Green Arrow's Last Stand! (or grovel...)

Last night in his “Paltalk” Chatroom, Paul “Green Arrow” Morris held his much-vaunted "Finding A Way Forward” session.

Billed as a “Debate”, and a Bridge-Building Exercise, the couple of hours were, of course, largely an excuse for Morris (“Warsash”!) and his long-suffering sidekick “Bertie Bert” to chat among themselves and repeatedly tell one another how eminently reasonable, civilised and downright gentlemanly they were.

Over and over again.

Despite the invitations extended to all and sundry, including Simon Darby and even Eddy Butler (!), those present (besides at least a dozen amused Anti's) were, for the most part, the regular, dwindling gang of Arrow Loyalists. All of whom were, naturally, keen to express just how eminently reasonable, civilised and downright gentlemanly everyone was being.

It was, indeed, a Night of Wonders.

Most notable of these (and despite a palpable sticking in the throat from Warsash, Bert and Corsham Crusader), was the insistence on addressing everyone discussed with the prefix “Mr”. Hence; “Mr” Griffin. “Mr” Harrington. “Mr” Brons.

Even (like I said – a Night of Wonders) “Mr” Butler. I would have at least expected him to be addressed as “Mr Brothel” Butler.

So the little gang got together for a mutual backslapping session. Everyone reiterated, once again, how eminently reasonable, civilised and downright gentlemanly everyone was being, and the session ended with the general agreement that they had, among themselves, proven that Morris was, indeed, the most eminently reasonable, the most civilised and the most downright gentlemanly one of the lot. A veritable successor to Dag Hammarskjold, with the diplomacy of Eleanor Roosevelt, the wisdom of Bertrand Russell and the saintly bearing of Simeon Stylites.

(Sadly for Observers, it should be noted that although Morris might agree that he has “a face for radio”, he certainly hasn't got the voice for it.)

A cynic, of course, might suggest an alternative view.

A cynic might suspect that Morris is a man who's world is crumbling faster than a jet ski made of cake and he's got to pull something out of the bag - Fast!

Having spent most of the past year leading a hate campaign of spectacularly poisonous vitriol against the likes of (Mr) Butler, (Mr) Beverley, (Mr) Cass, (Mr) Barnbrook and any other Mr or Mrs who dared to so much as not bow low enough in the presence of his beloved (Mr) Griffin; (Mr) Morris suddenly finds himself out in the cold as (Mr) Griffin adds him to the bonfire of discards outside the gates of his disintegrating palace.

Morris – a cynic might suggest – is motivated by pure ego. An increasingly frightened little man desperate to be seen as a Mover and Shaker; existing at the very Glowing Heart of Nationalism and feted for his wise counsel and heroic adherence to principal.

Problem is – he's picked the wrong team. And now he's desperate to get into somebody's – Anybody's! - good books once again.

And the stuff he came out with!

He is, of course (by his own declaration), one of Nationalism's “Old Guard”. That's despite many years of accusations that his supposed “history” within the movement is sketchier than the early days of Kaspar Hauser.

He sagely agreed with contributors who bemoaned the amount of egotism among the various factions while – arguably – having the biggest ego of the lot.

At one point, a rant about Harrington and his position at Head Office became a thinly-disguised plea for a job. (Hilariously, in one memorable aside, bemoaning the fact that (“Mr”) Harrington “isn't even a Member” before adding “I know I'm not a Member either, but that's for entirely different reasons...”)

He slated (“Mr”) Phillips for threatening to put him on Redwatch and denied, in the strongest possible terms, that he would ever stoop so low. Conveniently neglecting to mention the fact that in the past he has, indeed, stooped exactly that low.

He was beside himself with mock horror over the (“Mr” and “Mrs”) Kitchen revelations. Despite the fact that he presumably knew (along with everyone else at the Glowing Heart of Nationalism - and us, thanks to a post last year on Sharon Ebanks' forum) about it many months ago.

Despite the backslapping as it ended, and grandiose declarations that “we've made a start – we've opened a dialogue and now we need to build upon it”, it was most illuminating to return to the room a couple of hours later.

It was, of course, Business As Usual.

(Footnote: Having sat up in the Office listening to this landmark in broadcasting I was moved to catch a movie before bed. I chose Don Siegel's 1956 classic “Invasion of the Bodysnatchers”. You'll remember it's about people who suddenly and mysteriously don't seem to be quite themselves any longer. Just saying.)

"Personalities" Of The BNP: Roger Phillips

As the slogan says: "People Like Us Vote BNP"

"The man is a machine in the cause of Nationalism and I am proud to call him my friend and kinsman. After Nick Griffin and John of Gwent, he is the only other man I wish I had met twenty years or more ago.”

Paul “Green Arrow” Morris sings the praises of Roger Phillips. (He has, of course, now also fallen out with both Griffin and John “of Gwent” Voisey...)

Roger Phillips of the South Wales BNP is just one of the reasons given by the ever-closer-to-the-mental-abyss Paul Morris for his falling out with the previously Godlike leadership of his beloved BNP.

For anyone not acquainted with Phillips, let's spend a few minutes looking at his glittering career in the Far-Right firmament.

The main thing to bear in mind is that Roger isn't a bright man. He really isn't. This is a theme we'll be returning to.

Dubbed “Super Activist” by Head Office (not that this means much: After all, both Morris and Michael “BNP Sleazebuster” Barnbrook have been so named in the past, and look what happened to them...), his finest hour came with making a short film, posted on YouTube, that provided all the “proof” curtain-twitching racist simpletons needed that Britain had, indeed, been “occupied” and was now “a third world country”.

Picture the scene: Wembley. November 2009. Porcine skinhead Roger Phillips takes his camera down the High Street and, speaking in hushed tones (even-hilariously at one point-in Welsh because “it could be dangerous for us here”) gives a running commentary about it “not being Britain anymore” and how “scary” it all is. Our heroic Documentarian even discovers that there are likely to be a preponderance of Muslims in the vicinity of a building called the “Muslim Welfare Association”.

Like I said; Roger isn't a bright man.

Carefully ignoring the simple fact that the Intrepid Reporter would only have to walk for a few minutes before he found streets far more to his liking, (and where he may even be allowed to speak English without fear of attack), the video launched a bit of a micro-trend among the Cineastes of the Far-Right for taking the old camcorder out to a local area with a large non-White population and letting it run while recording a narration of breathless terror and foreboding.

Some friends from Derby were even moved to produce an Asian spoof last Summer, in which they hopped on the train to Matlock Bath and filmed, with horror (and speaking occasional Urdu for fear of attack), the sheer tonnage of White folk present...

But Roger's filmmaking talents extend far beyond mere travelogues. He also does science, him.

Witness his frankly bizarre “demonstration” in a kitchen during which, by mixing various coloured liquids together, he shows the inner workings of immigration. Sadly for the Presenter, the liquid he uses to represent “The Indigenous Population Of The United Kingdom” looks almost exactly like urine.

Roger isn't a bright man.

This heyday of his filmmaking career was back in the time when, in the lovestruck eyes of Green Arrow, Phillips could do no wrong. In fact, Morris would solicit funds for the trips to London on his wretched sites, promoting them in terms of being “dangerous missions behind enemy lines”.

Then there was Phillips' short-lived foray into the world of commerce, as a bespoke manufacturer of tee shirts, enamelled badges and assorted ultra-Right tat trading as “British Patriot Products”.

Everything was going swimmingly for a time. Following his company's grand launch in a Derbyshire field at the 2009 Red White and Blue débâcle, the website went live and the orders rolled in.

Well, not exactly “rolled”, but staggered in at any rate. And then it all stopped. Eager visitors to the Site were greeted with a message alluding to “family illness” and that was that. Hell, you could even buy an official “Green Arrow” tee shirt. If you wanted to look an utter fool, that is.

Not only is Roger not a bright man, he's poisonously unpleasant with it.

Whenever he feels in any way slighted, impugned or otherwise put down (which must be pretty much all the time for anyone who seems so determined to make a fool of themselves so consistently), he's not one to take things lying down.

One Bristol Anti-Fascist was subjected to a series of 'phone threats from Phillips that led to a Police investigation. Phillips was caught online telling Baroness Uddin “we're going to hang you one day”. He was most recently convicted of an assault at the Cross Hands Workingmen’s Club in South Wales when he admitted he “lost his cool”.

It seems academic to wonder if he ever had any cool to lose.

And now, courtesy of Paul “Captain Hogwash” Morris himself, we get a further insight into the patented Roger Phillips Method Of Conflict Resolution.

Morris, a man who, it should be remembered, has never exactly shied away from machismo, threats and bluster himself (once, famously, announcing that he would publish on his site the names of anyone daring to nominate Eddy Butler in the abortive “Leadership Challenge”), is up in arms, possibly cowering behind a pile of empty lager cans and, it seems, accustomed to “sleep fully dressed with your boots on and expecting your door to be kicked in”, in light of Roger's latest heartfelt attempt to achieve a mediated settlement to matters of mutual interest.

"ah f*** of you chicken s*** c*** were going to have you" says Roger.

"c***! you will be sorry soon" says Roger, by way of pressing his point home.

“you are a f****** slimy little c*** keep the f*** away from wales anyone that attacks the party along with ga is a traitor to the country" adds Roger, in a comment aimed at Morris' hapless sidekick, Mark “Corsham Crusader” Kennedy.

(Apologies for the spelling and grammar - but then, Roger isn't a bright man.)

There's more. Much more. Sadly, however, my inbuilt mental profanity filter kicks in after a while and I just don't feel like printing it.

It's not like you haven't got the gist, though...

Evidently protected by Head Office and a popular (if not exactly coherent) speaker at BNP meetings, Phillips has been - so far - mysteriously immune from suspension or discipline. Maybe he's popular among the Branches. Possibly he donates well and often (something that's sure to curry favour with Welshpool).

Or perhaps they're just frightened of getting a visit from him.

Of perverts and idiots...

A couple of interesting emails have arrived over the past two days, one of which asked what proof we have that Tom Holmes attempted to get off with a fourteen year old girl, the other of which is supposedly from someone close to Clive (sniff-sniff) Jefferson, who allegedly overheard Nick Griffin's pet moron on his mobile whining to either Mark Walker or Pat Harrington.

The former is pretty clear so we'll deal with that one first. Twenty-six year old Holmes has just been booted out of the BNP after evidence was revealed that showed he was grooming an underage girl. Quite why Holmes got the boot when the likes of Paedo Collett and his idiot chum David Hannam were allowed to get away with their little attempt at underage sex, who knows. However, Holmes is still going on about his innocence, claiming both that he wasn't interested in having sex with the girl even if she was sixteen and that he acted appropriately at all times. Holmes has tried this one over at the British Democracy Forum, too, stating very clearly,

'Never mentioned anything about getting her to have sex with me when she's 16, actually.'

Oh dear, what a terrible liar Tom has become. And here's the proof, from his Facebook page...

Click on image for full-size

Tom's remark "Awww :( 2 years" shows pretty clearly that he's perfectly well aware of the girl's age, the pervert.

Holmes is apparently still claiming that he intends to stand as an Independent in his next local election, handing the seat over to the BNP if he wins. He won't, of course. The public doesn't take too well to men approaching thirty making remarks about fourteen year olds opening their legs for him, even if he is only hoping it will happen two years hence. As far as I recall, that's referred to as grooming.

Talking of perverts, we hear that Clive Jefferson, the stupidest man in the BNP, has apparently begun to bow under pressure from increasingly angry party members (and a hostile media) and has been begging Mark Walker or Pat Harrington to support him in persuading Porky Griffin to give the Kitchens the boot ASAP, preferably before even more information about Granny Kitchen's porn hits the media. Quite what anything in the BNP has to do with Harrington, we don't know, but he seems to have an uncommonly tight hold on both Griffin and the party. Perhaps Mrs K has been giving him lessons.

The interesting thing about this, assuming it's true, is that Jefferson wants to kick the Kitchens out but appears to be unable to. Why? As far as we know, he's been booting people out of the party wholesale for months - what makes the Kitchens so special?

Our correspondent suggests that the Kitchens will be gone by this weekend. Maybe but we doubt it. Martin Reynolds has been involved in porn and all kinds of shit (literally) for years and he's still around. Still, things could hot up in more ways than one as Spring approaches - we're told that there are quite a few more BNP-related revelations on their way. Can't wait.

Meanwhile, GrannyGate has claimed a victim. Paul Morris (not that one), the BNP's Eastern regional organiser, has jacked in his job in disgust at the adverse publicity that the Kitchens have spawned and the party's apparent unwillingness to get rid of them post haste. I doubt very much that he'll be the last to go - this story seems set to carry on a while yet.

Is No-One Being Held To "Account"? (See what I did there?)

The 2009 Accounts are finally out and in the public domain.

And now we see Nick Griffin's finely-honed BNP operation at it's finest and most dynamic. No; not in their sucking it up, presenting a brave face and putting a positive spin on a set of thrown-together figures so dodgy you'd imagine they were dreamed up in an alternate universe where Polly Peck's Bookkeeper was Robert Maxwell, but in a far higher and more noble cause...

Stopping the Membership – at any cost - getting the slightest inkling of what's going on.

We begin our survey with the Leader's own Facebook and Twitter pages.

“Passing Cambrai, first place that tanks were used in battle...”

Ah! There you go, then: The proof is out there that the BNP are no longer a going concern (as suspected by even their own Auditors), and Griffin gives us a fascinating history lesson.

Later, he reaches his Welshpool home (with its £33,519 “security systems”) and his poetic soul really goes into overdrive: “A gloriously sunny, frosty day. Red kite over the hills. Pigs happy. Dog bouncing. Great to be home.”

This, of course, elicits the kind of response he likes from his cringing Faithful. Whereas many might be tempted to respond with “**** the livestock and the weather report, Griffin – where's the ****ing MONEY?!”, I feel that “Noel Thfc Rushton” speaks for many simple folk with unenquiring minds with the touching sentiment “Every day is a good day to be British :)”.

Having established that the pets are happy to see him, Mr Griffin helpfully fills us in on the state of play with his Estate, helpfully illustrated with a photograph: “One of 100 hazels I planted two years ago. Hope the pic shows the new buds (It does, Mr Griffin – it does!). As the Bard said, If winter comes, can...”

And, by the way, it wasn't the Bard, it was Shelley.

But of the Accounts; nothing. (Not that this bothers “Pierce Daly”, whose comment is a touching “Go nick!!!”. Unless that's meant as an instruction rather than an endorsement.

On to the official BNP Facebook page, where surely the membership will have been discussing little else...

Oh dear. Not a sausage. At time of writing (about 1.10pm), there's a bit about the latest Peer to be caught with his fingers in the till (well, not so much “the till” - I prefer to think of it as my bloody pocket...), the burning question of the day about the BNP's non-appearance on Question Time (over which, to be fair, they should think themselves lucky), the usual parade of non-stories regurgitated from the Mail and the Express (“Not Racist – But Number One With Racists!”), and a bizarre rant from Paul (“Green Arrow”) Morris headlined “Will The Boy Scouts Be Getting A New Uniform?”.

From what I hear of that man's surfing habits, I guess he's hoping for one in soft leather, cut high on the thighs.

Discussion of the Accounts that show Griffin to be a serial liar, an inveterate chancer and possibly a thief?

Zero.

Discussion of the discrepancy between the claimed Membership figures and the dismal reality?

Zilch.

Discussion of the mysterious disappearance of the “Truth Truck” (claimed to be “needing a service, tax and MoT...)

Zip.

Over the next few days and weeks, I expect that something for Member's consumption will appear concerning the accounts. And I'm perfectly sure it'll be the standard concoction of spin, blame and outright lies.

I'm also perfectly sure the wilfully naïve Faithful with fall for it...

Again.

(Looking forward to the 2010 accounts? Expect them sometime in 2012. If the BNP survive that long.)

My New Year Resolutions...

Hello again.

A bit late, I know, but it's that time, once again, when we're supposed to come up with New Year's Resolutions.

Given that I've generally given up on such bold pledges by the 5th, and have shamefacedly reverted to smoking/ drinking too much coffee/ eating junk food/ paying good money to see 200 million dollar movies with a “2” or a “3” after the title, I worked out that by applying the simple method of launching my Resolutions a few days later at least they'll make it a touch further into 2011 before being ditched.

(God, I need a fag.)

Those Resolutions in Full...

I Will Not Pick On Easy Targets

The likes of Green Arrow and his dwindling bunch of “Kinsmen” have given the world more innocent laughter at their hilarious hi-jinks and idiotic tomfoolery than the combined efforts of Boris Johnson, the England Football Team and anyone who's ever been on the X Factor.

They recently even took to debating the identity of the Antichrist, for (Anti) Christ's sake. (And of course they were all entirely wrong: Any scholar worth their salt will tell you that Biblical, Talmudic, Apocryphal and astrological references all point clearly to the ancient prophecy of George Osborne as being He Who Is Destined To Hold Sway Over The Hellish Realm.)

The steady decline in Morris' fortunes, as his old coterie of writers desert him to be replaced by a succession of escapees from the Acute Ward, is to be welcomed, sure; but it's not like he's regarded as anything other than a joke by anyone, on either side of the debate.

And it's not just him: I hereby resolve to lay off other easy targets. I will even lay off my local idiot – Maria ("Shaydee_Lady") Riley-Ward – whose contribution to her Party's cause is a dismal cut n' paste of Daily Mail articles, undiluted white supremacy and barking mad, tinfoil helmeted paranoia about flouride. I won't even bother pointing out that her recent idea of "helping" the BNP's public image (she's been a regular candidate, after all) was to post a video of “Hitler's Political Testament”. Much like being saddled with having Michael Gove as your spokesman for Education (or, in fact, anything), there are some people you just wouldn't want on your side in an argument.

(Anyone got a fag?)

I Will No Longer Read The British Democracy Forum

Of course, this one may last about as long as Simon (“The Man Who Cost The BNP The General Election Landslide That Surely Would Have Been Theirs”) Bennett, who recently made great show of “resigning” from the Forum having been caught out making a typically bizarre series of threats to another Member, only to return, under a cunning new identity, a short while later. (Note to Self: Include Bennett in the one about Easy Targets. Just about the only way to get an easier laugh than mentioning the self-styled Cornish Sage would be to sing an amusing song about Gillian McKeith while dressed as a clown. And then fall over.)

I Will Continue To Ignore The BFP

As will everyone.

(Hang on-there's half a pack of Gitanes around here somewhere...)

I Will Get Up To Oldham For A Day Of Leafleting

That way, when the BNP are (inevitably) humiliated on the 13th, I'll be able to imagine that it was all down to me. In much the same way as I've always held the fond belief that it was the two hours I spent on a picket outside South Africa House in 1988 that later caused Apartheid to crumble. (And the really galling part is that I never got so much as a thankyou card from Nelson Mandela...)

I Will Stop Using Griffin's Disability For Cheap Laughs

Why refer to his having one eye? There have, after all, been some terrific people with one eye: Nelson, Claude Rains, Sammy Davies Jr, James Thurber, Hannibal, Tex Avery, Peter Falk, John Ford... No. It cannot stand. No more on the “one eye” stuff.

Not when there's the begging letters, the weight, the lying, the cheating, the begging letters, the finances, the accounts, the nervous tics, the begging letters, the Pooterish image and the general fact that the man is so relentlessly full of shit that he normally resembles a septic tank with a haircut.

So. Those are my Resolutions.

And this time I'll stick to them.

Expect normal service to be resumed by this time next week.

(Ahh – Sweet, sweet, French tobacco...)

Don't Panic! Everything's Fine On Planet Griffin!

The Welshpool Bunker. Earlier today (Artist's Impression)

The BNP is on her deathbed. A few Mourners sit around in the darkened bedroom weeping silently while others, downstairs in the kitchen, discuss the state of the Old Girl's finances and who's going to get what when the estate gets divvied up.

The Priest has delivered the last rites and she's asleep now: A Doctor checks the pulse from time to time to see if She's still with us.

But wait! Something's wrong!

She's still Tweeting! And all is well! She's FINE!!

Have a look:

October 18th.

News reaches us at L.U that the Party is, in effect, insolvent. Jim Dowson's astonishing letter offering Creditors 20p in the Pound to settle up is published.

This, in itself, would be enough to finally proclaim to the World that the Jig Is Up, and the BNP have now ceased to function in any meaningful capacity.

Over on Nick Griffin's Twitter Account, however...

“When I think back to the bewilderment when we started I see how far we've come in a year.”

He helpfully adds;

“All votes for tomorrow worked out in good time. The team is really effective now.”

Phew! That's alright, then: The mere fact that the Party has no money and is reduced to desperately touting an insulting last-ditch offer around its own Suppliers might, dare one say, worry a lesser man. Nick, however, is made of sterner stuff, and can obviously see The Big Picture denied to we lesser mortals.

Two days later the Party make the National News, with the not-entirely-mystifying revelation that the Derbyshire Police Service would quite like to know just where they're planning on holding their 2010 Conference in December (which, displaying a keen grasp of satire I'd long thought beyond the BNP is subtitled “Moving Forward Together”. Presumably in the same way as lemmings are said to “Move Forward Together” in times of famine).

Quite understandably, Superintendent Gary Parkin would like to have a bit of notice of the Event in order to tell several hundred of his Bobbies where to go and stand; his years of Exemplary Service having given him the insight that several hundred of us will be planning on turning out to yell at the Delegates.

Nick Griffin MEP takes the matter in hand and cuts right to the heart of the Vexed Issue:

“Walking round German vineyard on phone gone 1 a.m. Working out admin systems with Nat Organiser.” A couple of minutes later he adds “Actually rather surreal. A very strange life. Good night to all BNP late birds.”

There's Cool for you: This man's Upper Lip must be so rigid you could hammer nails into seasoned Oak with it.

Onto the 22nd. From out of nowhere (well, actually from out of The Guardian's Jobs website – with a few words changed) appears a job vacancy on the BNP's Site.

Specifically, it's Jim Dowson's job. Suddenly vacant.

The specification states that the successful Candidate will be charged with raising £4 Million over the next three years. Not an issue, apparently, as the current Incumbent has been (it says here) raising £1.5 Million a year anyway...

But what of Dowson? Pray tell, Nick, what of the Good Reverend?

Here, the mask slips. Unable to ignore so momentous a piece of news as his Great Industry Expert – the Clyde to his Bonnie, one might say – leaving the Party, Nick can barely keep his moby dry from the tears as he Tweets of Dowson's “sad” decision not to renew his contract;

“All in all a remarkable man to whom we owe a great deal and who remains a good friend and true patriot.”

Of course, this isn't all that's occurred over the past week: The BNP have also “lost” (or mislaid?) Communications Director Paul Golding, three more Councillors, and have handed several vital Party functions over to Patrick Harrington (a Leader of rival organisation the National Liberal Party) and dim-bulb Party Enforcer Clive Jefferson.

The BNP Leadership have also been lambasted by ex-stalwart Nick Cass, embarrassed (if such a thing is possible – such a thing could easily be an alien concept within the Party) by Jim “The Bruce” Dowson's bizarre rants and infantile, scatological taunts on various Far-Right Talkboards and, only this evening, we hear that the BNP have been locked out of their own Nerve Centre – the Belfast office owned by (surprise, surprise...) one J Dowson, esq. Who's changed the locks.

“All in all a remarkable man to whom we owe a great deal and who remains a good friend and true patriot.”

Griffin, on all these matters, has been silent since Friday.

Interestingly, Paul “Green Arrow” Morris has also remained quiet on his beloved BNP's Demise until now. Only tonight has he finally broken his silence - if only to attack one of the Councillors who has resigned. In the grubby, confused little mind of Morris it being, of course, a far greater crime to resign over the Party's woeful treatment of its Creditors than to continue to fleece Suppliers, Members and Anyone Else Who Happens To Be Passing At The Time And Looks Gullible Enough. Go on, Kinsman: Show 'em the Black Flag.

(One of Morris' Followers adds in the Comments - displaying a level of optimism sure to melt even the stoniest of hearts - "The BNP will continue to grow =)".)

I look forward to reading Griffin's next Tweet.

It'll probably tell me how great everything is for the BNP.

Or maybe how nice Croatia is at this time of year.

Stirring Tales Of The British Resistance! Another installment of our thrilling new serial!

Episode Three: Dark Days for the Resistance

“Here's another one!” said “Bertie” Berk, listening to the hissing static of the precious crystal radio in the Nantyglo safehouse.

The stalwart Batman and sidekick of dashing Resistance Operative Agent Arrow looked concerned.

“Looks grim, Old Chum”, he said, lowering the bakelite headphone. “Yet another report of strange goings-on at HQ”.

Agent Arrow strirred himself from his light doze. “Oh, God...” he groaned, taking another swig from his Brasso ,Turps and Night Nurse stiffener. With the new revelations of untoward goings-on at HQ coming in on an almost daily basis now, Arrow was finding it hard to remain committed to the Resistance Cause.

“Says that Agent Cyclops has been caught out again. This time it's a fiddle involving ration cards. Offering Fourpence in the Shilling to settle outstanding bills.”

Arrow didn't want to hear any more. Agent Cyclops: the most respected Resistance Leader the Nation had ever known – reduced to such tactics? It was scarcely believable. Agent Cyclops: The virile young Freedom Fighter whom Arrow had first seen on that glorious, sun-kissed day so many years earlier, absent-mindedly brushing back a lock of his tousled hair as he gently, but firmly, took hold of an elderly Supporter's pen, helpfully and forcefully guiding it as she wrote a cheque for the Resistance. “Just make it out to cash!”, the heroic Leader had playfully joshed, before merrily tearing the cheque from the Follower's hand and putting it in his wallet. How Arrow had wished they could be alone together. Just once. How he'd wished Agent Cyclops would take him in his sinewy, muscular arms...

“You alright, Old Chap? Interrupted Berk; “Went a bit flushed there, Kinsman!”

Agent Arrow lit a shredded cardboard, carpet fluff and dandelion cigarette and brought his unique, incisive grasp of the Sinister Ways Of The Searchlight-Controlled State to bear on the matter.

“You're so trusting!” he told Berk; “Can't you see it's more black propaganda and smears from Gable?”

The hated Gerry Gable – Commissar of the all-pervasive Searchlight Directorate and the true power behind the State. This was, Agent Arrow had to keep reassuring himself, nothing more than the latest in the unending series of devious ploys to distract the heroes of the Resistance from their true, holy course - nothing less than wresting their benighted Nation from the clutches of a loathed regime that had allowed coloured newsreaders to appear without dinner jackets on the BBC, a Hit Parade consisting largely of discs by young people of all ethnicities under the age of fifty, and the true, nerve-shredding horror of some vile alien muck called “Chicken Tikka” used as a pizza topping.

“Guess so.” said Berk, sounding unconvinced. “Just that we're getting these reports from our comrades in the Resistance. More and more. Every day! And still no word from HQ!”

“Steady the buffs, Kinsman!” snapped Arrow. “It could be that other Resistance Cells have been infiltrated by Searchlight – we might be the only True Believers left!”

Berk nodded, taking Arrow's sage words on board. “Just wait: We'll hear from HQ and we'll know that Cyclops is as sturdy, committed and stalwart a Leader as ever!”

As if by way of punctuation, the radio crackled into life.

“It's HQ!” Berk ejaculated.

Excitedly, Agent Arrow launched himself the length of the shed and clasped the headphone to his ear, poised with a notepad and stub of pencil to take down the vital message from Agent Cyclops.

Slowly, Berk noticed Arrow's expression change. He stopped writing. His initial, near-feverish anticipation turned, over the ensuing moments, to resigned gloom.

Arrow slowly replaced the headset and switched the crystal set off.

Silently, he passed the notepad to “Bertie” Berk as he poured himself another snifter.

“We need your donat...” it said.

Berk joined his valiant comrade in a glass of the murky liquid.

Green Arrow Bites Off More Than He Can Chew (Again)

Oh dear. Paul “Green Arrow” Morris has done it again.

Just as he's started a shiny new blog (“The British Resistance”), because his last one had become such a laughing stock and the target of so many attacks from his own side, Captain Hogwash has kicked things off all over again by attacking the BNP's resident sacred cow, Andrew (I-Used-To-Be-A-Nazi-But-That-Was-Just-Youthful-Hi-Jinks) Brons.

Generally regarded (by his supporters) as a decent cove and a credit to nationalism (although, next to the competition, Vlad the Impaler might seem a genial old sort), MEP Brons has kept his head down in Brussels, occasionally appearing over the parapet to deliver interminable speeches from the floor on various esoteric subjects to a largely uninterested world.

In a post entitled “So What Will Andrew Brons BNP MEP Do?”, Hogwash addresses the Nation on the pressing matter of Brons' not yet publicly abasing himself before the altar of Griffin, in his customary style that swings between a Uriah Heep-ish, “Ever so 'umble” wheedling and the pompous, “I-Am-The-True-Voice-Of-The-BNP-And-Anyone-Who-Dares-Disagree-With-Me-Is-A-Filthy-Traitor” style that we on the opposition have come to know and enjoy (but never, strangely enough, to fear).

“Now Andrew,” he says at one point – just to show that he's evidently on first name terms with all the Top Brass; “I must confess to being very disappointed in your lack of obvious support for the Chairman over the last few months. I know the history but it was your duty to stand by him and in my opinion you let him down. Make up for it now.”

The real issues for Morris, it seems, are the continued employment in Brons' EU operation of Chris Beverly and Eddy Butler, and the presence on the recent jolly to Brussels of “Self-centred egotist Mick Barnbrook” and Shelly Rose. Shelley Rose is, of course, the young woman allegedly sexually assaulted by Jim Dowson. Any real political party might actually think such allegations worth investigating – even to the extent of inviting the Police to take a look – rather than immediately closing ranks and subjecting the woman to a campaign of poisonous vilification. By the way, that's the same “Mick” Barnbrook of whom a very silly old Welshman once wrote “I honestly did not realise what a trooper he really is. A credit to Bexley and a credit to our Party. I hope one day that Michael becomes our Justice Minister”.

Excuse me. I just did a little bit of sick in my mouth.

The Brussels trip doesn't, to be fair, sound like many people's idea of a good time. A coach and ferry trip to attend a talk on the Battle of Waterloo (presumably delivered in Butler's nasal, Estuarine monotone), followed by a visit to the Parliament with Brons and dinner in a Napoleon theme restaurant.

Hold me back.

But in attacking the trip, Chris Beverley (“get rid of Chris Beverly (sic) – the one who pulls the puppet Butlers (sic) strings.”) and Brons in particular, Morris has, yet again, annoyed the hell out of just about everyone on his own side.

The following day, and a promised article on Chris Beverley (trailed with the sepulchral announcement “More about him in tomorrow's article...”) has failed to appear. Cold feet? Or a swift telling off from Brons to stop being so bloody spiteful and childish?

Indeed; the article that did appear (“Andrew Brons – Caught Between a Rock And A Hard Place”) is so creepily obsequious (“I personally have great admiration for Andrew Brons. The man has courage, style, charm, intelligence...”) that, when the BNP finally goes tits-up, Morris should easily be able to find gainful employment knocking out press releases for Kim Jong Il (or “Un”. Whoever's turn it happens to be in a few week's time...)

Of course, only a cynic would suggest that a large part of Hogwash's ire is down to the fact that he didn't get to go on the junket. Certainly, some of his commentators seem to be upset by this: “It is very disappointing to see reformists reaping benefits when true BNP people are left at home” says Maria Riley-Ward (or “shaydee_lady” as she's known when cutting and pasting her curious EDL / Daily Mail fansite known as the “Derby Patriot”).

Imagine the stuff he'd have come out with if he had been invited.

On second thoughts, don't bother: You might do a little bit of sick in your mouth.

Stirring Tales Of The British Resistance! Another installment of our thrilling new serial!

Chapter Two: The Deadly Dead Letter Drop

Agent Arrow - the craggy, wordly-wise leader of the Resistance - lit a precious cornflake, coffee ground and catlitter cigarette and nervously opened the door of the safehouse.

This was the first time he had left the shed in six months, and his sharply honed undercover senses told him it was a risky venture. He knew the agents of the Searchlight-controlled State were everywhere: The old lady at the bus stop, the seemingly friendly policeman on his bicycle, the young children playing in the park – any one of them could, even now, be reporting his movements directly to Chairman Gable himself; sitting in his plush Whitehall lair smoking a fine Romeo y Julieta and flicking idly through his ermine-bound copy of “What Moustache”.

Arrow knew he must take care, but the stakes were too high to remain underground now. “Bertie” Berk, his faithful batman and fellow operative, had received a message from their Control – the Resistance Leader known only as Agent Cyclops. There was a top secret communiqué to pick up from the Nantyglo dead letter drop, and it must be done immediately.

As Arrow walked nervously along the road, staying close to the hedgerows in the knowledge that he may need to dive for cover at any moment, he remembered with a swell of pride his earlier undercover service in Northern Ireland.

In those far-off days, fighting the Fenian menace, Arrow was famed among his comrades for adopting a disguise so cunning, so effortlessly convincing, that anyone would have assumed he was Belfast born and bred. The orange woollen wig and beard, the bright green jacket and matching top hat set off with a large, felt shamrock. The whole finished with a corncob pipe and a nuanced accent perfected only after carefully studying “The Quiet Man” a dozen times or more...

Thanks to this impenetrable disguise, he had felt safe. Whenever he greeted a suspected terrorist with the words “Top o' the mornin' and beggorah! T'will be a foyne day fer plantin' a bomb of good auld Oirish gelignoyte under the bedevilled English, so it will!”, he had known that he went entirely unsuspected; instantly accepted by one and all as a fellow Papist.

Here, today, it was different. Although he had improvised a disguise to pass himself off as one of Gable's UAF henchmen, the safety pin through his septum was beginning to sting and the threadbare tee shirt (bearing the legend “I Luv Alvin Stardust” – Agent Arrow knew full well how influenced were young Marxists by their incomprehensible adherence to punk rock) was cold in the brisk Welsh air, even when worn over several stout layers of potato sacking.

More unsettling than his discomfort, however, was the feeling of being so totally alone: Unable, in some cases, to trust even fellow Resistance fighters. Barnbrook of the Yard – the sterling detective with a nose for trouble; “Honest” Eddy Butler – stalwart of the London Resistance; both had been unmasked in recent months by Agent Cyclops as slavering Marxist traitors, bought and paid for by the state in return for Tesco Vouchers beyond the dreams of avarice. Lately, Arrow had even begun to suspect that their man in Belgium, the Agent known only by the codename “Ex-Nazi”, had been turned.

These were dark days indeed.

So far as Agent Arrow was concerned, there were only a handful of true Resistance Fighters left. Agent Cyclops, of course, and dear old bumbling, well-meaning Agent Berk. These and a mere handful of others were the last survivors of the Resistance.

Arriving at the Ffoesmaen Inn, Arrow approached the door with understandable trepidation, tapping the accepted code – three short taps and a long scrape – on the side window.

No reply.

He tried again, with greater insistence. Still, there was silence.

Furtively checking that no-one could see, Agent Arrow bent down to the letterbox and shouted the Special Emergency Code Phrase inside.

“John has a long moustache!”

Still there came no reply.

Gingerly, his hand tight on the trusty .177 Gat Gun in his pocket, Agent Arrow entered the Public Bar. The landlord seemed nonplussed to see him. “A cunning ruse. The poor man's terrified we're being watched by Agents of the State”, thought Arrow.

“What can I get you, Sir?” asked the Landlord.

Clearly this was another code, thought Agent Arrow. “It's. A. Very. Nice. Day. Today.” he replied, slowly and deliberately, while winking.

“Bitter? Lager?” Continued the Landlord.

This wasn't working. Perhaps the unfortunate fellow knew their conversation was being monitored.

Taking his courage in both hands, Agent Arrow realised he would just have drop any subterfuge and come straight to the point; when the bullets started to fly, he'd take his chances.

“Look. Have you got a letter for me?” He asked. The Landlord sighed.

“Oh, it's you is it?” he said, taking an envelope from beneath the bar and handing it to Arrow. “Sent to the wrong address”.

Agent Arrow took a pint of fine (if strangely cold) lager and sat in a corner to read the secret communiqué.

Was this it? Was this finally the message from HQ that all staunch fighters of the Resistance had so long awaited? The announcement that the elements were in place and the final battle was to begin?

He allowed himself to pause, before opening the envelope. This had come from the hands of Agent Cyclops himself: The same hands that he would occasionally use to brush back his lustrous, dark hair. The same hands with which he would stroke his broad, manly chest and possibly reach down to...

“You alright there, Sir?” interrupted the Landlord; “looks like you're getting a bit flushed.”

Agent Arrow shook himself from his reverie and tore open the letter.

“Dear Fellow Patriot” the letter began.

“The British National Party urgently needs your dona...”

Agent Arrow's heart sank. He finished his pint.

Don't miss the next thrilling episode: The Name's Morris - Paul Morris

Green Arrow: The End Is Nigh...

This is a sad day for British Anti-Fascism.

The Green Arrow website is to be no more. Never again will we get to chuckle at the sad antics of military fantasist, connoisseur of fine lagers and self-styled scion of the Welsh BNP Paul Morris.

In a characteristically rambling post, Captain Hogwash announces that he will be shutting down his “successful site” because “the name “Green Arrow”... has started to overshadow the message it was intended to promote”.

Indeed, one can't help agreeing with the buffoon there: The name “Green Arrow” has, indeed, become synonymous with suicidally self-defeating idiocy on a scale unseen since Hitler said “and let's have a pop at the Russians while we're at it...”

Whether the decision to close has been Morris' own (which I somehow doubt) or he's only following orders from his Fuhrer due to the massive embarrassment factor of having such a palpable loony as his number one (even though he generally speaks number twos) cheerleader it's best to leave open; although the fact that he's now considered radioactive by his beloved South Wales BNP must have had some bearing on the matter.

So never again will we get our daily trip to the comedy goldmine that is (was?) the Green Arrow site. No more Blimpish hilarity about “traitors” and “kinsmen” and “show 'em the black flag!”. No more of his homoerotic (if unrequited) worship of Griffin. No more platform for his (rapidly shrinking) retinue of Conspiracy Theorists, Armchair Activists and Assorted Cranks. The site is to be no more.

There is hope, however.

In a move sure to rekindle memories of his heroic exploits in Northern Ireland, Aden, Normandy and Mafeking, Hogwash is to go underground and form “The British Resistance”.

Constantly pursued by the Tesco voucher-wielding agents of the State, Morris will dart from safehouse to safehouse across Nantyglo, sheltered in wardrobes and attics as he listens for coded orders from HQ on his crystal set (cunningly fashioned from CostCo lager cans) and relays his messages of hope to the couple of dozen people who still take him seriously (and the hundreds more who enjoy a good laugh). Perhaps, like Jean Moulin before him, he will occasionally emerge from hiding to give inspirational talks at public gatherings. (The main difference being that Jean Moulin was, of course, a Hero. And his few speeches weren't (according to eyewitnesses) typified by semi-coherent rambling and self promotion.)

R.I.P Green Arrow. Let's hope the new site is even half as funny.

Are You Sitting Comfortably? Another Bedtime Story...

Once Upon a Time...

There lived an Old Welsh Knight. He was the silliest old Knight who ever lived, and he liked to tell great tales of his life as a young Knight to anyone who would listen.

He used to tell tales, for instance, of how, as a young Knight, he fought great naval battles on great warships, and how he was once a member of a secret army who protected the Kingdom. In the great tales he told, he was the bravest, wisest and most popular Knight who ever lived.

But all of his great tales were just lies. He had just been a cabin boy on the great warship and had never seen a battle, and he had never, ever been a member of a secret army. He told the lies to try and make himself look big and brave and fierce, but he was really just a very silly, very sad and very lonely Old Knight.

His only friends in all the Kingdom were other lonely Knights, who would come to the tavern and share goblets of his boiled mead and swap great tales of bravery and derring-do; but the Old Welsh Knight always made sure that his own stories were bigger and better and more exciting than anyone else's.

But the Old Welsh Knight and his few friends were not all they pretended to be: One of the younger and most popular Knights of the group had once been locked in a dungeon for frightening children. He never told the other Knights this, because he was pretending to be a great Knight and wanted the others to like him. Another of the Knights would boast about how he had attacked great red dragons in his younger days, but had really only ever attacked his poor wife and children.

These Knights were happy, though, and spent long evenings in their tavern trying to impress one another with their great tales of heroism and bravery. The one thing that united them, the one thing upon which they were all agreed, was that their Kingdom had the greatest and wisest King in all the world, and that they would each willingly lay down their lives in his service.

But then, voices of dissent began to be heard throughout the Kingdom. People began to whisper in the taverns that the King was not the greatest and wisest in all the world: He was a cruel King, who stole the taxes of the poor and had all who disagreed with him thrown into exile.

The Old Welsh Knight and his few friends were angry to hear of people saying such things of their King, and would denounce them loudly, calling them “Traitor” and “Spy” and “Villain” and calling for their exile from the Kingdom.

And so it went on, for month after month.

But the voices of dissent spoke only the truth: For the King was indeed a cruel and despotic ruler, and more and more of his Subjects came to realise this.

But it wasn't just the people who had slowly come to see the truth about their King: There were even Knights - who had once been admired by the Old Welsh Knight and his few friends – who saw the truth about the King and denounced him, upon which the Old Welsh Knight and his few friends would suddenly turn against such Knights, shouting that they were traitors and claiming they had known all along that they were foreign spies.

And it wasn't very long before the Old Welsh Knight and his few friends were the only ones who still believed in the goodness and righteousness of their King.

Until, one day, the People had had enough, and they overthrew the King, and he was delivered up to the justice of his enemies. And in the ruins of his palace, the People found all the evidence to prove that the King had been every bit as bad – and worse - as everyone had said.

The Old Welsh Knight and his few friends saw the evidence, too, but were too proud and foolish to admit that it was all true and that they had been misled by the evil King for many years.

And even though the Old Welsh Knight and his few friends tried to bluster, and shout loudly about how they were still the wisest, and bravest, and truest Knights in all the Kingdom, the people simply ignored them, and laughed at them, and went about their business.

And the Old Welsh Knight and his few friends were soon entirely forgotten, and died, unloved and unmourned.

New: The G.A Pin Badge

As promised, G.A has produced some limited edition pin badges to present to those who have in their own way supported his site and what it promotes and believes in. These badges will be awarded retrospectively and in the future. There will only ever be 10 made (Enough for all of G.A's friends and allowing for several spares).

G.A alone will decide who the Award Winners will be.

The Chosen Few will always be proud to wear these badges, and they will be recognised, lauded and celebrated in song and verse wherever they go. So long as they only ever go to G.A's house.

Sadly, they are not for sale. (Not due to exclusivity, but rather the fact that the incredibly poor manufacturing quality of the Wellard Enamel Badge Company (Insolvent) Ltd ensures that their jagged, unfinished edges and vicious, rusting pin would fail to receive a health and safety certificate in Kabul, let alone Nantyglo.)

Paul "Green Arrow" Morris: A Hearty Appreciation

As any parent will tell you, toddlers do a very good line in selective deafness. My own boy, in his younger days, could manage blank indifference to a level that would foil a brainscan if asked to come and have his dinner, or put his toys away, yet could detect the music of an ice cream van or a rustling sweet wrapper in another town.

Such is the case with Paul “Green Arrow” Morris. A windy old blowhard who will drunkenly shout the virtues of his beloved BNP while portraying a suspiciously homoerotic fixation on its wonky–eyed leader, and yet will conveniently retreat into a world of Carthusian silence whenever an inconvenient truth emerges that might shatter his world view.

Like the fact that the Party have failed to submit their accounts on time. Again.

Over on Morris' blog today, for example, we have a bizarre rant on the usual theme of Europe about to be invaded by hordes of Muslims with their funny curved swords and their penchant for white women; a piece about how Idealogical Tory David Cameron is actually leading a Marxist government dedicated to the overthrow of the White Race, and an aside (from Morris himself) about how Mark “Naziboy” Collett may THINK he's got away with his dastardly plot to assassinate the Dear Leader, but you can jolly well bet your boots that the ones he “threatened” will – even now – be getting ready to launch a private prosecution against the would–be murderer and so drag him through the courts after all.

Because obviously the BNP Leadership would love to have the opportunity to air their internal wranglings in open court, and never, ever pass up such a chance. (Cheap sarcasm there.)

Whether or not the much–quoted story about Morris boiling cans of cheap lager in order to “increase the alcohol content” is true, he's clearly a man with issues.

The failure to submit accounts is serious. It demonstrates, yet again, that the BNP are NOT a “serious, legitimate” political party. It shows that they can't even fulfil the most basic requirements of playing with the Big Boys. It might even suggest (to all but the most naïve supplicant) that the Leadership are in a blind panic, have something to hide, and that Butler and the anti–Griffin factions might just have a point, after all.

Not so with Morris, though. Like a toddler who doesn't want to eat his broccoli, the old fool ignores it in the hope that the whole nasty business will go away.

As with the accounts, so with wrongfully dismissed BNP staffer Michaela Mackenzie. Despite the fact that she was offered a financial settlement by Griffin who has since reneged on the deal, and is currently on the verge of beginning bankruptcy proceedings, there's no mention of this minor detail of Party affairs from the fearless Morris.

Morris is happier living within a fantasy world (as beautifully outlined in an astonishing piece some time ago where he – with childlike innocence – portrays himself and his dim bulb mates as “The Three Welsh Musketeers”). A fantasy world in which He, the sagacious and respected old military commander, sits tirelessly at his keyboard, marshalling the dwindling forces of Light and Decency in his neverending struggle to defend his beloved Nation from an onslaught of Orc–like Darkness.

In Morris World, too, the fact that I'm writing this piece serves only to illustrate the righteousness of his stance: Lefty Morons like myself only attack him because he's right, and we're terrified of his intellect and his fearless warrior bearing.

Sorry, G.A., I actually write this piece because I – along with all of the anti–fascists I know and (judging by the chatter on far–right talkboards) most of your own side - think you're absolutely bloody hilarious: The kind of self–deluded old keyboard warrior who does nothing but good for your enemies' cause.

Carry on, Old Boy! Pip, Pip!

Bilious Nasty Pathetic

Axed BNP webmaster Simon Bennett claims that supporters of leader Nick Griffin are behind a "hate mail" campaign that targetted every residential and business address in his home town of Camelford.

"Make no mistake about it," said Bennett on his website. "This sick hate campaign will have been approved by Nick Griffin."

Bennett claims that he was made aware of the campaign this morning (Friday) when Devon and Cornwall Police called him. Bennett says:

"They were alerting me to a hate mail campaign that had been conducted against me that had targeted every single residential and business address in my home town of Camelford and the surrounding areas. The police informed me that they had been inundated with complaints from local residents that know myself and my family very well, and that these people were absolutely horrified that someone could do such a wicked and evil thing to us."

The hate mail, which appears to have been posted in East London, consists of a two-sided flyer purporting to be the work of an unknown group calling itself the "Southwest Awareness Group", and makes "allegations" against Bennett of theft, drug use, forgery, blackmail and extortion - allegations made against Bennett on a smear blog set up by supporters of beleaguered BNP leader Nick Griffin. The flyer (below - click for larger) also includes Bennett's full address, where he lives with his partner and young children, aged eight and ten



Interestingly, the BNP claims to be in possession of exactly the same kind of software package that would be necessary to mass-mailshot residents and businesses in a particular area, and - unsurprisingly - Bennett's friends have not been slow to make the connection.

If Bennett's claims are true, and if this hate mail campaign is the responsibility of Nick Griffin's supporters, then the consequences for the racist party will be dire. The use the Royal Mail in this way is a serious criminal offence in the simple matter of one individual sending such mail to another individual, but there is no precedent that we know of in which a political party has hate-mailed an entire town in pursuit of an almost gangster-style vendetta against an individual.

Apart from the BNP leadership, Bennett has earned the visceral hatred of internet joke and Griffin sycophant Paul Morris (aka Green Arrow) and West Wales deputy BNP organiser Roger Phillips, who made death threats against Bristol anti-fascist Mark Watson in December of last year.

The green, Green Grass of Nantyglo

Morris, who is not a BNP member, suffers a disorder which causes him to believe that BNP leader Nick Griffin keeps a special place in his heart for Wales' best known sycophant. In fact, Griffin's opinion of the windy keyboard warrior veers between contempt and utter contempt.

"Warsash", as he likes to be known in his increasingly empty Paltalk chat room, blew an online fuse shortly after Simon Darby announced "his" decision to stand down from the post of BNP deputy leader. Hearing that a number of people had signed leadership challenger Eddy Butler's nomination papers at a meeting of Crawley BNP on Wednesday evening, "Warsash" Morris promised to publish the name of every BNP member signing the papers. In the past, of course, Morris supported and encouraged Lee Barnes, who threatened to publish the names and addresses of BNP members less than 100% loyal to Nick Griffin - which in part prompted us to publish Morris's address and led to a prolonged bout of self-pitying whining on the part of the lager-boiling hero.

Morris has made no secret that he believes any BNP member signing Butler's nomination forms should be purged from the party, and is supported by Vernon Atkinson (aka Vernon SE), who encouraged pro-Griffin members to email details of what was said at BNP branch meetings, together with the names of pro-Butler members, for non-member Morris's use.

Atkinson attended the Crawley meeting but walked out when the anti-Griffin sentiments expressed proved too much for him to bear.

Second only to Morris in his sycophancy, Atkinson is a former member of UKIP and stood as a BNP south eastern regional candidate in the 2004 Euro elections. In May, standing in Crawley's Furnace Green ward, Atkinson - who for some reason is noted for putting BNP logos on kites (go figure) - achieved a dreadful 228 votes (7.4%), yet managed not to connect his awful vote with Griffin's awful leadership.

We feel certain that Atkinson's open endorsement of the leaking of internal BNP matters and members' names to an outside agency (Morris) will result in Atkinson's swift suspension.

It will, won't it?

Having penned a fawning tribute to Simon Darby, Morris sat back while his little army of Griffin cultists weighed in with their tributes. Atkinson was soon off the mark (BNP spelling and grammar preserved): "Simon is also an iconic nationalist who will be written as a legend in the nationalist books of history of the savours of the British peoples."

And so was East Goscote (Charnwood) BNP Councillor and apostrophe enthusiast Cathy Duffy: "I cried my eye's out when I read of Simon's resignation, and can't stop now even, but I pray to God that Nick gets re-elected and Simon will come back as his deputy. If anyone is to take over this party, as might just happen, I so prayed that it was Simon. I so despair at what Eddy Butler and his crew have done to split this party, and as an elected Councillor representing the party, I don't know what the hell to do now if he should win when I do not/ can not support him and his lot! What on earth does he think he can do in ONE year and who has HE got lined up as the next leader as he say's that he will only take the position for one year only?????????? This whole thing has really upset me to say the least, and that these so called 'Nationalist's' could do this to our party is totally beyond my comprehension."

"Warsash" Morris's band of sycophants then charged over to Simon Darby's blog for a thoroughly enjoyable mass prostration at the feet of the ex-deputy leader.

Nick Griffin could, of course, rein in the out of control Morris. We have often wondered why, since Morris's activities have always diverted highly desirable funds away from the BNP proper, he has never done so to date. That Morris is openly collecting data on BNP members gives him every reason he could ever need to proscribe the ridiculous Warsash before Morris can do any more to harm the good name and reputation of the BNP.

He will, won't he?

BNP deputy leader resigns

Simon Darby has resigned as deputy leader of the British National Party. However unlike many others in the fascist party, he has not fallen out with Nick Griffin. In fact his resignation is a convoluted gesture of support for the beleaguered BNP leader.

Griffin and Darby have been spooked by Nick Cass’s support for Eddy Butler’s challenge to Griffin’s leadership. Cass, the former Yorkshire regional organiser whose picture, with his wife and children, has appeared on many BNP election leaflets as the typical wholesome British family that votes BNP, is very popular in the party and is likely to attract further support for Butler’s challenge.

Cass is being promoted as Butler’s “running mate” for deputy chairman. In an attempt to take the wind out of the challengers’ sails, Darby, who has been deputy leader since 2005, claims the post has “absolutely no constitutional standing”.

Darby is being disingenuous to say the least. He claims the position of deputy leader was created as an “ad hoc measure” by Griffin when he was facing the possibility of imprisonment on charges of inciting racial hatred (on which he was eventually acquitted). That may be so, but he in fact supplanted Scott Maclean, who was then deputy chairman of the BNP, a position that does have a role in the party constitution. It is this role for which Cass is putting himself forward.

Darby’s resignation, with immediate effect, is presented as an attempt to take the “distraction” of the deputy leadership out of the leadership election, as if that would somehow make Cass go away.

Darby also cites his “self-imposed demotion” (so the deputy leadership position does have some meaning then) as giving him the “moral right to ask that others at least exercise responsibility and restraint”.

He rather spoils his attempt to occupy the moral high ground when he calls for an election that avoids “setting nationalist brothers and sisters against each other by repeating enemy lies and black propaganda about the current leader and his team”. Where is the plea for Griffin’s supporters, in particular his communications chief Paul Golding, to desist from spreading vicious smears and lies about Butler?

Griffin’s most sycophantic supporter, Paul Morris, who blogs under the name Green Arrow, was quick to reject any notion of a civilised and honourable contest. “I would also be interested now, in receiving the names of all those who sign Butlers nomination forms, in order that I may make public all information that I may gather on those people who are either deliberately trying to destroy the BNP or those stupid enough to support them,” he wrote less than three hours after Darby’s resignation.

For good measure, Darby concludes with his own snipe against Butler. “Don’t wake up one morning later this year to find that we’ve lost Nick Griffin and his team, and replaced them with a jostling, squabbling, unstable, untested and indecisive coalition.

Sonia Gable at HOPE not hate

BNP's copyright-breaching habits spread to the lower ranks

Green Arrow: copyright thief, idiot and bigotThe BNP's breach of copyright over the recent use of a Marmite jar in a broadcast without permission is likely to cost the party a hefty five-figure sum - corporate lawyers tending to dislike people who steal their company's intellectual property without either paying the going rate or at least asking their permission before use.

But it's not just the BNP itself that is happy to breach copyright law - the habit seems to have been passed on to at least one of the party's supporters.

Exactly six months ago, we reported that the cretinous bigot Paul Morris (yes, Green Arrow), one of Nick Griffin's most vocal arselickers, had stolen the work of artist Mark Simpson, who had supplied the artwork for a Green Arrow series for DC Comics back in 2006. When he had realised this, Simpson emailed Morris to object, only to be told by the petulant Morris that '…the origins of the Green Arrow name had nothing to do with some pathetic socialist comic hero', though what that had to do with the theft of someone else's well-crafted artwork wasn't made clear.

In any case, Simpson was informed that the image would be removed and that was an end to the matter as far as he was concerned. He had, it seems, only strayed on to the Green Arrow site by accident and, like most humans with a brain, was unlikely ever to visit the site again through choice.

However, Paul 'I love Porky Griffin' Morris, is not only a devoted creep, he is also a serial liar, as Denise reports in her excellent article here. And it is this article that led to one of our readers popping over for a quick peek at the Green Arrow site (screenshot, above), where he discovered that the image Morris had agreed to remove is not only still in place but appears to have doubled in size.

Perhaps this is Morris's way of thumbing his nose at the artist who dared to question his right to do whatever he pleases - Morris is nothing if not pompous and arrogant - but he may find that the owner of DC Comics, Warner Brothers, is even less forgiving than the owner of the Marmite brand, Unilever. Let's hope so, because we'd like our readers to complain about his theft of copyright images to DC Comics directly.

Naturally there are circumstances under which organisations would seek the permissions that Paul Morris should have sought. In his case though, he shouldn't bother, because DC Comics is pretty unequivocal on the matter.

'What follows are detailed guidelines for submitting a request for the right to use our materials...here’s a list of requests for which we will NOT grant permission'

'Military, government, or other political organizations, or requests of a military, governmental or political nature.'

Whoops. Feel free to contact the relevant people at DC Comics via email on dc_publicity@dccomics.com to express your surprise and dismay at seeing the artwork of one of their fine artists sullied by association with this rabidly racist buffoon. If enough people email them, we're pretty sure that DC will take a look at the Green Arrow site. Once they do that and see the kind of lunatic ramblings that take place there, a takedown notice should follow swiftly.

Thanks to Paul S for the heads-up.

A touch of the Moonies

Sycophant –noun: a self-seeking, servile flatterer; fawning parasite; lickspittle; toady; crawler; lackey; Paul Morris.

Somewhere in deepest South Wales there sits a man with only a keyboard and an internet connection for company. With his right hand he's probably glugging on the cheap Tesco lager he apparently boils down in an effort to improve the alcoholic content, while his left hand is out of sight, but curiously active, as his thoughts focus upon the one true love of his life, that great architect of the BNP's Great Leap into the abyss, Nicholas John Griffin.

No greater love has this earth ever known than that of the penny-pinching Green Arrow Paul Morris for his increasingly wealthy leader. Morris, we recall, was the man who told us in all seriousness that he prayed for Nick Griffin and lay awake at night worrying about his safety. Before the general election, in a typically extravagant outbreak of toe-curling fervour, he rhapsodised:

Nick Griffin is special. He is not like other men. He understands that the rank and file of the British National Party are its backbone. He genuinely cares about not just his country but the members of the Party that has brought to where it is today [sic]. If I did not believe that then I would not be writing now. You guys about to go leafleting and canvassing would be putting your feet up now if you did not believe in him. The truth is this and some might think it dramatic but it is true. There is no other political leader in this country who so inspires his supporters that they would be prepared to risk their lives for him.

Now I don't know about you, but to me there appears to be more than a touch of the Moonies about this unnatural devotion of Paul Morris to a man who thinks he's a twit, as if Morris were having the greatest difficulties in distinguishing the allegedly political BNP from a Jim Jones-like religious cult.

For some considerable time now visiting the chapel of strangulated spelling and grotesque grammar that is his website has been like landing in the middle of Stepford, with the difference that not only have the wives been replaced by inanely smiling and slavishly compliant look-a-likes, but so have the husbands. There is nowhere else in cyberspace quite like it - a worshipful gathering of cranks, kooks and offenders against good English at one in their belief that Britain lives under the yoke of a Marxist government intent on forcing them to become gay Muslim paedophiles (or something like that), which government can only be overthrown by the infallable strategic planning sourced in the formidable intellect of Saint Nicholas Griffin.

Saint Nick, of course, is ultimately responsible for the strategy that led the BNP to repeat all the mistakes made by the National Front in its 1979 electoral wipe-out, and to succeed in doing it - as Griffin and his supporters repeatedly stated - at a time of "exponentially growing support", "perfect conditions", [insert hyperbole here] etc., etc. In other words, conditions that were the polar opposite of those faced by the National Front in 1979.

If anybody had failed to be impressed with the widespread notion that electoral support for the BNP was exploding beyond its natural bounds, it was us. We weren't impressed by their performances in the locals of 2007 and 2008, nor in the Euros (for reasons we detailed at the time) and ever since, when, in by-election after by-election we recorded nothing but retreats in all but one case where the BNP's results could be measured against previous outings, and poor to indifferent showings elsewhere.

With this woeful track-record somehow ignored or explained away to their satisfaction, BNP members enthusiastically set about building their general election campaign on the expectation of voting riches to come, so closeted in the self-sustaining world of unreality Saint Nick had built around them that they never noticed for a moment that BNP support was in fact, to use the unlovely American expression, in the toilet.

Naturally they had to be opposed in their areas of localised strength, and sometimes they managed to do us that favour themselves in precisely those areas, as per the Alby Walker and Bob Bailey debacles in Stoke and Barking.

To come away with a 1.9% vote share and the loss of most of its councillors was a seismic shock to the faithful, who thought they might just scrape an MP or two, save most of their deposits, and fix the jewel of Barking and Dagenham council firmly into their crown.

1.9% is shockingly bad, by whatever yardstick is used. For comparison, the NF took 0.7% in 1979, and lost every deposit. If the same rules by which the 1979 general election was held were in place today every BNP candidate other than Nick Griffin would have lost their deposit. Griffin, of course, ensured that the bulk of the BNP's financial and manpower resources were recklessly sunk into his own campaign, since he could not be seen to do worse than the discarded Richard Barnbrook in 2005. Somehow, despite all the effort and all the expense, he contrived to do just that.

As the enormity of the defeat sank in, so began the recriminations.

Griffin, not being the kind of leader who accepts responsibility for his own decisions, began by fingering the sacked Eddy Butler and Simon Bennett, with whom he picked a completely unnecessary fight just days before polling. There was also the excuse of "changing demographics" in east London, which the genius of the BNP's messiah had somehow failed to notice until the votes were counted, "massive voting fraud", and (surprise, surprise) unspecified internal wreckers and malcontents.

Bennett's removal of the BNP website just before polling can have had almost no effect on the BNP's vote, despite increasingly persistent attempts by Griffinites to pin much of the blame for their leader's self-induced catastrophe upon him. And, of course, Griffin only noticed how appalling an electoral strategist Eddy Butler really was when, prior to the election, Butler was rumoured to be involved in plans for a post-election leadership challenge.

Just as the National Front's 1979 rout led to the deposing of chairman John Tyndall, so the calls for the deposing of Nick Griffin are growing, even among those who have previously demonstrated a level of belief in the man not so far removed from that of Paul Morris and his collection of gullible fawners.

Attempts to show that, in some strange way, the BNP advanced and is now "a force to be reckoned with" that is "feared by the establishment" are falling on deaf ears. You simply can't argue with 1.9%. It is atrociously bad. It is worse than even the most optimistic of the BNP's opponents dared imagine. Even yours truly, never one to overestimate the BNP's electoral performances, thought they would poll an average 4%.

And so, despite all the hype, the hope, the expectation - and the dizzying amounts of cash they invested - the membership of the BNP came away from their "breakthrough" election in negative territory. All was for nothing, and less than nothing, all of it turned to dust on the overweening hubris of the man they believed would lead them into the promised land of mainstream respectability.

No amount of comparing the vote this time with last time is working. Repeating ad nauseam that the BNP with its 2.2% beat some unheard of party in some distant reach of the country is having zero effect. Claiming that the BNP tripled its vote while neglecting to mention that it also tripled its candidate numbers is seen through in an instant.

No, you can't argue with 1,9%. It's a figure that invites the ridicule of the BNP's opponents and is guaranteed to nurture demoralisation and dissatisfaction among the faithful - and that demoralisation and dissatisfaction is widespread is immediately evident to anybody with an internet connection.

We are aware of a number of organisers glumly complaining that members are jumping ship. Of course they are - they want tangible results for their £30 a year, their endless donations and their tireless efforts, just as all those NF members did in 1979. And if they don't get tangible results, if all their leader can offer is electoral obliteration, a slew of weak excuses that would insult the intelligence of an ant, and an internal witch-hunt, then they are very likely to take pattern by the vast majority of their NF counterparts in 1979, and leave the whole pointless shambles behind.

Not so that living embodiment of cringing sycophancy Paul Morris. Ridiculed and derided as much by his own side as ours, this pompous collection of petty hatreds and frustrations has a fondness for posing as a knowledgeable bod with the inside track on the BNP and a good deal of influence with its leader, who, he doubtless convinces himself, fulsomely returns Morris's respect and admiration.

Morris also has a fondness for posing as a man with a nationalist past. In BNP circles, to claim that you were a member of the 1970s National Front is akin to claiming that your father landed on the beaches at Normandy (which just happens to be another of Morris's claims). It earns you veteran status, the right to respect, the right to pontificate from atop a tower of hard won experience. It is exactly what Paul Morris most yearns for, and so in an early and unwise pop at BNP "traitors and fifth columnists" so littered with typos, errors and execrable grammar we assume it to have been tapped out under the influence of several saucepans-worth of boiled lager, Morris makes the claim that "I once belonged to and physically fought for on the streets, the National Front" [sic].

Er, no Paul. You didn't. You were never a member of the National Front, as we have said before when you have made this claim, and we have our information from one of the best sources there is. No doubt you desperately wish now that you had joined the National Front "three years after I had left the Royal Navy", but you didn't. You left a doubtless grateful navy and joined the National Party, which vanished in 1977. And that was the end of you for 30 years.

It would be cruel to have too much fun at the expense of Paul Morris, since he is so good as to provide us with unmatched comedic entertainment at every opportunity he can find. "Dice are rolling, the knives are out" was his first airing of the BNP's extremely dirty laundry in public, in which he slated Simon Bennett (for whom he has developed an almost maniacal dislike) and Mark Collett - "Quite frankly I have always distrusted him and having access to information that I cannot yet divulge, my fears about his honesty and integrity I believe were found to be correct."

There's Morris the all-knowing, tipping the wink and tapping his nose that he's a Very Important Person, privy to information better not shared with lesser mortals. If you must, backpage through his interminable blogged screeds to find quite a different picture.

By last Friday, when the best option for the BNP would have been to shut the doors, close the windows and conduct its screaming match in the privacy of its own home, Morris decided to hook up loudspeakers to the outside wall and broadcast the unseemly squabble to the world, in a long-winded rant that now included Eddy Butler among the growing list of enemies entitled "Is it time for a Night of the Long Knives?".

We seriously doubt that Morris has met most of those he so freely attacks, but Griffin has spoken, and any enemy of Griffin is an enemy of the unctuous Paul Morris; and if they're an enemy of Morris, they're automatically the enemy of the little army of Morrisettes who gather together on his blog in a daily competition to see who can fawn best to Griffin in the greatest number of misspellings.

Now we have been rather quiet on the matter of the growing rifts within the BNP, largely because there's not much we can say while they so publicly tear lumps out of each other - it's been a case of getting in the popcorn, sitting back and watching the show.

So who's doing the greatest damage to the BNP in the early stages of the post-election civil war?

Naturally, the largest part of it must be laid at the farmhouse door of serial self-preservationist Nicholas Griffin, but for our money the hands down winner is not Simon Bennett or Eddy Butler but one unremittingly stupid Welshman with a computer, a supply of boiled lager, unfortunate amounts of free time in which to consume it, and an unnatural fixation on the personality of a political failure, aided and abetted by that weird congregation of unthinking Morris-alikes who prostrate themselves at the shrine of Saint Nick.

Drink, anybody?

Well go on then, eat your hat

A vicious little BNP racist runt, hiding behind the nom-de-plume "Rugfish", "writes" regularly for the cowardly Paul Morris's "Green Arrow" blog - you know, the one where all these "patriotic heroes" keep their identities well hidden while they indulge their fantasies on the only place they dare - the Internet.

Rugfish is an averagely characteristic member of the Paul Morris gang, which in itself is averagely characteristic of the BNP generally, being obsessed with such heady concepts as "Islamo-fascism", the "Islamic Jackbooted Labour Government", "Marxist Conservatives", and on and on into the BNP night.

We're all used to his spittle-flecked rants, his racism and his hatred, but his dyslexia is something new.

Now it's been no great secret that the Muslim community around King's Lynn, Norfolk (around 70 strong) have been looking for premises in which to set up an Islamic centre - essentially a sort of community centre for Muslims. To that end they have been raising money among themselves, had spotted a building that would fulfil their needs, and made a planning application to the local council.

Naturally, this upset the local racists in the BNP, including the decidedly non-Norfolk Dave Fleming (who hails from Northern Ireland), and, naturally, they objected. Not, you understand, on the grounds that the Islamic Centre would be used by "the darkies" - no, Fleming and company were worried about "parking problems" and "air quality".

The strange thing is that when Fleming's candidature for North West Norfolk was announced on the BNP website, on February 12th, the BNP was claiming that Fleming and his friends had "successfully submitted an objection to a planning application for an Islamic centre in King’s Lynn".

It's strange, because the application wasn't even considered until Monday - March 1st.

Fleming and friends soon left their deep-seated worries about "parking problems" behind as they got to the heart of what it is they really object to. The BNP website reports Fleming thus:

“..any Islamic project threatens social cohesion because Islam sequesters and segregates finances, social interaction, and the general conduct of both working and domestic life, to avoid contamination by non-Muslim practices.

“Islam governs all aspects of a citizen’s life, and permits little, if any, departure from its rules.

“Islam does not permit half measures in its daily practice and observance; however, half measures are permitted by Islam if they are necessary to work towards a life in full accordance with Islamic law..."

How this bigot was allowed to address the planning committee in these terms without being ejected is anybody's guess.

The BNP website reports that Fleming's objection was carried by the planning committee by 9 to 7 - “Yes to Fenland; no to Fenistan”, said Fleming, perhaps, not being a local himself, unaware that King's Lynn is part of Marshland, not Fenland.

If the application fell due to the BNP's racist objections then somebody has some explaining to do - but there may have been other, legitimate grounds on which the application failed. The BNP, who cannot seem to move their lips without uttering a lie, may simply be claiming credit for a victory that isn't theirs. Either way, the racist, bigoted nature of their objection puts the decision to refuse the application in some doubt, since we know that it is going to be appealed, and Fleming's disgusting performance will be cited as part of the appeal.

What has this to do with the idiotic cretin "Rugfish" and dyslexia?

Well Rugfish, having read the BNP report of Fleming's "victory" and doubtless having got his hands very wet and sticky, seems to have convinced himself that King's Lynn and west Norfolk is awash with BNP councillors. Mistaking "a delegation of BNP parliamentary candidates" for "councillors", he excitedly penned a typical "Green Arrow" fantasy entitled "I'm ready to eat my hat", exulting:

So the first rejection, as reported on the BNP Website, was carried marginally by BNP Councilors on a vote of 9-7 against but they were nearly outdone by the Nothing British Non-Patriotic Conservative Party Councillors (what do they conserve?), however with much argument, British National Party Councillors won, and the people of King's Lynn can rest a few more weeks until the Islamic Labour Party gets its Jack Boots on and kicks them into touch.

No, you cretinous little twit. The BNP has no councillors anywhere in Norfolk, and as long as we draw breath never will.

Website slurs 'not my view' - BNP candidate

Sheffield British National Party candidate Mark Collett has distanced himself from remarks made about the Queen and MP David Blunkett on a far-right website.

The 29-year-old, standing against Mr Blunkett in Brightside, was challenged about comments calling Her Majesty a "liar and traitor to her own people," and calling for her to be tried for "treason" and "sedition" for signing EU treaties.

The post, on the BNP supporting Green Arrow website, concluded: "She is no monarch of England or the UK, she is a craven coward."

Another blogger said that his first reaction on hearing the Queen's Christmas message was to "switch to Anglo-Saxon mode and write '**** you and your descendants you treasonous bitch'."

Green Arrow also contains offensive comments about Mr Blunkett for supporting immigration. One read: "Blunkett of course is also a traitor and will one day face justice for this act of treason."

Another calls on voters in Brightside constituency to support Mr Collett, the BNP's head of publicity, to "wipe out Blunkett's majority". It also makes offensive personal comments about Mr Blunkett.

Mr Collett said Paul Morris, who runs Green Arrow, is not a BNP member and that the website is "not endorsed by the party". He added: "They are not my views nor those of the BNP. It's just an individual on the internet."

The Star

A reminder of Collett's past thoughts on royalty and other matters:

On Winston Churchill: "Churchill was a f***ing ***t who led us into a pointless war with other whites [i.e. The Nazis] standing up for their race".

On the Prince of Wales: "He's a f***ing traitor."

On the Royal Family: "The Royals have betrayed their people. When we're in power they'll be wiped out and we'll get some Germans to rule properly."

On Aids: "A friendly disease because blacks, drug users and gays have it."

On Jews: "There's not a European country the Jews haven't been thrown out of. When it happens that many times, it's not just persecution. There's no smoke without fire."

On Adolf Hitler: "Hitler will live forever; and maybe I will."

BNP refuses to condemn insult to Queen

The Green Arrow, a BNP supporting blog, has launched a revolting tirade against the Queen, calling her a “traitor”. The BNP have refused to condemn the site. Their toleration of the likes of the Green Arrow shows how there is nothing even remotely patriotic about the BNP.

The GA, which is run by Paul Morris, said that the 84-year old monarch is a “liar and a traitor to her people”.

This is not the first time that the GA has insulted Queen Elizabeth. In January 2010 he wrote:

“The time has come my friends to now talk of treason and sedition. Treason already committed by our own Queen and Sedition that should now be committed by all True British Patriots.

The Queen has already committed five acts of treason by signing EU treaties that have finally abolished Our Nation. She will go down in history as the only monarch to ever have broken her Coronation Oath. We owe her no allegiance and now have an actual patriotic duty to remove and replace her.”

On the Queen’s Christmas message he said his first reaction was to:

“… switch to Anglo Saxon mode and write “”F**k you and your descendants you treasonous bitch”

He went on to urge British citizens to commit sedition:

“She is no Monarch of England or the UK, she is a craven coward who has betrayed Our Trust … The Queen has committed Treason, we must now commit Sedition as Our Patriotic Duty. Long Live the British National Party”

One could be forgiven for thinking that the GA is a lunatic and on the outer fringes of the BNP. However, in December 2008 he was invited as a “welcome guest” of Bridgend BNP. Morris’s blog is extremely popular amongst BNP internet users and has been used as a intermediary by sympathisers such as Bill Murray, former secretary of the Welsh BNP and Director of Soldiers off the Street, in their quarrels with anti-BNP campaigners over their links to the extremist party.

When contacted by Nothing British this morning, the BNP explicitly refused to condemn the GA’s un-patriotic and crude remarks about the Queen. A BNP press officer bizarrely told NB that it was us who were instead “low-life” and “un-patriotic”.

The BNP claim to be patriotic and wrap themselves up in the flag and the Armed Forces. But when the rabble rousing Anjem Choudhury screams for Shariah law and says that the Queen should wear a burka, the BNP and the GA shout out treason and say we have been betrayed by the Establishment for allowing him to say such things. The BNP have one system of values when condemning Choudhury but apply another one for themselves.

Nothing British