Katrina's Journal, 14 January 2022
Targeted Assassinations
[Evie’s note: For those of you following Katrina’s misadventures, and the fact that the journal is effectively a part of Episode II, this entry constitutes the turning point between Act I and Act II. So what you’ve really got with the journal is a kind of enticing series of sneak previews into Episode II, told through Katrina’s publicly available journal (minus the redactions, obviously). So this is where it all suddenly gets exciting and picks up the pace. And given recent events in Britain, the timing of reaching this stage of the narrative could not have been more fortuitous…]
And for the previous journal entry, click there
Well, well, well, readers dearest. Who ever said nothing interesting or positive happens in your horrorshow dystopia, eh?
And there was I having all but resolved to quit watching the British State’s propaganda service also known as the BBC! But given what happened earlier today, I just had to switch on the telly in my hotel room and see what their take on the matter was. I was just about to settle down for some exciting Netflix, but best laid plans and all that. Sometimes it is indeed worth watching the BBC News just to find out what the Establishment’s official line is, you know.
Anyhow, I’m sure that a lot of you dearest readers will be perfectly aware of the event in question, but it does strike me that a lot of you won’t be. Partly because some of you don’t watch the BBC either, and I have also noted that I have picked up a considerable number of subscribers from the Disunited States of Yankee-Doodle-Dandyland. Sorry, America. Don’t take that the wrong way, dearest American subscribers, I love you really.
So, for those of you who are unaware of what happened today to gleefully dislodge Boris Spaffer1 Johnson off the top slot in the shit parade, and for the record, so to speak, here’s what transpired.
Earlier today, well, sometime this afternoon apparently – the BBC seem to be somewhat reluctant to provide us with precise timings – a couple of vigilantes appear to have whacked two of the leading far-right figures in the country. Specifically, some guy called Stephen Yaxley-Lennon, and another bloke called Paul Golding. Now I have, as it happens, heard of Paul Golding because he was a BNP (and later BIP) MP in my world (I still need to do you a part 3 for the Lizzy PR-2 voting system series, by the way – I haven’t forgotten, so bear with me on that one – as you are aware I’ve been somewhat busy here in the fine city of Norwich). I couldn’t remember whether I’d heard the name Yaxley-Lennon before, though. Maybe it’ll come to me. Both of them, according to your BBC, were once in the BNP, before apparently going their separate ways. Golding was the leader of some new far-right political party called ‘Britain First’, whilst Yaxley-Lennon founded some group called the ‘English Defence League’. I first thought, well, if that’s got something to do with fat friars and merry men courageously resisting the Norman Occupying Forces then bring it on, but no, it’s about bashing Muslims and any other assorted immigrants and asylum seekers they can get their damn dirty paws on. Sounds to me like it was an effective honeypot for all the violent National Front types. And if that’s true, then this whacking of Yaxley-Lennon is going to be a number one priority in the conspiratorial corridors of Thames House. But more on that later.
See, to me, both these murders bear all the hallmarks of targeted assassinations. And from what I gather, the MOs were the same and I would not be surprised if they were carried out simultaneously. If so, that might explain why the BBC wouldn’t mention it.
[Hold on, I’ll speak to my lovely case officer. I’m meeting him later. But don’t tell anyone, eh.]
One thing that struck me about this BBC news coverage is that you had this [nonce] presenter reading this narrative to the viewers in such an overtly solemn tone with a distinctly grave expression on his face, as if something terrible had happened. When what we’re really talking about here is a couple of fascists getting whacked. You’d think the sky had gone out or something. In my world, news like that would possibly have been read with a kind of nonchalance. An outright satisfied smirk, perhaps not, but certainly not this kind of severity. Like ‘in other news today, a couple of far-right fucks got whacked in what bears all the hallmarks of a targeted and simultaneous double assassination. The BBC did ask [Lisa Jarrow] Lucy Tolpuddle, Director of Counter-Subversion at Thames House, whether she might teensy-weensy know something about this, but she simply replied ‘no comment’. Although our erstwhile security correspondent, Kit Klarenberg, was certain he caught the glimmer of a sly smile as she turned back into TH. Naturally, however, we in the BBC are contractually obliged not to cast aspersions but to remain distinctly neutral at all times. We’ll have a report for you on this later in the programme, but first of all, over to White Hart Lane where fans are continuing to celebrate their delicious drubbing of the Arsenal.’
Well, I exaggerate, perhaps. But our lovely newsreader would not have been so grave and serious.
And that tells me something. Given the open communication channel between the BBC and those denizens of Thames House I wouldn’t wager that as far as they are concerned this is far more serious and concerning than a couple of neo-Nazis getting caps popped in their arses. You’d think the police, too, would only approach the investigation half-heartedly and with some shrug of the shoulders. But judging by what I’ve seen already of your police, I wouldn’t wager that explains where the English Defence League disappeared to.
Anyways, I shall delay my boycott of the BBC for now, and continue to follow the official narrative of this story, and possibly decode it for you here in my online journal as the story progresses.
Thus far, the official line is what you might expect – the catch-all ‘police are following up a number of leads’ but ‘no one has been arrested as of yet’. They say that all the time, reader dear, and it means shit. Interestingly they didn’t provide any details about whether these hits were captured on security cameras or if there were any witnesses. Although they did happen, obviously, in broad daylight in a built-up area, so you’d think someone would’ve seen something. And if, as I suspect, these were professional hits, then I would likewise assume the people who did it wore disguises and had an escape route mapped out in advance. So I seriously doubt they will be found.
Equally likewise, if we’re talking professional hits, here, then top of our list of usual suspects should, in fact, be an intelligence agency itself.
So who benefits? Question one. And question two, what are the intended consequences? Methinks we shall be finding that out soon enough.
[On a side note, I have been wondering why Huw Edwards is your leading BBC news anchor. Don’t you know he’s a nonce? You’re not supposed to say that, Katrina. Why not? It’s true, isn’t it? That may be, but you’ll get sued, and you don’t have any proof. So as far as the courts are concerned, it’s not true. Well, Guy, you can give me the proof, can’t you? Don’t try and tell me the intelligence services don’t already know and are simply waiting for the proverbial opportune moment to create a story and all that. That may also be so, Katrina, but people would wonder where you got the information from, and you can’t very well say it was me, now, can you? Fair point. Anyway, did these murders happen at the same time? Yes. And with the same kind of weapon? Yes. What weapon? Glock 9mm. The one the Israelis use, that one? I’m sure that will be a line of enquiry. But not one that gets made public, eh? I very much doubt it. Well, this little meeting of ours has suddenly turned a lot more exciting, don’t you think? I would’ve preferred a quiet life as it happens, Katrina. You know, retire early, open a genteel country pub in the shires, keep wicket for the village gentlemen. Invite the vicar and his wife around for tea and scones now and then. Marry Doris, too, I presume? I have no intention of marrying my secretary, Katrina. Whatever are you on about? Don’t worry about it, Guy. It’s just one of my pop culture references. Hmm. Well, I’m sure all that nice stuff will happen to you one day, Guy. But in the meantime… In the meantime, Katrina, you have an important date tomorrow, in case you’d forgotten? Of course I haven’t forgotten. And nice excuse and alibi you came up with for me, by the way. I have my moments, Katrina. I have my moments… Well, in your meantime, Guy, you can take a little peek at the investigation file and tell me all about these vigilantes, and whether this Yaxley-Lennon bloke is a, what do you call it, ‘covert human intelligence source’? If I waltz into Thames House and start asking impertinent questions, Katrina, then I’ll be subject to impertinent questions of my own, won’t I? Pish, Guy. Call yourself a spy! You work for Counter-Intelligence for fuck’s sake. You are perfectly entitled to waltz into TH and demand whatever the fuck file you want. Just tell them you need to eliminate the Russkies from your enquiries. That’ll do it. Hmm, possibly, Katrina. There’s no possibly about it, Guy. Be blunt and bold. Oh, and what’re you intending to call this genteel country inn of yours? The Philby Arms? What did I tell you, Katrina? You can only take postmodernism so far…]
Anyhow, that was the news today, Oh boy. I don’t know about you, reader dear, but I predict a riot. Personally, I believe you are just about to discover that you have a serious fascist problem in this country.
Oh, by the way, may I presume you’re not interested in any of my new personal bests? I was all set to tell you, then something interesting happened.
Well, they’re nicely within the qualifying times, put it that way. Thank you for asking.
Now if you’ll excuse me, once my coaches have left for Cambridge tomorrow afternoon, yours truly shall be going clubbing.
Call it sports psychology. Letting your hair down and all that. Coaches understand. Of course they do…
For those of my dearest readers not familiar with British toff schools, ‘to Spaff’ is Eton College slang for masturbate/ejaculate. That’s the school Boris went to. And given that those overprivileged little shits will have been denied all knowledge, understanding, and experience with the female of the species, one can very well imagine that a lot of spaffing goes on in that particular turd-polishing academy. And not just in the dormitories after dark, either.