The Times reports today on the sad if perhaps not entirely unpredictable demise of one Linda MacDonald, the English wife of an African “healer”.  She, silly girl, brought this primitive savage from Burkina Faso to her semi-detached home in Buckfastleigh, South Devon.  He, an “elder of the Dagara tribe” no less, must have felt personally and culturally degraded by every miraculous thing that he witnessed in sunny Devon.  In any event, he “became disorientated” and battered her to death, even though his flight home to Burkina Faso was about to be booked.

I don’t generally copy & paste articles as they stand.  But, as the judge at Exeter Crown Court said while sentencing the gentleman concerned, “The circumstances of this case are so extraordinary ...”  Not least, I would add, because the happy couple didn’t speak a word of one another’s language.  Amazing what a primitive African penis can do for a girl - one of the few erections in Africa that convinces anybody, I should think.  But the dippiness of the whole venture is perhaps best encapsulated by Miss MacDonald’s stunning attempt to challenge the global pharmaceutical industry in gentle, quiet Buckfastleigh by setting up her wonderful new husband as a traditional healer.  Does that sound like a runner commercially to you?  Thought not - the African record on disease being what it is and all.

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In the 1970s an advertisement appeared in an English magazine announcing “Pretty Nigerian girl needs new home.” An English woman in the small country town of Midhurst took in the baby girl.

So far the story reads like a liberal romance. But then come the revelations.

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This morning the Telegraph reports the response of Iqbal Sacranie, Secretary General of the The Muslim Council of Britain, to the news that three - and possible all four - of the terrorists who bombed London were born in this country.  The three were of Pakistani origin (like Sacranie, in fact.  He, though, was born in Zomba, Malawi but, of course, is neither Pakistani nor Malawan but British, just like me!).  Sacranie said:-

We have received terrible news from the police with anguish, shock and horror.  We believe our youth are said to have been involved in last week’s horrific bombings against innocent people.  While the police investigation continues, we reiterate our absolute commitment and resolve to helping the police bring to justice all involved in this crime of mass murder. 

Nothing in Islam can ever justify the evil actions of the bombers. We are determined to work together with all concerned to prevent such an atrocity ever happening again. We now look to our shared values and common humanity to face the traumas and the challenge ahead.

Now, it so happens that Mr Sacranie has just been challenged by Nick Griffin - who was born on a farm in Suffolk - to explain how, exactly, all these “shared values and common humanity” fit in with the Koran.

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I don’t often travel to London these days.  I can’t feel the same for the place as I did in my childhood.  But it happened that last Thursday I was required to catch the 8.20 from Lewes to Victoria.  The previous evening a Portugeuse client had flown in to London to meet with me next day at 10.00am in a Bayswater hotel.  These guys pay the piper.  So a trip to town could not be avoided.

Actually, it was a pleasant enough journey - quiet carriage, no twenty stone slab of lard sitting next to me.  The rush hour was mostly past.  The train didn’t fill until it reached multicultural East Croydon.  It got in to Victoria shortly before 9.30am.

The next two hours of my life were spent going nowhere very fast and being dragged to the inevitable conclusion that my Portugeuse client would have to lunch alone.  I learned from the station tannoy that the Underground was closed due to “incidents”.  Other travellers, no less frustrated than I, had come into possession of the knowledge that somewhere a bus had been bombed.  Then the tannoy confirmed it.  Bus services were also suspended.  Outside the station, London’s amazingly ubiquitous black cabs had become as rare as hens’ teeth.  My mobile phone did not function.  I assumed that weight of call traffic was the cause (only later did I learn that the system was switched off for fear of remote detonation of terrorist bombs).

It was time to get out of town.

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I’ve just arrived home from London Victoria, having got no further into town.  I was only grateful to be able to escape the paralysis that has overtaken the city in the wake of the six reported Underground bombings and the bus bombing at Russell Square.  Of course, one’s heart goes out to those who stood unknowingly and defenceless in the terrorists’ path during this morning’s rush hour.

The picture will clarify through today, and it is too early now to comment on particulars.  I guess there was an inevitability about it.  London could not remain invulnerable, if it ever was to any meaningful degree.  The sundry travellers I have spoken to today were all remarkably sanguine as the story began to emerge and was passed from person to person.  It was a good, British response to hatred and myopia.

I’ve just finished reading The Cousins by Max Egremont. It’s about two members of the English gentry, Wilfrid Scawen Blunt and George Wyndham, who were both politically active in the late nineteenth and early twentieth centuries.

The impression you get of the gentry in the book is largely positive. Being part of the tradition of a landed estate, and having a good education and time for leisure, seems to have made the gentry both more cultivated and more genuinely conservative than the upper class we have today.

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So, Anglo-French tensions have “heightened last night after Jacques Chirac delivered a series of insults to Britain as London and Paris fought to secure the 2012 Olympic Games and faced fresh disagreement at the G8 summit.”

Great.  Let’s hope the IOC is so impressed by Jacque’s Gallic charm that it awards not only the 2012 Olympics to heterosexually Gay Paree but 2016 as well ... and 2020, 2024 and beyond.  I see no reason why the French taxpayer should not fund the Games in perpetuity.  Speaking for myself, though, I would prefer to hang on to my income to save or spend as befits my needs.

The next best option to inflicting actual bodily pain on the French wallet would be to forego the Olympian expense and scrub the competitive side of the Games completely.  Medals should simply be awarded according to tradition.

So ... in athletics the “blue riband” 100m Mens medals could be divided up quite appropriately between two black Americans and anutha brutha from the Caribbean.  Kenya could have a clean sweep of the long distance medals, of course.  Britain would be allotted a women’s archery gold and do jolly well in almost all the most obscure sailing categories.

This would mean that the papers could write their stories of plucky Brit defeat, dropped batons and positive drug-tests months, even years before the sacred flame is lit.  The free-wheeling closing ceremony, which nobody pays much attention to, could take place in advance of the big set-piece opening one, which everybody seems to think terribly important - though I have no idea why.  In fact, one ceremony could be run straight into the other.  It’s only efficient and obviously a winning formula.  I can’t think why nobody has come up with it before.

Best of all, non-English people like David Aaronovitch can enjoy the vibrant, outdoor life of their MultiCult melting pot without being torn away to watch grown men jumping into a sandpit all day (medals for Brazil, America, Cuba or diverse similarities).  London is so very youthful and exciting now there are so few Londoners in it, not a second should be spent away from drinking it all in.

And Paris?  Well, it’s just not the same.  A museum.  No wonder Jacques is envious of Tony.

I bet one or two of those French Muslims can go some over 1500m, though.

For me, certainly, and no doubt for many other MR folk the suddeness with which “Peak Oil” has come on to the scene, like a great wave rising out of a calm sea, has produced rather more questions than answers.  One of these is: why is it of such interest to nationalists?

Obviously, it does not seem to matter at all yet to the mainstream political parties.  In the UK none of the three mainstreamers have indicated more than a passing acquaintance with the concept.  It’s true, though, that they all have deep ideological investments in ever-rising productivity, consumption and GDP, and that may explain it.  But interestingly, even the Green Party has paid scant attention thus far to Peak Oil and its staggering economic, social and political implications.

The one exception in my little country is the British National Party, which is striving with might and mein to interest its membership in the issue.  Yesterday Nick Griffin put up an article on the BNP website and also announced the launch of a special Peak Oil section in its newspaper.

The latter has a very interesting resumé titled Opportunity?.  It is either a piece of frothing at the mouth by frustrated, second-rate minds and political no-hopers ... or it is rather visionary and the source of hope for those who don’t welcome an endlessly diverse future.  Read and decide for yourself.

In Griffin’s article he reveals that he expects to “challenge for power” around 2030.  Yes OK, far enough away to be faintly possible, near enough to keep his supporters digging into their pockets.  But cultural marxism, our ruling ideology, will not last indefinitely anymore than classical marxism did.  2030 is certainly within the range of possibilities for an ideological collapse no less spectacular than 1989’s.

Griffin may be right about his March on Westminster, you never know.  He may be right about Peak Oil.  The latter would hugely help the former, though, and that’s the point.  He believes the Peak can be scaled, and nothing happens in politics without belief.