There’s always been a cultural tradition in this country which could be called bawdy and irreverent, from Chaucer to Wills to Thackeray, in counterpoint to the drawing room or set piece niceties of the nuanced.
It’s a rollicking tradition, relying on alcohol in large measure, and ex-blogger Wolfie had something to say on that some time back. The upper classes have never been refined and thus rugby was born, with its discipline and compliance, with moments of brilliance here and there but for real bawdy disrespect, you can’t go past the Bollinger Club and the sound of broken glass.
Attempts at “civilizing” or “Christianizing” the English run into a different kind of spirituality and there’s always been the influence of pagan savagery and sexual licence. Even a Churchman would concede that the satanic past has run into its own problems with English cantankerousness and singlemindedness. Only we could have produced a Boris Johnson to head the city but we also produced a smarmy Ken.
So no, appealing to any sense of aesthetic height or wimpish delicacy is not going to get too far in this land – even the cheese is brutal and yet the taste has fine nuances within that brutality. English shoes are blunt, solid and broguish, rather than in fine Italian leather which falls apart within the first few months. Signs on taverns don’t advertise delicate little duxelles or the lightest of crêpes but “good, honest fare” and “death by chocolate“.
I’m drawn to all those things and it’s true that there’s a raunchy spirit between the men and women of this country, a give and take which hasn’t characterized many other cultures. Women have given as good as they’ve got in this land. All that’s as it should be. All of that is what built an empire.
There’s something which has come into it now, something foreign and unwanted, something savage and tribal and it’s not our tribe. It’s alien and shows through the barometer of any society – its women. Women are so instantly susceptible to stylistic influences that you can predict a nation’s future just by looking at them and listening to them. You can gauge a nation’s health through the state of its women.
British women have never been the fine beauties of the world – the Anglo-Saxon face is not on the list of the exotic [just see Mark W‘s caption on his cartoon in the right sidebar] – but they’ve been more than attractive in their own way and suchlike can still be found. British women at their best have been very good indeed.
They’ve been genteel and ladylike in the past, not in a wimpish way and I meet this type every Saturday and have to say it’s highly enjoyable. Anne Boleyn was a perfect example of an English woman refined by her years at the French court. That’s what got Henry down on his knees.
Below is a pictorial view of what’s gone wrong and it says more than a thousand words how sick this nation has become. The shots weren’t contrived – it wasn’t the best of one culture and the worst of another. All those girls were of a similar age range and could be found anywhere you looked locally, with one exception you’ll see further down. All of them were aware they were being photographed and propped for the shot but as you’ll see – in entirely different ways.
This is what I left behind some years back
And this is what I came home to
Could this next not at least smile winningly? Look at those eyes, look at the masculine body language:
Halfway to what once passed for normal but look at the washed out attire, thrown on with abandon:
The rise of the skank:
There was once a time you might have glanced sideways:
True, this was not a posed shot but it was one of about seven and in most of them, they were well aware of the camera:
The only one making any attempt in that last lot was Katie Price – what a role model. Look at the way the girls in the last shot are walking – it’s difficult to describe if you haven’t lived with women of other cultures. They walk like men – styleless, with unfeminine mannerisms, concerned only with their personal pleasure rather than their affect on anyone, their allure.
In fact, allure is so ingrained in the girls at the top that you’d never be shown their downside and in that respect, you might say the English are more open and in-yer-face – WYSIWYG. Many might like that.
I blame the men for how their women have become but also blame this alien world culture, this PoMo dystopia based on ugliness for making women forget they’re women. I was going to put up a tattooed, nose-boned, metal-spiked specimen but didn’t want to sully the aesthetics and spoil your day. We let the women get like this by not standing up to them and simply saying no – we don’t want that.
Similarly for the women – instead of pining for your Latin beaux or the noble black, why not try to refine your own men? The answer is you don’t care about those men any more – you’re so desperately into being men yourselves that you’ve no time for the gender you’d like to beat down and what is resulting is not a more noble woman but a hedonistic skank who lets it all hang out and thinks allure is flopping it out and saying come and get it boys. And the boys follow, panting.
In this last picture, look at the flip-flops. Travel to Italy and look at the flip-flops there – look at all the attire there. If you insist on ugly footwear, at least make it look presentable. Ditch the tattoos. Forget the boob jobs and just be yourselves, although feminazism has put paid to that.
De-Eminize yourself and get back some self-respect, which might make the men show a bit of respect. Or don’t you care any more?