Real, Practical Value

I doubt there are all that many kids who come by here and read, although I had a few parents - a long while ago - say that this was one of the sites they let their teenagers visit... Interesting.

I try to stay away from complaining - or moaning, which a lot of us old people do (I think I can outrun Carl Lewis today, all the same, and he's supposed to be around my age...). Let's face it , there's a lot to moan about, if you've experienced a lot of good things that have left the public sphere now.

The point is, kids - don't assume things are what they are presented to you as being, and listen to us oldies who will tell you, they can be a lot different, and a lot better.

This is real Cheshire, UK - where the football millionaires have
their mansions. It's a bloody damn cold place in Winter.

One of the facets of 'fake news' is that often, it is not outright fake but twisted in such a way that it is dangerously deceptive.

This week an array of reports about London shops' Christmas sales figures came out in the media. Apart from Tesco, it seemed - well, in fact, it was the case, that the major London upscale retailers and galleries and boutiques, reported significant drops in overall sales compared to the previous Christmas.

But I will tell you these statements and figures reveal nothing about what was going on. You see, for one thing, you need to remove the words 'shop' and 'sales' and 'selling' from everything you are being told. London has considerably improved its visual appearance since I was there for any length of time - the boutiques in Mayfair and Belgravia Square and Knightstbridge, and the shops and buildings are all clean on the outside, and the pavements appear new and the streets and roads are recently laid and clean. There are not that many people who walk in those streets these days, although there are still a few people sauntering around 'window-shopping' around Christmas.

London - the economy of, and all the 'upper bracket' elites who hang around the place - is exclusively about falsified property values...

The reason women go into designer boutiques by prior arrangement and introduction only, in order to be shown a Birkin bag, is because they are the wives and 'friends' of the property owners, there to nod and wink about the last tranche of debt they stole from a bank across the theory of an ever-rising London property valuation. And all the accountants go along with the racket and so do the lawyers and especially the local politicians - so much so that up until this year, they falsified 'sales' of cards and socks and pretended the shops there actually were in business to sell anything.

This is a private lounge at the Ritz (hotel, not casino), owned
by an Emirati guy - no MI5/MI6 people allowed!

Now if you don't believe me, let me apprise you of the latest 'trend' in upscale/designer/luxury/high fashion whatever, brands: they have 'shops' at which no one buys anything, but you can hang out and do 'Instagram' about the brand...

Don't kid yourself these people are really interested in 'networking' and amassing numbers of 'followers' on their Instagram pages for some purpose of 'sales' of 'product' later on down the track. There wasn't any 'later on down the track' twenty years ago, and there isn't one now. They don't have any products. They're in the racket of engineering extractions of cash from debt. A concrete brick, is, after the support and backing from all the Freemasons in the world - more important, more valuable, more costly, and hence better security at a bank - than any other thing in the whole entire world since the Dawn of Time.

Eat, Drink, and Be Merry - for Tomorrow... Oh yes, it is coming. The stage is being set as we speak, for the Godallmightiest Crash of all time from which there can be no recovery. They have lost the mindset that was to do with genuine cash flows and sales. And they cannot manufacture, design or create anything; they have no production ability, left. They have simulacrum copying tendencies.

What did I tell you, right here, on these pages, a few years ago? I have visions of myself running through a cold dark evening across the square outside the city Research Library, a red silk-lined cloak flitting in the wind, a stack of books under my arm - to which I will now add: a USB vault stick in my pocket, and a digital wallet filled with actual currency that buys real things from genuine vendors, and an encrypted list of those vendors and where they hide.

You all don't believe me, do you? Okay then you stick your money into London property and see what happens. Or you leave it in trusts and funds and 'hedge' things that 're-invest' the pooled capital into London Real Estate... I once said to a senior funds manager of Robert Holmes a' Court, then Australia's wealthiest person - 'take all your cash out of your wallet, John, and give it to me.'

Harris Tweed - woven in a craft mill, under the roof of the
person who wove it, and who lives right there. 

He didn't. Three months later his boss was dead and apparently, from all accounts, technically bankrupt at the moment he died. He has spoken to me again, that guy, but he never remembered what I had told him. And that was because there still have been many 'chances' since then till now to survive. But that saga is finished. So now I'm telling you, in no uncertain terms, quite explicitly - get out of cash, get out of your banks (they're all tied to London property), get out of shares and bonds, get out of property trusts, and start to understand what digital crypto-currencies are. And don't pretend that you know or that your 'rational scepticism' has given you a sensible picture of the field. And don't think you know what the complete picture is, of the global digital communications infrastructure - that it is 'only' what is known to governments...

It costs around one hundred UK pounds today for a decent steak dinner in the City of London. And it costs 30,000 pounds for a lady's handbag. And you can believe that if you want, too.

I mean you can be a bloody fool if you want, but the show is over. And it ain't coming back. Not now, not soon, not ever. I understand a bomb went off tonight showering Paris with Macaroons. Did I get that word right... Not sure.