sure somebody was keeping an eye on her activities. Now what could she do about it?

One obvious response would have been to divorce Charles, withdraw from the public eye and do whatever she was doing more discreetly. That, however, would have done nothing for her war on the royals.

Instead she allowed Bashir to seduce her the same way she allowed her lovers to seduce her. In each case, the relationship was bilateral: she was seducing them too, with equal gusto.

I can’t quite follow the logic of why admitting to adultery before an audience of millions solved whatever problem Diana was supposed to have with dastardly conspiracies against her. The logic of wishing to cause maximum pain to her enemies was, on the other hand, unassailable.

That Bashir and the BBC behaved in an immoral, possibly actionable fashion is beyond doubt. But it takes an inveterate PROFROD to portray Diana as the innocent victim. She was no more a victim of Bashir than she was one of Captain Hewitt.

When Nietzsche pronounced his famous verdict, he didn’t mean it literally. He meant that God had been excommunicated from serious discussion because educated people no longer believed in him.

Conservatism is dead in the same sense and for the same reason. Throughout the West, the same correlation obtains: the likelihood of voting for left-wing parties increases with the educational level.

In Britain some 65 per cent of the poorly educated (under GCSE) vote Tory, while only 20 per cent of university graduates do so. This circle is bound to be vicious for it’s university graduates who control local politics, the media and of course education itself.

They are the ones who create what’s disingenuously called public opinion, and what’s in fact the opinion of the neo-totalitarian establishment. They exerted an inordinate influence for a long time, but only over the past decade or so have such ideologues begun to dominate the public discourse.

They speak in one voice, doing their utmost to mute any polyphony at the grassroots. Hence, the few conservatives working at universities, newspapers or TV stations find it socially and professionally hard to express their views – just like those 19^th century intellectuals who sensed that any reference to God was infra dig.

Such is the face of neo-totalitarianism, the kind that sports a patronising smile rather than a savage scowl. But let’s make no mistake about it: the absence of blood dripping off the fangs doesn’t make it any less totalitarian.

However, a mechanism for forcing, as opposed to brainwashing, people into acquiescence isn’t yet there, although those who think the West is immune to violent totalitarianism are too optimistic. Yet for the time being people may still vote their conscience and reason.

And basic conservatism speaks to both, even if intellectual conservatives no longer do, for the simple reason of being outnumbered and outshouted. Hence Trump’s triumph in this election.

Yes, I know he lost, by a whisker. What makes Trump’s campaign triumphant is that he only lost by a whisker.

He was fighting the election in the midst of one of the worst natural disasters in recent history, and such disasters are always blamed on the incumbent, however irrationally. Presidents and prime ministers have been known to lose office because their countries underperformed in sporting competitions, because of hurricanes, floods – and of course epidemics.

Hence it’s astonishing that Trump managed to run the neo-totalitarian establishment so close at a time when hundreds of thousands (billions, Mr Biden?) of Americans are dying. This testifies to the success of his policies, while his defeat bespeaks a systemic failure of American, and generally Western, conservatism.

Trump lacks many traits I regard as essential for a conservative. Most of these have to do with personality and style, and these, more than any set of ideas and policies, characterise a conservative. Militant vulgarity, ignorance of history (and most other things that matter), narcissism, jingoism, crassness of mind and manner, lack of self-restraint – all these aspects of Trump’s personality disqualify him from being a conservative as surely as Marxist beliefs would.

And it’s not just a president’s policies but also his personality that matters, for he is the face his country presents to the world. However, if we strictly look at Trump’s policies, then I think that, with the possible exception of Reagan, he’s the best president in my lifetime.

Trump struck a mighty blow for democracy by doing during his tenure exactly what he had promised to do during the campaign. Hence the hysterical shrieks about Trump somehow undermining democracy are ludicrous. By electing Trump, American voters got what they had voted for – and I can’t think offhand of any recent president who merited the same accolade to the same extent.

Trump’s commitment to deregulation and lower taxes was at least as staunch as Reagan’s, and probably more successful. Governments in residually free countries can’t take all the credit for the economy’s success, but some policies are known historically to work better than others. Trump’s definitely succeeded, and, but for Covid, he would have won this election at a canter on the strength of the economy alone.

A massive influx of illegal immigrants across the Mexican border has been a problem that every previous president acknowledged yet none even attempted to solve. By the time Trump became president, even talking about this issue had become well-nigh impossible for fear of incurring the neo-totalitarians’ wrath.

Yet Trump not only talked about the problem, but actually tried to solve it as best he knew how. It’s easy to criticise his solutions, but none of the critics has come up with a viable alternative. (Criticism in general is easy in the absence of responsibility and accountability.)

Trump’s foreign policy was by far the best this side of Reagan’s. His playing lickspittle to Putin is a blot, but it’s the only one.

He displayed more firmness than any other recent president towards North Korea and Iran – and his confronting China has been courageous, considering the West’s addiction to the poison of China’s cheap labour. Trump was also firm to his Nato allies, especially when insisting they pull their weight on defence, which doesn’t strike me as unfair.

It is somewhat illogical, since America pays not just for Europe’s defence but also for the lucrative privilege of being the Leader of the Free World. One shudders to think, for example, what would happen to the US economy if the dollar stopped being the world’s reserve currency, one in which America’s suicidal debt is denominated. But, on balance, it’s hard to argue with Trump on this issue.

He is manifestly contemptuous of every verse in the neo-totalitarian scripture, such as the global warming hoax. Unlike Biden, Trump isn’t committed to crippling the economy for the sake of an ill-conceived and anti-scientific ideology based on the Marxist hatred of capitalism. One has to welcome his decision to leave the Paris accords, thoughtfully designed as they are to destroy economic growth in the West and boost it in China.

Trump has made more progress in the Middle East than any other US president I recall. He has left the world in no doubt that it’s the Israelis and not Hamas who are friends and allies to the West. Again, he refused to succumb to the neo-totalitarian worship of the Third World, which is another aspect of hatred for the West.

Trump’s response to EU protectionism with protectionist measures of his own might have upset David Ricardo, but a politician can’t always be guided by theoretical rectitude. ‘They do it to us, we do it to them’ is the language easily understood by those to whom a president is accountable, the people.

Everywhere I look, I see that Trump’s policies are those any sensible conservative would favour, give or take. I am sorry, however, that it takes someone like Trump to champion such policies.

The argument for reason (the word I use interchangeably with conservatism in this context) should be put forth and won not by shrill demagogues, but by serious writers and philosophers. It’s their confident voice that should be distinctly heard in university halls, TV stations and editorial boards. Alas, by their very nature conservatives can’t outshout lefties: the former do all the thinking and the latter all the screaming.

By leapfrogging the neo-totalitarian establishment and emulating its shrillness, someone like Trump may appeal directly to the people’s better instincts. That way he may win a victory for some conservative policies, but, in the absence of an intellectual and cultural victory, conservatism will still lose.

Sooner or later the crude, homespun conservatism of a Trump will be shunted aside by the neo-totalitarian establishment. A tragedy will ensue, and there’s no doubt in my mind that the Biden-Harris victory will score a direct hit on America, and on us by ricochet.

Harris had the honesty to announce that her life’s ambition is to become “the most left-wing president in American history”. One could argue that this ambition has already been fulfilled, for Biden will be president in name only.

Even if only some of the incoming administration’s plans are realised (and one hopes that a Republican majority in the Senate and a largely conservative Supreme Court will be able to apply some brakes), this triumph of the neo-totalitarians may spell America’s downfall.

Everywhere one looks, from the projected trillions to be spent on socialised medicine and the criminally idiotic Green New Deal to the onslaught of the ‘downtrodden’ to a foreign policy more likely to be anti-Western (and specifically anti-British) than anti-tyranny, one can see a disaster looming.

Those Americans who were quick to respond to the neo-totalitarian prodding and call Trump divisive will learn what divisive really means. At least I hope they will – for the alternative is the submissive uniformity of castrated thought so beloved of all totalitarians, neo- or otherwise.

I always admire human qualities I don’t possess. Such as the unbridled self-confidence of columnists like Piers Morgan who, before any investigation has been conducted, know for sure that no electoral fraud was committed.

This reemphasises that, like everything else in life, vote counting has become a matter of ideology, not fact. For, other than ideological bias, what makes those chaps so sure?

Do they believe that American democracy is immune to cheating, or that the Democratic Party is incapable of it? If so, they must have played truant when political history was taught.

The Tammany Hall machine of the Democratic Party in New York controlled both the voting and, especially, the counting nicely for the better part of two centuries. Closer to our time, in 1948 Lyndon Johnson won the Senate race in Texas by a whopping 87 votes, which earned him the nickname my title above borrowed for Biden.

Much of Landslide Lyndon’s enthusiastic support came from supporters who had been dead for decades at polling time, but even that wouldn’t have worked had a box of uncounted ballots not been mysteriously discovered at the last moment.

Incidentally, that’s how fraud is usually detected. Here investigators use the forensic method developed by casino pit bosses to spot the card counters at the blackjack tables. What gives those intrepid individuals away is their irregular betting patterns, tipping the balance of probability against them and leading to their expulsion or, in times olden, worse.

Sudden and massive changes of statistical fortune may happen, but they are exceedingly unlikely. When they do occur, fraud is usually involved.

Thus, when JFK’s 1960 election was hanging by a thread, and Illinois was the key swing state, Chicago mayor Daley made a solemn pledge to the candidate: “Don’t worry, Mr President,” he said, confidently using the title to which Kennedy wasn’t yet entitled. “Your friends will deliver Illinois.”

He was as good as his word. Kennedy’s friends bussed hundreds of hirelings from one polling station to another, where they voted with equal gusto each time. Kennedy moved to the White House, and Nixon, displaying the kind of dignity that has since gone out of fashion, refused to mount a legal challenge. That, he said, would diminish the institution of the presidency.

Now, if Kennedy’s friends could deliver Illinois, what makes Morgan et al. so sure Biden’s friends couldn’t deliver, say, Wisconsin? After all, political morals are now considerably less robust than in 1960, and ideological passions much more febrile.

I’m not saying Landslide Joe has stolen the election, but any Las Vegas pit boss would be wary of certain statistical irregularities.

For example, some magic wand was waved in Wisconsin and 112,000 ballots suddenly came Biden’s way within just one hour. In a similar pattern, 138,000 ballots went into Biden’s boxes in Michigan at the same time when not a single one was cast for Trump. How likely is that?

Also, Virginia, citing a clerical error, switched 100,000 votes from Trump to Biden. Clerical errors do happen. But then so does fraud, let’s make no mistake about that. Why, even a country worshipping at the altar of Democracy (always implicitly capitalised) is capable of it.

If the Democratic Party has some form in winning elections by sleight of hand, the hard left ideologues who are beginning to dominate the party live by it. After all, their founding ideology is fraudulent, and they’ve never shied away from upholding it in delinquent ways. In fact, their lacerating self-analysis, backed up by experience, must have led them to the realisation that people can only be cheated, not persuaded, to support left causes.

None of this will stick in court, and neither, I’m afraid, will Trump’s lawsuits. But between us girls we aren’t going to insist that legally provable and true are always the same thing, are we?

Nonetheless, I agree with Richard Nixon. Even an election fraudulently won is less damaging to the country than one decided by the Supreme Court. Especially since even that august body can no longer be confidently trusted to be guided by facts rather than ideology.

So, grudging congratulations to Landslide Joe – and especially to President Kamala Harris, who’s doubtless looking forward to a 12-year rule, first de facto and then de jure. God save America.

For those who were spared my kind of childhood, Pavlik Morozov was a Stalinist saint, perhaps the most worshipped youngster in my youth.

Without going into too much detail, that 13-year-old peasant denounced his father to a GPU murder squad and was consequently lynched by his surviving family. The story is largely apocryphal, but that’s not the point.

The point is that all Soviet children were brainwashed to see Pavlik as their role model. He was canonised for arranging his loyalties in the right order: Stalin first, communism second, everything else way down the list. Such devotion put his face on thousands of posters and stamps, his statues on hundreds of pedestals and his name into millions of immature hearts.

Now Scotland’s Justice Secretary Humza Yousaf, the blood of kilted, sporraned warriors coursing through his veins, has taken the fight inspired by Pavlik to the ideological enemies of the Scottish people.

Inciting hatred in conversations over the dinner table, he announced, must be prosecuted under Scotland’s hate crime law. Mr Yousaf posed two questions he doubtless considered rhetorical: “Are we comfortable giving a defence to somebody whose behaviour is threatening or abusive which is intentionally stirring up hatred against, for example, Muslims? Are we saying that that is justified because that is in the home?”

The answers are no and yes. No, intentionally stirring up hatred against, for example, Muslims isn’t nice, although something in me whispers “what goes around comes around”. And yes, if such unworthy sentiments are expressed in the privacy of one’s home, they are justified legally, if not necessarily morally.

But even morally, prosecuting such sentiments is infinitely more reprehensible than the sentiments themselves. For, if uttered in private, how will those incendiary speeches (jokes? toasts? oblique allusions?) become known to the authorities?

Suppose for the sake of argument that Mr and Mrs Angus McMorozov sit down to dinner with little Paul, whom they affectionately call Pavlik. And somewhere between the haggis and the deep-fried Mars bars (sorry about crude ethnic stereotyping), Mr McMorozov expresses his dismay over having a Muslim as Scotland’s Justice Secretary.

Let’s assume that this statement can indeed be construed as inciting hatred. Let’s also assume that Mrs McMorozov shares her husband’s appalling biases. And let’s further assume that the McMorozovs’ dining room isn’t bugged, although these days this isn’t a safe assumption to make.

So how can the authorities find out about the crime committed? One way only: little Pavlik McMorozov must shop his faither.

To be fair, it’s not just Scotland. Our Football Association has issued a new slogan telling people to report racism (however loosely defined). There are hoardings in London reminding the populace to denounce benefit cheats, tax evaders and presumably anyone else they feel like denouncing.

I maintain that the moral and social damage caused by fostering a Pavlik Morozov culture of snitching is much more appalling than the misdeeds to be reported, be that cheating on benefits, evading taxes or even inciting hatred of Scotland’s justice secretaries.

The country I grew up in amply vindicates this observation. Take my word for it: that’s not a good example to follow.

If we define schizophrenia as losing touch with reality, then either the world is schizophrenic or I am. (I have only one response to any confirmation of the latter: You too, sunshine.)

The black actress Jodie Turner-Smith will play Anne Boleyn in an upcoming Channel 5 series. This is a further development of the transsexual, transracial craze turning our performance arts into an unfunny joke.

One expects that any idea, no matter how eccentric, implemented by directors has an honest artistic meaning and none other. And honesty is essential to artistry, for without it any work of art will look and sound tastelessly phony.

Yet it’s instantly obvious that the avalanche of blacks playing white roles, women cast as men and vice versa, black women as white men and all other conceivable permutations has nothing whatsoever to do with any artistic purpose.

The aims are strictly ideological, which is to say idiotic and dishonest. The directors want us, the audience, to perform an impossible double act: both to notice and not to notice that the role of, say, Juliet or Lady Macbeth is played by a black actress.

When queried, they spout drivel, saying what’s important is the inner truth of the character, not any external attributes. Hence it doesn’t matter whether Lady Macbeth is played by a black man, or Romeo by a black woman.

My response is, if it doesn’t matter, why not use white actors, especially in the roles of historical personages known to be white? Then the audience really wouldn’t notice their race, rather than trying manfully to pretend it doesn’t notice. One obstacle to instant communication removed, job done?

Now that’s an awful thing to say. No one can expect an answer to that question, and anyone capable of posing it belongs in one of the re-educational facilities doubtless soon to be created in Britain.

Commenting on her new role, Turner-Smith mouthed a few banalities about Anne Boleyn being “formidable and fierce” and then linked those traits to the BLM movement: “It doesn’t make sense that Black people are being senselessly mowed down by the police,” she said, commenting on the queen beheaded by her hubby-wubby for allegedly playing away from home.

She and her director evidently see Anne Boleyn as a precursor of the BLM movement who could have suffered for her race had she indeed been black, although she lamentably wasn’t. After all, Henry VIII was white and therefore a racist. Makes sense, doesn’t it? Of course it does, to a certifiable schizo.

Two tweets on the subject have caught my eye, each testifying both to the cultural level of the projected viewers and their mental health.

“What difference does it make to her story if she’s played by an black actress?”, tweets one aspiring drama critic. “I’ll tell you: absolutely NONE’.” You know my answer to this one: if it makes no difference, why not use an white actress? I haven’t noticed any shortage of those.

Another refined chap wrote: “anna boleyn doesn’t need to be white, just in her paintings she was portrayed as white, being white has nothing to do with her at all, but martin luther king needs to be black, he was an amazing person who stood up for black rights and a role model for so many people.”

Disregarding the slightly unorthodox syntax, one has to congratulate the writer for spotting something not immediately obvious: a direct link between anna boleyn and martin luther king.

The latter stood up for the rights of blacks to be equal and was killed for it. The former stood up for the right of queens to have sex with their brothers, and also paid with her life for that heroic stand. Let’s hear it for the two role models, anna boleyn and martin luther king.

The problem isn’t that there are so many deranged morons out there. The problem is that our media, arts and politics increasingly proceed from the assumption that everyone is a deranged moron.

And this is a gift that keeps on giving: the more they treat people that way, the more the people will fit the imposed model. Does anybody know a good shrink?

My heart goes out to all those irate Muslim protesters harassing French embassies all over the world, including in London.

How would you feel if hundreds of thousands of your brethren (and sistern, natch) were thrown into concentration camps, used as slave labour, forcibly sterilised, tortured, killed to harvest their organs or simply for the hell of it?

Wouldn’t you protest if your places of worship were desecrated and wrecked, if your sacred scrolls were destroyed, if your cemeteries were bulldozed, if the government forbade you to give your children names prescribed by your religion, if your children were taken away from you and brainwashed in re-education camps?

I know I would. I’d be outside that French Embassy in Knightsbridge, burning the tri-colore, screaming abuse at embassy officials, threatening their lives… Hold on a minute.

Penelope has looked over my shoulder and said that at my age I can no longer get away with just scanning the news. I need to concentrate on reading every word, or else I’ll make a bloody fool of myself – as I just did.

Turns out it’s not France that’s responsible for all those atrocities, which some experts call genocide, others ethnocide, still others democide. It’s China, and the group on the receiving end is her 12-million Uyghur minority, an enclave of Islam surrounded by communism.

That news utterly confused me. After all, all France did was issue a timid statement that she isn’t prepared to sacrifice her core civil liberties to mollify Muslim sensibilities.

So why, I asked Penelope, isn’t there a single protest going on outside Chinese embassies, while the French ones are under permanent siege? She told me to figure it out for myself, if I’m such a hot shot (she actually used a slightly different word). Fine, let me try.

Anyone who still believes that Islam is primarily a religion should be disabused of that misapprehension on the strength of the cited facts alone. The events unfolding all over the world prove yet again that Islam is mainly a militant political movement, doctrinally committed to global conquest.

Thus, whoever decides where and how to organise those protests (and believe me, mass protests are always organised) has to use strategies developed by political and military analysts. One such strategy, unchanged since the Punic Wars, involves striking at the enemy’s weakest point where the chances of a decisive breakthrough are at their most realistic.

Hence there’s no point in Muslims harassing Chinese embassies. The only tangible effect of such actions would be a further increase in brutality towards the Uyghurs. Now, France is a different matter altogether.

The Muslims are justified to regard France, or any other Western European country, as a soft spot. The liberal ethos prevalent in the West precludes any serious resistance, other than the hot air blown by politicians.

Large swathes of Europe (including Britain) have already had Sharia imposed on them; millions of European Muslims are refusing to honour any laws other than those dictated by their cult (they’ll compromise on accepting Western welfare cheques). And the West does nothing.

Sorry, that’s another thing I got wrong. The West actually does quite a bit: it imports millions more cultural aliens who don’t even bother to learn the local language. What they do learn is the jihad rhetoric spewed out at practically every mosque and Islamic Centre.

The West is ripe for the picking, they are told. Redouble your efforts, and in a decade or two Europe will become a caliphate. And oh yes, Allahu akbar, let’s not forget that.

And the Uyghurs? Very regrettable, that, but not to worry: 72 virgins are awaiting them in heaven. The men among them, that is – the women will have to go without.