‘Real BNP’ threatens to fail even more than the real BNP

Last month the website of the British National Party (BNP) went off line for just short of a week. This led to muffled excitement that the moribund party had finally cashed in their substantial chips.

This was not the case. Whilst there is still plenty of money to be made from death, the cerebrally challenged brains trust that control the party were never going to give up or go away.

The party spent the near week off line removing almost every past mention and trace of departed and departing members. It is only the rank laziness and sheer incompetence of the two criminals that now run the party while ensconced in holiday cottages that made the process such hard work.

I can’t even give you an example of the mind numbing dross that replaced the previous mind numbing dross, because the website has gone into another unscheduled hiatus.  Anyway, take my word for it, it was brainless even for racists. Brainless racists.

Clive Jefferson (criminal name Aitken) and Adam Walker (criminal name Walker) who now own and purloin from the Nazi party are bunkered down in anticipation of a legal challenge from a former close colleague and co-conspirator in their gloriously incompetent and debilitating coup d’état in 2014.

And it’s not just legal challenges the party leadership need to bunker down and away from. A minor and moronic throng of former non-luminaries has also clubbed together a small collection of brain cells to declare themselves the “Real BNP.”

Central to this new endeavor is the ubiquitous Peter Hollings from Leeds. A very minor member of the party during its halcyon period, Hollings has spent the last twelve or so months plastering his thoughts and opinions on just about every fascist forum and Facebook page in a rather bullish attempt to lead some kind of fascist reemergence. Whilst doing this, the list of people he has befriended, upset and fallen out with is impressive- if not entirely suspicious. 

The downside in Hollings’ constantly falling out with people he befriends for the good of the white race, is having to read the endless updates on why people as diverse and wholesome as Alison Chabloz or Mark Collett now annoy him only days previously having been the very best of his friends. Hollings really is living his best life.

Now in trying to take over or at least replicate a version of the BNP, Hollings has had to trawl the very bowels of a dirty movement.  Nazi milkman and former leader of the British Movement, Michael McLaughlin, has been asked to give the ‘Real BNP’ his blessing and support.

Why what McLaughlin thinks even matters is a bit of a mystery. Other than writing a biography of himself (yes, he wrote it in someone else’s name) the only thing the son of a former Brigadista appears to have contributed to fascism and Nazism in this country is allegedly taking a large, five figure payment arranged by and with the National Front in 1990.

Still, let that not stop McLaughlin lauding his own mercurial talents to the new group. Whether they want to know how many people like(d) McLaughlin or not, he’s told them anyway.

In a Fuhrer-like communique issued through Hollings,  McLaughlin reels off a list of mainly dead and totally unlamented other Nazis, Jew haters and conspiracy theorists whom he claims “have spoken well” of him. Most have not actually spoken since the 1990’s so we cannot actually verify with them their true and honest opinion.

Unsurprisingly absent from the list of dead people with things to say is former National Front Chairman Ian Anderson who had little nice to say when watching McLaughlin pocket £35,000 on the agreement he kept the British Movement inactive and out of Anderson’s way.

Anyway, I know you’ll be dying yourself to know about the people who never called McLaughlin a “pig” to his face and instead spoke well of him in polite and uniformed company.  So let McLaughlin tell you himself.

“I undertook a policy to not oppose parties or individuals who, whilst retaining independent control, benefited from cross-party solidarity.

I have been spoken well of by most party leaders and their faithful followers. These include John Tyndall and Nick Griffin, Edmond Morrison, former members of the British Union of Fascists, Anthony Hancock, and Lady Jane Birdwood, the list goes on and on.

My friends in the United States include Dave Duke, James K. Warner, Dr Ed Fields, J. B. Stoner, Willis Carto, and Gerhard Lauck.”

At least five of McLaughlin’s referees that I can remember, are dead.  The Dowager Lady Birdwood, as well as trying to keep filth off our TV screens alongside Mary Whitehouse, reportedly kept a massive amount of confiscated interracial porn by her bedside table and a magnificent list of Jews she hated in filing cabinets. As for Nick Griffin, he was running into bankruptcy an entirely different National Front that McLaughlin went into league with back in those dirty days.

Most of the other names on the list are barely worth mentioning, but if we are at this kind of nonsense, one of the backing singers for Kylie Minogue once said I was “cute” backstage at Wembley Arena while I was purloining cheese from a substantial rider. (They also had lashings of expensive honey and flavoured water.)

Central to this venture and all other naughty, nutty neo-Nazi adventures of course, is the constant peer necrophilia British Nazis and fascists engage in.  Yes, McLaughlin claims John Tyndall, the Jackbooted Jew hater that formed the BNP in 1982 was far too (and unsurprisingly) polite to tell McLaughlin he found him “nefarious” to his face. (Well, that’s what he told me, anyway.)

Yep, saving the BNP or at least rescuing it from the lower decks of the Titanic, does not mean a reverting to the halcyon days of elected public officials and Nick Griffin’s greed and goring. The ‘Real BNP’ is another in a long list of efforts to restore the pre-digital, street brawling, combed-over, ‘white cliffs of Dover’ BNP.

Surprisingly, or not, Hollings has chosen not to organise or lead this dark dash into the past century. That would be, say we, ridiculous. So instead, to give the whole thing a glorious comedy value, he has turned to Kev Bryan, the man who tortured the National Front (NF) to its dying breath.

Bryan has been licking his post-NF wounds for a prolonged period of non-self appraisal and pictorial Facebook updates about when he used to have hair.  

It’s been a tough few years for Bryan. He was promised after quitting the NF to concentrate on his regular and unrewarding visits to his local bookmaker’s, that he could hang around like an odorous armpit. No sooner had he left them to their own devices ,what was left of the NF went to the pub without him. The last we saw of them, the NF were holed up in a Wetherspoons bereft of enough followers to launch a physical assault on Labour Party canvassers.

I digress. If McLaughlin’s talents are somewhat mercurial, there is little lace left in the English language to package what Bryan has to offer- other than they are impeccably suited to replicate the sheer amateurish stupidity that defined a political party that once thought Walsall was in Warsaw.

In a resume that wouldn’t stand up to draft from his back passage, a brief concocted with the help of someone literate has been concocted for the fancifully titled “Project Leader” that is the boor that is ‘Kev’ Bryan.

Not since 1976 when he filled in as milk monitor for the Asian kid with tonsillitis, has Bryan felt such importance.  In no fewer than 1377 words (more than he ever wrote as leader of the rival National Front) Bryan tells the secret ‘Real BNP’ group of his life-long (well, since 1985) service to racial hatred and meetings packed with lashings and lashings of white brethren trying to get a sneaky peak at Birdwood’s colourful magazine rack.

With no navel to gaze, it’s 1377 words of tremendous and selective highs- with no lows.  Unarguably, Bryan’s greatest achievement of gaining much needed publicity for the NF was driving his car under a bus in Rossendale.  Not only is that omitted as well as his associations with drug couriers and terrorists, we’re treated to further unsubstantiated qualifications about how much time he spent with now dead neo-Nazis.

To really cement his qualities as a man who dreams in black and white, Bryan regales the secret audience about how close he was to Tyndall: “Always polite I always addressed the Leader as Mr Tyndall and what an honour it was when he said to me “Kevin we are friends, from now on please address me as John”.

That certainly was an extraordinary honour for little Kev Bryan. Up in some shoddy pub backroom near Baccup, the man who was the great John Tyndall called him friend.  Tyndall’s own wife, Valerie, was only allowed to call Tyndall “John” on the last Sunday of the equinox and with the lights off. Further to that, Tyndall also allowed Bryan to wear trousers, or “long pants”, which poor Valerie was only permitted to do when scrubbing the Tyndall hallway on her hands and knees.

However, there is some conjecture in Bryan’s rambunctious resume. According to Bryan’s version he “stayed in the BNP until I realised I could not tolerate the Leadership and it’s treacherous actions any longer. Both Chris Jackson and myself jumped ship and joined the National Front.”

Strange, that one. I’m fairly certain Bryan was actually removed from one of the BNP’s infamous Red, White & Blue festivals, tent an’ all, after a “misunderstanding” with a member of the opposite sex in a tent. And then jumped ship.  

We should also report that once in the NF, Bryan destabilised that Nazi party by trying to recreate it in the mould of the already dead and unlamented John Tyndall who had left that party in 1980.

The ‘Real BNP’ will come to nothing. Like the real BNP. Hopes that Nick Griffin would lead the charge to take the BNP back under his wing also appear to have no future. Unsurprisingly, it is Hollings who has taken great issue with the very notion.

Riding high after the national press reported Griffin’s influence in the recent National Action trial, Hollings has taken issue with Griffin’s most recent utterances about the future of fascism in this country.