#
The Cockney Translater!





Ok kiddiewinkles, it’s hotting up in the green and pleasant land.


I have a nice little story about the thin blue line.


It’s more a fat gold line.

(Some very fat, some poor old souls skinny)

I met a very honest sergeant recently!


We All know who the culprit is, well more interestingly, what is the culprit, (can an organisation/organism be a culprit?).

Anyway.

Lots of weird culprits hiding amongst slightly old fashioned, well meaning old men hanging on by their fingernails to life.

Usually white, not always.

I’m not self hating (I’m a white bloke)

I’m not proud either, how silly.

Proud of what?

Exactly...

That is an honest question Mr/Mrs wannabe controller/deity.

Ask yourself, now.

For the sake of the iron mask?


Why are you so proud?

Have a think about it, it may hurt a bit...




Remember you’re proud, that usually means you’re proud of something; surely your integrity and honour are in there somewhere?


So be honest with yourself and write down exactly why you have this pride in the geographic local you were born on, and, the particular pride you have at which particular vagina you popped out of...

I would just like a very simple (as I’m an ignorant peasant) explanation, of why your proud of those two facts alone.

In writing, thanks.


I’m rather peeved at your behaviour, your low intent.

I’m talking to the infiltration...

I’m talking to the shadow...

I’m pretty qualified to do so...




I have some very damming personal evidence about the freemasons in the UK police force.

I also have evidence of collusion betwixt them and their American counterparts.

If you are a black mason, TAKE YOUR FUCKIN RING OFF RIGHT NOW YOU MISGUIDED FOOLS.


Still that’s for another day eh.


Just a quick note about my racial orientation:

I understand the grandparent calculations.

I understand the data of migration,

I understand the genetic unfathomable mix...


I’m not religious, so therefore not racist or of "fixed” mind.




In fact it was said best by a mate, a few mates actually, of mine back in the hood.

In my neighbourhood there was a very diverse mix.

Quite frankly I loved it...not all my white friends did, but I did.


My grandmother was very friendly, everyone knew her.


Her funeral stopped park lane (the road the Tottenham ground is in)


Everyone liked her; I didn’t ever see as a man or child anyone have cross words with her. She told you, you listened.


She cleaned betting offices for a local boy.

He wasn't completely legitimate.


She did it to back up her pension as she was over sixty five at the time.

She loved people and was very generous (too generous).

In the summer holidays when I was at junior school, she would take me with her, I was such a little shit I couldn't be trusted alone.


So while my mum was at work she would drag me all over London cleaning.

I wouldn’t help at first.

Then I did, after some arguments, where I was made to feel exactly as I should.

So here I am going round wiv me Nan cleaning the betting offices and shops...

At seven.

After a while she got another job and another, so she started working with a Jamaican woman that lived on the farm (Broadwater Farm in Tottenham) I think she asked about for help, or put a note in the local papershop.

So it gets answered by a very big woman called Cynthia.


I hated her at first, she was tough.

My Nan said to her while gripping my hand tightly at the end of every sentence, "see this one here, (smiling) if he gives you any gip, you have my permission to sort him out.

Treat him as your own in this.”


Cynthia had a son.

He was a very good boy.

He went to church with his mum.

He did what she said.


I thought he was a bit of a pussy.

I say a bit, because I saw her deal with him on the rare occasion he was stupid enough to cheek her.

Shit, bang.

So I say again, a bit of a pussy, cos to even do anything wrong to her took an amount of foolhardiness, I admired.


I remember one incident when we were all standing at a bus stop.

Me and him had been hanging around in our own time.

So we had become friends of a sort, it was more a dare situation which I started.

I would dare him to do things, he knew dam well I was nutz and did whatever...so he was at a disadvantage on the crazy mad stakes, or as it was known back I the day “bottle" I had plenty of "bottle" I wasn’t a particularly good fighter, I wasn’t big or small just average.

But I was a crazy little fuck, I now know why, I didn’t then.


So here we were, standing at the bus-stop, Cynthia worrying about the effect the white boy is having on her good kid.

Meanwhile being very kind to me (she was lovely).


My Nan had to apologise a few times for what I had got her kid into.

Boy did I get lambed for that.

It was explained to me, by my whole family,

Stop getting that kid in trouble, he is a good kid.

He has enough stacked against him as it is...being black...you know that, what’s wrong with you...

I’m not angry, I’m ashamed...

And so on.

Of course they were right, when I did something absolutely unbelievable (then) like pissing in the headmaster’s desk while being kept in doing lines at lunchtime.

At six years old...roping my friend into it...he got hammered worse than me.


He got the ambassador speech,

We discussed our parents and family's varying justice speeches regularly pissing ourselves

Laughing.


He would be told to act better because people were expecting him to be a problem, so he was to suck it up and rise above it...as an example to others in his predicament.

I was to stop getting him in trouble because I should know better of his plight...

You get the picture...

So back to the bus stop.

We were fucking about...

I was pushing him, he was pushing me.

Cynthia was looking at us with the corner of her eye.

So we were pushing her too, eh, lol.


And we knew, ya do don’t ya, lol. As a kid, pushing the button, until pop, they go...

The boundary.

I remember, what happened exactly because of my mum’s reaction to what I said, when relaying it later.


Cynthia was getting fed up and she started to look at us...

She had this thing she would do with her brolly.

It had a button, when it was done up with the little fastener around the canopy, she could press the button and it would fire out with a snap, she would follow that like Arnie saying a line...

Snap went the brolly and she said "deaf children feeeeeeel" lol.

We then stood still, cos she clumped you wiv it fucking hard if you did anything but shut it and stand still.


I told my parents what happened at the dinner table.


We were pushing each other.

I pushed him and he pushed me, he didn’t mean to at all, but I fell in the road, Tottenham high road, busy as fuck...

And it happened just as the routemaster bus pulled up.


I was in no danger what so ever.

The bus driver saw us was slowing down.

He pulled up a bit sharp to make a point.

As a result the conductor got off and came to the front.


He went crazy at Cynthia, and then at her kid.

I stood up and kept quiet cos really it was my fault eh, I was the shit that always fucked about...

He was good and I was influencing this good kid...


So in my head standing there in the road...it was all my fault and I dam well knew.

There was the conductor calling Cynthia who I loved, names...

Her kid was crying...

Everyone was looking.

This was seventies England, London. Tottenham...


Cynthia held herself together; the conductor didn’t get too lairy cos she was a BIG girl.

A crowd developed. A woman took my arm and marched me to the side of the road.

Asking me if I was ok while brushing my trousers in the wrong place, I fell on my back, she was dusting the front with her hand almost whacking me.

I pulled my arm away, swore at her like a trooper.

I ran over to my family, as I saw it...and let rip...

I spat in the conductors face. Let him have a torrent of abuse worthy of the worst (seven years old lol terrible eh).


It was a mess...


So as you can imagine my Nan was beside herself.

You see they developed a system in the summer cos of the holidays, where she would do all the cleaning one week, and take us both, so we didn't have to go round all these seedy places, then Cynthia would do the same.

It was my Nans work week.

Cynthia had taken us out to get some shoes.


I answered all the questions, straight up, as I always did with my mum and dad when I could see it was something I didn’t understand.

I knew I was not ok, totally, you do, don't you.

I knew I got things very wrong at times.


My mum explained, what I did wrong, what she was ashamed of and made me clean my shoes and she invited every party round the house and I had to apologise.

In person, explaining I understood what I did.

My Nan then took me Tottenham bus garage and made me apologise to the conductor, which she explained was bullshit cos he was a prick and she hated that I did what I did, when I should know better.

(My whole family and society at the time was different spitting was fucking low).

Of course, also she had the added thing which I didn’t know at the time, namely that I was a gypsy and we had bought a house and were trying to hide the fact.


So it really got to everyone.


I learnt lots of lessons.


When a week later I was allowed out on my own recognisance, I went and knicked for a mate who went and knocked for Cynthia’s kid.


He came out running down the ramp in the flats.

Sup?

I said I’m sorry, he said don’t worry about it.


That same kid later explained to me why I was not considered a wigger by all my black mates, when they clearly spoke about another white kid that hung about with us. As one...

He said, ‘we all know where we stand with you.

You don’t act black...you know you’re white...’


The other kid couldn’t be trusted.

I knew they were right.

Cos I saw that guy in the pub with his workmates...

And the convo was peppered with various racist statements.


I asked him when we were alone why he was such a cunt.

We had a fight about it.

I smashed two of his teeth out.

He stopped hanging around with us.

I didn't tell the others (they would have fucked him up)

They wouldn't bother me with such shit (slow me down)

We had bigger plans.

Didn't we.




I went into music, to turn over the fuckers, and take the money.

Like I always did.

We were a crew, we run things in our manor.


I had just turned twenty.


It gets much worse...

The coincidence,

The amazing shit that unfolded.

We were clearly along for the ride.


I’m fifty, now I’m ready to fuck them good.


And they know it.

So they are gonna come...

We have been harassed on a daily basis by the police.

The local authority.

We have had four lawyers run away, one of which I had known for 15 years (a friend) she warned me as best she could.

Without incriminating herself.

There are absolutely thousands reading now.


Now I’m a problem.

Too many looking, too much known, to dirty, no bullshit.


You’re being farmed by a sect of freemasons, they aren’t freemasons really, they just use that to forward there advantage.


They are using the terror to clamp you up for good.

Guess what, they nearly got away with it.



But again coincidence fucked 'em,

The feeling.


The poor.


The rich.


It’s over.


It’s a fish flapping on the dock,

And know one is more surprised than me.






A visualisation of a thing is a hell of a thing.

I have some visuals.

We will start off gentle, like a barley circle.


I have some clever people’s notes that are no longer with us, they were explained to as best they could be, given the time pressure.

I am very willing to share them with you in person, discuss them.

I will do that in an informal manner, at a dinner we have.


You’re asked if your name is in the hat, if you ask you are avoided at all costs.

There is one space in the hat that is randomly filled, some will know the reason for that (its secret historic) so send your name if you have a brain, no violence and no lie are the only criteria.

Security are there to protect against accident.

In a publicly accessed building.

You are not the audience, so if you are usually, I would stay that way, for your own piece of mind.


Tel No. 01438 811775