Day 140. Nazi punks **** off (19/5/19)

(Quick service announcement - today's going to be the last daily version of the blog. It originally existed in order to get the writing muscle working again. Writing is now the day job. Which is brilliant but makes this something that HAS to be done rather than something that I want to be doing. I don't like stopping when I've said I'll do it every day all year but it's something that comes at the end of a day of writing about what I really want to be writing.  I'll pop in from time to time, when I feel the actual need to put something in here but why do it every day if it's half hearted? None of us would be into that. So, to bow out, let's talk about fascists.)


I love this new job, this new life; it's everything I've built to for the last few years. Sitting in rooms with actors giving weight to your words is as wonderful a way of spending your time as you could possibly imagine. And the fact that it's flexible in terms of the hours and days that you work is brilliantly liberating.

But sometimes that means that there are, admittedly very minor, sacrifices to be made.

I spent today in rehearsals for the rehearsed reading of Silver Meadows which we'll conduct next Friday in the Everyman studio.

Which meant I couldn't be in Bootle to extend a warm welcome to that hideous racist dwarf 'Tommy Robinson'.

Are we calling him that? Are we dignifying him by using the name he adopted in order to avoid reply from those he was openly racially abusing.

Yaxley-Lennon. Let's call him by his given name. Let's say who he really is.

Today he, and his small band of bigots, rocked up in Bootle as part of his campaign to become an MEP, to be elected to an institution that they don't believe in but are willing to receive pay from, just like their patron saint, king gobshite Nigel Farage.

And I wasn't there to see the result of his ill planned visit. But I've watched the videos from twitter. Repeatedly.

One of his puerile acolytes made a decision. He decided that the most appropriate course of action to take in Bootle was to inform the residents that Liverpool was a shithole. Which is the point that he discovered that you don't mess with the women of Bootle.

The film, of him racing away, captured from his own viewpoint, is glorious. The coverage of the police officers' backs that he documents while hiding behind them, in some shrubbery, while claiming to be trapped behind them and pleading assault, is a thing of beauty.

And it throws up a question.

If racists show up somewhere we're they're not wanted, where there are about 50 people waiting to greet them positively and hundreds more willing to express the fact that tolerance stops when it comes to having Nazis walking our streets, how do they then complain that they've been wronged?

A rhetorical question but, just how bloody stupid are these scummy little hate-mongers?

When the police sent to protect you, on the money of people who aren't racists and don't want you there, outnumbers both yourselves and your motley supporters, surely the message has got to sink in that you're not actually wanted anywhere?

When all you can hear is chants of 'Nazi scum, off our streets' does it not register that the Nazis they're referring to is you?

The truth is, these people have no sizeable following. These people are stupid beyond belief, hateful beyond imagination and genuinely not supported in the manner they attempt to portray.

And their appalling worldview has been indulged by the media for far too long.

Stop reporting on them, watch their message fail to spread.

They're nothing.

And the right minded working class do not want them, no matter what they claim.