The rest of the blog
The chancellor’s proposed income tax shuffle is clever accountancy but toxic politics — a pledge-break disguised as fiscal discipline, and proof that Labour has trapped itself in rules it cannot escape.
More than 200,000 young men aren’t “signed off for life”—they are the reserve army of labour, conscripted into the Telegraph’s morality tale to prepare the ground for austerity.
David Frost calls it a new “Red Terror.” The truth is plainer: it’s the Right’s wars, coups and crackdowns that have spilt the deepest blood in politics.
Trump’s latest “kinetic strike” killed three unknown Venezuelans he labelled “narco-terrorists.” The phrase is not law but incantation, a word that strips away humanity and legitimises killing. From Vietnam body counts to Obama’s “signature strikes,” America has always named its enemies into existence, and into death.
To call Robinson’s rally “populist” or “right-wing” is to miss the point. Fascism doesn’t require every marcher to be a coherent ideologue; it requires a mass, a scapegoat, and leaders prepared to turn grievance into violence. That is what we saw in London.
The events of Saturday (13/09) prove that Britain can go fascist. Musk calls for violence, the Telegraph and Times launder his words, and Starmer clings to the flag. We must name the danger or watch it grow.
Camilla Tominey’s sainthood act for Charlie Kirk trades politics for piety. The Right already owns the machinery (press, finance, courts, police) and Kirk was part of the drive shaft. A death certificate doesn’t wash clean a career built on making violence respectable.
The ONS reports zero growth in July. The papers call it “grim news” for Rachel Reeves. In reality, it is the latest entry in a long obituary for British capitalism — a system now sustained only by euphemism, stagnation, and decline.
A man, his car, and his gun. This is pure Americana, not the myth of reinvention, but the fantasy that remains when everything else is lost. Sovereign begins with poverty. The ideology comes later.
Alienation, Collapse, and the Myth of the Western
Warfare looks and sounds like war, but says nothing about it. Iraqis are reduced to bullet magnets, the mission is never named, and behind the realism lies a vacuum: of politics, of purpose, of meaning.
If Reaganism found its myths on the big screen, Trumpism built its own spectacle—and may now be searching for its Riefenstahl.
A film about marines and monsters, yes—but also about empire, capital, and the systems that survive by turning crisis into opportunity. Watching Aliens now is like reading the minutes of a future board meeting: the Company adapts, the hive expands, and the mission continues.
A masterful dissection of power, corruption, and the making of modern America, The Apprentice deserved to sweep the Oscars, but the Academy, as always, chose safety over truth.
The end of the year wouldn’t be complete without a list.
Sidney Lumet’s “The Hill” (1965) is a harrowing exploration of the human cost of military service and colonialism, set against the harsh realities of a British military prison during World War II.
In his latest dystopian film, Civil War, director Alex Garland presents a thought-provoking and unsettling vision of a divided United States, inviting viewers to contemplate the consequences of societal polarisation and the role of journalism in capturing the truth amidst conflict.
Patrick Keiller’s Robinson trilogy explores modern Britain through a psychogeographic lens, revealing how landscapes shape collective psychology. The films expose spaces that reflect political and social forces underlying the nation’s fractures.