Source: Bigstock

When the Shadow Chancellor describes those responsible for an accidental fire as murderers, when one Ishmahil Blagrove demands a revolution following Grenfell, and when an MP demands a white middle-class judge step down for being white and middle-class, it’s time for wet Conservatives to pull their finger out, give the police the freedom to reinstate law and order, and make the word “racist” one and the same as the word “fire” in a crowded cinema. The fascist left calls anyone who doesn’t agree with them racist, so it’s time to take away their slogan by saying yes, and proud of it. Being a racist has nothing to do with race; it has to do with order and shutting down those posturing demagogues of the left. They are the bigots, they are the internet trolls who charge the police with being racist, they are the ones who incite violence. But the walls will grow hairs before those silver-tongued jerks in power do something about it.

But enough about scum. The question posed to us twenty Pugs members last week was, to be or not to be? Should the club of twenty-one members continue, following the death of our founder and president Nick Scott? We posed the question during our annual lunch, which began at 12:45 and ended at around eight that evening. We decided to give everyone present an equal vote—a dangerous principle, I agree, but we were all hungover from Prince Pavlos’ bash in the Cotswolds. To our delight, everyone voted to keep going, like Captain Scott of South Pole fame, with probably the same results. What we didn’t agree on was a president to succeed Captain Scott. Commodore Hoare and Count Bismarck suggested that I be head, but I rejected that out of hand. I can’t even find a porn site, let alone run a club. The ideal would be Bob Miller, a man as generous as he is rich, and a great club benefactor. By eight that evening we were too far gone to decide, so we remain rudderless and without a führer. But life could be far worse—we could have Corbyn at 10 Downing.