RobespierreFar be it from me to revel in the misfortune of another, but there are times when Karma works wonders and some get exactly what they deserve. An MP who shall remain nameless has been publicly exposed as the wanker that anyone with half-a-brain already knew him to be, and anyone with half-a-brain is ecstatic at the exposure.

A man who had applauded the unveiling of a plaque intended to honour the memory of a deceased fellow honourable member – regardless of the unseemly rumours that had circulated around him for decades – abruptly changed tack within a couple of years and sought to raise his own obscure little profile by hitching a ride on the historical abuse bandwagon. Sensing which way the media wind was blowing and seeing another nondescript backbencher from the same party rising up the ranks courtesy of a moral crusade based on hearsay and unsubstantiated gossip clearly served as a light bulb for this most undistinguished passenger on the Westminster gravy-train. The crass opportunism was so blatant it was embarrassing, but he embarked upon it nonetheless, happy to lavishly embellish something that ‘Private Eye’ had uncovered with a little less sensationalistic relish as far back as the 1970s.

Curiously, at the same time he was outing dead MPs as incurable corrupters of illegal flesh, he was parading through the tabloids with a virtual child bride himself – a woman with two notable assets that she promoted via social media in a manner that mocked her position as a local councillor. They were a joke, a Netto John & Yoko whose collective imaginary back-stories could have powered the Jeremy Kyle Show for a good twelve months. Strangely enough, he chose not to publicise some of the sordid episodes in his previous married life that have now infected the same column inches he dominated just a year ago as a campaigning white knight.

As so often occurs when the male menopause singles out a woman for attention whose age is closer to one’s daughter than one’s ex, it all ended in tears as the fallen Madonna with the big boobies flew the nest, having torn apart her own family beforehand thanks to opting for the abuse angle to elicit sympathy rather than ridicule. Abandoned and still condemned to the opposition benches, he consoled himself by ‘sexting’ an adolescent moose whose age, according to the repositioned goalposts he himself helped move, now falls into the category of childhood. The woeful fantasies of the single middle-aged man surfaced online, reflecting his inherent stupidity – as though nobody would store them away! – and now they have come back to haunt him in the most humiliating manner imaginable.

His former spouse has added to the humiliation by succumbing to the journalist’s cheque book and revealing all; whether true or not, the descriptions of his numerous unedifying sexual predilections have done further damage to the excuse for a reputation he possessed. A man who has spent the past couple of years pointing the finger should have known any tabloid tales of dubious bedtime antics were bound to provoke ‘other victims coming forward’ and – surprise, surprise – the latest headlines concern a rape allegation. Why didn’t he see this as the inevitable outcome? Because he’s a f***ing idiot. One could say he was dragging politics into disrepute, though it’s hard to imagine a more disreputable profession than politics other than banking. Nevertheless, his ludicrous antics in the squalid soap opera he’s presided over haven’t exactly done much to improve the image of politics. That the same former spouse washing the marital linen in public has also been accused of past dodgy activities herself just adds to the seedy saga and drags politics even deeper into the dirt when few thought that possible.

For someone who was so eager to put the boot in, to throw stones, to piss on graves and to sully the reputations and legacies of those not around to defend themselves, putting surviving family members through untold agonies and exposing them to unfavourable media attention in the process, the spectacular downfall currently playing out in the pages of the dailies and via the same medium he conducted a sleazy little ‘courtship’ on has an irony that goes way beyond mere delicious. There’s an old showbiz adage that says one should be careful who one shits on whilst ascending the ladder because one doesn’t know if one will meet them on the way back down. This horrible individual didn’t care where his effluence landed when he saw a chance to promote his career, and now he is covered in his own crap. It couldn’t have happened to a nicer twat.

© The Editor


21 thoughts on “GLASS HOUSES

  1. It’s a shame that it took a typically British ‘sex scandal’ to bring some people to their senses over the dreadful man – his self-serving money-grubbing (The Guardian reports that “Danczuk has admitted being paid to tip off a photo agency about opportunities to take photographs of him that could be sold to the media, receiving a payment of at least £1,115” even smack bang in the middle of his ‘act of contrition’!), his interfering in an ongoing-review by the CPS into Janner (he claimed that children had been “raped and tortured” within the Houses of Parliament – again in exchange for a bumper media payout – although after Janner’s death he cooled somewhat and his absolute certainty dissolved, the ‘facts’ suddenly became ‘allegations’…), his nepotism (hiring an assistant who had previously alleged sexual misconduct against him; his hiring of wife no.2 as an assistant, who also clocked-up an astonishing number of hours of lucrative overtime; his use of an assistant to write a politically-motivated book to destroy his only opposition in Rochdale, a book he would pretend to have co-authored; on and on it goes – and all funded by the tax-payer) and I really can’t be bothered listing any more of his achievements as I’d be here all day!

    Even now the press are complicit in maintaining the myth of his heroic exposure of Cyril Smith – have they not noticed the police statements detailing not only their inability to back-up his rubbish but also their failure in locating witnesses as the ‘research’ behind the book became noticeable by its absence? (The clearest example being a blockbuster revelation supposedly coming from… a canteen-worker! And a ‘vanishing’ canteen-worker at that, as the scribes were unable to provide any notes or any details as to the identity of the shy fishwife!)

    The Mail took approximately 10-minutes to copy the dam-unblocking article of The Sun, others swiftly followed. And yet the admirable work of Zelo Street (now also on Byline) and also that of the local-press has been screaming out for a wider audience for, literally, years… The national-press really are as sickeningly inept and/or as corrupt as those they occasionally single-out for attention (when it suits them or their owners).

    Over on Dirty Hencke’s site I had a long-running discussion with another commentator who sought to justify Danczuk’s actions (starting in particular when Danczuk lied about being accosted ‘in the shadows’ by a mysterious and threatening Tory Minister – once again in a well-paid newspaper article – an event which never took place). I suggested to the bedazzled chump that we ‘met up’ again at the end of the year 2015 to see how things looked then… so the Sun-article dated December 31st 2015 brought a particularly wry smile to my face!

    I had thought I’d been banned from Hencke’s place, but recent events conspired to allow the tying-up of the matter – bless yer eyes, Fate! I’ll leave the following link (which also links back to the earlier banging of a head against a brick wall) as it shows that some people will simply never learn, determinedly carrying over their wrongness from one year to the next; the astonishing obsession of Hencke’s with your former hostelry, Petunia – Anna Raccoon – shows a man on the edge of a nervous breakdown! He’s utterly lost it…


    1. This ‘hero’ to the #IBelieveAnyOldBollocks brigade doesn’t just have feet of clay. His have been in the kiln for a long time! As you say, it’s astonishing how long it takes Fleet St to pick up on the bleedin’ obvious when those online have been pointing it out forever. Still fun watching him squirm, though!


  2. Just in case you were wondering (or may already know), the illustration used is alleged to be the death mask of Robespierre. As someone else who lived and died by the sword, it seemed applicable.


  3. Karma is a wonderful thing!

    It’s great to see you keeping up the blogging. I was disappointed that the Anna Raccoon blog disappeared, apparently without warning, and wonder what has happened to all those who followed it and its contributors.


    1. It was as much a surprise to me as anyone else; I received no warning either, which was pretty crap. But I too have wondered where all those legendary names vanished to. I’m still in touch with Gildas, but no one else. They’re all welcome here, though!


      1. That’s surprising you weren’t warned. You contributed so much to the site and always seemed sympathetic towards the proprietor. Oh well. It’s good to know Gildas is still around. His blogs were always good too. Perhaps there would be a way to reel in the old AR patrons if they’re still Googling the name, e.g. some kind of page which refers them here.

        Liked by 1 person

      2. I’m assuming those that have found their way here have done so via word-of-mouth? Sadly, the Anna Raccoon brand had become somewhat toxic, hence the short-lived name change to ‘The Tap Room’, even though that didn’t save me from being locked-out when the former owner changed the locks. I can only hope more find this site, as I do miss the likes of Blocked Dwarf and Fat Steve. Having said that, it’s good to see the few that have found me here, and I’m trying to keep up the good work as best I can.


  4. Just found your blog, being previously a reader over at the Raccoon Arms. What has happened there?

    But good stuff anyway. Karen Danczuk eh? A chipmunk face and a little stout around the midriff methinks. She will run to seed soon enough.


    1. The fate of the Raccoon Arms is as much a mystery to me as anyone else, unfortunately. I have my suspicions, but nothing more. I couldn’t curb the urge to blog, so established this one. Always good to welcome a former patron of the old place!


  5. Having been a regular at The Raccoon Arms on a daily basis but only the sort who orders a pint & retires to a quiet corner to sup my pint whilst listening in on the conversation of others. I’m so glad to have found your new watering hole, pleased enough to stick my head above the parapet & actually join the conservation.
    It was quite a difficult journey. I sat waiting for the old site to be reborn for around a month or so & then it turned into a Google spider with no legs. I tapped in numorous tags to no avail, then suddenly I hit the mark & here I am. Let us hope the Blocked Dwarf is following my path & will find himself here too, him and many others.

    Cheers to you Pertunia!


  6. I should like to hope that he really is innocent of all that has been alleged about him.

    If for no other reason than in the certainty of his now undoubtedly being found guilty in the Courts of Public Opinion, the Media, Bloggerdoom at Large, and by fellow Members of the House of Pierrots, justice will be seen to have been done.


  7. The former owner didn’t lock you out – you locked yourself out, and I have the e-mails from Bluehost to prove it.
    Nor did anything happen without warning – I told you on the phone that I could no longer handle the amount of background maintenance that was required to keep the site running, various contributors answered and do the research which made the site what it was. I know that Andrew, an experienced web site owner and professional journalist went to the trouble of arranging to meet you in Manchester, whence you hadn’t turned up til 7.30, and then only stayed for a matter of minutes ‘because you didn’t feel comfortable’ – nice of you to step up to the plate and cover for me when I was ill – anyway Andrew offered to step in and help you and figure out the problem on the site, and you told him you could manage and had all the help you needed – which was followed up with a series of e-mails from Bluehost telling me that all the passwords were being changed, and then another e-mail from a new hosting company that a copy of the site was being downloaded with an attempt to point the domain name to the new site. Unfortunately, whoever did that didn’t realise that I already had a account as well as the and that e-mail came to me too – something of a classic oversight on ‘whoevers’ behalf.
    I asked my solicitor to step in at that point, since I was still unwell, and although he couldn’t get access to the site, they agreed to put up the maintenance page to mask whatever games were being played – on production of the last four digits of the credit card that paid for the hosting.
    How fortunate that although I had paid for the site upfront for six months when I handed it over to you, yet another thing you hadn’t got round to was paying for the next years hosting – so the last four digits of the card that paid for the hosting til next year turned out to be mine.
    Pity you didn’t put your hand out to Gildas, as you did to pay for your internet, and get him to pay for the hosting too – I wouldn’t have been able to put up the masking page and hide the carry on that as far as I know is still going on there. ‘as far as I know’ – because I’m as locked out as you are dickhead.
    So don’t be coming the ‘poor me’, all this happened without warning, It didn’t.
    And if you think the ‘Anna Raccoon’ name is so toxic, and you are never going to write about CSA – then why are you e-mailing all the old commentators from that ‘toxic site’.
    Oh, and don’t flatter yourself that JK gave you a link – it wasn’t him, it was one of the people you e-mailed who left it in the comments.
    You’e made me so mad, its the first time I’ve been out of bed in a week and even answered any e-mails – but one of the people you tried to court just phoned me and told me what was going on.
    Your capacity to feel sorry for yourself knows no bounds.


    1. I feel very sad that you have to wash dirty linen in public. I have never once put you down on here or any other blog. I’ve only ever spoken of you in the highest regard to anyone. I wasn’t aware I was supposed to be your representative in Manchester; I, like other people from across the country, went there in order to meet up with you. You weren’t there and I was consequently bombarded with questions and emails from people asking me where you were – only I had no idea at the time other than being told by Andrew he’d run you to the airport. When you eventually got back to me, I did as you asked and dropped the ‘Anna Raccoon’ name because you agreed it had become associated with a certain kind of story; then you removed all your posts without letting me know beforehand and then I suddenly can’t get into the site anymore. My username and password weren’t recognised and a two-hour online conversation with Bluehost resulted in me being told there was no record of either. I didn’t bother you with any of this, as you had previously requested; I asked SadButMadLad for help and then decided to drop it.

      Gildas doesn’t ‘pay for my internet’. I was a day short of paying my Virgin bill and told him they’d probably cut me off for 24 hours as a result, just letting him know in case he wondered why there was no new post. He immediately offered me the money and insisted there was no rush to pay him back. That’s it. Bluehost never informed me when the site had to be renewed and, again, I adhered to your request not to bother you with any of this. I heard nothing from you or Bluehost or Andrew, so what option did I have but to start again elsewhere? I couldn’t even access any of my old posts anymore, let alone yours.

      You’re angry, fair enough; so am I. When did I ever let you down on the site? Throughout the times you were too ill to write anything, I ensured a post appeared every single day; and if I wasn’t burning the midnight oil making sure this happened, then Gildas stepped in to help out. A full year of continuous posts without fail because I believed the site was worth it. I repeatedly reminded you that your pieces always had priority and would happily have continued with it even when you decided to retire for good. But when former followers ask me what happened to Anna Raccoon, what am I supposed to tell them when I’ve no idea myself?

      There is no ‘poor me’ and I’m not feeling sorry for myself. I haven’t tried to court anyone. I was merely informing those who always commented favourably on my Raccoon posts that they could now find me here if they still wanted to read them, that’s all. I did everything you asked me to do where the Raccoon site was concerned; even though it was supposed to be mine, I knew it would always be your baby and I knew how important it had been to you for such a long time. Now it’s gone, but the education it and you gave me were wonderful. I’m sorry you have reacted this way, I really am.


  8. First off I should thank all those have expressed the hope that The Blocked Dwarf might find his way here. Bandini even went to the trouble of commenting on my long dead blog. It’s nice to feel missed but the Truth is, I am not MIA but have been ‘here’, lurking, since Pet kindly emailed me a link to ‘here’ the very day he opened the Telegram Office doors.

    Pet is one of the most gifted writers I have had the pleasure to have read (I can thoroughly recommend the ‘needle’ book btw-available on Rio Negro or whatever the site is called-damned if i will advertise for them!). He also encapsulates the ‘dasein’ of the true author. Hemingway could have taken lessons. I genuinely enjoy most of his posts here (ok so not the ones about football, but that’s because I had the good fortune to have been born in England not Geordie Land).

    So why don’t I comment?

    Since AR moved back to the UK to experience the sterling, tender, loving care of the Norfolk Health Trust I have had the privilege of meeting her (and I do feel it a privilege) in real life, moreover I count her as a true friend. I am not privy to that which passed between her and Pet, trust me on this one;the Raccoon would cause Herr Flick to burst a suspender belt such is her ability to keep a confidence. But I have witnessed the pain and mental anguish he, and others, caused her by their actions or lack thereof.

    Call me Old Fashioned (‘antique’ might be nearer the mark) but you hurt people I care for then my drawing back ‘the hem of my robe’ is the least reaction you can expect from me.

    Added to that, time is at the moment, in short supply. My duties as a carer for The Bestes Frau In The World, my duties as a Grandfather unpaid babysitter have increased several fold since the Arms closed.

    …and then there is the HMRC. When they said ‘book keeping’ I imagined they meant a gentle dusting of tomes, a splash of Mr Sheen on the shelf and an annual application of hide food to the bindings. Turns out they actually would quite like to know where every groot of 2014’s 16K turnover went….


      1. “I could no longer handle the amount of background maintenance that was required to keep the site running”

        “So don’t be coming the ‘poor me'”

        “Oh, and don’t flatter yourself”

        “Your capacity to feel sorry for yourself knows no bounds.”

        Hmmm… Praise from Caesar!

        “Heaven hath no rage, like love to hatred turned, nor Hell a fury, like a woman scorned!”
        William (not Shakespeare) Congreve.

        P.s. Admittedly The Bard did spring to mind though, as in “The lady doth protest too much, methinks!”


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