It’s another week and yes yet another mutual masturbation circle of outrage on social media over complete trivia. I speak this time of the confected “shock” that the water cannons originally purchased by Boris in the wake of the 2011 London Riots are to be sold far below their original cost.
The usual Metroluvvie Chatterati (such as Dan Hodges) are engaging in bladder bursting conniptions over this. And in their bloviating buffoonery they are of course using it as nothing more than a rhetorical point scoring exercise. This time against Boris and – er – Brexit.
It never ceases to amaze me what short, selective memories these despicable urban virtue-signalling twerps have. The London Riots were a wake up call to me as I’m sure they were to many among the ongoing white flight from London, of which myself and my family are now part, having retreated to a more defensible position on the coast.
Hodges in the tweet linked above even notes presumptuously that the cannons “were never used”. And no surprise there. The London Riots kicked off over a single gangster scrote being taken out by armed police. They had very good reason to suppose he was armed and dangerous and he no doubt caused immense suffering amongst “the community” whilst living his gangster lifestyle. However, all that went into the memory hole for “the community” when police dared to put a final end to him. The riots started in Tottenham and spread throughout London and inspiring copycat incidents in other cities across the country. You think when this happens again the police would dare to deploy water cannons and risk seriously injuring violent members of “the community”? Get real.
I was living on the Isle of Dogs at the time, in Tower Hamlets. I don’t know what planet Hodges and his ilk were on at the time but to myself and my housemates for three days and three nights it looked like we were on the verge of the complete and utter breakdown of civil society across the capital. I’ve spoken to Metroluvvie types since and they all dismiss the seriousness of the riots. The police eventually took back control of the streets but whether that would even happen seemed extremely doubtful for the first few days. The Met Police went to ground and – at best – simply sat and watched the ferals trashing everything they could and any passers-by who looked remotely civilised and did not join in their rampage became targets too.
Some of the Metroluvvies I engaged with decreed that the riots were not as bad as everyone said because they never reached their area. Sometimes I despair of even reasoning with these people. London is a vast, vast metropolis. There were many areas that were lucky enough to escape unscathed. However at various points, especially at night, the number of simultaneous incidents of mass property destruction, robbery and assault were well into double figures. And these groups were highly mobile. No one really knew which area they may move to next. Many areas did not escape unscathed. Including mine.
Tracking the carnage
The days were bad enough, but the ferals ruled the night. Everyone I knew mostly went about their daily activity, avoiding the worst spots such as Hackney and Tottenham, and then sat tight in their homes as soon as the sun went down. It really was like scenes from I Am Legend. On one day of the riots I popped across the river and went up to the observatory in Greenwich. It’s a good vantage point to look towards places like Canary Wharf. I felt sorry for the tourists at the observatory. They should have been enjoying a fun day taking snaps of some great British scientific history. Instead they were pointing cameras North West. At the clouds of smoke rising from Hackney.
That evening I decided, as our worthless police farce had effectively stood down and the press were not going out at night, to see what I could do to forewarn people in my own area and friends and family scattered across London and Greater London. I whacked out a few scripts to carry out regular queries of the Twitter API, picking out names of London areas and tweets that were geo-located in London. It took a bit of fine tuning and donkey work to filter out irrelevant tweets and pointless tweeters. But it worked.
I had an extremely informative and almost near-time stream of information from Twitter regarding the activities and movements of at least some of the gangs, completely crowdsourced. Including from many of the numbskulls in the gangs themselves who were capturing their exploits as they went. This was before the time when I was regularly banned from Twitter and had quite a substantial following. My retweeting movement estimates snowballed and other London tweeps not only re-tweeted me but also started sending me more information themselves on what they had seen. I was also still on Facebook at the time. Again, like Twitter, one of the few times social media actually proved its worth. I was soon giving live updates to friends and family as far apart as Richmond and Romford.
I hoped that owing to its location and geography, with highly secure Canary Wharf to the North and the Thames at every other compass point, that the gangs would not bother with the Isle of Dogs. I was wrong.
Up popped some random tweeters claiming they could see fire on the West side of the Island. I started to pay closer attention and filtered my results further for names associated with the Isle of Dogs. Ping! Up came a tweet from some bellend tweeting videos and photographs from inside the Crossharbour Tesco. They were busy smashing the windows and taking what they wanted. I decided I had had enough of these throbbers and of the pansy police leaving us all to it. I decided my line was Millwall Park and these scum were not going to cross it and menace my housemates or neighbours.
I comprehensively tooled up and went out into the night. Millwall Park is very poorly lit at night away from the central pathway. There is a lot of scope for stealthy activity. I went across the top of the park and then waited near East Ferry Road to watch the traffic. One single car in five minutes. It would normally be constant traffic on any night of the week. I decided to risk breaking cover (and risking running into useless plod who might be brave enough to stop a lone male with his hood up) and made my way over to Crossharbour.
When I got near to the shops I stopped about fifty metres away. I had come up behind the rioters. There weren’t a huge number of them. Perhaps twenty. They were having a whale of a time. I found a place where I could watch them and also be concealed from either them or the main road behind me. There was no danger of the Orcs even bothering to give anything more than a glancing look in my direction. The Police were already there. And they were letting Saruman’s hordes just trash the place with impunity. Something was on fire nearby. I think it may have been a car. The police had just settled, with their lights on, across the bridge about 200 metres to the West and just watched. Why would the rioting lowlifes even bother looking for any other danger if even the Police were there and leaving them to act with complete impunity? They wouldn’t be at risk from a single raging white boy. Or would they?
I had a half-formed plan in my mind. I had the tools on me to easily batter someone unconscious and, forgive me readers, for one of the rare occasions in my life I was willing to sneak up behind someone and cheapshot them to the knees, back and skull. It felt like we were teetering on the edge of something very nasty indeed and I was in no mood to take prisoners, especially as I felt like our establishment had abandoned us. The Orcs were a rabble and high on criminality without consequences. I suspected many of them were actually high too. Or drunk. If they moved East towards me I would keep Crossharbour DLR station between me and them, then shoot across to the Asda car park where I could hide again and watch their movement. Even if they caught sight of me, the park was not far. If they went into the park, it would be my territory and my rules. Some of the invaders would be mine. Utter pitch blackness until they got to the path and I knew from the sight of them there would be stragglers who I could pick off and by the time they got to street lights again their numbers would be inexplicably diminished.
I waited for about half an hour watching them. They showed signs of boredom and it looked like they were starting to move. I’m not sure whether it was lucky for me or lucky for them they decided to go North. The central part of the Isle of Dogs is largely pedestrianised around the wharfs. The police would struggle to tail them in cars, even if they had the will to do so. I let out a breath I didn’t know I was holding in and waited until the very last scrote was out of my eyeline and then went with my original plan for a route back home. But it wasn’t quite over yet.
I went around the front of the Asda store and very nearly got myself into an even larger heap of trouble. There were several cars already in the car park and a handful in the process of moving in or out. Suffice to say Asda wasn’t open. I managed to hide and was fortunate again that the people in front of me were not alert – like the others at Crossharbour they obviously felt they had nothing and no one to fear. I watched them for a few minutes. They were shifting what looked like looted goods from one car to another and had obviously decided to use the car park to carry out the exchanges despite the fact there were multiple cameras in the area. Yet again I was struck by how useless the police response was and just how confident the criminal scum were.
Shortly after I made it safely home and it was a relief to be enveloped by the complete darkness of the park on the way home. I was confident neither the Crossharbour or the Asda scumbags would be bothering to come East so I got in, calmed myself down for a while and then posted what I had seen to Twitter. And the fact that the Isle of Dogs was hit by the scum never made it to any of the mainstream media timelines of the riots that I have seen. How many similar incidents went unrecorded?
Fat Useless iPlod
Two days later when the full reinforcements from the regions had arrived, suddenly the Police were a very visible presence on the streets all over London again. Order was restored. We were saved. Yay! Or were we? To my mind it had been a horrible prelude of what is yet to come in London and the non-stop gang and crime fuelled violence since the riots is certainly keeping that nightmare vision alive. That was the point I decided I would have to think seriously about leaving London for good within a matter of years.
I was in Greenwich again and saw a couple of coppers. I thought I would be magnanimous and tell them I was pleased to see them on the streets. They accepted this with good grace and then I told them as a result of social media posts I’d found out that at least one gang was using the Asda car park over the river to swap loot and they might want to look into it tonight. They told me that I should not believe everything I see on social media. I wasn’t having that so I told them that Twitter had kept me safer the previous two nights than they had and then walked away before I started to lose my temper.
Fast forward to 2018 and it is clear not only that the Met Police have lost the streets again but also that they have learned nothing. It’s now routine to see stories of London locals turning on the police, often with footage filmed by other locals who find the whole thing hilarious. Here is one from Saturday night. Note that they have no qualms about nearly killing the useless WPC on the scene. Here is another recent London incident. Two WPCs struggle for minutes – minutes! – to physically overwhelm a recalcitrant muppet which everyone else stands around, films and laughs at them. He wasn’t even trying particularly hard to fight them off. There’s plenty more where this came from too – another case, albeit this time in Horsham but it makes the point. A robbery goes wrong and the scumbag decides that he’ll just take a police car to get away. There are two police officers in the car so you would think this might present a problem. Nope. They’re WPCs. The scrote rags one of them out the car like she’s a doll and god only knows what the WPC in the passenger was thinking. They are only saved by a group of men coming to the rescue.
This isn’t to demean women or write off WPCs completely. It is to state the hard truth that all but the most physically exceptional WPCs are simply not equipped to deal with inner London scum. They should not be on the front line. They are putting their own lives, the lives of the (innocent) public and their male colleagues in very real danger. But it continues all in the name of virtue-signalling. And to be honest, I wonder about a lot of the men too. There are quite a few I see in London I think I could easily snap over my knee and these coppers are now regularly having to face off with groups of men who would attack them without fear and happily kill them if they thought they would get away with it. They simply are not equipped for it. And people like me who think the Police fulfil a core function in a civilised society, who may help them out of a tight spot when it came to the crunch, are fleeing London. I’m also one of the people the Police would be most likely to interview over hurty words.
The police have lost the streets in London and the civilised people with it, too. They’re a joke. A bad one. And yet they continue their virtue-signalling crusade, even to the point of putting their own officers in severe danger. It’s only a matter of time before male police officers are routinely “splashed” by the Orcs and WPCs are routinely assaulted and raped. It’s coming. There’s no platitude plate-armour or virtue-signalling shield that will save the police or the Metroluvvies like Dan Hodges. There will just be blood. And there will be no water cannon big enough to wash it away.
© Katabasis 2018