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The Death of England...

Lies in the desperate expression of our PM as he tells us that Great Britain taking in more refugees will not help the refugee situation. This, when pictures of drowned toddlers are splashed across the front pages, this after he endlessly banged on about his poor baby Ivan as a riposte to anyone who dared suggest he wouldn't protect the NHS. But there are babies and babies as we see. Beware the image in the link.


I cannot sleep.

We stayed at Bodrun, learned to scuba dive there. One night we sat on a wicker sofa on the beach, torches lit on either side, and we drank Efes beer and watched St Peter's castle as the night came in, a beautiful night.

The people of Munich donated so much to migrants they had to be asked to stop. Iceland, supposed to take in 50 refugees finds itself with 10,000 citizens ready to help. And Britain?

I have never been so ashamed of our wretched Prime Minister, and while never a Conservative by nature, am shocked at the depravity, the craven heartlessness of this government. If this is finally what England has been reduced to, I am utterly ashamed of what we have become.

I had a dream a few nights back about a terrible white giant, with pale eyes and a long white beard and long white hair. In my dream I called him Albion, but he was nothing like Blake's vision.I thought he was Bran the Blessed, but he looked more like some monstrous Vortigern or Uther. He assured me he knew everything there was to know about winning and surviving. But what happens after? And now I think about it, I know what he reminds me of... a colder less crazed version of Goya's Saturn Devouring His Son.

Remembering the beach at Bodrun, I need to find something constructive to believe about our people. There are some excellent folk trying, doing their best, all across the continent, and here too, very kind, grand people. It's important to focus on that. I am so glad I dreamed of Olivia and Derry last night, so happy and kind.

I almost feel sorry for David Cameron; if he believes in any form of afterlife, he must feel his chances of being united with his son are slipping away faster than that little Syrian boy's breath slipped away under the water. What does it benefit a man to gain the world and lose his soul?

And this little island is not the world.



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