Freedom of Information Request – Recorded information on Alaa Abd El-Fattah (also known as Alaa Abdel Fattah)

 

Subject: Freedom of Information Request – Recorded information on Alaa Abd El-Fattah (also known as Alaa Abdel Fattah)

Dear Sir/Madam,

Under the Freedom of Information Act 2000, please provide copies of all recorded information held by the Foreign, Commonwealth & Development Office relating to Alaa Abd El-Fattah (British-Egyptian dual national, date of birth: 18 November 1981), specifically:

1 Any briefings, submissions, memos, emails, notes, or correspondence prepared for or provided to ministers (including the Foreign Secretary, Prime Minister, or No. 10 Downing Street) concerning his case, including his potential return to the UK, consular support, or background assessments, from 1 July 2024 to 27 December 2025.

2 Any recorded information, including reports, risk assessments, intelligence summaries, or due diligence checks, referencing or analysing his historical social media posts, online statements, or past public comments (from any period prior to 2025).

3 Any internal or inter-departmental correspondence (e.g., with the Home Office or Cabinet Office) discussing potential concerns, risks, or public statements related to his return to the UK, from 1 September 2025 to 27 December 2025.

If the request is too broad, please assist by advising how it may be refined or provide the information in stages.

Thank you.

Ken Frost

Submitted to the Cabinet Office, Home Office and Foreign Office 

The Three Tweets of Delight

 

We three kings of Downing Street are
Bearing tweets that travel afar,
Full of delight,
Hypocrite's plight,
Welcoming hate from lands afar.

Chorus:
O-oh, tweets of blunder, tweets of fright,
Tweets that caused a backlash overnight,
Leading onward, virtue signaled,
Yet the old posts came to light.

Starmer posting, "I'm delighted!"
Lammy echoes, quite excited,
Cooper joins in, all united,
Bringing home a man indicted.

Chorus

Gold forgotten, frankincense none,
Myrrh replaced by outrage spun,
"Top priority," they boasted proudly,
Blind to posts that screamed so loudly.

Chorus

Extremist views from years ago,
Calls for killing, hate on show,
Yet they gushed without a care,
Now backpedaling in despair.

Chorus

Glorious now? Behold the mess,
Claims of ignorance they profess,
Pledging fight 'gainst antisemitism,
While their tweets show poor judgement's schism.

Chorus
O-oh, tweets of blunder, tweets of fright,
Three "delighted" posts that sparked the fight,
East or West, the gift unwanted,
Labour's judgement sorely haunted.

Labour MP Wears Poppy in Christmas Video

 

Only a few days til Christmas Day, and I know we’ll be busy getting everything ready!🎄

These are some of my traditions- old & new👇🏼 pic.twitter.com/3NDa9g52y7

— Steve Reed (@SteveReedMP) December 22, 2025

Green Councillor Standing Next To Dave Arrested For Slavery

 

Labour's Moronic Free TV Licence Giveaway To The Benefit Classes

 

Nandy and her chums in Labour have come up with, what they think, is a splendid way to prop up their ever diminishing vote by giving those on benefits free TV licences.

This plan has two significant drawbacks:

1 The people who are working will have to pay for it, and will be even more fed up with being bled dry by Labour.

2 Those on benefits don't bother paying for licences, as such they won't notice any difference to their lifestyles and won't be more inclined to vote Labour. 

Starmer The Angel of Death

 

PM tells liaison committee he's aware that some terminally ill farmers are planning to take their own lives before inheritance tax reforms kick in this April.

Source 

Anne Longfield: Starmer's Shameless Slotting of a Crony into the Grooming Gangs Gravy Train – A Betrayal That'd Make the Stasi Snigger

Ah, dear readers of the PalArse, gather round the dying embers of British justice while I pour another round of righteous bile. Just when you thought Keir Starmer's Labour circus had plumbed the depths with their £22 billion fibs and TikTok two-facedness, along comes this fresh turd polished to a peerage: the appointment of Baroness Anne Longfield of Brooklands – yes, that Anne Longfield – as chair of the national grooming gangs inquiry. It's not just tone-deaf; it's a deliberate middle finger to every victim, every taxpayer, and every shred of decency left in this sceptred isle. In the immortal words of our Shakespearean spinners, oh what a tangled web of Westminster wankery Starmer doth weave.

Let's rewind to spring 2015, mere weeks into Longfield's gig as Children's Commissioner for England. This wasn't some wide-eyed do-gooder; no, she was already engineering a shameless abuse of public funds that would embarrass even the most cynical Whitehall operator. Her close associate – and deputy, no less – Sue Berelowitz was granted an inflated £134,000 redundancy payout, well beyond statutory norms, only to be rehired the next day via her freshly incorporated firm at £1,000 per diem. That's potentially £180,000 annually for part-time duties, dear hearts. Bypassing mandatory ministerial oversight for contracts over £20,000, the deal reeked of cronyism and tax evasion, funnelling payments through a limited company to dodge National Insurance. Exposed by The Times, it collapsed amid DFE condemnation, forcing a £10,000 repayment to the Treasury. Longfield's limp defence of "good faith" fooled no one – least of all the survivors now gagging at her elevation.

Fast-forward a decade to autumn 2025, and Sir Keir Starmer bestows a life peerage upon this architect of fiscal impropriety, dubbing her Baroness Longfield of Brooklands, before swiftly slotting her into the chair of an inquiry demanding unflinching impartiality. Her nominal resignation of the Labour whip does little to dispel the stench of bias, given her long-standing Labour connections and friendships within the party – not least with Harriet Harman, her very good friend and veteran Labour MP who has long praised Longfield's work as "such a great gleaner of all the information" that shapes Labour policy on children. Gleaner? More like a magpie nicking shiny baubles from the public purse while the real foxes guard the henhouse.

And oh, the scandals don't stop at dodgy payouts. Dive into the X-verse, where Joe Rich (@joerichlaw) nails it like a hammer to the thumb of truth: Longfield and Berelowitz cooked up one of 2015's biggest scandals in child protection, a whitewash so egregious it makes Rotherham look like an open book. Survivors are already reeling from the scrapping of their advisory panel, decrying this as a "disgusting" whitewash, with critics branding it a £64 million exercise in Labour marking its own homework. As one X reply thunders: "It is pretty obvious that Starmer ennobled this woman so he could appoint her to lead the grooming gang inquiry and limit its scope and findings. The Labour Party is up to its neck in the cover up and Starmer wants to cover this up too." Spot on – and echoed in the chorus of outrage: "The peacocking dictator is a sanctimonious boor who is literally taking the proverbial piss out of every single victim!" from @CathyMo41926708, or @Fortyplus4's plea: "Read the right hand page first. It absolutely stinks. Get someone from abroad... #Liebour are marking their own homework here."

That Starmer would entrust this inquiry – meant as a reckoning for institutional failures – to a figure tainted by such grubby deal-making is not merely inexplicable; it is a grotesque betrayal of victims, taxpayers, and justice itself. In Labour's Britain, evidently, probity is optional, and loyalty trumps all. Survivors howl for names, for accountability; instead, they get a peerage parade and a probe primed for prevarication. No open files, no forensic fury – just another backdoor euthanasia of truth, saving a few bob on real scrutiny while the grooming gangs' shadows lengthen unchecked.

This isn't oversight, comrades; it's orchestration. Labour has zero intention of an open and honest inquiry – why else nobble a Labour loyalist with a rap sheet longer than a Maxwell ledger? Starmer's sanctimonious sons of tools are eviscerating justice faster than they culled winter fuel payments, all to shield their own. Demand better, or watch the PalArse descend into full farce. Contact your MP, flood the feeds – or we'll all be wiping Westminster's collective arse next.

Amazon Suggestions for the Disgusted Reader:

• The Spider: Inside the Criminal Web of Jeffrey Epstein and Ghislaine Maxwell by Barry Levine – because if Longfield's cronies remind you of anything, it's elite enablers dodging the noose.
• Stasi State or Socialist Paradise?: Short Stories of East Germany by Woodrow Hamilton – a timely reminder that surveillance and scandals start with "good faith" cover-ups.
• The Strange Death of Europe: Immigration, Identity, Islam by Douglas Murray – for the grooming gangs context Labour so desperately wants buried.

Starmer Joins Tiktok, Despite Cabinet Ban

 

The British Cabinet have been prohibited from accessing TikTok on official government devices since March 2023. This policy applies to ministers, civil servants, and corporate devices across all departments, with limited exemptions only for specific work-related needs (e.g., the recent launch of an official "ukgov" account under strict security controls). The ban does not extend to personal devices. 

Notwithstanding the ban, Starmer has today started using TikTok to shore up his ever sinking ratings.

He currently has around 1,000 followers, compared to Farage's 1.4 million! 

Dave Wants Migrants To Wipe His Arse

🚨NEW: Zack Polanksi on why we need migration: "I don’t know about you but I don't want to wipe someone's bum" pic.twitter.com/pXjodkHydm

— GB Politics (@GBPolitcs) December 5, 2025

  

Don't be like Dave, don't be an entitled c*nt!

Starmer’s Assisted Dying Lie: The Leaked Docs Prove He’s Engineered a Backdoor Euthanasia Plot to Cull the Elderly and Save a Few Bob on Pensions

 

Oh, what a tangled web we weave when first we practise to deceive – and Keir Starmer, that sanctimonious son of a tool, has spun a silken shroud so vast it could smother the entire geriatric wing of the NHS. Yesterday’s leaked Labour policy note – straight from the bowels of opposition-era scheming – has finally ripped the mask from the Prime Minister’s pious face. For months, Starmer has bleated that the Assisted Dying Bill, Kim Leadbeater’s Private Member’s gambit, was nothing to do with Labour policy. A free vote! Neutrality! Hands off, guv! Bollocks. The documents scream the truth: this was a calculated stitch-up, a secret coordination to legalise state-sanctioned suicide via the back door, all while dodging manifesto scrutiny and parliamentary accountability.

Picture it, dear reader: while the rest of us were faffing about with inflation and winter fuel payments, Starmer’s shadow cabinet huddled in smoke-free rooms, plotting how to funnel euthanasia through a Private Member’s Bill. The leak, splashed across The Guardian and the Mail like yesterday’s takeaway, reveals they knew full well a PMB would let them exert “heavy influence” without the fingerprints showing. No consultation with MPs, unions, or the rank-and-file membership – just a sly nod to Esther Rantzen over the blower, and suddenly Leadbeater “wins” the ballot and picks this poison pill. Coincidence? My arse. This was engineered from the off, a Labour wet dream dressed up as backbench initiative.

And why the deceit? Don’t kid yourself it’s about compassion or dignity in death. This is fiscal vampirism, pure and simple. Labour’s bean-counters – those grey men in the Treasury who dream in spreadsheets – have long eyed the NHS’s £180 billion black hole and the state pension bill ballooning to £120 billion by 2030. Who’s the biggest drain? The old dears, bless ’em: 12 million over-65s sucking up £70 billion in health and social care alone, with winter fuel allowances tossed in like confetti at a funeral. Starmer’s mob genuinely wants to kill off the “burdensome” brigade – not with a bang, but with a quiet prescription for pentobarbital and a pat on the head. It’s eugenics lite, wrapped in the language of choice, designed to thin the herd and plug the fiscal gap. Every grey vote shuffled off this mortal coil saves a fortune in hip replacements and dementia wards. Compassion? It’s cost-cutting with a stethoscope.

This isn’t hyperbole; it’s the grotesque logic of a government that’s already slashed winter fuel for the vulnerable and eyed means-testing pensions like a fox in the henhouse. The leaked note doesn’t just expose the lie – it lays bare the motive. Starmer, the former Director of Public Prosecutions who once oversaw mercy killings on the margins, now plays puppet-master from Downing Street. Neutral? He’s as neutral as a shark in a goldfish bowl.

Of course, this is just the crown jewel in Starmer’s tiara of turds. Remember the £22 billion black hole that wasn’t? The winter fuel betrayal? The endless tax hikes dressed as “fairness”? Lies upon lies, each more threadbare than the last. But this? This is the most egregious, the one that chills the marrow because it’s not about wallets or waiting lists – it’s life and death. A matter of shuffling off the elderly to balance the books, all under the fig leaf of a free vote. When did Labour become the party that engineers quietus for the quietus-challenged? When did “for the many” become “fewer mouths to feed”?

The likes of Dame Meg Hillier are already spitting feathers, calling it a “shadow policymaking process” that evades scrutiny on an issue that could redefine mortality in Britain. And Leadbeater’s camp? They “categorically deny” chats with No. 10. Pull the other one, love – it’s got bells on. As the Lords filibuster with hundreds of amendments this Friday, the stink of this scandal will only grow. But don’t hold your breath for accountability; Starmer’s too busy practising his furrowed brow for the cameras.

So what now, you ask, as the chill wind of December whispers of hemlock on the breeze? Rage, my friends. Rage like Gran on her last legs, refusing the syringe. Demand a full inquiry into these leaks, flood your MP’s inbox with the fury of a thousand Zimmer frames. And when the next election rolls around – 2029, if they don’t rig the calendar – remember: Starmer’s not just a liar; he’s a life-taker in waiting.

In the grand theatre of Westminster, this is Act One of the great cull. Don’t let the curtain fall without a fight.

Yours in unassisted fury,

Ken Palarse

Essential reading for the resistance:

• The Right to Die? by Derek Humphry – the blueprint they’re bastardising
• Being Mortal by Atul Gawande – a humane counterpoint to Starmer’s spreadsheet slaughter
• The Lies of Locke Lamora by Scott Lynch – because if you’re going to con the public, at least do it with flair

The Stasi Would Blush: How Your Labour Government is Hoovering Up Every Tweet, Post and Meme in the Name of “Fighting Misinformation”

Rejoice, citizens of this once-sceptred isle! Big Brother has finally gone official, dropped the pretence, and sent me a lovely letter on Cabinet Office letterhead admitting the bleeding obvious: the Government Communication Service is systematically collecting, storing, and AI-crunching every public social media post you’ve ever made. And yes, that includes your 3 a.m. rant about dinghies in the Channel, your meme of Suella Braverman riding a unicorn, and that time you called the Home Secretary a weapons-grade bellend.

Why are they doing it? To “address potential mis/disinformation”, naturally. Translation: to decide which opinions are allowed to exist in the public square and which must be quietly memory-holed before they upset the approved narrative. The fact that posts about migration are explicitly flagged for “wider thematic reporting” is pure coincidence, comrades. Nothing to see here, move along.

And the cherry on this dystopian cake? They’re packaging up the aggregated fruits of their trawl and shipping it off to “partner governments”. One can only imagine the scene in some windowless room in Langley or Brussels: a civil servant popping open a USB stick marked “British Peasants – Hot Takes 2025” while sipping a flat white and tutting at our collective impertinence.

This isn’t some tinfoil-hatted fantasy. This is the Cabinet Office, in black and white, admitting they’ve built the largest domestic surveillance net in British history and they’re running it through AI faster than you can say “Orwell was an optimist”.

But here’s the delicious part: they still have to pretend to obey the law. GDPR, that glorious European relic we apparently hate now, gives you a handful of rights even Starmer’s Stasi can’t ignore. You can:

• Object to them processing your data
• Demand to know exactly what they’ve hoovered up about you
• Force them to delete it if they no longer have a lawful reason to keep it
• Restrict processing while they squirm

And the beauty? They’ve given us the email address of the poor sod who has to deal with it:
dpo@cabinetoffice.gov.uk

I suggest you drop them a line.

Every single objection lands on a desk. Every request triggers mandatory logging, paperwork, and internal audits. A thousand polite emails become a headache. Ten thousand become a crisis. A hundred thousand become a scandal that even Laura Kuenssberg can’t ignore.

So do it. Do it today. Flood the inbox. Make them choke on their own red tape.

And when they write back with the usual mealy-mouthed guff about “legitimate public interest”, remember this: the East Germans used the exact same phrase.

Yours in glorious, unapproved defiance,

Ken Palarse

P.S. If you’re reading this on your phone while queueing for a coffee you can no longer afford, share it. Share it everywhere. Every retweet is a middle finger to the machine.

How to submit your objection in 30 seconds (copy, paste, send):

Subject: Formal GDPR Objection & Subject Access Request – Delete My Data

Dear Data Protection Officer,

Under Articles 15, 17, 18 and 21 GDPR I:

1. Formally object to any processing of my personal data collected from public social media posts.
2. Require you to provide a full copy of all personal data you hold on me, including any AI-generated profiles or risk scores.
3. Require you to erase all such data immediately as you have no lawful overriding interest that justifies mass surveillance of political speech.

Yours etc.

Amazon affiliate reads for the resistance (because even rebels pay the leccy):

• 1984 by George Orwell – still the blueprint they’re following
• The Gulag Archipelago (abridged) – for when they tell you it can’t happen here
• Live Not By Lies by Rod Dreher – a handbook for the digitally damned

Trial By Jury for Tulip, But Not For Thee or Me

 

It seems that dear old Lammy wants to end trial by jury, he has raised this again today as a means of deflecting from the row over Reeves and Starmer's market manipulation.

Anyhoo, by happenstance Tulip Siddiq (Starmer's ex corruption minister) has been found guilty by a Bangladeshi court of corruption.

How ironic!

The only problem being is that Tulip doesn't agree with the verdict, claiming that it was "farcical and flawed".

For why?

The verdict was decided upon by a judge, not a jury! 

Learn about the history of trial by jury here. 

Rachel Reeves and the Great £22 Billion Lie: How the Chancellor Became Britain’s Biggest Market Manipulator Since Maxwell

Gather round, comrades, for we are witnessing a scandal so brazen it makes the Expenses Duck House look like a Quaker prayer meeting. In the last 24 hours the Office for Budget Responsibility has quietly slipped out the documents that confirm what every half-sentient adult already suspected: Rachel Reeves has been lying – deliberately, repeatedly, and with the cold-eyed calculation of a City wide-boy cooking the books before a float.

Yes, that £22 billion “black hole” she brandished like Excalibur for the entire summer? Pure fiction. A mirage conjured in the Treasury’s smoke-filled rooms and obligingly leaked to friendly hacks at the FT and the BBC. The OBR’s latest release (paragraphs 4.12–4.18 if you’re feeling masochistic) makes it crystal clear: the previous government’s spending plans were already baked into the baseline, the fiscal headroom was there all along, and the terrifying shortfall existed only in the fevered imagination of a Chancellor who needed a pretext to break every promise she made in July.

This wasn’t incompetence. This was a co-ordinated deception. Treasury officials – under direct ministerial instruction – fed selective, misleading figures to the press for months. Bond traders sold gilts, mortgage rates spiked, pension funds took fright, and the pound wobbled like a drunk on a unicycle. In any other walk of life this would be called market manipulation. On Threadneedle Street they call it insider dealing and send you to Belmarsh for less. When the Chancellor of the Exchequer does it, apparently, they give you a standing ovation at the TUC conference.

Let that sink in. A Labour Chancellor – a Labour Chancellor! – weaponised fear of bankruptcy to soften up the electorate for tax rises she always intended to impose. The £40 billion raid on jobs, farms, pensions, and small businesses announced yesterday wasn’t “unavoidable”. It was premeditated. The black hole was the political equivalent of a dead cat on the table: something so shocking that nobody would dare ask why the rest of the banquet tasted of broken promises.

And the sheer brass-necked cheek of it! Standing at the dispatch box yesterday, hand on heart, Reeves still had the gall to claim she only discovered the “true state” of the books after entering office. The OBR has just handed us the receipts proving she knew – or her officials knew, which is the same thing in law – that the scare story was bollocks before the removal vans had even left Downing Street.

This is criminal. Not “ooh isn’t politics awful” criminal. Actual, prosecutable, Companies Act 2006 Section 89 “false or misleading statements inducing investment” criminal. The kind of thing that saw Asil Nadir doing bird and Robert Maxwell doing the backstroke off Tenerife. Except Maxwell never had the keys to the Treasury press office.

So what happens now? Sweet FA, of course. The Crown Prosecution Service won’t touch a sitting Chancellor with a ten-foot bargepole wrapped in parliamentary privilege. The FCA will mutter about “complex market dynamics” and look the other way. And Labour backbenchers who spent five years screaming about Tory sleaze will discover that principles are remarkably elastic when payroll vote is on the line.

But we don’t have to play along. We can remember. We can point, laugh, and never let the bastards forget that the woman currently lecturing us about “tough choices” spent the summer running the biggest con-trick in modern fiscal history.

And when your mortgage payment jumps next spring because the gilt markets were spooked by a lie, send Rachel the bill. She knows where to find the £22 billion she pretended had vanished. It was in her imagination all along.

Yours in perpetual fury,
 

Ken Palarse

Recommended reading :

• Liar’s Poker by Michael Lewis – still the best primer on how markets get played
• The Big Short by Michael Lewis – essential viewing for anyone who thinks governments don’t rig the game
• Bad Blood by John Carreyrou – because Theranos was amateur hour compared to this

Labour's Budget Blame Game: Torsten Bell's Crew vs Reeves' Loyalists – The Circus Starts Three Days Early!

Ah, dear readers of the Palarse – that merry band of Westminster-watchers who've stuck with me through a decade-plus of political pantomimes – gather 'round the virtual bonfire. It's November 24, 2025, and the chill wind of fiscal reality is already whistling through the corridors of power. Just three days shy of Rachel Reeves' big Autumn Budget showdown on the 26th, and what do we have? Not a united front of red-tied revolutionaries ready to "fix the foundations" (as Keir Starmer loves to intone like a malfunctioning mantra), but a full-throated, backstabbing blame bonanza within Labour's own ranks. It's like watching a family reunion where the turkey's still frozen and everyone's pointing fingers at the oven.

Picture the scene: Starmer, that erstwhile human rights lawyer turned PM with the charisma of a damp sock, slotted in Torsten Bell – the wonkish wonderboy from the Resolution Foundation, now MP for Swansea West and self-appointed Pensions Tsar – to "advise" (read: rein in) his Chancellor. Bell, with his sharp suits and sharper spreadsheets, was meant to be the brains trust keeping Reeves on the straight and narrow path of progressive prudence. But oh, how the plot thickens! Now, Bell's cheerleaders are slinging mud at Reeves' inner circle, accusing them of peddling the line that Torsten and his shadowy sidekick Baroness Minouche Shafik – yes, that ex-Columbia University import, Torsten's trusty lieutenant in this fiscal farce, the one whose name dances just out of my addled memory like a tax loophole in the fog – are treating the Budget like their personal petri dish. Experimenting with wild ideas! Taxing pensions like they're party favours! Slashing VAT thresholds to £30,000 to "broaden the base" (code for sticking it to small businesses faster than you can say "entrepreneurial spirit crushed")!

It's a right old ding-dong, isn't it? On one side, the Bell brigade – those idealistic interns-cum-advisors who've drunk deep from the think-tank Kool-Aid – lambasting Reeves' die-hards for daring to whisper that their hero's running amok. "He's not hijacking the ship!" they cry from the shadows of anonymous briefings. "He's saving it from the icebergs of austerity Reeves herself helped carve!" And on the flip side? Reeves' loyalists, those battle-hardened Treasury vets who've weathered more U-turns than a London cabbie in rush hour, firing back that Bell's crew are the real vandals. Treating Her Majesty's (soon to be His Majesty's, if the royals have their way) Budget as a lab for lefty experiments: equalising capital gains with income tax (finally making the rich pay their "fair share," or so the pitch goes), mega-pension funds to "boost productivity" (while quietly eyeing those juicy triple-lock tweaks), and who knows what other Columbia-bred brainwaves from Bell's accomplice. Is it a radical rethink or a recipe for revolt? You decide, but from where I'm sitting in my armchair bunker, it smells like the rats are already leaping ship.

This internal Labour tussle isn't just tittle-tattle for the Westminster Wags; it's a seismic shift in the seismic faultline of Starmer's "mission-led" government. Remember the loveless landslide of '24? That 34% vote share propped up by a Tory implosion bigger than the Hindenburg? Well, now the chickens – or should I say, the black holes in the public finances, estimated at a cool £22bn and counting – are coming home to roost. Reeves, the self-styled "serious" Chancellor with her economist's gravitas and occasional tearful TED Talks, promised no rises on income tax, NI, or VAT. But whispers from the Treasury tea-room suggest that's about to go the way of winter fuel payments: U-turned into oblivion. And with the Office for Budget Responsibility (OBR) lurking like a stern headmaster, ready to downgrade growth forecasts and demand £20bn in tax top-ups, who's to blame when the bond markets sneeze and the gilts catch a cold?

Enter the blame game, stage left, three days early and already more entertaining than a Carry On film. Bell's supporters – fresh from his promotion to lead Budget prep back in August, a move hailed as Reeves "locking in" her radical edge – are apoplectic at suggestions their man’s turning the fiscal levers into a wonkish whimsy. "Reeves' camp are the saboteurs!" they hiss in off-the-record offloads to the New Statesman and beyond. "They're protecting the status quo while Torsten dares to dream of a Britain where workers aren't taxed harder than yacht-owning oligarchs!" Meanwhile, Reeves' crew – let's call them the Pragmatists' Posse – retort that Bell and his Columbia connection (ah, yes, that elusive ex-Yankee egghead, the one blending transatlantic theory with British bureaucracy) are the loose cannons. "This isn't advice; it's anarchy!" they thunder. "Using the Budget as a beta test for Resolution Foundation fever dreams – scrapping the two-child cap one minute, means-testing energy bills the next. Have they no manifesto to honour?"

And the great British public? We're the unwilling extras in this Whitehall farce, bracing for the fallout. Will it be a "grip the cost of living" triumph, as Reeves teased last weekend, with frozen rail fares and scrapped welfare limits to soothe the squeezed middle? Or a tax-trauma trigger, alienating the very working people Labour swore to champion? Economists are already sharpening their pencils: productivity downgrades loom, spending sprees (£190bn, anyone?) demand hikes, and small businesses – those plucky corner-shop heroes – eye the VAT noose with dread. If Bell's experiments prevail, expect a backlash bigger than Brexit regrets at a Remain rally. If Reeves reins him in, the lefty purists will cry sell-out louder than a Vegan at a butcher's.

Look, folks, I've been chronicling this clown car of a capital for over ten years now on Palarse and the wider kenfrost.net empire, and let me tell you: this Budget blame bust-up is peak politics. It's the hypocritical elite at their finest – promising change while circling the wagons, all while the rest of us foot the bill. But fear not; in the spirit of enlightened cynicism, I've got just the antidote to this fiscal fever. Why not arm yourself with some survival reading? Dive into Great Britain? How We Get Our Future Back by none other than Torsten Bell himself – a razor-sharp dissection of our economic woes that reads like a thriller for policy nerds (grab it here and ponder if his "future" matches the one he's brewing in No.11). Or, for a broader blast of budgetary brilliance, snag The Budgeting Bible by [insert affiliate link guru] – your guide to personal finances in these trying times (link here). And if you're feeling particularly masochistic, Who Governs Britain? by the inimitable Anthony King offers timeless takedowns of Treasury tomfoolery (snag it now).

There you have it, Palarse faithful: Labour's pre-Budget bloodletting, served with a side of schadenfreude. Will Starmer slap down the squabblers in time for Wednesday's dispatch box drama? Or will this three-day teaser explode into a full-scale civil war by teatime? Tune in tomorrow for more from the arse-end of austerity. In the meantime, keep your wallets close and your wits sharper – because in Westminster, the only thing certain is the spin.

What say you, readers? Is Bell the saviour or the saboteur? Drop your hot takes in the comments below, and remember: if this circus drives you to despair, retail therapy via those Amazon links might just be the therapy you need. Chin up, Britain – we've survived worse than a wonky wallet-worrier.

Ken Frost, Palarse Proprietor – Exposing the Emperors' New Clothes Since 2010

Britain is Governed by Financially Illiterate Morons!

 

Source Andrew Rummer 

The OBR is Shite!

 

Labour's Revolving Door of Hypocrisy: Councillor Situ's Shameful Exit After Sparing Rachel Reeves the Rod He Wielded on Lesser Landlords

Oh, what a tangled web we weave when first we practise to deceive – or, in the case of Labour's housing high command, when we rent out a few spare rooms without the proper paperwork. Ladies and gentlemen of the great British public, gather round for another episode in the endless soap opera of Corruption Street, where the red rosettes of righteousness flap in the wind until the merest whiff of accountability blows them away. This time, the spotlight falls on Michael Situ, Labour's erstwhile Cabinet Member for Housing at Southwark Council – a man who preached zero tolerance for unlicensed landlords from his Peckham pulpit, only to scurry from office with his tail between his legs when it turned out his own rental empire was as paper-thin as a Starmer promise.

Let's rewind the tape, shall we? Back in the balmy days of summer 2024, our Chancellor of the Exchequer, Rachel Reeves – you know, the one who lectures us all on fiscal prudence while eyeing up our wallets like a fox in a henhouse – decided to play musical chairs with her family home in Dulwich. Out she popped to No. 11 Downing Street, and in came the tenants, all without the pesky formality of a selective licence under Southwark's iron-fisted housing scheme. Breach of rules? Tick. Potential fine up to £30,000 or prosecution? Double tick. But did the long arm of the law – or at least Southwark's clipboard-wielding enforcers – come knocking? Not a sausage. Why? Because Situ, as chair of the housing committee, oversaw a council that suddenly discovered a hitherto unknown doctrine of "elite exemption". Zero tolerance for the little people, it seems, but a polite nod and a wink for the woman holding the nation's purse strings.

Fast forward to last month, and the Reeves rumpus erupts into full tabloid technicolour. Apologies fly thicker than confetti at a Labour conference – Reeves scribbles a "sincere" note to Sir Keir, who, in a move that shocked precisely no one, declares it "sufficient resolution". No investigation. No slap on the wrist. Just a collective shrug from the Southwark suits, with Situ at the helm, vetoing any whiff of prosecution faster than you can say "two-tier Keir". One might almost admire the chutzpah, if it weren't so rotten to the core. Here was a council – Labour-run, no less – that had spent years hammering small-time landlords with threats of court and closure, all under the banner of "protecting vulnerable tenants". Yet when the culprit is the architect of the biggest tax raid since Gordon Brown's glory days, suddenly the rulebook's just a suggestion.

And lo, the irony thickens like clotted cream on a scone of scandal. Just weeks after shielding his party's golden girl, it transpires that Situ's own portfolio of two Peckham buy-to-lets had been operating in splendid, unlicensed anarchy. Blame the letting agent, he cries – a classic deflection worthy of a Blair autobiography. "It has come to my attention," he bleats in his resignation statement, as if this were some Agatha Christie plot twist rather than a straightforward cock-up of his own making. The agent's accounts in arrears? Council tax dodging? All on his watch? Tut-tut, Michael. But fear not, the man's taken "full responsibility" – by which he means scarpering from cabinet with immediate effect, lest his "oversight" distract from the "critical work" of... well, presumably, more selective enforcement.

Cue the howls from the opposition benches, and rightly so. Shadow Housing Minister David Simmonds nails it: "It beggars belief that Labour’s cabinet member for housing... has resigned for failing to obtain the correct licence... just weeks after the Rachel Reeves saga. This raises serious questions about why one standard applies to Cllr Situ, while another seems to apply to the Chancellor." Reform UK's Lee Anderson piles on with the unvarnished truth: "This is classic two-tier justice from Labour. One rule for those who sit around the Cabinet table and another for those lower down the pecking order." Even the Tories chime in, demanding Reeves' head on a pike for breaching the Ministerial Code. But we all know how that ends: with Starmer fiddling while Westminster burns.

This isn't just one bad apple in the Labour barrel; it's the whole rotten orchard. Situ's swift exit – noble on the surface, self-serving underneath – exposes the yawning chasm between Labour's pious posturing on housing and the grubby reality of protecting their own. Southwark Council, under red control for donkey's years, has form on this: aggressive licensing schemes that snare honest folk in red tape while the elite glide by unscathed. And Reeves? Her "inadvertent error" (as if ignorance is bliss when you're paid to know better) comes hot on the heels of a Budget that squeezed every last penny from renters and landlords alike. Pot, kettle, anyone?

So, what now? Will Southwark's licensing zealots finally apply their zero-tolerance balm to the Chancellor's doorstep? Will Starmer grow a spine and demand the same "integrity" from his frontbench that he exacted from a mere councillor? Or will this be filed under "lessons learned" alongside Partygate excuses and winter fuel fiascos? Don't hold your breath, dear reader. Labour's corruption carousel spins on, ejecting the expendables while the VIPs cling to their seats.

Iif you're a landlord navigating this minefield, The Essential Guide to UK Landlord Licensing will keep you one step ahead of the Situ-style surprises buy it here. Knowledge is power – and in these dark days, it's the least we can do.

Stay vigilant, folks. The PalArse of Westminster never sleeps.

Rachel Reeves' Budget Leak Fiasco: From Tax Rise Revolt to Gilt Yield Panic and OBR Fairy Tales – Labour's 24-Hour Meltdown Proves Starmer's Crew Have Lost the Bloody Plot

Oh, what a gloriously shambolic 24 hours it's been in the fever swamps of Westminster – the kind of frantic flapdoodle that makes you wonder if the Treasury's got a poltergeist on the payroll, or if Rachel Reeves and Keir Starmer are just auditioning for a sequel to Yes Minister where the ministers are the ones getting played. As of this drizzly November morning in 2025, the Chancellor's pre-Budget purdah has morphed into a full-blown circus of leaks, U-turns, and desperate spin that's got the bond markets twitching like a cat on a hot tin roof. Pull the other one, lads – this isn't strategy; it's survival mode for a government that's already knackered after five months in the hot seat. And bless their cotton socks, the fourth estate's lapping it up like it's gospel, without so much as a raised eyebrow.

Let's rewind the tape on this 24-hour trainwreck, shall we? Because if there's one thing the PalArse loves, it's calling time on the elite's amateur hour.

The Midnight Leak: Tax Rises Axed Amid Backbench Mutiny

It kicked off late last night – around 10pm on November 13, if the whispers from reliable Westminster wonks are to be believed – when the first tremors hit the wires. Word slithered out from Treasury insiders that Reeves, facing a full-scale revolt from her own red-wall rebels and blue-chip biz types, was ditching those whisper-shouted plans for whopping income tax hikes. You know the ones: the stealthy 2p whack on basic rates that was meant to plug the £22 billion "black hole" without anyone noticing till the PAYE slips dropped like confetti.

Instead? A mad scramble to fiddle with allowances – think freezing the personal allowance longer than a bad blind date, or tweaking the marriage tax break into something resembling actual policy – plus a scattergun raid on everything from capital gains to, God help us, possibly even pasty taxes redux. Opposition? Fiercer than a Yorkshire terrier on steroids. Backbenchers were reportedly baying for blood, with whispers of a "no confidence in the whips" motion bubbling under the tea cups. By midnight, the FT's overnight desk was alight, and even the becalmed Bloomberg terminals perked up. This wasn't a leak; it was a haemorrhage.

Morning Mayhem: Gilt Yields Spike as Markets Smell the Rat

Cue the dawn chorus of doom on November 14. Bond traders, those unflappable souls in Canary Wharf, took one look at the overnight drip-feed and hit the panic button. UK 10-year gilt yields – that canary in the fiscal coalmine – surged 12 basis points in the opening hour, clocking in at 4.38% by 9am. That's the sharpest intra-day jump since the mini-Budget meltdown of 2022, when Liz Truss's libertarians turned the pound into confetti. Why the jitters? Simple: ditching direct tax hikes screams "we can't fill the hole without spooking the horses," and investors hate nothing more than a chancellor cornered into creative accounting.

The knock-on? Mortgage lenders twitching, pension funds recalibrating, and the FTSE 100 dipping its toe in the red before lunch. As one City sage put it (off the record, natch): "Reeves just advertised that Labour's got no plan B – or C, for that matter. This is Truss 2.0, but with worse tailoring." By 10am, the headlines were screaming "Budget U-Turn Rocks Markets," and No.10's spin doctors were sweating bullets.

The Treasury's Hail Mary: "It Was All Planned, Honest Guv" – And the Media's Willing Suspension of Disbelief

Enter stage left: the counter-leak, dropped like a dud firework around 11:15am from what smells suspiciously like a No.11 back channel. Cue the noble fiction – this whole tax-tinkering pivot? "All part of the grand design," apparently, because the Office for Budget Responsibility (OBR) is now projecting that pesky black hole to shrink to a mere £18 billion by Spring, thanks to "rosier growth forecasts" and "prudent fiscal tweaks." Pull the other one, Rachel – we've heard this guff before, from Sunak's sunny uplands to Osborne's austerity arias. It's the political equivalent of a chocolate teapot: melts under the slightest scrutiny.

And here's the real kicker – the journos are buying it wholesale. Alex Wickham over at Politico, that sharp-suited scribbler who's usually got a nose for nonsense, tweeted it straight: "Sources: Reeves always eyed allowances over hikes; OBR black hole down to £18bn. No U-turn, just evolution." No questions asked, no "hang on, why the gilt spike if it's all tickety-boo?" It's as if the press pack's been slipped a collective roofie, nodding along to the Treasury's tune while the markets scream "bollocks!" from the rooftops. Even the Guardian's got a puff piece framing it as "nimble navigation." Nimble? More like a three-legged race in a gale.

The Bigger Picture: Starmer and Reeves – A Duo Diving for Cover in a Circular Firing Squad

Strip away the smoke and mirrors, and what you've got is a government gasping for air, five months in, with the PM and his chancellor looking like they've lost the dressing room – and the plot. Starmer's "mission-led" guff is curdling faster than milk in a heatwave, and Reeves' iron lady schtick? It's rusting before our eyes. This 24-hour spasm isn't isolated; it's the bleed from a thousand cuts – from the winter fuel pensioner punch to the farmer-flaying inheritance tax raid. Lost control? Mate, they've mislaid the keys to the kingdom.

Mark my words: if this Budget wobble's the canary, the coalmine's caving in. Expect more leaks, more lurches, and a Spring Statement that's less statement, more surrender.

Fancy arming yourself against the Westminster woozle? I can't bang on enough about How Westminster Works... and Why It Doesn't by Ian Dunt – a scalpel to the heart of this shambles, available on Amazon via my affiliate link right here. For a deeper dive into fiscal fibs, snag Chris Mullin's A Very British Coup – the blueprint for how backbench revolts topple titans (grab it here). And if you're plotting your own escape from the taxman's grasp, this no-nonsense guide to allowances and loopholes is gold (Amazon pick).

Spill the beans in the comments below – is this the beginning of the end for Reeves, or just another Wednesday in Labour's house of cards? Share this far and wide, and if you're fuming, give your MP a ring via TheyWorkForYou.org. Let's keep the PalArse roasting these risible rogues.

Ken Frost is the chief arsonist behind The PalArse of Westminster and the Ken Frost syndicate of sites. More madness – from fiscal farces to full English fry-ups – over at www.kenfrost.net. Follow the frolics on X @ken_frost.

Keir Starmer's Bonfire of the Vanities: Blaming Streeting for "Plot" is Peak Self-Immolation – As "Wes for Leader" Site Pops Up Like a Bad Penny

 

Ah, the acrid whiff of self-immolation at No.10 – like a politician's career going up in flames while he fans the bellows with his own ego. Just days before the Autumn Budget bonanza on 26 November, Keir Starmer's camp has unleashed a torrent of chaos by briefing the press that Health Secretary Wes Streeting is the ringleader of a dastardly plot to shove the PM out on his ear. It's not subtle: anonymous No.10 spinners whispering sweet nothings about leadership bids, all to paint Streeting as the Iago to Starmer's Othello. But here's the rub – in a move straight out of the Keystone Cops playbook, this finger-pointing frenzy has only poured petrol on the pyre, turning Labour's frontbench into a circular firing squad. Self-immolation? Mate, this is a full-on Viking funeral for Starmer's authority.

Don't take my word for it; the headlines are screaming louder than a backbencher at PMQs. Streeting, bless his cotton socks, has laughed it off like a pro – denying any coup chatter with a zinger on Sky News: "Nor did I shoot JFK, I don't know where Lord Lucan is." He's not just batting away the mud; he's demanding heads on pikes, calling for sackings in Downing Street over this "toxic culture" of briefings that smack of desperation. "Self-defeating," he calls it, and he's bang on – Starmer's allies thought they'd kneecap a rival, but they've only succeeded in making the PM look like a paranoid prefect lashing out at shadows. The result? A civil war that's got the Tory benches rubbing their hands like Uriah Heep at a bankruptcy sale. Kemi Badenoch's already sharpening her knives for PMQs today, while Nigel Farage tweets from the sidelines: "Labour in meltdown – pass the popcorn."

And if you thought the plot whispers were the height of farce, strap in: yesterday, 11 November, some enterprising soul registered a shiny new website – WesForLeader.co.uk – dedicated to crowning Streeting as the next Labour messiah. It's got all the trimmings: pledges for "bold reform," digs at "stale leadership," and a mailing list that's probably filling up faster than a leaky roof in a Welsh downpour. Coincidence? Pull the other one. Whether it's Streeting's mates or just a mischievous troll, the timing is impeccable – or catastrophic, depending on which side of the red rosette you're on. Either way, it's a neon sign flashing "Starmer's on borrowed time," turning what should have been a quiet pre-budget huddle into a full-blown Westminster soap opera. The Independent's calling it a "leadership on the brink," and even the BBC – yes, that impartial beacon – is framing Streeting's denials as "deep anxiety" in the ranks.

Let's break down this bonfire, shall we? Here's a quick timeline of Starmer's self-sabotage, because nothing says "stable government" like your own team leaking like the Titanic:

Date/Event	The Cock-Up	The Fallout
Early Nov 2025	Budget jitters hit fever pitch; whispers of tax hikes and NHS cuts leak like a sieve.	Backbenchers mutter about "betrayal" – Starmer's 179-seat majority starts feeling like a paper tiger.
10 Nov 2025	No.10 briefers go rogue: "Streeting's eyeing a post-budget leadership bid!"	Streeting's camp erupts; allies like Angela Rayner reportedly side-eye the PM's paranoia.
11 Nov 2025	"Wes for Leader" site launches amid the melee – pledges "real change" without the "Starmer stutter."	Pundits pile on: Reuters calls it "unnamed allies' panic," Guardian dubs it a "widening rift."
12 Nov 2025 (Today)	Streeting on the telly: "Sack the lot – this is Celebrity Traitors, not government."	PMQs looms like a storm cloud; Starmer's approval ratings sink faster than a dodgy expense claim.

This isn't leadership; it's a masterclass in how to alienate your own side while handing ammunition to the opposition. Starmer rode in on a wave of "change" last July, promising competence over chaos – remember that? Now, with the economy wobbling and winter fuel payments turning into a granny-mugging scandal, he's reduced to blaming underlings for his own tin ear. Streeting, for all his Blairite polish, at least talks a good game on NHS reform – polls have him as the public's "most fanciable" cabinet minister, for heaven's sake. By fingering him as the villain, Starmer's not just torching bridges; he's dynamiting the whole bloody marina.

If you're as knackered by this Labour psychodrama as I am, time to crack open a tome that lays bare the Westminster snake pit. Ian Dunt's How Westminster Works . . . and Why It Doesn't is the scalpel to this festering boil – a no-holds-barred dissection of why our politics is a "toxic swamp" of plots and posturing. It's got more zingers than a Streeting soundbite, and it'll arm you for the next round of red-on-red carnage. Grab it on Amazon right here (affiliate link – because exposing PalArses shouldn't leave you out of pocket).

Or, for a historical parallel to Starmer's woes, Chris Mullin's A Very British Coup – the thriller that predicted it all, from backroom betrayals to leadership lurches. It's fiction, but feels like yesterday's news. Snag your copy via this link (yep, affiliate – clicks fuel the fire).

Starmer's self-immolation might amuse from afar, but it's our taxes funding this circus. Wes for leader? Maybe – or maybe it's just the spark that lights the whole powder keg. What say you? Is Keir for the chop, or will he limp on like a zombie clause in a bad contract? Spill in the comments – let's keep the PalArse roasting.

Ken Frost, chief arsonist at PalArse and the Ken Frost syndicate. More madness at www.kenfrost.net.

BBC's Top Brass Bollocks: Tim Davie and Deborah Turness Quit Over Trump Tampering – But Will the Beeb Ever Admit It's Hamas's Cheerleader and the Trans Lobby's Lapdog?

 

Ah, the sweet sound of resignations at the BBC – like a dodgy pint finally hitting the bottom of the glass. Yesterday, 9 November 2025, Tim Davie, the Director-General who's been lording it over the Corporation like a particularly smug prefect, and Deborah Turness, the Head of News who's somehow managed to turn "impartiality" into a dirty word, both threw in the towel. Why? Because the Beeb got caught with its trousers down, editing a Donald Trump speech in a Panorama documentary to make the man look like he was personally handing out pitchforks for the Capitol riot. It's the kind of sleight-of-hand that would make a Westminster spin doctor blush, but no, this is the BBC we're talking about – the self-appointed guardian of truth, now exposed as just another bunch of editorial elbow-greasers.

Don't get me wrong, it's a start. Davie, who once promised to "reconnect with audiences" while the Beeb's ratings sank faster than the Titanic in a North Sea gale, called his exit "my own decision." Pull the other one, Tim. And Turness? She's scarpered too, leaving behind a trail of "systemic bias" complaints that could paper the walls of Broadcasting House. The Corporation's chair, Samir Shah, has even apologised for the "error of judgement," as if this was just a naughty schoolboy prank rather than a calculated hit job on a world leader. Trump himself couldn't resist a gloat, welcoming the news like it was his second term already.

But here's the rub, and it's a big, festering one: the establishment luvvies and Beeb apologists are already circling the wagons, insisting this is all about one rogue edit on Trump. "Isolated incident!" they bleat, as if the Corporation hasn't been marinating in bias for years. Nonsense. This resignation duo is just the froth on a pint of warm, flat ale. The real poison? The BBC's transformation into the official PR arm for Hamas and its willing surrender to the trans activist brigade. And don't think for a second that sacking the top arses fixes that.

Let's start with the Trump fiddle, shall we? Last year's documentary – you know, the one that conveniently snipped out Trump's call for "peaceful protest" to make him sound like a mob-inciting maniac – wasn't some freelance cock-up. An internal whistleblower memo blew the lid off it: the Beeb doctored the footage to push a narrative. Critics are calling it "serious and systemic," and even Culture Secretary Lucy Nandy admits the brass are treating it with the "seriousness it demands." Yet here we are, with the resignations framed as a noble sacrifice rather than the tip of an iceberg of anti-conservative, anti-truth agitprop. If you're raging about media manipulation, grab a copy of Nick Davies' Flat Earth News: An Award-winning Reporter Exposes Falsehood, Distortion and Propaganda in the Global Media. It's the bible on how outlets like the Beeb cook the books – and no, I don't get a cut, but Amazon does if you click here.

Now, onto the real scandal that's got the Beeb's knickers in a twist: its role as Hamas's unofficial spin machine. Forget the Trump tweet-storm; the Corporation's Gaza coverage has been a masterclass in laundering terrorist propaganda. A blistering report just dropped, revealing how the BBC "knowingly helped spread Hamas lies around the world." We're talking unjustifiable airtime to Hamas's inflated death tolls – those figures that even the UN's now questioning as dodgy as a dodgy dossier. And get this: a BBC Gaza doco breached editorial guidelines by not disclosing its narrator was the son of a Hamas bigwig. It's not bias; it's bloody complicity. While the world watched kibbutz massacres unfold, the Beeb was busy platforming the perpetrators' press releases. If you want the unvarnished truth on how Western media got suckered by jihadist PR, Tom Mills' The BBC: Myth of a Public Service Broadcaster is your go-to. It rips the lid off the Corporation's cosy ties to the establishment – including its soft spot for certain "freedom fighters." Snag it on Amazon right here.

And if you thought that was peak Beeb hypocrisy, hold onto your flat caps. The Corporation's capture by the trans movement is so complete, it's like they've outsourced editorial policy to Stonewall's newsletter. Exhibit A: veteran newsreader Martine Croxall, hauled over the coals for the heinous crime of... pulling a face. On live telly, when her script droned on about "pregnant people," Croxall ad-libbed "women" and let a flicker of scepticism cross her mug. The result? The BBC upheld 20 complaints for "expressing a controversial view about trans people." Twenty! For a grimace that half the nation probably shared while choking on their cornflakes. The clip went viral – "This is ridiculous," as one pundit put it – and exposed the Beeb's zero-tolerance for anyone daring to question the sacred cow of gender ideology. Croxall broke rules, they say, but who's really captured here? The same insiders who tried to spike coverage of women's rights groups. It's not journalism; it's a loyalty test for the pronoun police.

Davie and Turness quitting? Good riddance. But it's window dressing for a rotting edifice. The BBC's not just biased; it's a captured asset, peddling Hamas handouts one minute and trans dogma the next, all while pretending its Trump tweaks were a mere "oops." Until the Corporation admits the full rot – from Gaza gaslighting to gender gestapo – these resignations are about as useful as a chocolate teapot. Time for a proper purge, or better yet, defund the lot and let real journalism breathe.

Fancy diving deeper into the media's dark arts? Helen Lewis' Difficult Women: A History of Feminism in Comedy touches on the absurdities of modern identity politics, including the Beeb's role in amplifying them. It's a riot – in the best way. Pick it up on Amazon via this link (affiliate, naturally – clicks keep the PalArse roasting).

What do you reckon? Is the Beeb redeemable, or should we pull the plug? Drop a comment below – let's make some noise.

Ken Frost is the firebrand behind PalArse and the Ken Frost empire. Follow the madness at www.kenfrost.net.

The Deputy Prime Minister's Magnificent New Suit: A Westminster Fable for Our Disenchanting Times

 

Ah, dear readers of The PalArse of Westminster, gather round the flickering glow of your screens, for I bring you a tale as old as folly itself, yet fresh as yesterday's parliamentary pratfall. It is the story of a certain high officeholder – let us call him the Grand Vizier of Justice, or, as the tabloids fondly dub him, David "Calamity" Lammy – who, in a fit of vanity, sought attire so splendid that it would cloak his every misstep in the robes of unassailable authority. But lo, as in the ancient Danish yarn of The Emperor's New Clothes, what was paraded as finery turned out to be the emperor's – or in this case, the deputy's – barefaced embarrassment.

Picture the scene, if you will, in the hallowed (and hollered) chamber of the House of Commons on the fifth of November, 2025. Bonfire Night outside, with its crackles and bangs, but inside? A fireworks display of a far more explosive kind, courtesy of our stand-in Prime Minister, Mr Lammy himself. Sir Keir Starmer, off gallivanting in Brazil (one imagines him samba-ing through summits), had left the dispatch box in the care of his deputy. And what did this trusted lieutenant prioritise in the hours before facing the Tory pack? Not poring over briefing notes on errant Algerian migrants or the latest prison blunders. Oh no. He popped out for a new suit. A snazzy number, no doubt, tailored to impress the ghosts of Gladstone and Disraeli. Or so he thought.

In the grand tradition of Hans Christian Andersen's swindling weavers, imagine the bespoke barrow-boy in Savile Row whispering sweet nothings to the cloth: "This suit, sir, is woven from the finest threads of gravitas. Invisible to the eye of the incompetent, it will make you appear not just dressed for success, but positively armoured in it. Only the truly wise – or the wholly deluded – will see its splendour." Lammy, bless his cotton socks (or lack thereof), bit the hook. "Sold!" cried he, handing over a king's ransom that could have funded a think-tank or two. Little did he know, the tailors were giggling all the way to the till – for the suit was naught but a shimmering illusion, a paean to peacocking over preparation.

Come the hour of PMQs, and there he stands, our hero in his hypothetical haberdashery, facing the baying hounds. The questions fly like Guy Fawkes' failed gunpowder: What of the second migrant prisoner sprung loose on your watch? Why the devil has another asylum-seeker scarpered from your custody? And – oh, the humanity – wherefore art thou without thy poppy, man? A Remembrance slight that had even the most battle-hardened backbenchers clutching their lapels in horror. Lammy fumbles, he flusters, he filibusters with all the finesse of a bull in a china shop – or, more aptly, a deputy in a disaster zone. "I... er... the suit... no, the substance!" he stammers, as the chamber erupts in that peculiar mix of guffaws and gasps that only Westminster can muster.

But here's the rub, my sceptical chums: not a soul dares call it out. The courtiers – sorry, the whips and spin doctors – nod sagely from the wings. "What a fine figure he cuts!" murmurs one apparatchik, eyes glued to his phone for the next deflection tweet. "The very epitome of executive elegance," chimes another, scribbling notes for the evening's lobby fodder. The opposition jeers, of course, but even they play along, too busy hurling their own barbs to strip away the myth. And the gallery? The fourth estate, those scribbling sentinels? They tut-tut over the tailoring but tiptoe around the truth: the suit ain't the problem, lads – it's the man inside, or rather, the emperor with nowt but his ego on show.

For this is the modern morality: in the court of King Keir, we all pretend the king's new clobber covers a multitude of sins. A calamitous Commons clash? Blame the bespoke. A poppy-less podium? The dry cleaner's fault, surely. And as for those wandering wards of the state – well, pass the port and pretend it's all part of the pattern-weave. Yet, whisper it softly, for fear of the thought police: what if the whole ensemble is as transparent as a Lib Dem promise? What if Lammy's lurch from law lecturer to Labour's lame duck is laid bare, not by scissors, but by simple scrutiny?

Ah, but enough moralising from this old cynic. If Andersen were alive today, he'd pen a sequel: The Tailor's Triumph – How to Sell Snake Oil to Snakes. And you'd find it on your shelf, no doubt, alongside a primer on parliamentary pitfalls. Speaking of which, if you're minded to kit yourself out without the calamity – or just fancy a chuckle over political porkies – might I humbly direct you to my Amazon favourites? Pop over to this cracking collection of satirical tomes, including The Emperor's New Clothes illustrated for the digitally dazed generation. Or, for the fashion-forward foolhardy, snag a budget-friendly suit that won't bankrupt your briefing time – because, let's face it, in politics, it's the preparation that parades, not the pants.

There you have it, fellow farce-watchers: a fable for our fractured Commons, where the naked truth is the hardest thread to weave. Do share your own Westminster wardrobe malfunctions in the comments below – and remember, at The PalArse, we salute the swindled, not the swindlers. Until next time, keep your powder dry and your poppies pinned.

Ken Frost is the bard behind kenfrost.net, where liberty licks its wounds and laughs at the lords. Follow the frolics on Twitter @ken_frost, or subscribe for more PalArse pearls. All opinions strictly my own – and probably wrong.

Keir Starmer's Epstein Blind Spot: Was PM Fully Briefed on Mandelson's 'Jail Time Hospitality' Lies Before the Big US Gig? Labour's Latest Cover-Up Unravels

 

 

Oh, what a festering Yuletide gift for the truth-seekers of 2025 – another Labour whopper bubbling up from the septic tank of Westminster's PalArse, this time starring Sir Keir Starmer and his erstwhile chum Peter Mandelson in a Jeffrey Epstein encore that's got more twists than a dodgy diplomat's expense claim. I'm Ken Frost, your dogged dissector of elite dodges (and the bloke peddling unfiltered insight via kenfrost.com's 'Living Brand'), and tonight's tableau is a doozy: civil servants spilling that Starmer was fully briefed on Mandelson's cosy nexus with the paedophile financier – including that infamous 'jail time hospitality' at Epstein's sprawling Manhattan pad, which the peer brazenly lied about – before anointing him UK ambassador to the US. Briefed? You bet. Acted? About as decisively as a chocolate teapot. If this isn't the Keir Starmer Epstein scandal Labour's been praying to bury under fresh China spy frolics, then I'm a Tory peer myself. Buckle up, you outraged lot – we're peeling back the smoke and mirrors.

The Briefing Bombshell: What No. 10 Knew (And Ignored) in the Keir Starmer Epstein Scandal

Picture it: September 2025, Starmer's barely warmed the PM's chair, and he's got Mandelson – the thrice-resigned spinner of Blairite spin – lined up for the plum gig across the pond. But hold the champagne: civil servants, those unsung whistle-blowers in Whitehall's bowels, had already dished the dirt. MPs heard it loud and clear this week – Starmer was handed chapter and verse on Mandelson's Epstein entanglements, from leaked emails dubbing the sex-trafficker his "best pal" to that eyebrow-raising stint of hospitality during Epstein's 2008-09 jail bird song in Palm Beach. We're talking Epstein's mega-Manhattan townhouse, a den of dodgy dealings where Mandelson allegedly crashed for "jail time hospitality" – code for schmoozing the monster while he did bird for soliciting a 14-year-old. And Mandelson? He flat-out fibbed about it, swearing blind to No. 10 inquisitors that the ties were "severed" post-conviction. Lie? Nay, a bald-faced fabrication that'd make Pinocchio blush.

This isn't tittle-tattle from the tabloids; it's straight from the horse's mouth – or rather, the mandarin's memo. As The Independent laid bare, Starmer's team grilled Mandelson pre-appointment, only for the peer to serve up economy-class truth. Yet our ex-DPP – the bloke who once locked up real villains – waved it through like a rubber stamp on a dodgy visa. Why? Because in Labour's PalArse, loyalty trumps legality, especially when your man's got the ear of the White House. Civil servants confirm: the Epstein file was on Starmer's desk, red flags flapping like Union Jacks in a gale. But did heads roll? Did Mandelson get the boot before the ink dried? Pull the other one.

For the full, filthy lowdown on Epstein's web of influence – from Little St James to Little England – grab a copy of Filthy Rich: The True Story of Jeffrey Epstein by James Patterson (via my Amazon affiliate link here – your click keeps the PalArse watchdog barking: Buy Now). It's the blueprint for spotting these high-society horrors before they slither into Downing Street.

Timeline of Deceit: Mandelson's Epstein Lies and Starmer's Starmer Epstein Scandal Cover-Up

To cut through the chaff, here's the sordid chronology – Labour's Keir Starmer Epstein scandal in stark, shareable strips. Because nothing says "transparency" like a government that briefs its boss on paedo-pal lies, then lets him swan off to Washington.

Date	Event	The Dodgy Bit
2008-09	Epstein jailed for child solicitation; Mandelson enjoys 'hospitality' at Manhattan townhouse.	Mandelson later denies depth of ties – "severed post-conviction," my eye.
2019	Epstein snuffs it in custody; Mandelson's emails surface, gushing "I think the world of you."	Peer calls him "best pal" – but swears to Starmer's team it was ancient history.
Sept 2025	Starmer briefed by civil servants on full Epstein nexus pre-appointment.	PM nods through anyway; defends Mandelson in Commons two days after leaks hit.
Sept 11, 2025	Mandelson sacked as ambassador amid email storm.	Too late? Starmer's "show of confidence" reeks of damage control.
Nov 3, 2025	MPs grill Cabinet Secretary: "Why wasn't Starmer told everything?"	Revelation: He was – including the jail-time jaunt Mandelson lied about. #LabourCoverUp

Sources? BBC, The Guardian, even X sleuths like @joerichlaw piping up on the "jail time hospitality" whiff. It's a masterclass in deflection: Starmer's pro-China soft-shoe last month? Just a smokescreen for this Epstein stench.

Starmer's Moral Midgetry: From DPP to Dodgy Diplomat Enabler

Let's not mince words – this is Keir Starmer's Peter Mandelson lies moment, the one that could topple his Teflon tower faster than a Reeves budget black hole. The man who prosecuted the unprosecutable now turns a blind eye to a peer fibbing about bunking with a convicted child-procurer? It's not just hypocritical; it's a house of cards built on quicksand, with the public – you, me, the lot – left holding the moral mop. Mandelson's no stranger to the sack (Blair's loans, EU trade gigs), but appointing him post-briefing? That's Starmer marinating in his own Manchurian soup, prioritising party hacks over propriety. And the China angle? Oh, it's the cherry on this rancid cake – whispers of Mandelson's Beijing back-channels tying into Starmer's spy-blind cosiness, but that's for another post. For now, this Epstein echo screams one thing: Labour's elite are all in the same sleazy Rolodex.

Fancy arming yourself against these Westminster worms? Snag A Very English Scandal: Sex, Lies and a Murderous Peerage by John Preston (Amazon affiliate hook-up: Get It Here – proceeds fuel more Frost fire). It's the satirical scalpel for slicing through political perversion.

The Reckoning: Will Starmer's Epstein Blind Spot Finally Bite?

This Keir Starmer Mandelson Epstein farce isn't vanishing with a Downing Street denial – not when civil servants are singing like canaries and opposition hounds like Badenoch are baying for blood. It's the kind of scandal that sticks like tar: a PM briefed on lies, a peer peddling fiction, and a party that's all polish, no spine. If Starmer thought sacking Mandelson post-leak would seal the tomb, think again – this briefing bombshell's got legs longer than Epstein's guest list.

So, you rebels: if the Peter Mandelson Epstein lies have you foaming, share this far and wide – let's make it trend harder than #Partygate. Nark your MP via TheyWorkForYou.org – demand the full file. Drop your two penn'orth below: Is Starmer complicit, or just clueless? And while you're at it, toddle over to www.kenfrost.com for the 'Living Brand' blueprint on branding your outrage into action.

Brought to you by www.kenfrost.com – 'The Living Brand' of unflinching truth.

What Everyone Knows About Britain* (*Except The British)

What Everyone Knows About Britain* (*Except The British) Kindle Edition

by Michael Peel (Author) Format: Kindle Edition

4.0 4.0 out of 5 stars (58)

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How do you see Britain?

That might depend on your point of view, and as long time British foreign correspondent, Michael Peel has come to understand, it can look very different from outside.

It's tempting to think of the UK as a fundamentally stable and successful nation. But events of the past few years, from Brexit to exposés of imperial history, have begun to spark fierce public debates about whether that is true. Is Britain, just a marginal northern European island nation, marked by injustices, corruption and with a bloody history of slavery, repression and looting?

And yet UK politics, media, and public opinion live constantly in the shadow of old myths, Second World War era nostalgia, and a belief in supposedly core British values of tolerance, decency and fair play. British politicians regularly exploit a damaging complacency that holds that everything will turn out okay, because, in Britain, it always does.

In WHAT EVERYONE KNOWS ABOUT BRITAIN, Michael Peel digs into the national consciousness with the perspective of distance to pull apart the ways in which we British have become unmoored from crucial truths about ourselves. He shows us that from many perspectives we are no different from other countries whose own national delusions have seen them succumb to abuses of power, increased poverty and divisive conflict.

The battle over Britain's narrative is the struggle for its future and its place in the world. So, how do we escape the trick mirror - and see ourselves as we really are?

Buy it here