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London Freedom March
Saturday September 23rd 2023
On Saturday, there was a big Freedom March in London, and although I’ve been on nearly every march, I had very mixed feelings about going on this one.
For starters, Andrew Bridgen MP-ish, had been promoting it on Twitter. Regardless of his Damascene conversion in late 2022 — which he has stated many times was due to the ‘science™️ changing’ – this is a man who voted for the criminal lockdowns, (including January 2021), and compulsory injections for care home workers. Recently, he claimed that he had personally helped stop the Covid-19 injections being given to children aged 6 months - 4 years old.
This is simply not true. They never stopped, and the National Death Service are giving boosters to that age group.
As I’ve said countless times, what ‘scientific evidence’ does anyone need to convince them that something is evil? Morality and ethics has fuck all to do with a periodic table.
Perhaps be more discerning when choosing your ‘heroes?’
On the subject of raging narcissists, I’ve noticed that there are a lot of people in this ‘Freedom Movement’ who are intoxicated by the idea of ‘celebrity’. This especially applies to celebrities themselves. If, after all this time, you haven’t understood that the idea of celebrity is nothing more than meaningless baubles, then you have learnt nothing.
When humanity is on its knees, nobody cares that you used to prop up the bar at the Groucho Club with *insert name*.
Talking of revolution, where was Neil Oliver on Saturday? A couple of weeks ago on Twitter, the lyrical whisperer called for revolution. Not once, but twice. He was deadly serious too. But don’t worry everyone, Laurence Fox turned up at the march with his new bit of stuff, and like true revolutionaries, they were wearing matching camouflage jackets. You’ve still got to look the part, darling.
The revolution will be televised, with sponsorship from Pfizer.
I decided to head straight to Trafalgar Square. On my way up the Mall, I passed roads that were cordoned off, and ubiquitous pink signage. Apparently there was some kind of marathon this weekend, sponsored by Vitality, a private health insurance company. I wonder if they cover the damage caused by the lockdowns and Covid-19 vaccines?
As I weaved in and out of tourists, rabbiting away in languages I’ve lampooned many times on Abi Daily, I suddenly felt overwhelmed by the familiar cocktail of weary determination, and hope, that has drenched me numerous times over the past three years.
Police vans were gathering like the ominous clouds over London, and Trafalgar Square loomed like a familiar friend in the distance. I could just make out a throng wrapped around the base of Nelson’s Column in Trafalgar Square, and I heard people shouting:’Get Rishi out! Had the Freedom March splintered off and got there early? I could see t-shirts with the slogan: Don’t bully my breed. Turns out it was a protest against banning an American breed of dog called XL Bullies.
Ban the Bullies would actually be a good slogan for the Freedom Movement. After all, Gates et al have mauled humanity, and left it bleeding.
I heard some more commotion coming down the west side of Trafalgar Square. As a morass of royal blue and gold feudalist stars descended, I realised it was a Rejoin the EU March. It was a veritable sea of Smurf-hued, deluded wankers. Middle classness wafted off them like steam rising from a fresh turd. I could smell the joyless stench of soy, and Guardian print on their lockdown-loving, lily-white, Islingtonite hands as they screeched: ‘Bollocks to Brexit!’ A lot of them were wearing blue berets, which made them look like a Frank Spencer tribute act. I must confess I did shout ‘ooh Betty, the cat’s done a whoopsie!’ quite a few times.
I got amongst the berets. I asked a woman, who looked like she owned several cats, what she thought about the EU funding a proxy war alongside the US, using our money? I asked a young-ish man why he wanted any part in a place that has, over the last three years in particular, subjected its citizens to unrelenting tyranny under the guise of ‘for the greater good?’ I prefaced each interaction with the phrase: I am not so much interested in right and left, as right and wrong.
A woman, who reminded me of a young Bella Emberg, looked straight at me; patted her arm, and snarled, ‘I LOVE vaccines.’
I spoke to a young couple who were standing nearby with their kid. I think they were German, or Austrian. I asked them what they thought of countries like Germany and Austria, who gleefully stomped on basic human liberties, introduced vaccine passports, and segregated people based on their vaccine status? I told them that I remembered hearing that in Austria, for instance, they made school children stand at the front of the class, and reveal their parents’ vaccine status.
‘It’s almost like the Third Reich never actually ended’, I quipped.
After what seemed like an eternity of cunts advertising the joys of global feudalism under the Fourth Reich, I could see the familiar bright yellow placards coming up behind slow-moving police vans. I felt tearful. I’ve been on so many marches in all kinds of weather with these good people. Next to the deluded, entitled Smurfs, our Freedom March crew looked cool as fuck. They are the Michael Balls to our Ice Cubes.
I joined my beautiful Ice Cubes, and stopped briefly to speak to people who were watching from the pavement. One exchange I had was with a guy from Malaysia. I explained what the march was about. He said that in his country it’s very strict on free speech, unlike in Britain. I replied that I’d recently been arrested for swearing, and held for 17 hours, and that everything we hold dear is in jeopardy. I told him about the sinister Online Safety Bill that was an excuse for state censorship. He seemed surprised for a moment, then replied: ‘Yes, we must always be free to question the narrative.’
True revolution starts in the heart, and mind.
As we processed slowly down to Parliament Square, past Downing Street, I looked at some of the placards and noticed that the concerns had definitely widened in scope; ULEZ, Sadiq Khan, Net Zero, WEF, Covid-19 vaccines… and so on… but the main thrust, as always, was:
LEAVE US THE FUCK ALONE, YOU PSYCHOPATHIC CUNTS
The march stopped at Downing Street, and people threw tennis balls with tiny messages written on them, through the black, iron gates. A quintessentially English way of rebelling, I thought. Anyone for a quick game of revolution, darling?
After a quick drink with my friend Martin, I headed home. On my way, I saw Piers Corbyn in a side street talking about the fires in Hawaii.
Dog lovers, beret-wearing feudalists, and freedom fighters.
What a time to be alive.
We fight on, bit by bloody bit.
Till the next time.
Be seeing you.