Good Morrow my flock.

With considerable interest, I read in the Times recently a story involving the children of 
deposed famous tyrants (as well as their offspring) having to deal with, not only, in some 
instances, the sins of the father, but also the implications of their name. As we know, at this post-Easter time,
our good Lord gave his only son to us in order that he might absorb all earthly sins, dying on the cross in our

That would seem like a tough act to follow, but truly there exists a Brian Hitler. While it is generally
accepted Adolf ‘One Ball’ did not have a son, he did have a nephew: Paddy. Paddy was the son of Hitler's
brother Alois, and he lived in Liverpool as a young boy. Imagine the Fuhrer giving animated speeches with a
Scouse accent. Would Poland have capitulated, or just put up with the rise in car stereo thefts? 

During 1933 Paddy moved to Germany, trying his hand as a car salesman and cashing in on the contemporary cachet of his family name (‘eh, eh! Calm down Hitler!’). Unfortunately things didn't quite work out, and he went on to America, denouncing his uncle and serving in the US Navy during the war. Finally he settled in Long Island where he sired three sons, including Brian Hitler.

Now, I shall digress from this true but funny tale, to expand upon another Easter time ritual that is as aberrant 
as the Lord’s crucifixion and, for some, just as painful. I refer, of course, to this year’s locust plague cast 
upon us by Beelzebub’s handmaidens: The Conservative Party; back when they had a faint semblance of 
public support to introduce the system of Council Tax billing. I read with much mirth that my Local 
Government’s CEO was getting an 11% increase in salary. This smacks one five-fold in the face like a holy 
fish, particularly when we consider the economic outlook for most of us lies somewhere between that of a 
Northern Rock cashier and some 19th century beggar. 

Even our precious majesty has pulled in the horse guards’ trouser belts in response to the nation’s growing financial hardship,
expressing her majestic wish that it would be unkind to throw extravagant celebrations in a time of such fiscal
need among her poor and increasingly hard done by subjects. Gorgon Brown take note. The council tax hike is
just another precursor to a trend of utility cream-offs destined to further cripple a nation soon to be on its knees.
Even the Poles have had enough, and are returning home in their thousands, to a land Brian’s uncle ripped off far
more. For myself, I have received several polite notices of increases to my utility outgoings, yet have not seen a
concomitant rise in income to justify this apparent greed.

Then we have the greatest scam currently thrust upon us; Global Warming. The 
concept of saving the planet was never about taxation, it was about consumption and waste. How in God’s 
good name does that equate to supermarkets hiking their cheese products by 50%? Meanwhile the 
growing threat of grain production being diverted lurks over us all, supplying cheap fuel as Chelsea Tractors 
become the Devil’s chariots in everyone’s eyes. A heartfelt plea to prevent future generations having to vacate 
this world because of the excesses of Capitalist industry has somehow been co-opted by Capitalism itself, to 
become all about greed, taxation and dumb populist opinion. 

Inspiring the have-nots to undo a wrong by adding a pittance to the forecourt tax of a pointless off-roader within the London smart set (whose members can easily afford the hike without batting an eyelid), while simultaneously stealing cheese on toast from the tables of the poor? Nice.

What conclusion must I draw from all this? Well, it appears Brian was not the only mini-Hitler to escape the Fatherland mentality.
There were more, and they ended up as council tax collectors for local boroughs, or minor
civil servants in a waning political party that will stop at nothing to cling to power in the guise
of doing what’s best for us. Jesus died in our name, Gorgon Brown just adds to our 
ever-growing misery.

As dear old Neville pronounced: Piss in our time. Piss on the least well off, that is.

Rant over, 

with The Reverend Harry Figgis

Home Defence UK
A Symptom of a Greater Malaise
Lousy Reputations & Credit Crunchiness

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