Letters from the Chestnut Tree Cafe: Thought crimes in Britain and Greece (1984 is finally here)

By Tom Winnifrith

Of course if you are highly opinionated (which Tom is) not everyone loves you. His writings have exposed, lampooned, offended and ridiculed a fair few folk. But no-one is forced to read what he writes. The blog on which this ebook is based is not a democracy but very much a dictatorship. But it has its fans.
An old pal of Tom's, Dru Edmonstone, very kindly said:
"Tom should have a career as a stand-up comedian. When it comes to investment writing, he sets the standard that we would all like to follow. Sometimes right of Genghis Khan and other times left of Bob Crowe, his words never fail to say it as it is with authority, integrity and lots of humour. A daily MUST READ full of Investment Viagra."
And so we come to this e-book. During the course of the summer and early autumn of 2012 Tom produced around 400,000 words. Articles appeared at the rate of up to nine a day. It seemed like a good idea to produce an anthology of the best of the best. Here it is. There is a lot more active material that we could not find room for here on TomWinnifrith.com - and more appears every day.
The blog on which this is based is no holds barred with content covering everything from finance to West Ham to celebs, cooking, TV, film, philosophy, politics, cats, Greece and Albania - where Tom spent most of the summer - and his wider family. The Winnifriths (little stepsister Flea excepted) are, as Tom puts it, generally a bunch of deluded lefties but that offers up scope for a few cheap jokes and apparently they do not seem to mind.
In each of the 99 articles, emails, LinkedIn and bulletin board posts or tweets appear in the ebook Tom includes an explanation of the context,of the article in question and, where possible, provide a link to the original.
The period in question saw Tom head off to Greece in late June on a one-way ticket to write a book on gold (out soon) and "get his head together." Writing, walking and bird watching helped to do just that. Over the course of the articles he goes to Greece, then onto Albania, back to Greece and finally head back to the UK (Airstrip One).
The book ends in mid-October. The writing continues, on a daily basis, on TomWinnifrith.com.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Harriman House
• Release date: Dec 10, 2012
• ISBN: 9780857192554

Tom Winnifrith

Tom Winnifrith is editor of TomWinnifrith.com, and columnist at ADVFN, Founder of t1ps.com and also the founder editor of Red Hot Penny Shares, owner of The Real Man Pizza Company. Tom also writes for The Christian Science Monitor, SeekingAlpha, 24n.biz and TradingResearchPoint.

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Publishing details

HARRIMAN HOUSE LTD

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GU32 2EW

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Copyright © 2013 Harriman House

First published in Great Britain in 2013.

The right of Tom Winnifrith to be identified as the Author has been asserted in accordance with the Copyright, Design and Patents Act 1988.

ISBN: 9780857192554

British Library Cataloguing in Publication Data | A CIP catalogue record for this book can be obtained from the British Library.

All rights reserved; no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise without the prior written permission of the Publisher. This book may not be lent, resold, hired out or otherwise disposed of by way of trade in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published without the prior written consent of the Publisher.

No responsibility for loss occasioned to any person or corporate body acting or refraining to act as a result of reading material in this book can be accepted by the Publisher, by the Author or by the Employer(s) of the Author.

With love, to my stepmother Helen (the acceptable face of deluded lefties)

Introduction

I HAVE BEEN writing in one form or another for almost all of my adult life. This came as a bit of a shock to my old tutors from university where my output was less than prolific. I suspect that I now produce more words in a day than I managed in a (good) week in the City of Lost Causes. During the past few years my output has diminished greatly as I waded into other areas, but following an, er ... unexpected career change, in the summer of 2012 I found myself at a bit of a loose end and writing became a form of therapy.

Launching my own blog, TomWinnifrith.com, I found myself with a freedom to say exactly what I thought, a freedom I had not enjoyed in years of being part of a big company. It was all rather refreshing. I was not sure anyone would actually read what I wrote but that was not really the point. It was a release. Much to my surprise some people did actually like what I was producing. Within a few months TomWinnifrith.com was getting more traffic than the editorial content of all the old sites I used to write for (after 12 years of hard marketing). It was all rather gratifying.

Of course, if you are highly opinionated (which I am) not everyone loves you. My writings have exposed, lampooned, offended and ridiculed a fair few folk. But no one is forced to read what I write. No one pays for it. My blog is not a democracy but a dictatorship. But it has its fans. An old pal, Dru Edmonstone, very kindly said:

Tom should have a career as a stand-up comedian. When it comes to investment writing, he sets the standard that we would all like to follow. Sometimes to the right of Genghis Khan and other times left of Bob Crowe, his words never fail to say it as it is with authority, integrity and lots of humour. A daily MUST READ full of Investment Viagra.

And so I became Viagra Man.

I should, at this point, make it clear – in case any young women of loose morals and with a taste for middle aged, libertarian, rude, comfortably-built men are reading – that I have never taken, or felt the need to take, Viagra. I would not recognise a Viagra tablet if you showed it to me. I’d have to ask someone like Dru to identify it.

But then I stopped being Viagra Man. My esteemed publisher, Mr Eckett (Contra Man), thought the title was a bit misleading and so noting the Orwellian theme of my letters we adopted the present title.

Not everyone likes what I write. One moronic fellow from bulletin board hell noted that I am the owner of a fine restaurant in Clerkenwell, The Real Man Pizza Company, and suggested that I focus entirely on flipping pizzas. As I said, no one has to read my stuff.

And so we come to this eBook. During the course of the summer and early Autumn of 2012 I produced around 400,000 words. Articles appeared at the rate of up to nine a day. And so Dru, London’s leading Viagra expert, suggested I produce an anthology of the best of the best. Here it is. There is a lot more material that I could not find room for here on TomWinnifrith.com – and more appears every day.

I hope it entertains and informs. Sadly one or two of my best articles from the summer and autumn of 2012 appear on a website which has not authorised their republication. You would have thought they could do with the additional publicity and traffic but some folks make odd calls. Most of the material here appeared either on TomWinnifrith.com or, in a few cases, on my blog at ADVFN (www.advfn.com/newspaper/tom-winnifrith).

I’d like to thank Clem and Mike from ADVFN for giving me complete editorial freedom to say whatever I want. They are good chaps. On my own blog it really is no holds barred, with content covering everything from finance to my beloved West Ham, taking in celebs, cooking, TV, film, philosophy, politics, cats, Greece and Albania – where I spent most of the summer of 2012 – and my wider family. The Winnifriths (little stepsister Flea excepted) are generally a bunch of deluded lefties but that offers up scope for a few cheap jokes and they do not seem to mind.

In each of the 99 articles, emails, LinkedIn and bulletin board posts or tweets that follow I try to explain the context before serving up the article in question.

The period when these pieces were written saw me head off to Greece in late June on a one-way ticket to write a book on gold (out in 2013) and ‘get my head together’. Writing, walking and bird-watching helped me to do just that. Over the course of the articles that follow I go to Greece, then onto Albania, back to Greece and finally head back to the UK (Airstrip One). The book ends in mid-October. The writing continues, on a daily basis, on TomWinnifrith.com.

The 99 pieces come in chronological order except when there is a good reason why they should not.

As Julie Andrews once sang, Let’s start at the very beginning, it’s a very good place to start. That is the last time I shall be quoting a star from a musical. Five years in Shoreditch did not make me that much of a metrosexual. But I start gently with Anna Kournikova and the England football team. Beauty and the, er … bloody useless.

Dismal England – but is this a cunning plan?

3 June – England prepare for Euro 2012 with a warm-up match against a terribly weak Belgium team. They manage to scrape a 1-0 win. As an Ireland supporter Tom has mixed feelings about the forthcoming Euro 2012 tournament.

Historically England prepares for a big tournament thus: Appoint a new national saviour as manager on a multi-year telephone number contract. Talk up the Premiership prima donnas as being the heirs to Hurst, Peters and Moore. The nation expects. Go to the tournament and play atrociously but scrape through to a knockout stage and lose on penalties as soon as possible.

This time it is different. The national manager is someone no one thinks is much good, although I presume that he is still on a multi-year telephone number contract. But everyone knows that the national side is pretty mediocre and therefore expectations are low. Today’s dire performance against a second-rate team from a country where the average age is 87 and where the only thing they excel at is child molestation shows just how dreadful England are. And so expectations for Euro 2012 are very low indeed.

And so might we expect a different outcome to normal?

Sadly I suspect not. Expectations are low because England are not very good. If they make it past the group stage that will be a pleasant surprise but they will not make it much further. Perhaps the only difference will be that since Roy Hodgson was dealt such a duff deck to start with he might not be sacked within days of the team taking an early plane home.

As an Ireland supporter I know that my team will crash and burn. But who cares? It was a miracle that we qualified in the first place. The only joy I can usually take from tournaments is that of watching England crash and burn after arriving with such high hopes and everyone talking about its ‘golden generation’. The justifiably low sense of expectation in England this time means that in 2012 even this petty and mean-spirited pleasure of schadenfreude will be denied me. A summer of football misery is thus in prospect.

To be followed by Autumnal misery at Upton Park. Woe is me.

Russian LinkedIn hacker – do us a favour

7 June – LinkedIn is hacked by a Russian. Tom assumes that it is a geeky male but speculates that he is being sexist and stereotyping and that it may in fact be a bird who looks like Anna Kournikova. But he has a request as he has lost his password to the boring version of Facebook for IFAs.

I gather some Russian chappie has hacked into LinkedIn and stolen six million passwords. How enterprising. Given that it has to be the most boring site going I am not sure what he will do with them but, if he is reading this, I wonder if I could beg a favour? It is some time since I last logged in to check my three dozen invites to connect with IFAs in the Northern wastelands and I have forgotten my password.

My account was registered using an old, now defunct, email address, so I cannot request a reminder and am thus snookered. So if the hacker has a spare minute might he send me an email (no questions asked at my end) with a reminder? If he really wants to be helpful he might change my photo there, too, as I never worked out how to do it myself.

I assume that the hacker is a he. That is a sexist stereotype. She might actually be a glamorous Balkan spy looking like Anna Kournikova in her prime who just happens to be good with technology. Somehow I doubt it. But Anna/hacker if you are reading and can help it would be much appreciated.

It’s raining, it’s pouring, it’s not global warming

11 June – A few years ago our papers were full of dried-out river beds. This was seen by the usual suspects as hard proof of global warming. By the middle of the summer of 2012 those rivers were bursting their banks and it kept on raining. A sensible person might draw a logical conclusion. Others (the usual suspects) claimed that this was hard proof of climate change.

The ‘drought’ of Spring 2012 is just one of those things that happen. So was the drought of 1976. So were the ultra cold winters of 1947 and 1963. This is nothing whatsoever to do with global climate change let alone global warming. In fact the earth has actually been cooling for the past decade just as our leaders plan to trash our economy with new carbon taxes to tackle global warming. But any evidence of hotter weather is always trotted out by certain parties as evidence of global warming. Hence we turn to the drought of 2012 (remember that?).

The usual suspects were quick to point out that this was further proof of global warming. Read through the following hilariously biased document to see one such claim: www.ukrivers.net/climate.html

Our pathetic coalition government made similar claims: pmnewsnigeria.com/2012/02/20/global-warming-summer-drought-looms-in-uk.

Picking through the Guardian’s outpourings on the subject I found a Guardian teacher guide for 7–11 year olds. Teachers who read the vile rag are encouraged to discuss drought with their pupils thus:

Create a mashed-up and cross cultural dance routine that reveals how water is important to different people across the world. Flash perform your dance somewhere they would least expect it!

Oh please.

Heaven help me. When I was 7–11 my teachers may have been a mixed-up bunch of closet homosexuals with a keen interest in ensuring we all took cold showers after rugby and ageing WW2 veterans who beat us senseless (as well as some lovely ladies like Mrs Fawcett, Mrs Fogg and Mrs Hobday), but at least we did not have our minds filled with this mumbo jumbo. I just do not know where to start with this piffle.

Perhaps I digress.

My point is that we have now had a vast amount of rain. The rivers and reservoirs are full to bursting. My garden is green and the plants are loving it. I see nothing unusual in stacks of rain. It happens now and again. This may well be the wettest summer since records began in Britain. That will in itself be wheeled out as evidence of climate change. But the third wettest was in 1789 – not a lot of carbon-emitting jumbos and power stations around then. In other words, there is no trend – you just sometimes have wet periods and sometimes have dry periods.

At some stage this might just sink in, even among global warming fanatics.

Piss off Argentina

20 June – Argentine President Cristina Fernández de Kirchner again and again demands that the Falklands be handed back as the hag tries to deflect attention from an economy going down the plughole. Tom responds with articles and by launching a new line of T-shirts and mugs: the ‘Piss off Argentina’ brand.

The incredibly ugly woman who is president of Argentina (Cristina Fernández de Kirchner, if you care) has attempted to confront Call Me Dave over what she calls the Malvinas. History is written by the winners so I shall stick with the Falkland Islands. To give him credit CMD told the old trout to piss off and that is exactly what Britain should do if the Argies try anything again.

This is a pretty simple issue. Since WWI the over-riding principle when it comes to which country owns which useless piece of rock has been that of self-determination. It is irrelevant whether that rock sits on oil, fish or nothing. It is what the folks on that rock want that matters.

The Falkland islanders may be a bunch of in-bred sheep molesters. But I disagree with one of my idols (John Stuart Mill) in thinking that intelligence counts in democracy. The vote of an MBA student should count for the same as that of a fourth-generation welfare scrounger living next door to James Faulkener in Sheffield. And thus, although the entire Falklands Islands population would probably not (collectively) strengthen your pub quiz team greatly, it is their voice that counts.

For whatever reason, the Falklanders clearly want to remain British. As such CMD is right to say Piss off Argentina.

Piss off Argentina, yet again

26 September – They are at it again. Argie President Kirchner has again demanded that the UK discuss the future of the Falkland Islands with her. What does this silly woman and her countrymen not understand? The Falklands are not called the Malvinas and they are British.

Speaking to the assorted dictators and despots who sit in the UN General Assembly the silly woman claimed that

Next year it will be 180 years since the UK illegally usurped our Malvinas Islands. We reiterate this is not a bilateral issue between the UK and us, this issue has become a global issue – there have been many resolutions all asking the UK to sit down at the table and talk to Argentina, but they refuse. We just request compliance with the UN resolution.

OK, let’s get the facts straight. When Britain arrived in the Falklands 180 years ago there were no Argentine citizens there. In the years that followed several thousand Britons settled there. The population of the islands is thus almost 100% of British origin. They wish to remain British. The UN is meant to support the principle of self-determination, but given the make-up of the assembly it happily ignores this when it comes to a disagreement between a wicked imperialist power (Britain) and a bunch of primitive peasants who have escaped the imperial yolk, and have been heading downhill ever since (in this case, the Argies).

So it does not matter what the UN says. What matters is what the sheep shaggers who live on the Falklands think, and they want to be British. God knows why but they still have a strong attachment to the motherland. I guess they have not been here recently and so do not realise what a hell-hole it is becoming.

To give him credit, Call Me Dave has refused her demands. We will be sending over one of our ‘Piss off Argentina’ T-shirts to show our support for his tough line. Does anyone know where the Argie embassy in London is? I am thinking we might drop of a Piss off Argentina T-shirt there as a gift to the Kirchner woman in case she does not get the message. What do you think?

You can of course order your very own Piss off Argentina T-Shirt or mug (displayed below) by heading to realmanpizzacompany.spreadshirt.co.uk.

Debbie Harry – music memories

15 June – Music is important to Tom. One of the pleasures of owning a restaurant is designing the playlist. He is currently doing just that for ‘punk and pizza’ Monday nights at The Real Man Pizza Company. In the following four pieces he discusses what two artists he admire mean to him and why. And then he discusses Cheryl Cole, whose talents are not of the musical variety. Finally he turns his attention to Bono – again the focus is not his music but, in this case, his sanctimony and hypocrisy. He is a celeb after all.

I have rather given up on radio when driving. The adverts on Absolute (and the inane DJs) drive me absolutely mad. The non-stop plugging of the Absolute brand is infuriating. I got the message the 94th time (which is normally after about 45 minutes of listening). The station promises no repeats of the songs it plays. That is not hard if you only play five songs an hour with the rest of the time being oft-repeated adverts, usually for the station you are already listening to. Moreover, since at least one of those five songs will be a deathly dull offering from Coldplay, the real situation is even worse. And so the drive up to Heysham last night was a CD drive with, as the main course, Blondie, whose lead singer, as all men my age know, was Debbie Harry.

Music is, as you may have guessed, pretty central to my life. Not all music. I rarely listen to classical music and, as far as I can see, the last 15 years have produced only about a dozen half-memorable tunes. For this grumpy old man, music effectively ends in 1997. Listening to non-stop music is not just about the tunes themselves but about the memories they bring back and where those thoughts lead you. I can happily bark along to Union City Blues, Hanging on the Telephone or Atomic (a rare song where the later electro remix is actually very good) with the best of them. The volume goes right up and I accompany Debbie in my own style. Since I was traveling alone there could be no complaints.

For some songs the lyrics themselves always bring back a smile or a tear. On my journey I also found myself listening to From A Land Down Under – a one-hit-wonder for Men at Work. The way language is made to rhyme with sandwich (I asked if he spoke my language, he smiled and gave me a vegemite sandwich) is wonderful.

With Blondie