Theresa May – Dreams are the poetic expression of the soul.

So horrid has been the unbridled racial animus at TRH Duke & Duchess’ interracial marriage that it is past the point of being alarming, to merely being plain hysterical. Fuck these idiots; just get on with your miserable lives, which clearly were not made miserable by that weak, dimwitted race traitor, Harry, being bullied and hoodwinked into marriage by that Z list, pole dancing, unsuitable, twice-divorced Compton ho.

Naturally, Meghan, HRH Duchess of Sussex an American divorcee, is being compared to her predecessor, Wallis Simpson who was also a divorcee. She was said to be domineering sort and Edward VIII, her lover, a weak-willed sort who was totally controlled by her.

Similarly, as with Wallis, Meghan who is erroneously being compared to her American predecessor, Henry is seen as pussy-whipped and controlled as was deemed Edward VIII. Be that as it may, of one thing one can be certain, unlike Meghan, Wallis was not skilled in the arts of the Kamasutra… so there is that.

This shot of Henry during his aunt, Baroness Fellowes’ reading of scripture is seen as proof of his being controlled and foolishly controlled by the lowest of muggles. Be that as it may, here is a man who is completely besotted and having upped his game, did win his bride in the end.

Of course, a sceptic to the core, there was Henry fixing a shrewd eye on his brother, William who everyone has failed to realise is the real Edward VIII in all this, rather than Henry. William has more in common with the abdicated Edward VIII than does Henry.

Granted, Rev Curry was a blasted buffoon who embarrassed no one but himself and it was nothing the royals had seen – to his dying day the right reverend will think himself to have been a hit… American conceit is staggering – but there were Camilla and Charles trying to make sense of what they had just seen,

Returned from having signed the registry with his son’s gracious mother-in-law, Doria Ragland, there was William whilst the cellist weaved his magic, openly ridiculing and throwing shade.

There could be no doubt of William’s loathing of Rev. Curry and all that he represents. Trust you me, if Henry had taken a Jewish wife and there was some aspect of the ceremony after Henry had converted that was bizarre, there is no way in high hell that William would have sat there and openly ridiculed the rabbi. This display, only demonstrates William’s open bigotry. This among other things exposes him further at having been cognisant of the “blackamoor brooch” incident. This is the same William who has seen fit to stridently decline going on tour to any predominantly black Commonwealth nation; this has been left to his father and his wife, Camilla to undertake instead. Scholar souls when in the negative pole of their overleaves happen to be the smog, arrogant, prejudicial persons going. Sadly, William will never change his outlook for the remainder of his life and it will cost him dearly down the line.

This august woman, Camilla who does not gladly indulge hostilities declined to attend Andrew’s daughter HRH Princess Eugenie’s wedding last October to Jack Brooksbank; he had always been openly hostile towards her. Similarly, she declined to attend Christmas Service 2018 at Sandringham as she is clearly not pleased with how the senior royals, namely William and Catherine are being frosty towards Henry and his American wife.

Just as Wallis was the centre of everyone’s vitriol, as time always lays bare all secrets, Edward VIII would be exposed for the vile, bigoted, Nazi sympathiser that he was. So, too, William has proven himself a bigoted boor on par with his great-great uncle Edward VIII. I think it interesting that so many of the souls who have reincarnated after the Me generation have turned out to be such petty, bigoted boors, which they love smugly terming conservative.

The same is seen in the current Canadian PM who has thought nothing of repeatedly running off to India to act like a buffoon in a Bollywood flick, attend every town in the land’s Gay Pride parade; however, he flatly refused to attend the 50th anniversary Caribbean Carnival celebrations in 2017. Instead, he went kayaking. Naturally, the same social butterfly tried his damnedest to score an invitation to the royal wedding of TRH Duke & Duchess of Sussex but was justifiably decline. He also saw positively nothing odd in excluding either blacks or Chinese from his cabinet in 2015. Enough about Bathhouse Pierrette and his über Ketaine, just-a-tad-too-eager fag hag.

For any and all sceptics (Princes Philip and Harry – and yours truly) what we pay attention to is details. We don’t focus on what you say but we are ever keenly focussed on what you do not say and more importantly what you do. This can sometimes have us come off as slightly on the paranoid side but, trust you me, nothing escapes our shrewdly focussed gaze.

William has emerged as Edward VIII’s bigoted reanimation rather than Meghan, Wallis’s reanimation. Not a single tour to a predominantly black Commonwealth nation, turning away during the scarf incident this past Christmas when Meghan tried to engage him in conversation.

Charles and Camilla standing at the end of the receiving line of Westminster Abbey clergy to greet senior royals, who in this case would be HM The Queen and Prince Philip. Naturally, The Sovereign exchanges pleasantries then greets her son, father of the groom and they share a congratulatory kiss at the occasion of TRH Duke & Duchess of Cambridge’s 2011 wedding.

Westminster Abbey, this past Armistice Day for the service of remembrance. Though, I was then in London, I did not attend outside the Abbey to observe; rather, I was attending a commemoration concert at Barbican Centre by the London Symphony Orchestra. Here, TRH Duke & Duchess of Sussex wait, as is customary, at the end of the receiving line of the incoming senior royals.

TRH Duke & Duchess of Cambridge deliberately stayed overlong, greeting and chatting up the Westminster Abbey clergy; they were making a point of snubbing the Sussexes. Naturally, another betrayal of his role of instigator in the “Blackamoor Brooch” incident, William has no qualms about dismissing his brother and his otiose wife as he and by now his equally curt wife see things. Her reaction on entering the Abbey and noticing the Sussexes spoke volumes.

As it was plainly obvious to sceptic Harry that he was being snubbed by that conceited, thick-as-a-plank, bigoted brother of his, he simply walked away and was followed by his wife, rather than continue suffering the indignity of being made to wait overlong. William is a bigoted arse of the first order and where the Duke & Duchess of Windsor are concerned, the parallels are to William the bigot and Edward VIII the Nazi sympathiser rather than Wallis the divorcee and Meghan also an American divorcee.

The Cambridges no more wanted to talk to the clergy and PM Theresa May than they want to have to tour some predominantly black Commonwealth nation. They were snubbing the Sussexes because Meghan has draw and mass appeal and is not a mousy little whimp when speaking publicly like the bigot’s mare who looks frightfully severe when not grinning like a semi-feral gibbon en chaleur.

Oh well, there was Meghan ascending the steps of St. George’s Chapel with John & Brian Mulroney, doing their parents proud, to say nothing of Ivy in her own right. Thank god for Jessica Mulroney, for her role in that wedding as she helped to strike it straight out of the park – and she also happens to have the most deliciously vulgar laugh that tickles the soul every time. A wedding like no other and that will always have sphinctered, drivelfest, bigoted boors seething with grudge because… well, petty humans can be expected to behave no differently.

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As ever, thanks for your ongoing support and don’t ever forget to push off and start flying when lucidly awakened in the dreamtime.

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By now the effects of the stewed fruit at breakfast has seen my waist shrink; I am grateful. The morning after the night that was, I am still elated and humming away that catchy melody from Ludwig Minkus’ greatly composed ballet.

After breakfast I decamped at Leicester Square where it was time to enjoy the bright, cool sunlight and catch a movie. The Vue cinemas are rather interesting; I was keen to know if I would have a repeat of what had transpired last winter.

Back then, I was upstairs at the same cinemas watching, Darkest Hour, which proved a real tour de force performance from Gary Oldman. Sat in the back row, soon I became bloated and expansive. Though not the least bit drowsy, I felt wide-open and lucidly self-aware. Next, as the film progressed, I watched as several pure white humanoid forms simply stood up and walked to the sides and quite seamlessly walked through the very real walls of the cinema.

One of the things that Merlin and I always loved doing, was seeing a film during its opening weekend. Naturally, so close to the anniversary of his passing, I was keen on seeing a film. J. K. Rowling is among my favourite contemporary writers and having seen the first film in this series, it only made sense to go.

Whilst waiting for the cinema to open, I caught a series of items; all are favourite actors of mine, especially Sir Kenneth Branagh.

The first screening of the day was a special affair with about one third of the theatre occupied. A lovely Chinese couple sat to my right with their precocious son of about ten years stuck between them. We chatted briefly and I thought it so strange that conversation with strangers is almost unheard of when attending a Canadian movie.

I emerged into the crisp Saturday morning in Leicester Square a bit teary eyed as thoughts of Merlin at one point during the film overwhelmed me. It was after all the eve of his passing some 29 years earlier.

Slipping inside this tiny joint – I always favour hole-in-the-world, ma-n-pa joints, I got a couple of really good slices of pizza whilst pouring through the Times of London. There was conversation close by, which struck me as interesting; it went from Theresa May and Brexit to Meghan, HRH Duchess of Sussex. I soon realised that both persons were openly criticised chiefly for being women; in the case of the Ms. May, she is dismissed and not taken seriously chiefly for being female. As for Meghan, like every woman who marries into the BRF, she is readily reviled, though, some of this has bordered on racial hysteria and seriously threatening.

In a bid to cleanse my very soul, after all that, I slipped from Leicester Square for the uplifting sophistication of the National Gallery where I deftly moved through my favourite salons with usual mercurial speed, taking the time to pause and admire the key works of art that bring me the greatest pleasure.

Well, after all that art, it was time for more prowling the decidedly unCanadian wintry streets of London. Along Shaftesbury, I strode my Crockett & Jones booted and blistered feet into Neal Street where my favourite hippy-dippy (as Merlin would remark) New Age store, The Astrology Shop in Covent Garden. Though, it most definitely does not have the best choices, I still love the feel of the place and their sagebrush collection is second to none.

Along with marvellous pieces of crystals and a wonderful Citrine, I really connected with this gorgeous agate ring. The moment that I saw it, I really resonated with me and it felt so right.

After a rather warm conversation with a green-eyed, redhead, she was fascinated by my custom Reuben Mack messenger bag.

I then headed back to The British Museum for more shopping. As it was the weekend, there was now a sizeable lineup to gain entry. As though my impatience with crowds were not enough but soon, I had two Torontonian women doing what Canadians do best; they spent much of their time gawking at me, talking about me and cultural appropriation for wearing the custom Reuben Mack messenger. Standing there in line, I was reminded of what petty, small-minded bigoted jackasses the average Canadian can be and god do they love being openly racially predatory towards blacks.

Never once had I experienced a scintilla of racial animus from a Briton or for being in London to that point; there you have it, the land where racism is enshrined in law: employment equity law of Canada: All employers must employ, Caucasians, First Nations persons, Disabled persons and visible minorities and therein is the framework of Canada’s own form of Apartheid – state sanctioned racism. All employers, in particular crown corporations (government agencies – federal and provincial) employ visible minorities to the exclusion of blacks and if and when they do employ blacks, they then hire blacks only as casual workers which means they are not entitled to benefits, pension and guaranteed hours.

So smugly established is this state of affairs that the current prime minister refused to attend the 50th anniversary of Caribana – the nations West Indian community’s gift to Canada on its 100th birthday in 1967; however, he attends ever Gay pride parade in the same city as Caribana, Toronto, and has repeatedly been to India, to dress up and act a right clown because who gives a damn about blacks in Canada. As one friend said, blacks over the past three decades have become as marginalised as First Nations persons. But enough about aggressive young souls and their racialised worldview. Meanwhile, as they were openly rude towards me whilst queueing to enter the British Museum, I grabbed my phone and pretended to film them to which one of them suddenly became enraged, demanding that I not film her… You have to laugh or truly you would go mad. In any event, I got the feisty Buster a nice but scary Egyptian stuffed cat – he is actually afraid of it.

On my return to the hotel, a couple of blocks from The British Museum, I slumped into bed and decided that my aching feet needed a break from the rest of the day’s planned events. To that end, I stayed in that night rather than return to Barbican Hall to catch a celebration of the Windrush Migration. At that concert were to have been Calypso Rose and The Mighty Sparrow; though it had been years since last seeing either performer, I just was not into it. Moreover, I wanted to take the time to be with myself and reflect on the eve of Merlin’s passing some 29 years earlier.

As ever, thanks for your ongoing support and ever remember to push off and start flying.

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Dreams are the poetic expression of the soul.

Tag: Theresa May

Wallis? No, No, No! Try Edward VIII 2.0.

The Day After the Night that Was.