Nick Booth 8 Sept. Police Records.

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Nick Booth 8 Sept. Police Records.

Postby abrogard » Tue Sep 25, 2012 12:10 am

This is another one of those many Spectator stories that tell a horrific story of what's happening to Old England.

They go unremarked.

They are little indicators of the direction things are going and the state of play. Little wind socks showing which way the wind, tide markers showing how high the water, flow gauges showing the strength of the stream.

They are like sieves, sifting the impurities and displaying the contamination.

They go unremarked. Read as amusing 'pieces', a few column inches, this week's contribution to your light reading.

But they are starkly horrifying indicators of a possibly terminally ill society.

You have to have been wronged. You have to have been hurt. You have to have been tricked, unfairly accused, abandoned by justice and friends. You have to have been there and experienced it before you understand. Until then it's all academic. Mere words. Wordplay. Semantic nonsense. Drawing room drollery and supercilious discussion of 'elevated' principles.

There used to be a joke in the Army: "You can't lock me up!" "Mind you're fingers." "Clang".

It sums up for a dark laugh the reality of the new civilian recruit to whom everything is such 'drawing room' concepts' who right to the last instance cannot believe that he can be treated such.

Of course he can be locked up.

Fairly or unfairly, it makes little difference. The ultimate truth is that we are all less than pawns in our own societies and fate tends to randomness. It has always been so. 'Advance' for societies, nations, cultures is largely a matter of coming to terms with this fact and attempting to mitigate it as much as possible.

And the darker substratum is that not only can you be randomly locked up but you can be randomly consigned to a front line and killed or randomly shelled out of existence miles behind the front line... and so on.

In the same way these indicators show a dark truth that the uninitiated simply have no ability to comprehend.

They think they can't be locked up. But the cell door is opening before them.

Your police records are now subject to arbitrary and nonsensical composition.

How Kafkaesque can it get before comprehension dawns?

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