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Headlines We Thought We Would Never See

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The Times Story

The Climate Genie is truly out of the bottle, with the MSM scrabbling to catch up as the Scientists and Politicians realise they need to heed the sceptics and provide some proof.

More on all the usual suspects.

Comments

That is a very generous interpretation. Are you sure they are simply not "re-adjusting" the data to make it look even more convincing?

There is of course another article which was pulled. The following article by Jeremy Clarkson was to be in Sunday Times on the 15 Novemeber, but was 'pulled' - probably by the subject of the article, Mandelson. So much for free speech.

Jeremy Clarkson

Sunday Times 15/11/09



I’ve given the matter a great deal of thought all week, and I’m afraid I’ve

decided that it’s no good putting Peter Mandelson in a prison. I’m afraid he

will have to be tied to the front of a van and driven round the country

until he isn’t alive any more. He announced last week that middle-class

children will simply not be allowed into the country’s top universities even

if they have 4,000 A-levels, because all the places will be taken by

Albanians and guillemots and whatever other stupid bandwagon the conniving

idiot has leapt on.



I hate Peter Mandelson. I hate his fondness for extremely pale blue jeans

and I hate that preposterous moustache he used to sport in the days when he

didn’t bother trying to cover up his left-wing fanaticism. I hate the way he

quite literally lords it over us even though he’s resigned in disgrace

twice, and now holds an important decision-making job for which he was not

elected. Mostly, though, I hate him because his one-man war on the bright

and the witty and the successful means that half my friends now seem to be

taking leave of their senses.



There’s talk of emigration in the air. It’s everywhere I go. Parties. Work.

In the supermarket. My daughter is working herself half to death to get good

grades at GSCE and can’t see the point because she won’t be going to

university, because she doesn’t have a beak or flippers or a qualification

in washing windscreens at the lights. She wonders, often, why we don’t live

in America .



Then you have the chaps and chapesses who can’t stand the constant raids on

their wallets and their privacy. They can’t understand why they are taxed at

50% on their income and then taxed again for driving into the nation’s

capital. They can’t understand what happened to the hunt for the weapons of

mass destruction. They can’t understand anything. They see the Highway

Wombles in those brand new 4x4s that they paid for, and they see the M4 bus

lane and they see the speed cameras and the community support officers and

they see the Albanians stealing their wheelbarrows and nothing can be done

because it’s racist.



And they see Alistair Darling handing over £4,350 of their money to not sort

out the banking crisis that he doesn’t understand because he’s a small-town

solicitor, and they see the stupid war on drugs and the war on drink and the

war on smoking and the war on hunting and the war on fun and the war on

scientists and the obsession with the climate and the price of train fares

soaring past £1,000 and the Guardian power-brokers getting uppity about one

shot baboon and not uppity at all about all the dead soldiers in

Afghanistan, and how they got rid of Blair only to find the lying twerp is

now going to come back even more powerful than ever, and they think, “I’ve

had enough of this. I’m off.”



It’s a lovely idea, to get out of this stupid, Fairtrade, Brown-stained,

Mandelson-skewed, equal-opportunities, multicultural, carbon-neutral,

trendily left, regionally assembled, big-government, trilingual,

mosque-drenched, all-the-pigs-are-equal, property-is-theft hellhole and set

up shop somewhere else. But where?



You can’t go to France because you need to complete 17 forms in triplicate

every time you want to build a greenhouse, and you can’t go to Switzerland

because you will be reported to your neighbours by the police and

subsequently shot in the head if you don’t sweep your lawn properly, and you

can’t go to Italy because you’ll soon tire of waking up in the morning to

find a horse’s head in your bed because you forgot to give a man called Don

a bundle of used notes for “organising” a plumber.



You can’t go to Australia because it’s full of things that will eat you, you

can’t go to New Zealand because they don’t accept anyone who is more than 40

and you can’t go to Monte Carlo because they don’t accept anyone who has

less than 40 mill. And you can’t go to Spain because you’re not called Del

and you weren’t involved in the Walthamstow blag. And you can’t go to

Germany ... because you just can’t.



The Caribbean sounds tempting, but there is no work, which means that one

day, whether you like it or not, you’ll end up like all the other expats,

with a nose like a burst beetroot, wondering if it’s okay to have a small

sharpener at 10 in the morning. And, as I keep explaining to my daughter, we

can’t go to America because if you catch a cold over there, the health

system is designed in such a way that you end up without a house. Or dead.



Canada’s full of people pretending to be French, South Africa’s too risky,

Russia’s worse and everywhere else is too full of snow, too full of flies or

too full of people who want to cut your head off on the internet. So you can

dream all you like about upping sticks and moving to a country that doesn’t

help itself to half of everything you earn and then spend the money it gets

on bus lanes and advertisements about the dangers of salt. But wherever you

go you’ll wind up an alcoholic or dead or bored or in a cellar, in an orange

jumpsuit, gently wetting yourself on the web. All of these things are worse

than being persecuted for eating a sandwich at the wheel.



I see no reason to be miserable. Yes, Britain now is worse than it’s been

for decades, but the lunatics who’ve made it so ghastly are on their way

out. Soon, they will be back in Hackney with their South African

nuclear-free peace polenta. And instead the show will be run by a bloke

whose dad has a wallpaper shop and possibly, terrifyingly, a twerp in

Belgium whose fruitless game of hunt-the-WMD has netted him £15m on the

lecture circuit.



So actually I do see a reason to be miserable. Which is why I think it’s a

good idea to tie Peter Mandelson to a van. Such an act would be cruel and

barbaric and inhuman. But it would at least cheer everyone up a bit.

How can the Met Office possibly conduct an examination of data that was thrown away more than 20 years ago?

The lads at CRU East Anglia have so jaded public opinion on climate science that the Met Office will be more or less forced to have a big website just for this re-examination. On that site, every last bit of raw data will also have to be fully and freely accessible to anyone who wants to look at it.

Otherwise there isn't a snowball's chance in hell (ha ha!) that the Met Office will be taken seriously.

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