Category: Behind Enemy Lines

Bird Time

Behind Enemy Lines, Friends and Family, Hunting

Because Mr. Free Market is a Foul Evil BastardTM, he decided to send me a few scenic pics from his current sooper-seekrit location in Scottishland.  Here’s the general milieu (note the complete absence of freezing rain, for the first time ever in this event I’m told):

(Note that Mr. FM is not wearing a face condom, despite Scottish law.)

Then it’s off to the “boxes”:

 

Note the careful arranging of reloads in pairs, ready for the old Load & Slaughter routine in his Beretta O/U (gawd help us, but the man has such terrible taste in shotguns).

The group shot down several hundred grouse and partridge, but here’s a pic of one brace, taken by Mr. FM with a single barrel.

When I say “taken”, I mean “shot”, of course, not clubbed out of the sky with his shotgun (which would be poor form, of course).

I am so jealous I could spit.

Proper British

Behind Enemy Lines

This story got a lot of attention a little while ago:

A supermarket security guard has won the internet’s hearts as he stood in the pouring rain to shelter a patient dog. Morrisons security worker Ethan Dearman was photographed braving the elements outside the supermarket in Giffnock, Glasgow on Sunday. The picture, taken by Mel Gracie, 25, shows Mr Dearman holding a green umbrella over golden retriever Freddie, who is relaxing underneath.

And the pic:

Several people have commented that this is a typically-British story.  I disagree (and my Brit Readers will back me up on this, I think).

What would have made this a typically-British story would have been if the security guard was fired for not doing his proper job — because if there’s one thing Brits excel at, it’s bossing people around just because they can.

It’s precisely the same mindset behind a parking warden booting an ambulance for parking in a No Parking zone while picking up an injured patient, or a pharmacist’s assistant denying a customer a purchase of a pregnancy test kit during a lockdown, because it’s not an “essential” item.

I love Britain and its people, and I have as many Brit friends as American or South African friends, but this is one character flaw I find particularly tiresome.

No Big Deal

Behind Enemy Lines, Travels

I see that we’re still not allowed to visit Canuckistan until June, but that’s okay.  Montreal is only worth visiting for the three weeks of summer in July anyway.

Here’s a recent pic of same:

I am going to be taking New Wife up there soon.  She’s never been to Canada, and I love Montreal — other than the fact that it’s in Canuckistan, I could live there quite easily.

 

If I may digress for a moment — and I believe I can — there are quite a few places in the world similar to Montreal, where I could easily live but for the fact that the countries in which they’re located are completely fucked up.

The first example is Wiltshire, England, home to Mr. Free Market, The Englishman and a couple of other Bad Influences:

Of course, there’s meine schönes Wien:

…and Paris — the Paris I knew back in the early 2000s, not the refugee-infested shithole it’s since become:

Ditto London:

All these places, and so many others, captivated me utterly when I was there and I remember thinking at the time, “I could live here.”

Then I’d come back home, and realize that I loved my freedom more.

And our TV is better.

Don’t get me started on guns…

…none of which I’d be allowed to own in any of the above European cities.

So Montreal can wait.

Asking The Other Side

Behind Enemy Lines, Elections, Mocking Furriners

Over at Instapundit, Gail Heriot has posted a decent summary of the England-Scotland alliance.  But then there’s this:

In 1979, an effort to establish (or re-establish) a separate Scottish legislature via referendum failed. It did so, however, only because the Act authorizing the referendum required that at least 40% of the entire Scottish electorate vote in favor. While the referendum got more yes than no votes, turnout was poor. In 1997, another such referendum was held. This time it passed, a Scottish Parliament was established, and the process of “devolution” was begun.
In 2014, when an independence referendum was held, it came a lot closer to passing than union supporters would have preferred. Ultimately, Scottish voters went 55.3% to 44.7% in favor of sticking it out with England.

What interests me, and many others, is the fact that only the Scots  voted on whether to leave or stay in the Union, which begs the question:  why did not all  interested parties — including the English and Welsh — vote on separation?

Had the population living south of the River Tweed voted, you bet there’s have been considerable support behind a “Toss the Jocks” movement — Mr Free Market and The Englishman claim that at least two-thirds of English voters would support expelling the porridge-monkeys in a heartbeat, had they been allowed to do so.

Such ravings should be taken with a grain of salt — especially when expressions like “Can we then finish what we started at Culloden?” and “Rebuild Hadrian’s Wall” are thrown into the mix.  Nevertheless, we Murkins should not underestimate the depth of enmity that still exists between the Picts and the Angles even after all this time.  It’s most openly expressed by the Scots, such as when supporting anyone playing England in sporting competitions, but the anti-Jock sentiments in England, while less overt, still run pretty deep.

We can talk about the Welsh and Irish situations on another occasion;  but in the meantime, think of the situation as a (very) civilized Balkans, and you’ll get the idea.

Crims Gonna Crim

Behind Enemy Lines, Crime

As the old saying goes:  “If you ban guns, can we use swords?”  Well, Britishland is discovering the folly of denying its citizens the natural right of self-defense, and especially ownership of guns, as the choirboys just turn to other means:

Knife crime is continuing to rocket as shocking figures released today show more than 44,000 offences were reported last year. The number of offences involving a knife or sharp instrument in England and Wales rose by 7% on the previous 12 months, figures released by the Office for National Statistics show.
The alarming figures also reveal a 4% rise in firearms offences, a 10% increase in pickpock[et]ing, an 11% rise in robberies and a 9% increase in public order offences.

And as you continue to emasculate [sic] your police force:

Worryingly, a breakdown shows just 1.4% of reported rapes end up in someone being charged, just 3.3% of sexual offences and only 5% of thefts.

I’ll bet that the highest percentage of crime categories solved (so as to bring the average up to that 7.4%) is nonsense like “didn’t have a TV license” or “littering” — you know, the serious  crimes.

The percentage of cases solved has almost halved in the last four years. It was 14.8% in 2015.

And it was crap in 2015, too.  From memory, the number was something like 60% solved back in the 1970s, when Life On Mars  policing was reality and not satire.

For my Murkin Readers:  remember, I’m always going on about Britishland because it’s an object lesson in what could happen (and in some cases is already happening) Over Here.

Take away the right to self-defense, take away the proper means of self-defense, lessen the efficiency of your police force by means of politically-correct dicta  and harassment, and you have… London.  And, by the way, Chicago.

Thanks, but no thanks.

Third World Adventure

Behind Enemy Lines, Gummint

I once knew a German professional photographer (let’s call him Georg) who, along with a fellow German photographer (“Klaus”), decided to do one of those photo safaris — driving from Cairo to Cape Town, snapping pics along the way — that sounds so good back in Hamburg, but is completely foolish in reality.  Anyway, driving a mil-surp G-Wagen (not a bad choice, BTW), they set off and made it through Egypt without incident.  At the border, they had to get a “passing through” visa to get across the Sudan, which essentially allowed them to be in the country for three days.  When they got to Sudan’s southern border, however, the sole guard at the border post (just a hut) wouldn’t let them leave the country because they had the “wrong visa” — and they’d have to drive back to Khartoum (a two-day drive) to get the right one.  When Georg pointed out that their existing visa would expire en route and they would, in essence, be in the country illegally and imprisoned if caught, the guard just shrugged.  Not his problem.

I told you that story so I could tell you this one.  Last week, faced with a looming legal deadline, I had to fly up to Chicago to get a legal document out of the Cook County Court archives.  (Why I was unable to access the document online, or even manage to talk to someone in the County Clerk’s office to send me the document is a story all by itself.)  Anyway, after having had my 5am flight canceled (thank you, American), I made the 7am flight only by dint of paying the full fare (don’t ask) and arrived at the Cook County courthouse (2nd District in Skokie) at about 11am, with all the data needed for the request on my trusty laptop..

Of course, there’s TSA-type security at all these places these days, which is where I had a Sudan-type encounter of my own.  Reason?  No laptops allowed in the courthouse by members of the public.  I know, it’s inexplicable but hey, Cook County.  I looked around for any storage lockers:  none.

“So where can I store my laptop?”
“You’ll just have to take it back to your car.”
“I don’t have a car;  I just flew in from Dallas.  So what can I do?”
Like the Sudanese border guard, the fucking security guard just shrugged.  “Not my problem.”

At this juncture, I should point out that every single glass window and door at the courthouse has one of those idiotic little “No Handgun” stickers displayed.

I’m not saying that I would have shot someone — in fact, I absolutely would not have, even if I’d been able to bring the 1911 with me — but let me tell you, after a day which had begun at 3am, experienced a canceled flight and a massive fare surcharge along with all the other hassles of modern-day travel (full flight, idiots with too-large bags, crowded train from the airport into the city etc.), only to be faced with indifferent bovine officialdom at the end of it, I can quite believe that some other guy  might  have dropped the hammer.

Which, by the way, is what Klaus did at the Sudanese border.  He told the guard that he had the correct visa back in the car, fetched his gun instead and shot the guard dead.  Then he and Georg got in their G-Wagen and raced off into Uganda.  A real African tale, that one.

And now, the rest of my  story. Read more