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Tony Brenton’s article The Putin I Know Isn’t Going to Take on Nato can only be properly understood with the benefit of the Russian proverb ‘No one lies like an eyewitness’.

In his former capacity of British ambassador, Mr Brenton met Putin a few times. Those encounters supposedly gave this typical public self-servant some deep insights into the current situation in the Ukraine.

These he generously shares with us in his article, where, to repeat what Mary McCarthy said about Lillian Hellman, every word is a lie, including ‘and’ and ‘but’.

First Mr Brenton vents his boundless admiration for Putin’s ascent from being a street hooligan to “…admission to the Soviet Union’s elite organisation, the KGB. It was a bit like making it from Borstal to the Guards.”

Not a bit like that, actually. It was more like being admitted to a larger and more powerful version of an SS Einzatsgruppe.

The Guards, as far as I know, didn’t murder millions of their own people, which is precisely what the KGB did – and was doing, albeit at a slower pace, at the time Putin joined it.

Neither do I know many Englishmen who would refuse to shake the hand of a Guards officer, while I knew many Russians (actually was one myself) who wouldn’t extend the same courtesy to anyone even tangentially associated with the KGB, never mind a career officer.

Mr Brenton first met Putin in St Petersburg, where the colonel was known “as a young official with a reputation for getting things done.” This is factually true, but what makes it utterly mendacious is that there is no mention of exactly what kind of things Putin got done.

To correct this omission, let’s just say that he was known for corruption whose scale was remarkable even by Russian standards.

Just take a look at the dossier published by Marina Salye, who in 1992 headed the Petersburg Council commission investigating  Putin’s business machinations when he was still a lowly deputy mayor.

Among other choice bits, the documents shows that Putin signed deals to export $100 million worth of raw materials in exchange for food. The raw materials dutifully left Russia. No food came back in return – this at a time of rationing in Petersburg.

The dossier states that Putin’s “quest for personal enrichment and absence of any moral barriers became obvious at the very onset of his career.” But he did get things done, which is all that matters to his sycophant.

“Putin as president continues to display those same qualities which got him to the top,” continues Brenton, not realising that he is damning his idol with faint praise.

Which qualities would they be? Hooliganism? Sadism? Corruption? Exhibitionism? Pride in his criminal alma mater?

No, what impresses Mr Brenton is Putin’s “loyalty”, his being “impeccably turned out”, his “exuding aggressive fitness” and his “impressive command of the facts of whatever he is discussing.”

He then cites with approval Putin’s dismay at the West’s wishy-washy anti-terrorist policies. “We kill them,” Brenton reports Putin as saying to Western visitors.

Quite. Except that under Putin’s much vaunted guidance the terrorists are routinely killed with the hostages they hold.

Thus, for example, in 2004 Putin personally ordered a brutal and incompetent attack on a school taken over by Chechen separatists. Putin’s thugs used tanks, incendiary rockets and other heavy weapons to kill 385 hostages, half of them children. Most of the key terrorists got away.

Two tears earlier, terrorists took over a Moscow theatre, and that time they didn’t get away (“We kill them.”). Putin’s special forces resolved the hostage crisis by pumping some unidentified poison gas into the theatre, killing all 40 attackers – along with about 130 hostages.

I dare say this modus operandi is more evocative of Borstal than of the Guards, but then I haven’t had the pleasure of meeting Col. Putin personally.

Having established Putin’s CV credentials, Mr Brenton then elucidates the current situation in the Ukraine and how it may develop.

“Putin,” he explains, “nailed his flag to the mast of protecting the East Ukrainian dissidents.” That’s a nice word to use in this context. I’ve heard ‘separatists’, ‘rebels’ and ‘insurgents’, but ‘dissidents’ is new to me.

So those chaps who fire rockets at public transport and AA missiles at airliners are dissidents, a bit like Solzhenitsyn, Brodsky, Sakharov and all those small fry Putin used to harass and arrest early in his career.

Perhaps Putin is driven by repentance: he used to torture one lot of dissidents, now he wishes to protect another. A perfectly Christian impulse, that, and we all know how pious Putin has recently become.

One problem though: there were no Eastern Ukrainian dissidents in need of protection until a year ago.

You know, until the time Putin put together gangs of murderous thugs from all over the ‘former’ Soviet Union, armed them to the teeth with modern weapons, fortified them with Russian regular troops and turned them loose on the Ukraine.

Thus the mast to which Putin nailed his flag is that of brutal aggression bringing not just the Ukraine but all of Europe to the brink of a major war.

Oh sorry, that’s not the case at all. We mustn’t get our knickers in a twist or, as Brenton puts it, “There is simply no evidence for the Western hysteria about a revanchist Russia.”

Actually, one doesn’t detect hysteria as much as fearful and amply justified concern. Especially when one recalls Putin’s spokesmen threatening to turn America “into nuclear dust” or the Colonel himself citing the number of days it would take his tanks to get to Kiev and Vilnius (not yet the Channel, thank God) or him again, describing the breakup of the Soviet Union as “the greatest geopolitical catastrophe of the 20^th century”. (Greater than the two world wars, in other words.)

Overlaying those on Putin’s warmongering in the Ukraine does make what Brenton calls ‘hysteria’ and I call ‘fearful concern’ amply justified. But then he has touched the sainted man’s vestments, so he knows what’s what.

I don’t know if Brenton is paid by Putin to utter this ignorant and mendacious gibberish. Possibly not. But one struggles to see how differently he would cover the situation if he were indeed on Putin’s payroll.

Oh yes, I forgot to mention that this piece of… journalism has appeared in The Daily Telegraph, our flagship conservative broadsheet. 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

  

For Angela Merkel, read Neville Chamberlain. For François Hollande, read Edouard Daladier. For Moscow 2015, read Munich 1938.

For the Munich Agreement, read… Well, there’s the snag.

So far Angie, today’s answer to Chamberlain, has no piece of paper to wave in the air. She and her liege-swain François spent five hours talking to Putin until the wee hours this morning – and nichts, rien, nichego. Nothing. A big fat zero.

All we can read for the Munich agreement is the official statement released by Putin’s poodle Dmitry Peskov. He described the negotiations conducted by the threesome as “constructive, meaningful and substantive.” For the English translation of this standard Russian formula, see the end of the previous paragraph.

That, however, doesn’t mean that no Munich-type surrender has taken place. Surely such busy people didn’t spend five hours talking about the weather and the latest football scores.

Yet no details have been released to the public. In the good spirit of both Russia and the EU we are deemed too lowly to be vouchsafed such information.

However, Angie did say a few things worth noting. The aim of the negotiations, she said, is to protect the European Friedenordnung, which is peace and order rolled into one composite word, as is the Germans’ wont.

Furthermore, she regards neither François nor herself as “neutral intermediaries”, she added. They represent “German, French, general European interests”.

That at least has a ring of honesty to it. This is the first time Angie publicly admitted that, as far as she is concerned, Europe is made up of Germany and France only. Das ist alles. No one else matters, and especially not those Britische Sweine. Gott strafe England, and all that.

Peskov didn’t limit himself to diplomatic platitudes either. He dropped a hint that an accord will soon be reached for implementing the Minsk ceasefire agreement of last September, something Russia wishes to build on.

But Putin has already built on that agreement – by equipping and encouraging his proxy troops to grab another 200 square miles of Ukrainian territory. Continuing implementation means he now wants his bandits to retrench at their new border, catch their breath and then resume their westward thrust.

At which point another agreement will be necessary, and so forth, until the Ukraine happily and voluntarily rejoins the ‘former’ Soviet Union.

The whole process is so densely enveloped in fog that no sense of reality is any longer possible. For example, Putin continues to deny that Russia has anything to do with the spontaneous uprising by ‘separatist rebels’. Arm them? Certainly not.

If Russia hasn’t armed the ‘rebels’, who has? They are armed, aren’t they? Considering that their arsenal includes multiple missile launchers, field artillery, tanks and other armour, AA batteries and SU-25 fighter-bombers, East Ukrainian hardware shops must boast rather peculiar product lines.

Such bold-faced lying alone should be sufficient grounds for refusing to talk to Putin at all, never mind conducting unauthorised, underhanded negotiations whose only possible outcome for the Ukraine will be the same as Munich was for Czechoslovakia.

In any case, a treaty, whatever its terms, must be based on trust. The parties to the agreement must believe that they both will abide by its terms. Exactly what in the record of communist or post-communist Russia inspires such confidence?

Russia, whether led by the Party, as it was under the Soviets, or by the KGB, as it is under Putin, has unfailingly used every treaty it has ever signed as a way of pulling a fast one on the West.

Hence the SALT treaties of the 1970s resulted in an unprecedented build-up of Soviet armed forces and their invasion of Afghanistan. Going back a little further, towards the end of the Second World War, the Soviets undertook not to impose their rule on Eastern Europe by force of arms, which they promptly proceeded to do.

Putin’s cynical disregard for the terms of the Minsk Agreement (not to mention the Budapest Memorandum – no one does any longer) shows that he upholds this fine tradition, along with all others he inherited from the Soviets and especially his idol Stalin.

Even US Vice President Joe Biden realises this. “[Putin] absolutely ignores every agreement that his country has signed,” he said, and this is one line Joe didn’t steal from Neil Kinnock.

The only language the Russians (I mean those who determine policy) understand is that of force. Angie and François know this of course, but confronting evil with force calls for the kind of qualities they lack, courage being the primary one.

The Americans at least are trying to make some tentative moves in that direction, by intending (or rather saying they intend) to arm the Ukrainian army to a point of parity with the bandits Putin lies he doesn’t arm.

That’s where Angie draws the line. She is opposed to supplying the Ukrainians with “lethal weapons” because, in the words of her spokesman, “there are already too many weapons in the region”. Yes, and most of them are in the hands of Putin’s bandits.

The term ‘lethal weapons’ sounds odd. Since few weapons one is aware of fall into the non-lethal category, the adjective is clearly used here merely for dramatic and emotional effect.

‘Lethal’ means capable of killing. Can’t have that. Who has ever heard of people trying to kill one another in a war?

Actually, inasmuch as it’s possible to distinguish between offensive and defensive weapons, those the Americans are talking about clearly belong to the second type.

Anti-armour missiles, reconnaissance drones, armoured Humvees and radars designed to spot the location of enemy rocket and artillery fire are all systems mainly used to repel rather than launch aggression. And this happens to be the Ukrainian shopping list the Americans are planning to fill, but only after Angie does her negotiations bit.

If Europe were led by statesmen rather than spivs, no negotiations with Putin would be conducted until he stopped his bandits in their tracks and withdrew his regular and proxy troops from the Ukraine and the Crimea. Failure to do so would put a whole raft of measures into effect.

These would include every manner of assistance to the Ukraine; expansion of economic sanctions, escalating to a blanket boycott of Russian goods; impounding of all Russian assets in the West; expulsion of Russia from every international organisation. In short, turning Putin’s Russia into the pariah state it richly deserves to be.

In the process the West would embark on a massive rearmament programme, similar to that America enacted in the 1980s to counteract the Soviet post-SALT build-up. Except that this time Europe would pull its weight.

The Asperger sufferer is expanding an aggressive war in Europe, and Europe’s response must be resolute and full-blooded.

What we are getting instead is a rehash of Munich, 1938. Appeasement, feigned trust in the dictator’s good intentions, a show of weakness.

The only thing missing is Angie, piece of paper in hand, descending an airplane gangplank and shouting “Peace in our time!” After that… well, you know what has to happen after that.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Here’s your starter for ten: what’s the biggest problem with our education?

Could it be that a fifth of all Brits struggle to read a medicine label or use a chequebook? No, of course not.

Then what about the almost £100 billion a year that this illiteracy costs the UK economy in lost tax revenue and higher welfare spending? Don’t be silly.

Well then, is it the fact that Britain ranks 22^nd in literacy and 21^st in numeracy among the top 24 developed countries? Wrong again.

The biggest – nay, just about the only – problem with our schools is homophobic bullying in primary school.

Hence, announces Shadow Education Secretary Tristram Hunt, should his party win this year’s election, it’ll introduce compulsory sex education in primary schools.

Tots as young as five will be taught that sex between two men or two women is as normal as, well, normal sex.

Elevated by that epiphanic knowledge the children will then refrain from poking fun at the effeminate boys and boyish girls among their schoolmates, thereby not inflicting lifelong trauma.

Mr Hunt explained that the use of homophobic language “is damaging the life chances of so many young people.” I couldn’t agree more.

Had the past generations of five-year-olds been properly educated in the delights of homosexuality, God only knows what heights would have been scaled by the likes of Cecil Rhodes, Laurence Olivier, Field Marshal Montgomery, Michael Redgrave, General Kitchener, Alec Guinness, Lytton Strachey, Denholm Elliott, John Gielgud, Virginia Woolf, John Maynard Keynes, Lawrence of Arabia, Noël Coward, Ludwig Wittgenstein, Francis Bacon and – very much in the news – Alan Turing.

As it was, they all had to settle for their modest attainment, no doubt thinking how much more they could have achieved if the benefits of sodomy had been responsibly taught in their kindergartens.

Predictably, these plans have caused much impotent rage among those who fail to comprehend the true role of education in modern British society.

Those fossils still harbour nostalgic illusions that the purpose of education is to educate. This voluminous word, the way the reactionaries use it, covers not only teaching pupils such basic skills as reading, writing and adding up – this used to go without saying – but also easing them into our civilisation.

This process should involve providing the key facts of history, philosophy, theology, literature, science, mathematics etc., explaining their significance, and how they all fit together.

This used to be regarded as essential to preparing youngsters for grown-up life. ‘Used to be’ are the key words here.

For that civilisation has fallen by the wayside, to be replaced by strident anomic neo-barbarism, with its attendant ethos. Hence the purpose of education is no longer to educate – it is to indoctrinate.

The new ethos couldn’t even find an original slogan to kick itself off. Instead, it had to borrow the Masonic motto of liberty, equality and fraternity.

Extrapolating from the articles of a secret and subversive club to society at large, the centre piece of the triad, equality, is bound to destroy the other two desiderata.

So it has proved. All modern countries founded on Enlightenment principles, which is to say all modern countries, have become tyrannies whose aim is to cut every person to the stencil of the new ethos.

This is what all modern societies have in common, and they differ only in the tools they favour. The toolbox offers a rich variety of implements, whose functions fall into two broad categories: brainwashing and coercion.

The difference among various totalitarian, authoritarian or democratic countries of modernity lies only in their preference for some tools over others.

Brainwashing is widely used by all, though ‘democracies’ tend to be more subtle and patient in enforcing it. They also differ from their totalitarian cousins in the ferocity and scale of violence they unleash to correct failures of indoctrination.

While the differences are mainly tactical, the similarities are all strategic, reflecting the universally shared and keenly felt need to bend individual personalities to the collective ethos.

Should human nature or millennia of tradition interfere with this strategy, the former has to be suppressed and the latter ridiculed.

Assorted socialist parties, either of the national or international variety, are in the vanguard of this onslaught, but none of the mainstream parties is ever far behind. Again, they only ever differ in their view of how rapidly and violently should the new ethos be hammered into people’s heads – not in their general attitude to the ethos.

From this it follows that the old system of education has to be destroyed. The state simply can’t afford to teach pupils the essentials of the civilisation the state wishes to destroy.

That in the process our schools disgorge millions of corrupted, sociopathic, brutalised illiterates is of no consequence whatsoever. It’s more important to cut away everything that sticks out of the stencil of modernity.

The strongest competition the state can possibly face comes from the traditional family, which is started with normal sex and undermined with the abnormal kind. Logically then, children have to be brainwashed to believe that there is no such thing as normal or abnormal sexuality.

Never mind that the biggest study of its kind has found that only 1.4 per cent of our population are homosexual. Numbers don’t affect the principle, and the remaining 98.6 per cent must accept – on pain of punishment! – that a deviation must have exactly the same social, legal and cultural status as the norm.

This explains the reaction to the Labour plans, both in the pro and con camps. The supporters of this monstrous idea rejoice, and the opponents fume. But neither evince any surprise – both realise that this is all par for the course.

Alas, even in our progressive times some five-year-olds may not fully understand what homosexuality means, in practical terms. Hence they won’t know which group they aren’t supposed to disparage, making a damp squib of this Labour initiative.

As a former teacher, I feel qualified to offer pedagogic advice: you can’t overestimate the importance of visual aids. DVDs of homosexual pornography would work a treat for the little ones, and a live demonstration would work even better.

Perhaps Stephen Fry and his new wife/husband would take upon themselves the charitable task of travelling the country to provide appropriately inventive illustrations – assisted by the staff of PinkNews and cheered on by the Labour front bench.  

 

Justin Welby has set out to prove that female bishops aren’t the sole source of trouble in the C of E. Male archbishops are making a telling contribution too.

First he came out in defence of Stephen Fry, who got a bit of criticism for describing God, among other choice epithets, as ‘utterly evil, mean-minded, stupid and utterly monstrous’.

In defending Mr Fry, the prelate took a firm stand on some of the liberal cornerstones of just society, namely freedom of conscience and speech:

“It is… the right of Stephen Fry to say what he said and not to be abused by Christians who are affronted.”

Stoutly spoken, and we should all kneel and give thanks for this pastoral guidance.

Verily I say unto you, if England’s ultimate spiritual authority will not uphold the moral principles of our legality, then who will? Well, one possible answer to this question is, someone with a firmer grasp of elementary logic.

That basic faculty would enable such a chap to see that freedom of speech so cherished by the prelate cuts both ways. Mr Fry’s right to say whatever he pleases about God presupposes his critics’ right to use all the same adjectives to describe Mr Fry.

Or does His Grace think that fundamental liberties should only be enjoyed by strident atheist mediocrities? That only their delicate sensibilities merit protection, while Christians are fair game for vile public rants?

If so, that view isn’t exactly orthodox Christian, but then His Grace is on record as not minding the odd heterodoxy as long as it’s of recent secular provenance. Hence tolerance, which Jesus forgetfully left out of his Sermon on the Mount, now supersedes everything he did mention.

In the Gospel According to Justin, we must display benign tolerance towards everybody, except conservative Christians, and, to quote the equally tolerant Pope Frances, who am I to argue? Specifically, we must regard any shifts in secular fads as binding on church doctrine.

As we now know, every change represents progress. Imbued with this freshly minted truth, we must rejoice how far His Grace has advanced the virtue of tolerance since the time of St Paul.

That offensively intolerant vagabond once wrote to Timothy about two men named Hymenaeus and Alexander, “whom I have delivered unto Satan, that they may learn not to blaspheme”.

If Paul were alive today, he would no doubt deliver Stephen Fry to the same address. But then, so what?

St Paul is no longer the authority on such matters in the Church of England; the jumped-up oil trader is. If he says that Christians don’t have the same rights as that Fry creature, then so be it.

Having given episcopal blessing to blasphemy, His Grace then anathemised tax havens and sanctified the state’s right to impose confiscatory taxes. Jesus, he explained, taught the importance of “paying what is due”.

I’d like to steal a peak into His Grace’s version of Matthew. It must contain a verse in which Jesus says “Ye have heard that it was said by them of old time, Thou shalt not commit tax evasion: But I say unto you that whosoever committeth avoidance hath committed evasion already in his heart; his is hell fire.”

The hopelessly antiquated version I have within reach has left this verse out. But then His Grace leans not just on scriptural support, but also historical tradition: “There has always been the principle that you pay tax where you earn the money.”

Good to see that the top Anglican prelate is not just a theologian of some attainment, but also a keen student of history. However, he should display more rigour in both disciplines – and especially in adapting them to the practical issues at hand.

Getting back to the Sermon on the Mount, Jesus did answer a provocative question about paying tributes to Caesar by saying “Render therefore unto Caesar the things which are Caesar’s; and unto God the things that are God’s.”

However, it takes a hypocritical Pharisee, reminiscent of the agent provocateur who asked the question in the first place, to interpret that injunction literally, as a carte blanche for the state to extort as much of our income as it wishes.

The theologically challenged prelate ought to learn that Matthew 22:21 isn’t an Inland Revenue guideline on tax policy. Interpreting it as such is sheer vulgarity, unpardonable even in an average Christian, never mind an archbishop.

Christ’s reply was affirming both the existence and the hierarchy of two realms, that of God and that of man. Even though he held up a coin with Caesar’s profile on it, Jesus wasn’t just talking about taxation.

Yes, Caesar, aka the Exchequer, must be paid ‘what is due’. But how much is due? What proportion of our income? Fifty per cent? Seventy-five? A hundred? Jesus didn’t bother himself with such mundane details, and neither should a Christian prelate.

There is no justification, moral, scriptural or historical, for the state to confiscate 50 per cent of our income, which is close to what the middle classes are paying when you add everything up.

If taxes were in the region of 10 to 20 per cent, the tax-haven industry wouldn’t exist. Only a hardened Scrooge would begrudge the state its just due. It’s only when taxation is unjust that people scamper about trying to keep a few pennies out of the state’s grubby hands.

Unlike a tax evasion scheme, a tax haven is a legal way of doing so. It in no way contravenes Christian doctrine, history or basic morality, and by suggesting that it might His Grace only demonstrated his weak understanding of both realms.

One wonders if he was a better oil trader than he is an Archbishop of Canterbury. If so, a career about-face is in order, methinks.

  

 

 

 

We all like to see our views vindicated, and hence my gratitude to the newlywed comedian cum talk show host.

About a fortnight ago I wrote that, whenever atheists talk about God, “they are absolutely guaranteed to sound stupid and vulgar, no matter how clever they are otherwise.”

I doubt that Mr Fry is among my regular readers, because if he were he would have had an apoplexy a long time ago. So it was thanks to one of those blessed serendipities that he set out to prove me right.

It has to be said that Mr Fry doesn’t start from the vantage point of towering intellect, although he’s reasonably clever for an actor. Fry is your typical metrosexual trendy, dabbling at this and that, attending all the fashionable parties and fashionable shrinks, popping antidepressants and whatever else is going, advocating every faddish leftie cause – well, you know the type.

Nonetheless he is taken seriously by those who equate intellect with Mr Fry’s well-honed ability to memorise heaps of trivia. This knack makes him a competent talk show host, a celebrity in other words.

And of course any celebrity feels entitled not only to his opinion but also to an audience. In this instance Mr Fry found his audience on one of those rare occasions when he appeared on a TV show as merely its guest. 

Asked what he’d say to God at the pearly gates – assuming hypothetically that God exists – Mr Fry unleashed a tirade suggesting that he’s courting apoplexy even without reading my prose regularly.

“Utterly evil… capricious… mean-minded… stupid… a maniac… totally selfish… utterly monstrous…” – there, there, dear, take it easy. Look, you’ve turned purple in the face. Have a sip of water. Feel better now?

One would think that, now Mr Fry is happily married to another man, he’d mellow a bit. No longer on the make (one supposes), he can concentrate on learning how to ponder the meaning of life. Instead he has forgotten his manners.

One simply doesn’t talk to anyone the way Mr Fry would talk to God in his imaginary conversation. Why, I wouldn’t talk that way even to Mr Fry.

As to the meaning of life, he probably thinks there is none. And if there is, Mr Fry is sure God has nothing to do with it. In fact: “The moment you banish him, life becomes simpler, purer, cleaner, more worth living in my opinion.”

Actually, if one-tenth of the things one reads about Mr Fry’s own life are true, it’s rather the opposite of simple, pure and clean.

Manic depressions, frequent suicide attempts, drugs, perverse sexuality – such are the hallmarks of Mr Fry’s existence, and these hardly testify to the benefits of banishing God from one’s life.

Still, assuming – and this isn’t a safe assumption – that he was compos mentis during the interview, he ought to know that at times one has to shut up, especially if one has a reputation for cleverness to protect.

Essentially, if you’ll forgive a neologism, Fry is a Humosexual, in that he expanded on the fallacy first made popular by David Hume. If God is omniscient, omnipotent and good, then how come we have [insert anything you don’t like, such as murder, natural disaster, disease or, for that matter, Stephen Fry].

Now Mr Hume was immeasurably cleverer than Mr Fry, but even he proves my conviction that atheism can make even intelligent men sound stupid. Specifically, he committed the gross logical error of judging one system (religion) by the criteria of another (atheism).

If in Messrs Hume’s and Fry’s opinion God doesn’t exist, then he can be neither omnipotent nor monstrous. Conversely, if one believes that God exists, then one must operate within the system of thought based on that fact.

One has to ponder the corrupting effect of Original Sin not only on man but also on the natural order. One must figure out how our free will coexists with God’s design. One has to look upon physical death in the context of eternal life.

In short, one would have to dedicate one’s life to pondering and absorbing the profound philosophy that clearly takes not only Mr Fry but even Mr Hume out of his depth.

Now it’s no secret that I find Mr Fry not only a pathetic character, but also an utterly boring one. That he is typical doesn’t make him any less tedious.

Hence what he thinks about God is of no interest whatsoever. However, I’d pay good money to find out what God thinks of Mr Fry.

 

 

 

 

 

 

One doesn’t have to be an astute political observer to notice that the Left end of the spectrum is easier to figure out than the Right.

Leftwing politicians and pundits differ in the accents they put on various points, but the compendium of the points hardly ever varies.

The rhetoric does vary from time to time, but, when one cuts through it, one finds the same longings underneath. These can be profitably united under one all-encompassing rubric: destruction.

Whenever queried about the kind of society they wish to create, lefties always sound hazy. That is quite understandable: every time a society has tried to configure itself in accordance with socialist ideas, what followed was either mass destitution or mass murder, often both.

Hence, instead of specific steps, a leftie prefers to express his programme in terms of abstract ideals.

For example, he’ll seldom advocate the state confiscating most of what people earn. Instead he’ll extol the virtues of ‘fairness’ and ‘social justice’, and he’ll never let the conversation become specific enough for him to acknowledge that confiscation is what he really sees in his mind’s eye.

However, a leftie will become more forthcoming when talking about things he’d like to destroy. This doesn’t mean he’ll spell them out with any precision, but his interlocutor (or reader) will be left in no doubt of the leftie’s pet hates.

These are numerous, but they all have the same target – what’s left of Christendom, with all its aspects: the religion itself, family, self-reliance, limited state power, freedom of conscience and speech, traditional institutions, education that educates rather than brainwashes, fiscal prudence – you name it.

Conservatives, on the other hand, are supposed to be united in their quest to preserve the key aspects of Christendom, using them as building blocks of any innovation.

This is the main thrust, which has to be accompanied by vigorous rearguard action against the destructive leftwing encroachments. In practice this means joining every fight for which the Left are spoiling, be it a battle or a skirmish.

One would think that this commonality of purpose would act as a windscreen defogger, clearing the line of conservative vision enough to see every bend on the road. That, however, is hardly ever the case.

Witness two consecutive paragraphs written yesterday by the Daily Mail columnist Peter Hitchens.

I’ve often taken exception to his adulation of Col. Putin, in which I’m sure he hasn’t wavered despite all the evidence showing the manifestly evil nature of Russia’s kleptofascist regime.

However, lately Hitchens has refrained from venting his innermost feelings on this subject, sensing unerringly that his readers won’t wear it.

At first believers in Putin as the embodiment of conservative values came across as merely ill-informed. Yet after a few choice peccadilloes in the Ukraine, such Western sycophants began to sound first silly, then idiotic, then deranged.

Being ill-informed on Russia is par for the course among our journalists, and even silliness can be overlooked by the grateful public. But no pundit can get away with displaying either idiocy or madness, and Hitchens is well aware of it.

Consequently Russia has been expunged from his mental map for the time being, and he has turned his attention to the Church. This brings me to the two paragraphs reinforcing my feeling that the Right are terribly confused.

Paragraph 1: Have you noticed that the people most excited about women bishops in the Church of England are those who don’t believe in God and never go near a church?

Actually, no, I haven’t noticed that. I know many church-going Anglicans who are ecstatic about the female episcopate, but then again, I don’t number many atheists among my acquaintances.

For that reason I’m prepared to accept that Hitchens’s observation is more accurate than mine, especially since it stands to reason.

Consecration of women bishops is an act of ecclesiastical, theological and doctrinal vandalism the Anglican Church has perpetrated on itself.

Thereby the Church surrendered its soul to pernicious secular fads yet again. This has predictably led, at least in the West, to an exodus of orthodox Christians to other confessions, both Western and Eastern.

The resulting tectonic tremors have far-reaching ramifications not just for the Church itself, but also for our constitutional arrangement, of which our established Church is an integral part. 

Since a sturdy Church is the cornerstone of the tradition the Left yearn to destroy, its gradual conversion from a Christian institution to a socialist chat club must give much joy to lefties.

So one can understand their excitement – and commend Hitchens for sounding impeccably conservative.

Paragraph 2: Personally, I couldn’t care less what sex a bishop is. I’d like it if they believed in God, preferred poetry and beauty to banality, and didn’t mix up Christianity with socialism.

Proceeding from small to big, no literate conservative would follow the singular antecedent ‘bishop’ with the plural possessive pronoun ‘they’.

The issue isn’t just grammatical but also political or, even broader, civilisational. After all, for the thousand-odd years that the English language has existed, its convention has stated that a man embraces a woman.

Hence, if the sex of the antecedent is unclear, it must be treated as male. Thus a sentence like ‘Everyone must do his duty’ leaves the option of either men or women to be understood by ‘everyone’.

This convention, among uncountable others, fell under the onslaught of the Left offensive, specifically its feminist wing. This is all part of the same destructive urge I mentioned earlier, something against which conservatives are duty-bound to fight rearguard action.

Since this particular linguistic perversion has been elevated to orthodoxy, newspaper editors and subs enforce it even in supposedly conservative publications. But there are always ways around it.

For example, instead of ‘a bishop is’, Hitchens could have written ‘bishops are’, avoiding the trap set by socialist activists bent on destroying what’s left of our civilisation. Yet he let his side down by ceding his position abjectly.

Still, this is a minor matter compared to his main point. For, by saying he doesn’t care about a bishop’s sex (at least, thank God, he didn’t say ‘gender’), Hitchens effectively says he doesn’t mind the Church perpetrating on itself the aforementioned act of ecclesiastical, theological and doctrinal vandalism.

If he doesn’t realise that’s what it is, he’s stupid. If he really doesn’t mind it, he’s a leftie. If he thinks that Christianity is all about faith and presumably poetic sense, and the ecclesiastical and theological tradition doesn’t matter, he’s both.

Hitchens only interests me here because he is indicative of the confusion on the right of our politics. More and more windscreens fog up, blurring people’s vision of what lies ahead, where they wish to get and how to get there.

No wonder true conservatism has been reduced to a quaint personal eccentricity, devoid of whatever unifying potential it ever had. In other words, we are losing.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

    

 

 

 

One should always learn from the giants, adapting their great thoughts to the current situation.

Hence the juxtaposition of guns and butter, which is a metaphorical way of describing the hard choice rulers sometimes have to make between armaments and consumer goods.

In an ideal world it wouldn’t be necessary to choose: a rich country would be able to afford both. But few countries in history have been as rich as that – most have had to establish their priorities and act accordingly.

Opting for metaphorical guns at the expense of metaphorical butter is hard even during the war – and next to impossible in peacetime.

That this is the case in the West, where people vote for their rulers, goes without saying. The philistine mentality assiduously cultivated over the last century or so makes it impossible for a politician to demand sacrifices in the consumption of metaphorical butter.

Dictators find making such demands easy, but acting on them not necessarily so. For example, as early as in January, 1936, Goebbels orated: “We can do without butter, but, despite our love of peace, not without arms.”

Yet, such pronouncements by him and other Nazi leaders notwithstanding, the Nazis didn’t dare shift the economy into war mode just yet. The Germans were ready to attend rallies and scream their Sieg Heils till their throats ached, but doing without butter was something else again.

In fact the Nazis totally militarised their economy only in 1942, by which time it was too late.

So far only one modern power has managed to sacrifice all for the sake of militarisation: Stalin’s Russia.

Nazi Germany and the Soviet Union are routinely bracketed together, and indeed the two countries had much in common. But precise definitions must always be based on differences, not similarities.

The most important difference between the Nazis and the Soviets was that Hitler wasn’t ready to wage war against his own people, but Stalin was.

Total militarisation at peacetime requires total enslavement, enforced by mass murderous terror. Hitler couldn’t do it; Stalin could – and did.

His Russian apologists, including those who write school history books, keep repeating the same mantra: “Stalin inherited a Russia with the plough and left her with the hydrogen bomb.”

That is true, but omitted from this accolade is the bill Stalin presented for his historical services. This was eye-poppingly exorbitant:

40 million Russians murdered (in addition to the 20 million or so previously dispatched by Lenin); millions of people including children starved to death; millions driven into labour camps to produce raw materials exchangeable for hard currency; the whole population reduced to the kind of slavery the world had never seen; squalor and destitution even Russia had never seen; the whole country turned into a camp, either military or concentration.

Even the Nazis, for all their empty talk about guns before butter, never inflicted this kind of nightmare on their own people.

Nazi Germany is no more, although comparisons between the Third Reich and the EU aren’t wholly unwarranted. But the Soviet Union lives on in Putin’s Russia.

This continuity isn’t yet physical, for Putin’s dictatorial powers aren’t yet a patch on Stalin’s (‘yet’ being the operative word). But metaphysically, as it were, the kleptofascist Russian state pursues the same desiderata, if with caution more characteristic of Nazi Germany circa 1936.

It’s with this in mind that the statements made by Putin and his Defence Minister Shoigu must be assessed.

Putin has just committed the country to the modernisation of over 90 per cent of its armaments by 2020, a programme for which the estimated cost of £190 billion is but the point of departure – for the moon.

Estimates for such undertakings in the West, not that the West has ever embarked on such undertakings in peacetime, can safely be doubled to arrive at a more realistic figure.

In Russia, where Putin’s and his cronies’ compulsion to skim off the top is voracious, it ought to be at least tripled.

Thus Russia must find more than half a trillion pounds over the next five years – this on top of the billions the country is already spending on its aggression against the Ukraine and related costs.

One of such related costs is the construction of the 2.8-mile Kerch Strait bridge, linking the newly conquered Crimea with the Russian mainland. In the fine tradition of Putin’s kleptofascism, the project has just been awarded to Vlad’s judo friend Arkadiy Rutenberg, who is among those who put ‘klepto’ into kleptofascism.

Since no feasibility study has been done and no cost estimates submitted, one has to assume either that Mr Rutenberg’s bid was unopposed or else that the opposition to it was discouraged by persuasion techniques accurately described in The Godfather.

The question is, where are all those billions and trillions going to come from? The Russian economy is contracting faster than you can say ‘sanctions’, the price of oil is dropping towards $40 a barrel at a time Russia can only be in the black at $100, the rouble is going down and the inflation rate up, capital is fleeing the country, borrowing vast amounts in the money markets is out of the question.

In other words, how will Putin get the guns he craves? Only at the expense of the metaphorical butter, is the answer to that. The country is too poor to afford both.

But in the quarter-century since the so-called collapse of communism, the people have developed some rotten habits. They now want their butter and, if they can’t get it in Russia, they’ll go somewhere else.

Comrade Stalin showed Comrade Putin the way out of this conundrum. The people won’t sacrifice everything, including their lives, for the sake of armament production unless they are forced to do so – that is, enslaved.

If Putin wants to restore Stalin’s Russia, he’ll have to use Stalin’s methods, it’s as simple as that. In fact, Putin’s propaganda today is eerily reminiscent of Stalin’s propaganda yesterday.

Nor are Putin’s actions far behind. He has already committed aggression against three parts of the ‘former’ Soviet Union. His nuclear bombers are already operating seconds away from Bournemouth. His warships are already threatening to penetrate the Channel. His submarines are already close to nullifying our Trident deterrent.

At a time like this we too should be making guns and, unlike the Russians, we wouldn’t have to cut butter out of our diets to achieve this. It is conceivable, however, that we’d have to reduce our appetites from Gargantuan to simply voracious.

Instead all European countries are cutting their defence budgets below the level necessary even for containing, never mind repelling, the kleptofascist dictator wishing us ill.

History has many lessons to teach, but it must be a rotten teacher. We never do learn anything, do we?

In case you don’t know, Kim is the fiancée of Andy Murray, the tennis player who’ll contest the final of the Australian Open on Sunday.

She is a pretty girl with luxuriant hair and eyes that remind me of my plate after dinner: round and empty.

Kim is also a quick learner, absorbing the lessons taught both by her betrothed and Mirka, otherwise known as Mrs Federer.

What Kim evidently learned from Andy is the kind of vocabulary Dr Johnson left out of his lexicon. When a high-born lady complained that his Dictionary contained no ‘naughty words’, Dr Johnson replied in his celebrated epigrammatic style: “So, Madam, you have been looking for them?”

Having lived with Andy since her teens, Kim, now 27, didn’t have far to look.

Andy swears like a trooper – at himself, when he misses a shot; at umpires, when they give calls he doesn’t like. When he was still a teenager, the Scot called one of them a f***ing c***, incurring a hefty fine and teaching his girlfriend how to express herself in tense situations.

Mirka Federer evokes another meal-related simile, which I won’t put down on paper out of gallantry. She too taught Kim a useful lesson: how to abuse her man’s opponent during a match.

During last November’s US Open, she kept calling her hubby’s opponent Stan Wawrinka a ‘cry baby’, unsettling him enough to blow the match that looked to be in the bag.

Neither lesson has gone to waste. Kim learned from Mirka the art of sledging, and from Andy the mode of expression appropriate to it.

Yesterday, after Andy won a gruelling semi-final rally against Tomas Berdych, Kim shrieked, “F***ing have it, you Czech flash f***!”

I hope you don’t think me a hypocrite, but I was deeply shocked. There she was, a middle-class English rose, not knowing how to use her mother tongue properly.

She ought to know that when a noun is modified by two preceding adjectives, of which one is capitalised, the capitalised modifier should be the one immediately before the noun.

Hence we speak of a great Gothic cathedral, not a Gothic great cathedral. Only an ignoramus will describe Leonardo as a Renaissance sublime artist, and only a hopeless illiterate would ever talk about Limoges intricate porcelain.

Applying the same general rule to the specific task at hand, Kim was hopelessly wrong when calling Berdych a ‘Czech flash f***’. Had she correctly referred to him as a ‘flash Czech f***’, everybody would be happy.

As it is, Kim’s solecism elicited numerous complaints and abusive e-mails. Some of the latter expressing a heartfelt wish that she should die soon, though to the best of my knowledge none promised to facilitate her demise.

Kim partially restored herself in my graces when a giant split screen over the stadium showed her and Berdych’s fiancée, who looks like the translation of Kim into Czech.

Kim’s reaction to the sequence, “Oh for f***’s sake!”, can’t be faulted on the grounds of grammar or style, and one must congratulate her on that. Perhaps there’s some hope for her yet.

As there certainly is for Eugenie Bouchard, the pretty Canadian (not ‘Canadian pretty…’!) world No. 7.

She is sponsored by Nike, a company that introduces a new colour scheme for tennis attire every year, which doubtless springs from a disinterested aesthetic quest for chromatic variety.

This year’s colour is fluorescent yellow, used either alone or in combination with other lurid colours. World No. 1 Serena Williams wears her fluorescent yellow neat, while Eugenie’s outfit is mostly pink, but with a yellow trim and an all-yellow visor.

Serena’s post-match celebratory routine involves an attempt to impersonate a cabaret dancer cum fashion model. To that end, she performs what looks more like the weaving and bobbing of a heavyweight boxer.

This, along with her open-back dress, never fails to delight post-match interviewers who quickly get the boring tennis bits out of the way and get Serena to talk about what really matters in a female player’s life.

Everyone knows that these girls derive only a small part of their income from tournament prizes. Most of their fortune comes from endorsements, and to be fair they aren’t different from their male counterparts in that respect.

But, unlike most male players, the women also get paid millions for modelling clothes, and the more photogenic they are, the more they get paid. It helps if they also happen to be successful players, but this isn’t an iron-clad requirement.

For example, back in the early ‘90s Anna Kurnikova became one of the world’s highest-paid athletes even though she never won a professional tennis tournament, never mind a Grand Slam.

Now our Eugenie is as blonde and almost as pretty as Kurnikova, and she is already ranked higher than Anna ever was. Still a teenager, she is already looking at an eight-digit annual income, only a fraction of which from striking tennis balls.

This little preamble helps to understand why, after her 2^nd-round victory, the post-match interviewer asked Eugenie to “give us a whirl”, just like Serena did in the previous round.

The girl obliged, performing a catwalk pirouette eagerly and with more natural panache than Serena can see in her dreams.

All in good fun, you’d think – but you’d be wrong. The interviewer was instantly subjected to a chorus of abuse for being ‘sexist’, with Billy Jean King leading the chants.

Well, I don’t think that women who wear revealing clothes have only themselves to blame if they get raped, but in this instance they do bring this kind of treatment onto themselves.

How many women players do modelling? How many pose for nude, practically nude and salacious photographs? How many times did King compete against Chris Evert, another campaigner against sexism, who played in low-cut dresses emphasising her lack of a bra?

Seriously, girls, you can’t have it both ways. The best way of being treated as players and not mannequins is to spend more time on the practice courts and less in photographers’ studios.

Choose professional dignity over silly money, and no one will ask you to do twirls. And if you make the other choice, don’t utter hypocritical complaints like Serena’s:

“I didn’t really want to twirl because I was just like, you know, I don’t need the extra attention.” Of course you don’t, dear, we all know that.

But the grammar needs a bit of remedial work. Ask Kim and Andy – they’ll teach you how to talk f***ing proper, like.

 

 

  

 

 

 

 

Surely you must know this? Napoleon was one of the greatest men in history, while the Duke of Wellington was a ‘frightful nobody’.

That explains why Napoleon was the true victor in the Battle of Waterloo, at least “in terms of public relations, in terms of his historical importance.”

This peculiar take on history came from Frank Samson, the French lawyer who’ll play Napoleon in the re-enactment to be staged in commemoration of the bicentenary of the famous battle.

Now an inability to come to terms with reality has been widely covered in psychiatric literature, usually under the rubric SCHIZOPHRENIA. This condition is of much interest, but mostly to specialists, of whom I’m emphatically not one.

The only reason I’m commenting on Mr Samson’s apparent illness, whatever its diagnosis, is that it afflicts enough Frenchmen to be regarded as a national characteristic.

Many French people have a compulsion to insist that la France is not only Belle but also Grande. This it definitely is, but repeating this demonstrable fact non-stop betokens a morbid sense of national inferiority, of recent provenance but already deeply entrenched.

One of the milder symptoms is the urge to keep telling all and sundry that everything French is sans pareil simply because it’s French. Much more severe is another symptom: failure to understand what it is that makes a country great.

France’s greatness is inscribed in history by her great Gothic cathedrals, which the country generously exported to England.

By the ineffable beauty of her towns and villages, each adorned with a perfect Romanesque or Gothic church (or at least so it seems in our part of Burgundy).

By the medieval University of Paris shining onto the world the light emanating from Abélard, Peter Lombard, Albert the Great and Aquinas.

By the satirical genius of Rabelais and Molière, and the dramatic genius of Racine and Corneille.

By the mathematics of Fermat, Descartes and Poincaré.

By the religious thinker Pascal and political thinker Montesquieu (with some reservations). By Chardin and Baudelaire, Debussy and Ravel, Stendhal and Pasteur…

This name-dropping could go on and on, and the longer it gets the more indisputable will France’s claim to true greatness become.

However, true greatness often co-exists with the faux variety: equating this aspirational quality with physical might. Suddenly we find ourselves face to face with the symptomatic picture of the disease I mentioned earlier.

Might doesn’t make right; in any significant sense it’s the other way around. Martial glory is virtuous only in defence of a virtuous cause – unjust war, no matter how cleverly and heroically fought, can never add to a country’s glory. It can only subtract.

It ought to be evident that Napoleon, undoubtedly a gifted military leader, fought unjust wars against the rest of Europe. Hence, for all those Marengos, Austerlitzes and Ulms, he reduced rather than increased the glory of France.

Napoleon was a blood-thirsty tyrant who sought to impose France’s, or rather his own, domination on much of the civilised world. Millions of people, including almost two million Frenchmen, had to die before this infamy was stopped.

Bonaparte’s behaviour in some of the wars was shameful enough to reveal his monumental egocentricity. Whenever the going got tough, as it did in red-hot Egypt and ice-cold Russia, he’d abandon his troops and rush off to Paris to mitigate the political fallout threatening to end his career.

Any commander who didn’t boast dictatorial powers would have been court-martialled for that sort of thing, but Napoleon lived to fight the battle of Waterloo in which he was soundly thrashed by the Duke of Wellington.

It takes stratospheric ignorance to describe Wellington as a ‘frightful nobody’. Unlike Napoleon, he won every battle he ever fought, and most of those were fought against French armies.

In the Peninsular War Wellington not only wiped Napoleon’s generals all over Iberia but he also revolutionised tactics and training.

Like his naval counterpart Nelson (another nobody?), he developed new ways of maximising fire power in battle: a Wellington infantryman could fire three shots a minute, as opposed to a Napoleonic soldier who could only manage two.

Above all, his cause was just: the Iron Duke fought to liberate Europe from a tyrant. Hence he contributed to the greatness of France by saving the country from herself. Wellington prevented France from perpetrating even more evil, which she would have done had Napoleon stayed in power.

The French ought to remember that for a country to be great, it has to be good. Goodness by itself is enough to give it a shot at greatness, even if its physical bulk or economic strength can’t compete with some other lands.

This isn’t just a moral statement or a comment on remote French history. It’s also a clue to understanding much of France’s politics over the last 150 years.

For the French have always responded to setbacks, military or economic, with morbid sensitivity. For example, having been defeated by the Prussians with contemptuous ease in 1870-1871, the French allowed their wounded pride to become fire-eating revanchism.

That was a significant contributing factor of the First World War, and therefore the Second. In the latter one it took Nazi Germany 40 days to bring France to her knees, and she has been desperately trying to get up ever since.

This manifested itself in a national version of Stockholm syndrome, with the vanquished falling in love with the victor. Somehow, working hand in hand with their Nazi colleagues for four years convinced French bureaucrats that clutching Germany’s coattails was the only way France could recover her greatness.

The two got in bed together and, by acting as the active partner in this congress, the Germans fertilised France’s wounded pride. Thus the European Union was born.

The marriage was never a union of equals, and the disparity between the two has grown to a point where it takes acrobatic mental gymnastics for the French to persuade themselves that they are still the top European dog.

Meanwhile, they play their little games, trying to glorify Napoleon and to turn his defeats into victories ex post facto. That only exacerbates the original error of judgement, turning this truly great country into a bit of a laughingstock.

 

 

 

   

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

  

 

 

 

 

 

On Saturday morning, Putin’s bandits used Putin’s Grad missile launchers to hit a residential quarter in the Ukrainian city of Mariupol on the Azov Sea.

Altogether 120 rockets were fired, killing 30 and wounding 102. Most of the victims were civilians.

The spotting services for the barrage were kindly provided by a Mariupol resident, who turned out to be a traffic cop, not a universally admired profession at the best of times.

His communications with the Russian officers operating the Grads were intercepted, and I listened to them with some interest and more sadness.

There I was, hoping that in the 42 years that I’ve been away the Russians had shifted the ratio of obscenities to normal words in the direction of the latter. Alas, if anything, the reverse is true.

For that reason I can’t quote the exchange verbatim, but the gist of it is that the battery commander was concerned about the 9-storey blocks of flats in the immediate vicinity of the targeted road block.

The spotter told him not to be a wimp and do as he was told. The buildings were far enough away, he said.

After the battery commander had butchered civilians, the traffic cop rebuked him for not doing exactly as he was told and not killing enough. He then suggested that the officer should redeem himself by targeting another residential suburb of Mariupol.

Ukrainian security services managed to arrest the spotter before he destroyed the evidence, making it impossible for Vlad to reassign the blame for the massacre to Nato, the EU, Israel, the USA or else the RSPCA.

Still, Russian military doctrine says that attack is the best defence. There was no defending yet another crime committed by his bandits, so Vlad went on the offensive.

Speaking at a Petersburg university, he explained that it’s wrong to say that his lads are fighting Ukrainians. The perplexed expressions on the students’ faces demanded an elucidation, and it duly came:

“We often say: Ukrainian army… But in essence it’s no longer an army, it’s a foreign legion, in this case a Nato foreign legion, which certainly doesn’t pursue the Ukraine’s national interests… There are different aims there, and they are linked with achieving the geopolitical objectives of containing Russia…”

I get it. Dastardly Nato dressed some unidentified units in the uniforms of Putin’s bandits and launched an aggression against the Ukraine. They then recruited foreign mercenaries to contain the aggression. Makes sense – in fact, it’s the only thing that can possibly make sense.

Logically speaking, no containment is necessary when there is nothing to contain. In fact, George Kennan came up with the doctrine of containment back in the 1950s, when the Soviet Union was indulging in aggression all over the globe.

By claiming that Nato again seeks to contain Russia, Vlad contradicted his previous claims that the ‘separatists’ had nothing to do with Russia. That is, he openly admitted that Russia yet again presents a mortal danger to the world.

Vlad didn’t specify the ethnic composition of the foreign legion, delegating that responsibility to his house-trained TV chat show. One of the guests there helpfully explained that the so-called Ukrainian army is mostly Albanian mercenaries in Nato’s employ. Glad he made it clear – this explains it all.

Frankly, yet another atrocity scandal is the last thing Vlad needs this week. He has enough headaches as it is.

Another Nato hireling, Standard & Poor, has just cut Russia’s credit rating to the non-investment ‘junk’ status of BB+. Hence Russia finds herself in the choice company of Indonesia and Barbados, the difference being that neither of those seeks global domination.

The rating means no Western company in its right mind will invest in Russia, and the country will have to pay over the odds to borrow from the money markets.

Vlad put on a brave face, and for once he was right. Neither of those consequences matters much.

No one is investing in Russia anyway, quite the opposite. Capital is fleeing the country, to the tune of $152 billion last year – three times the rate of the previous several years. And Western sanctions make it practically impossible for Russia to borrow money anyway.

So S&P can choke on their rating and crawl back into their CIA hole, as far as Vlad is concerned. It’s not the money that rankles, but the humiliation.

And Vlad has been sensitive to humiliation ever since school, when bullies picked on him because he was short. It was humiliation that drove him into a judo dojo and made him seek KGB employment when still a pimply schoolboy.

Both were his way of getting back at those bullies – and the rest of the world while he was at it. And now it’s Nato that’s the bully, along with its S&P hireling.

They think they can hit him in the wallet, but they have another think coming. His personal wallet, bulging with about $40 billion, is perfectly safe, and so are the wallets of the billionaire gangsters who make up Vlad’s coterie.

Speaking of which, to crown it all, those British lackeys to Nato, Mossad and the CIA opened an official inquest into the 2006 murder of Alexander Litvinenko.

That ex-colleague of Vlad’s in the KGB escaped to London and started publishing malicious rumours about Putin’s personal links to organised crime, specifically though not exclusively to the Russian Mafia operating in Spain.

Now Vlad is being accused of having sent two of his trusted KGB henchmen to London, to slip tens of millions’ worth of polonium into Litvinenko’s tea. Well, what if he did?

Wouldn’t you do the same if you were accused of Mafia links, and paying eight figures for polonium was no problem? Of course you would, especially if the accusation were true.

What is interesting about the inquest isn’t its likely outcome. After all, anyone with a bit of common sense knows that Vlad is as guilty as Cain. “Everyone knows” is of course short of proof beyond reasonable doubt, but we aren’t in a court of law now.

The radioactive trail of the polonium leads all the way to Russia, and only her government could get its hands on a substance of which merely 100g is annually produced in the world.

And no government official would have decided to ‘whack’ Litvinenko without a direct authorisation from the Kremlin. This is all even before we start asking the lapidary cui bono question, establishing that, in addition to the means, Vlad had a motive.

What I find fascinating about the inquest is its timing. After all, Litivinenko’s widow and her lawyers were seeking justice in vain for eight years, in the face of HMG’s reluctance to pursue the matter.

Yes, everyone knew that Putin was involved, but rocking the boat wasn’t ‘helpful’ at a time when HMG chose to overlook the openly criminal nature of Vlad’s kleptofascist regime. Hence a bit of nuclear terrorism in the middle of London was overlooked as an unfortunate hiccup on the way to Russia’s shining democratic future.

Justice was held hostage to politics. Now the political situation has changed, and justice has been set free. If Vlad decides to take it easy on the Ukraine before the end of the inquest, justice will again be manacled. 

Verily I say unto you, the rule of law does work in mysterious ways in today’s Britain. Perhaps the Hague Tribunal will do better when it finally gets its hands on Vlad.