NEW YORK—One felt the backlash against the BNP–BBC fiasco all the way to the Big Bagel, with local papers commenting on the lynching of Nick Griffin by rent-a-crowd minorities. Even people who think England is in Canada heard about it and called the freak show unfair and stage-managed, confirming the perception that Britain is a nation that has totally lost its way. Personally, I wasn’t surprised in the least. Dimbleby is a pompous clown, Jack Straw a mincing shyster of a man posing as a leader of men, and Griffin is, well, Griffin: it is the unbearable picking on the unsuitable. I particularly liked the scenes outside the BBC, where wild, hairy ethnic types with bandanas screamed abuse at the police and at everyone and no one in particular. An English friend of mine who lives over here said that outrage seems to be a very English thing nowadays. “Or what passes for English.”

I was in London and living near the Danish embassy when the cartoon controversy almost shut down half the city, and the faces shouting abuse and exhorting people to burn and murder were the same ones that were outside the Beeb last week. It is now known that Blair, Brown, Straw and the rest of the gang that hijacked Britain planned the mass immigration that has made parts of the country uninhabitable. So I ask you, who deserves to be abused by the audience, Straw or Griffin? If the BBC had not stacked the deck with a rent-a-crowd, that is.

When I read that a Saudi court had sentenced a journalist to 60 lashes after she was charged with involvement in a TV show in which a Saudi man talked about sex, my first thought was to imagine the fat, pink Dimbleby being whipped for presiding over a hate show. In fact, if and when Sharia law comes to Britain, it’ll be fun to see all those ghastly people in reality programmes being whipped non-stop by the thought police. Not that it’s much better over here. During a car-racing promo, the rhetorical question “Where is Juan Pablo Montoya” was asked. Montoya is a racing driver. “He’s out getting a taco,” quipped the analyst Bob Griese, a once-famous football (American) hero. You’d think he had insulted Martin Luther King. All hell broke loose, despite the fact that Montoya is white, employed, very rich and able to speak English. Griese had to eat more humble pie than Griffin, from the chattering classes, of course, as the Latino ones were out getting tacos and missed it.

Mind you, what Blair, Brown and Straw did to Britain the grotesque Ted Kennedy did to America way back in 1965, when he passed South African apartheid immigration laws in reverse. Kennedy lived, like Dimbleby, in ritzy, secure houses among people of his own kind. Kennedy would never dream of living among those that the laws he helped pass had brought into the country. The BBC has recast many British people as dangerous forces of hate against blacks and Muslims, but all these people want is a fair shake where traditional British values are concerned. By stage-managing a hate show last week, Dimbleby and the BBC and the ghastly Straw shot themselves in the foot and then some. They should beware of “the angry white male” theory, if there are any white males left in a future UK, that is.

Otherwise everything’s hunky dory. I see that my old friend Marc Rich has come clean in a book and admitted that he traded with the enemy and made billions in return. He would, wouldn’t he? About ten years ago, the then Spectator proprietor, Lord Black, had a fit against the poor little Greek boy when I wrote that Mossad had tipped off Rich not to fly privately to Spain because the Feds were planning to force down his plane and bring him back to justice in the States. Among some of the epithets he called me was Goebbels. Boris Johnson, then practising a much nobler profession as editor of the Speccie, defended me as best he could and I survived. Not that Lord Black wanted me fired, more likely suspended, like a naughty schoolboy caught talking in chapel. Now Taki has been justified. Once the Swiss refused to extradite him—I wonder why?—the Americans planned a snatch job by helicopter, landing in Zug, where the bum lives, but they backed off. My source is as good as it gets, and the plane job was on until Mossad, listening in on the American base in Italy, got wind of it. Poor little Taki. I almost got canned for writing the facts.

Rich is, of course, unapologetic about a life in crime, but being pardoned by a scumbag like Bill Clinton makes one, I suppose, innocent and as good as the rest of us, except much richer. Laws, after all, are there only to be respected by those without access to power or Mossad. Some readers might remember that I ran into this rat in the garage of my chalet, of all places. He was staying with my next-door neighbour and that Marie Christine of Kent woman (a nice little groupetto). I shouted at him and told him he belonged in jail. It was water off you-know-who’s back. The bum’s skin is thicker than Blair’s.