The Globalist Pravda Network

Fake News is a phrase that is never far from the lips or fingertips of journalists and television pundits who are supposed to keep us informed about what is happening in the world. But how reliable are those who have appointed themselves the guardians of journalistic integrity.
Not very reliable it seems, if The Guardian, a highbrow UK newspaper is anything to go by.

The paper’s founder C. S. Scott coined the phrase “Comment is free, facts are sacred,” but now the people who write and edit The Guardian’s output don’t seem to know the difference.

During the 2016 US Presidential election campaign Ben Jacobs published an article at The Guardian titled, “Julian Assange gives guarded praise of Trump and blasts Clinton in interview.” Both of these claims are provably false within The Guardian’s own article and are a blatant misrepresentation of Assange’s statements.

Jacobs’ article is not in fact a report of a personal interview with Assange, but is comprised of quotes from an interview that Assange did with La Republica, an Italian newspaper  (full transcript from Repubblica English edition). Either Jacobs or an editor then mixed and matched quotes in order to construct the desired narrative.

Assange did not actually praise or state his support for President-elect Donald Trump. Assange was not even asked his personal opinion on Trump; he was asked what he believed the consequences of a Trump victory would be, as you can read, along with the Wikileaks founder’s views on the other candidate at the linked page.

The Guardian was guilty of similar misreporting of the alleged chemical weapons incidents in Syria, being quick to join the babble of political and media voices condemning the Assad regime before any evidence was available, citing as proof of Assad’s guilt reports from the groups trying to overthrow him. Recently the paper reported “Syria: chemical weapons inspectors barred from Douma site” giving the impression that Russian and Syrian military officials had prevented OPCW (Organisation for the Prevention of Chemical Weapons) inspectors from reaching the site of the latest alleged incident and the remains of what US and NATO officials said were chemical weapon making facilities destroyed by airstrikes as part of an attempt to cover up the war crime.

It later became clear that United Nations mediators had advised the inspectors to stay away from the sites because with rebel units still active in the area their safety could not be guaranteed. When the inspectors did get to the sites they found no evidence of gas attacks on civilians, local doctors said they had treated no patients for the effects of chemical weapons and there was no evidence of toxic nerve agents being manufactured at sites hit by coalition missiles.

The Guardian’s left wing editorial staff regulrly take it upon themselves to warn readers that “right wing organisations” are the only generators of Fake News.

Although the terms left and right have little meaning in political terms these days, they two sides being almost indistinguishable economically and politically and only differing on social policy (in which the left tends to be more authoritarian that the right,) what we see in the news is supporters of the globalist agenda lining up against those who favour localism, those who think diversity is only about skin colour versus those who value individuialism and cultural diversity.

Apparently such ideas are catching on, in alt_media at least:

From The Skripals To Douma, The Globalist Pravda Network Reveals Its True Face

by Rob Slane, The Blog Mire

People living in the Soviet Union had a wonderful phrase to describe the two biggest circulation state-controlled newspapers, Pravda (meaning “truth”) and Izvestia (meaning “news”). There’s no truth in Pravda and no news in Izvestia, was the oft-repeated expression. It is unfortunate that the mainstream media in the Western nations these days don’t have similar sorts of names, since it deprives us of an endless source of amusement in coming up with similarly apposite phrases about them.

It is, however, increasingly clear that on the great issues of the day, you are about as likely to find the truth in them as you would have done in Pravda, although I expect their sports and gardening sections are still relatively reliable. As for the important political and geopolitical issues of the day, I tend to imagine that on the walls next to the desks in the offices of many of these papers and broadcasters are the following instructions:

Rules for Reporting on Global Affairs

Repeat Government line unquestioningly.

If Government line is questioned, accuse those doing the questioning of being Bots, Kremlin-trolls and useful idiots.

If the persistent questioning won’t go away and the Government line is seen to be contradictory and full of holes, bury the issue completely and start posing deep questions, such as “What will Meghan wear?” or “Is there a gender pay gap in midwifery?” or “How much sugar is really bad for you?”

READ MORE>>>

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‘Russian Bomber Over UK’ Story ‘Not True At All’ – Ministry of Defence

Russian bomber NOT flying over Cornwall (Image Source)

The claims that a Russian bomber flew directly over UK territory, reported in a story The Guardian published Friday are “not true at all,” the UK Ministry of Defence (MoD) said today.

Under he headline, “Russian bomber flew inland over Cornwall, witness claims”, The Guardian reported claims by Sue Bamford, a textiles artist from Bodmin, Cornwall, who told the newspaper that whilst taking a driving lesson she saw what she later believed to be a Russian bomber flying over St Eval.

However, the UK Ministry of Defence immediately dismissed the story. “It’s not true, not true at all,” MoD spokeswoman Emma Sloper said in a statement to reporters.

The latest Guardian story comes a day after Russia Today revealed a reporter working for the newspaper, Eliot Higgins, had jointly written a news article based on a study Higgins had himself jointly authored for a group he founded, the “Bellingcat Investigative journalism network”.

Bellingcat claims to be a group of amateur “citizen journalists” and the study, based entirely on freely available online maps, claimed Russian forces had fired on Ukraine from inside the Russian border.

After being contacted by RT the Guardian later corrected the piece to show that the reporter, Higgins “a self-taught weapons expert”, had also co-authored the study on which the report was based.

Just goes to show you can’t believe all the propaganda you read in mainstream media.

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Nigel Farage Named Man Of The Year – Wankerati In Meltdown

Guardian reading Lefty trolls on Facebook, Twitter and other social media have been working themselves into a blue funk over the fact that The Times (London) newspaper has awarded UKIP leader Nigel Farage its Briton of the Year accolade. You would think, to hear the screeching that Nige had been declared God – King, Pontifex Maxiums, Great Panjandrum and chief Wizard of the entire world.

Conservative Party activists and left-wingers led the attack, launching memes claiming the Murdoch owned paper had handed the award to a “waycist” (yes, that’s still the only argument they can screech against the rise of UKIP despite appeals by Cameron, Gove, Miliband and Yvette Cooper to stop doing it as it is counter productive and wanting to control immigration is actually not racism. One of the most tweeted memes compares the award to Time Magazine naming Adolf Hitler man of the year in 1938. Some of the lefty wankers even managed to confuse Time Magazine and the Times newspaper.

There are plenty of Britons who have achieved great things this year but The Times has always regarded itself as the newspaper of record on political matters and it is beyond dispute that Nigen Farage has been the most influential and most talked about politician of 2014, he is now setting the agenda for Convervative and Labour politicians as they backpedal furiously on their open doors immigration and pro – EU integration policies.

So from that perspective the award has gone to the right proper recipient. The question now is whether UKIP can silence the Wankerati and change politics to the extent that voting means something again.

Surprisinly though The Times, traditionally The Conservative Party’s bestest friend in Fleet Street (although it has not lived in Fleet Street for many years)  was always one of the most ferocious news organisations in its attacks on UKIP.  It even reinvented a few old News Of The World dirt digging hacks as “Investigations Reporters” to lend a veneer of respectability to their real job which was to dig up or invent stories about UKIP members who once said something like “Hey lads, shall we go for a chinky,” or “Have you seen the jugs on that new girl in accounts.”

What has a loaf of bread to do with the price of fish

When The Prime Minister was asked during the Conservative Conference if he knew the price of a loaf of bread, the lefties, who get sillier by the day, and disturbingly, more uniformly silly because they all react in exactly the same way, were beside themselves with glee.

Ha haa see, posh boy Cameron is out of touch with the ordinary people, they chortled like 1950s comic characters (only characters in comic chortle) see, the fool does not even know the price of a loaf of bread.

And I’d be surprised if Ed Miliband knew the answer, or Nick Clegg or for that matter Nigel Farage and Alex Salmond. And that should not disturb us in the least. Why? Because it’s one of those silly questions that left wing media luvvies from The Guardian and BBC Radio 4’s Today programme love to ask although they don’t know the answer themselves.

How can I say that? Surely I can’t know that none of those hypocrites at The Guardian or BBC Radio News hasn’t a clue about the price of a loaf.

Well I can know that actually, just as I know for certain that none of those people know how long a piece of string is (that’s a hypothetical piece of string, not one we can measure).

It is a pity however, and a damning indictment of our politicians that when asked this question none had the with to ask, “Do you mean a supermarket budget brand 800 gramme loaf at 47p, an Allinson’s 800 gram high fibre white at £1.35 or a 600 gramme multigrain barmbrack from a craft bakery at £3.50.

They are all loaves of bread after all.

And if you want to learn the price of a loaf for yourself here is a list of 106 different loaves. One would hope the Prime Minister and the leader of the opposition have better things to do than sit around memorising them.

lord-of-the-pies
Meanwhile here’s a politician who knows the price of a pie (or several) and a pint)But was he ever Prime Minister material.

Class Distinction and Pets

A report published last week show there are now more tropical pet fish in the UK than cats, dogs, rabbits, hamsters and guinea pigs combined.

When I was young an interest in fishkeeping usually went no further than winning a goldfish at the funfair. We would take our fish home, proudly holding it’s litle plastic bag as high as we could and stopping on the way or even going out of our way to show Grandma and Grandad. Then we would put the fish in Mum’s best baking bowl, promising to buy a proper goldfish bowl with our next pocket money.

We would not feed it ant’s eggs and stuff that goldfish – like creatures would eat in the wild. Instead we would give it breadcrumbs. This made the poor goldfish so flatulent it would be zooming round its bowl like a cruise missile, powred by hyperfarts. Nobody ever got round to buying a proper goldfish bowl, pocket money was always spent on sweets, comics and Airfix kits. Sometimes an empty pickle jar was pressed into service but usually the fish did not last long enough for a pickle jar to be emptied.

Being a kind hearted soul I tried to do right by the goldfish I won for my son when he was about four. It was Saturday afternoon and the shops were open so off we went with goldfish in little plakkie bag, bought a big glass bowl a castle type thing with a hole in it to keep the fish amused and proper fish food.

Goldfish have very short memories so Thomas (my son was obsessed with Thomas the Tank Engine at the Time) could swim round and on every circuit exclaim “Wow, here’s a little castle type thingy, I can have loads of fun exploring this!”

The novelty of watching a fish swim round and go “Wow, here’s a little castle type thingy, I can have loads of fun exploring this!” soon wears thing for a four year old. At that age they crave novelty, excitement and fart jokes. My grandaughter loves my favourite toy, Uncle Windy the farting gnome.

David soon tired of his fish and decided it would be more fun for him if it were to go faster. So he fetched a dessert spon from the kitchen and kept stirring it to see it whizzing round as if it was a fart powered cruise missile.

In spite of my efforts to be a kind and humane fish owner the poor fish lasted less time than it might have in an empty pickle jar.

According to last week’s report, one in ten households now own fish, with estimates for the total numbers kept in aquariums varying from 23 to 65 million. It means there are far more pet fish in the country than cats, dogs, rabbits, hamsters and guinea pigs combined.

The trend has been put down to the relative ease and low cost of keeping pet fish, compared with other animals.

They are also convenient for those living in flats or who are revolted by poo.

The only area of Britain where fish are not the most popular pets is the London metropolitan area, there the Guardian reading elitists of the media professions, lawyers, arts workers and tax eater prefer to keep a Filipino.

Should It Be A Crime To Kill Your Aged Parents?

There has been much said and written in the media recently about ending lives that are coming to an unfortunate but lingering conclusoan.

Yoof in Asia seems to get people at the BBC more excited that civil rights abuses in Africa while assisted suicide has really opened up a can of ethical worms.

Still, I’m not talking about either of these things, I am talking about murdering your parents. Or to be specific me and fatsally’s Dear Old Mum, our Dad having shuffled off this mortal coil already.

It is a topic my sister and I have blogged on before.

Let’s be right though, we really do love our Mum but sometimes, just sometimes …

Yesterday for example. We went up to Morecambe to buy Mum a lunch as it’s her birthday quite soon. Now the thing about Morecambe is whenever you go there, to quote a club comedian of the 1960s and 70s, it’s closed. So finding somewhere to buy Mum lunch has been a bit of a bugbear. We would be seeking a classy restaurant or bistropub and turn to her for advice as she’s the one with local knowledge.

Unfortunately that local knowledge only exends to places that do a ‘pensioner’s special’ three course lunch for £1.99.

But anyway, thanks to a feature in The Guardian a few months ago which I’d bookmarked for future reference, we found a promising looking place. The Hest Bank Inn, built in 1543, a traditional English public house complete with uneven floors, low ceilings, several legends (concerening highwaymen, witches, public hangings and Bonnie Prince Charlie), probably a ghost, and a decent menu at what I consider reasonable prices. It is is about three miles out of town towards Carnforth in a delightful and secluded setting. Ideal for a Brief Encounter one might think.

We examined the menu. Cleo Hart who was chauffeuring us to work off her debts to the Boggart Blog crisis fund and who likes seeing her Grandma almost as much as she loves driving my car, it still catching up on her eating after another winter on pasta and tomato sauce in seasonal workers’ shared accom. in the alps and so opted for a steak. Teri and I made our choices and then I turned to Mum who was grizzing about prices.

“Look, I’m paying and I’m not bothering about the price I told her.”

“Well I fancy a hotpot but it’s £11.95. Twelve pounds for a hot pot, that’s outrageous, I told you we should have gone to the Shit Shoveller’s Arms for soup, sheperd’s pie and sticky toffee pudding. It’s only £1.99 for three courses.”

“Mother! If you fancy a hot pot have a hot pot. Have two hotpots if you want. It’s your birthday treat.”

“I’m only thinking of you, you’ve always had more money than sense …”

“This is not a poor persons dinner in the Great Depression mother, it’s a gourmet Hot Pot served in a bitro pub that features in good eating guides; traditional English dishes are all the rage at the momen with foodies.

“Yes but it’s made with the cheapest cut of lamb or mutton with a few potatoes, carrots and onions.”

“Just shut the f-f-f… … … … just order.”

Eventually we ordered the Hot Pot

It looked delish. It smelled delish and if Jesus had had access to such a portion he would have fed 50,000 instead of 5,000.

Cleo was so enraptured with her steak she looked ready to shed all her clothes and ascend to a higher level of being, my steak baguette was wonderful and Teri’s roast beef was about half a bullock’s worth of prime Cumbrian meat.

Mum wasn’t entirely happy however. Her Hot Pot was made wth prime tender lamb fillet and not ‘scrag end’ as proper Hot Pot should be.

“But people will not eat scrag end now, it’s all fat and bone and gristle. Poor people used to eat it because they could afford nothing else,” we all told her. It was to no avail, she was off on a misty eyed reminiscence about poverty, hardship, badger’s arse stew and rickets – none of which affected her family as it happens, although Grandad Redfern could only afford to drive round in a bull nosed Morris Oxford rather than a Rolls Royce throughout the great depression. Yes Mum has known real hardship.

For all it’s lack of scrag end Mum polished off the Hot Pot, leaving nothing on the plate. She did insist on lecturing the waitress about the joys of scrag end however. Teri notoced my finger start to twitch as I gazed affectionaltely at Mum’s neck and gave me a sharp kick. The poor serving wench who was about 18 hadn’t a clue what the mad old woman was on about. She did pick up on our rolling eyeballs and stifled laughter however and ran away giggling hysterically.

As we made our way across the car park Teri commented that as we’d left the £5 tip in cash to get rid of some coins she hoped the same girl cleared the table.

“Five pounds,” Mum said, “You left five pounds tip? When I was that girl’s age five pounds was a weeks wage for a grown man.”

She turned and set off like a whippet to retrieve the week’s wage and leave a more reasonable sixpence but fortunately Cleo deftly tripped her and pinned her to the ground with an armlock.

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Ari’s little platoons

In an interview with The Guardian about the sale of her website Huffington Post to AoL, Arianna Huffington nee Stanisopolous told Hadley Freeman, “I believe in little platoons.” (video)

Funny, I remember her when she was a journo in the UK (before she dumped the brilliant Bernard Levin for the seriously rich and evem more seriously old Mr. Huffington and she seemed to have quite big ones then.

Where not to find good food that is easy on your pocket.

Long before I cancelled my regular order for a print copy of The Guardian I had begun to wonder what planet the meeja types who write it actually live on.

Today the Guardian website ran a feature titled Britain’s best budget restaurants. Budget my arse, unless we are talking about a government department’s budget.

Follow the link below, open the “Selct City” dropdown list and choose Lancashire Coast. In the results that appear to the left of the page you will see Rotunda Cafe. This is in The Midland Hotel, Morecambe, the town where your Boggart Bloggers Dear Old Mum (and grandma in Cleo’s case) lives.

Cheap. Fatsally and I have both been in. £3.50 for a cup of very ordinary coffee. Three pounds fucking fifty? Cheap?

Britain’s Best Budget Restaurants

If you ever go to Morecamber either because you have elderly relatives there or because you have taken leave of your senses Boggart Blog recommends the Waterside Restaurant in the Clarendon Hotel, Marine Road West. You can get an excellent meal, (starter and main course, Mrs. T and I don’t do desserts) for under thirty quid for two people and the excellent coffee is £1.70 a cup.

And remember if you want to find good food at prices that will not bankrupt you, don’t look to the Guardian for help. The food writers will direct you to The Restaurant At The End Of The Universe because they don’t live on this planet.

Guardian Readers Are The New Daily Mail Readers.

We’ve all gone matey matey now and the coalition means we can’t take the piss out of Conservative voting NIMBYS and people who’re not as posh as they think they are. Even some of the old tribal hatreds that gave us so much pleasure have had to be laid aside. An example is our attitude to Daily Mail readers.

While it is not yet compulsory to love Daily Mail readers we are, in the spirit of national unity, required to we are required to acknowledge they’re entitled to their opinion even if the opinion holds that watching Channel 4 gives you cancer.

Every society. every culture and sub culture needs a hate symbol however (and for Daily Mail readers it’s Romanian gypsy social workers) so having to be comradely to our Daily Mail reading brethren and sistren created a vacuum in the lives of us long time Liberals.

No worries, Deputy Prime Minister and deputy leader of the Lib Dems Nick Clegg decided he should consult Joe Public about what hateful authoritarian New Labour laws ought to be repealed. There were many interesting suggestions: Laws that favour women, speeding laws, the human rights act, parking laws, all health and safety laws, anything related to the EU and the fox hunting ban. So most of the people who are listening to Nick are Top Gear fans or Daily Mail readers. Not all however…

Some respondents wanted to scrap anti – smoking laws, now that one did not come from Daily Mail readers, smoking is linked to cancer and the Daily Mail is as strongly opposed to cancer as it is to Guardian readers, young people, wind turbines and Romanian gypsies in everyone’s back yard.

Another suggestion that seemed to resonate with 90% of visitors to the website, Daily Mail readers included, was that Nick Clegg and his people should campaign to scrap every law that socialists and Guardian Readers think is a good idea.

If this is a sign of things to come I’m glad I’m not a Guardian Reader any more.

More humour every day at Boggart Blog

The Budget: Labour’s Economic Genius

This being a big day for editors of both piss taking blogs and shit stirring blogs (I have one of each) newspapers had to be bought this morning.

The Daily Telegraph lived up to expectations, I mean you don’t buy a pig and expect it to say “baa” do you? The Guardian however, the New Labour house mag, surpassed itself.

Since the election when Labour was defeated and the Condemned coalition took over, the the paper has on a twice weekly basis featured Polly Toynbee blethering on about what a god-awful mess the coalition have made of the economy which was in an absolutely wonderful state when Labour left office six weeks ago. More recently Polly has been creaming her pants as she tells us what a wonderful, inspirational leader Deadward is going to be as soon as the Milliband boys can get their quiffs synchronised.

To be fair The Guardian’s reporting of the budget did show a little more balance. They held off accusing George Osborne of eating baby pandas.

In a budget feature titled “What It Means For You” the paper demonised Osborne by showing how his increase in VAT will reduce academics, social workers, teachers and media professionals to penury and push “the poor” into third world levels of deprivation. “This will put a tenner on the price of an iPhone, what will that do to the the living standards of the poorest 10%?” the paper screamed.

Well as the poorest 10% will not be buying iPhones any time soon (or not legally sourced ones anyway) we say “fuck all.”

Another part of the article was wailing about the extra 2.5% on petrol. The example of drivers with their own car who spend £2600 a year on petrol was used. “Are there any Guardian readers who own cars since Ian cancelled his order?” you might well ask,” The paper seems to place car owners on a lower rung of the ladder of social acceptability than Fred West and Peter Sutcliffe. Perhaps the six dozen remaining Guardian readers are all wispy bearded vegans now, but car owners will be rushing to subscribe when they get wind of this socialist economic miracle. The hypothetical driver driver who spends £2,600 a year on petrol will find his expenditure rising to £2,255.

If that means my favourite red wine will go up from £7 a bottle to £6.75 I’m all for it.

On the other hand it does explain why Labour supporters still believe Gordon Brown’s government left the economy in great shape and the Condems are too stupid to understand what a wonderful thing they inherited.

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More humour every day at Boggart Blog