Husband to karen ,father to two beautiful but high octane daughters and golf fan.
Labour are great until they run out of spending other people's money.
My son has been asked to wear a Vote Labour t-shirt for 2 weeks as part of a social experiment to see how people react.
So far he has been spat on, punched and had a bottle thrown at him.
I'm curious to see what's going to happen when he leaves the house.
A farmer dies in April 2026.
His son inherits the farm. The farm has been in the family since 1847.
The farm consists of: 300 acres of grazing pasture, a farmhouse built in 1892, a barn, a milking parlour, two tractors of varying ages, a Land Rover that runs about 70% of the time, and a herd of 180 Hereford-cross cattle.
On paper, the farm is worth approximately £3.2 million. This is because land near him has been bought recently by a London hedge fund looking for carbon credits, which has dragged the comparable value of every field within forty miles upward to a number nobody local can justify.
In cash, the farm produces a profit of about £28,000 a year in a good year. In a bad year it loses money. The son also works as a fencing contractor three days a week to keep the operation viable.
The inheritance tax bill on a £3.2 million estate, even at the reduced 20% rate, comes to approximately £140,000 after the increased threshold is applied. The son does not have £140,000. The son has never had £140,000. The son has £4,200 in his current account and an overdraft.
The son sells 60 acres to a developer to pay the tax. The developer puts solar panels on the 60 acres. The remaining herd cannot be sustained on the reduced land. The herd is sold. The barn becomes a holiday let.
A different family eats Brazilian beef this Christmas without knowing why the price went up.
The Treasury collects £140,000.
The land never produces British food again.
You know, Torsten, I am Ivy League educated, speak five languages, was in MENSA at 10, and have a vocabulary to rival anyone. But sometimes, with people like you, simple words say it best: you are an out of touch, entitled little cunt.
The best hospital in the NHS is still worse than the very worst hospital in the US; the BBC recites whatever the leftist government tells it to; and you were parachuted into a seat in a place to which you have no attachment whatsoever. So you are "proud" of a third-world health system that soaks up billions, a regime propaganda machine that pumps out drivel, and a total lack of true representative democracy.
You are the poster child for all that is wrong with the once Great Britain. Congratulations.
We've reached the point in the UK where working full time doesn't actually mean anything anymore.
It used to mean stability. It used to mean you could afford a home, eat properly, maybe go away once a year and not panic if your car made a weird noise.
Now it just means nothing.
You wake up early, work all day, come home tired, and still somehow sit there wondering how you're going afford everything.
Rent is ridiculous. Bills are constant. Food prices change depending on the mood of the supermarket.
And wages? Basically frozen in time.
You're not lazy. You're not bad with money. You're just trying to survive in a system where everything goes up except what you get paid.
As Gordon comes in to “save” the economy it’s worth remembering 2010,
when Nigel Farage was an MEP in the European Parliament and Gordon Brown was Prime Minister.
Starmer thinks we’ve forgotten. We haven’t!
GLORIOUS 🔥
Latest, Starmer has dug up, Gordon Brown. OMG.
The UK pension system was once the envy of the world, but former Chancellor Gordon Brown slaughtered it shortly after New Labour took power in 1997.
Brown launched an instant stealth tax raid on our workplace pensions by axing a valuable dividend tax credit that made them affordable for employers.
In doing so, he triggered the collapse of millions of gold-plated final salary company pension schemes. Nearly all are now closed to new members, leaving tens of millions of workers at the mercy of volatile stock markets for their retirement wealth.
Not all of them, though. Public sector workers still get final salary pensions as standard, with taxpayers footing the bill.
And so do MPs, naturally.
MPs build up pension rights worth £16,500 a year after just 10 years in the job. It would take the average private sector worker a staggering 49 years to accrue the same retirement income.
Funnily enough, Brown didn’t touch those. Nor will Starmer.
The hypocrisy is outrageous and a sign of things to come now Labour is in power.
@benonwine Your backs up against the wall, you have had a terrible local election result what do you do ,wheel out a terrible ex dinosaur, who ruined the economy 🙄
My daughter got detention for defending her late Marine father — but when FOUR MEN IN UNIFORM walked into the school the next day, the entire building went silent.
"Mrs. Harrison, you have to understand: Grace’s behavior was completely UNACCEPTABLE. We respect your husband’s service to this country, but..." her teacher said.
My 14-year-old daughter sat beside me, her eyes glassy.
The day before, one of her classmates had made a joke about Grace not having a father.
He was a Marine. Grace was only three when we lost him.
So when that girl laughed and said, "Maybe your dad just didn’t want to come back," something inside Grace snapped.
She shot to her feet so fast that her chair slammed to the floor.
Through tears, she shouted,
"My dad was a HERO. Don’t you ever talk about him like that again!"
She was the one who got detention.
She barely said a word the whole way home. That night, I found her sitting on the floor in my husband’s old sweatshirt.
"I’m sorry I got in trouble," she whispered. "I just couldn’t let her say that about him."
My heart cracked wide open.
The next morning, the school called an emergency assembly.
I assumed it had something to do with Spirit Week. A few minutes after the first bell, Grace texted me from the auditorium.
Then my phone rang.
"Mom..." she whispered, her voice shaky. "You need to come."
I stood up so fast I knocked over my coffee.
"What happened? Grace, are you okay?"
There was a long silence on the other end.
"Mom... four men in uniform just walked into the school."
"Hide right now. What’s happening? I’m calling the police!"
But Grace laughed.
"No, Mom, they’re not doing anything bad. You have no idea WHAT JUST HAPPENED! Just get here, please!" she said, before the line went dead.
I didn't bother grabbing my purse. I threw my keys into the ignition, my heart hammering against my ribs, and sped to the high school. When I burst through the double doors of the auditorium, I stopped dead in my tracks.
The room, packed with over eight hundred teenagers, was completely, eerily silent.
Down the center aisle stood four imposing figures in impeccable Marine Corps Dress Blues. The brass buttons caught the overhead lights, and their crisp white covers were tucked sharply under their arms. I recognized the man at the front immediately. It was Staff Sergeant Miller—my late husband’s closest friend and squad leader. I had called him in tears the night before, just needing someone who understood the weight of the disrespect Grace had faced. I hadn't expected him to do *this*.
The principal, Mr. Davis, stood awkwardly at the podium, looking completely out of his depth.
Staff Sergeant Miller didn't wait for permission to speak. He stepped up to the front, taking the microphone from the stand, and his booming, authoritative voice echoed through the massive room.
"We apologize for the interruption, Principal Davis," Miller said, though his tone suggested he wasn't sorry at all. "But we received word that a young lady in this school was being disciplined for defending the honor of a fallen United States Marine."
A collective gasp rippled through the student body. The teacher who had given Grace detention slunk back into her seat in the front row, her face turning crimson.
Miller’s heavy gaze swept across the bleachers. "Where is Grace Harrison?"
Grace stood up slowly from the middle row, still wearing her dad’s oversized sweatshirt.
"Come down here, Grace," Miller commanded gently.
As she walked down the bleacher steps, the three other Marines broke formation and fell perfectly into step behind her, creating an impromptu honor guard. They escorted her to the center of the floor.
Miller turned to face the silent crowd. "Captain Mark Harrison didn't just 'not want to come back.' He gave his life pulling three wounded men out of a burning transport vehicle in the middle of a firefight. I know, because I was one of those men. None of us standing here today would be breathing if it weren't for Grace's father."
The silence in the room was absolute. You could have heard a pin drop. A few rows up, the girl who had made the cruel joke the day before was staring at her shoes, visibly crying.
Miller turned back to Grace and dropped to one knee, bringing himself to eye level with her. He pulled a small, velvet box from his pocket and opened it, revealing a gleaming Challenge Coin from their old unit.
"Grace," he said, his voice thick with emotion but loud enough for the microphone to carry. "Your father was the bravest man I ever knew. You stood your ground yesterday, just like he would have. You protected his honor, and now, his squad is here to protect yours. We have your back. Always."
He pressed the heavy metal coin into her palm, stood up, and then all four Marines snapped a crisp, perfectly unified salute to my fourteen-year-old daughter.
Tears streamed down Grace's face, but they weren't tears of anger or shame anymore. She stood tall, squared her shoulders, and returned a clumsy but beautiful salute of her own.
Suddenly, from the back row of the bleachers, a single student stood up and started clapping. Then another. Within seconds, the entire auditorium erupted into a deafening standing ovation. Even Mr. Davis and the teachers were on their feet.
I hurried down the aisle, wiping away my own tears, and wrapped Grace in a massive hug. Staff Sergeant Miller tipped his head to me, a fierce, protective glint in his eye.
Before we could leave the building, Principal Davis rushed over to us in the hallway. He looked thoroughly chastised.
"Mrs. Harrison, Grace," he stammered, wringing his hands. "I... I want to formally apologize. The detention has been completely wiped from her record. We will be handling the bullying incident with the other student appropriately, and frankly, I think our staff needs a heavy refresher on empathy."
Grace squeezed the coin in her hand, looking up at the four men in uniform who had dropped everything to stand by her side. She didn't need to say a word. The message had been delivered loud and clear.
Captain Mark Harrison had left a legacy of courage behind, and that day, an entire school learned exactly what it meant to be a hero's daughter.