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This morning Dan and myself made a visit to one of London’s hidden gems, the Ripper Museum. Located in Mitre Square in Whitechapel, East London, it is owned by the Guild Of Ripperologists and it’s four artefact-crammed rooms are devoted to the unsolved ‘Jack the Ripper’ murders of Victorian times. But this is no ‘Chamber of Horrors’ or ‘London Dungeon’ but a serious, rather old-fashioned, somewhat antiquated museum, (let’s just say, it could do with a good dusting!). And it’s aim is to commemorate the sad victims of the murders, as well as to serve as a warning from history to young ladies of the present day that there can often be a heavy price to pay for sexual ‘liberation’!
There are shelves stuffed with various odds and ends connected with the case. Framed on the walls are the actual “Dear Boss, From Hell” letters, (purportedly written by the killer himself!). Perhaps most ghoulish of all the things we saw was a jar containing the preserved human kidney (see left) that was sent by the Ripper to the police, (believed to belong to one of the victims). Various press cuttings hang on the walls alongside police photographs of the bodies and crime scenes, (be warned- you’ll need a strong stomach to view those!) and perhaps most intriguing of all are some very peculiar looking waxworks of the murders from a display which appeared at the time of the killings, way back in 1888. As you leave the exhibit, you are faced with the Wall of Suspects; pictures of all those who have been suggested as possible Rippers down the years. (We checked, and Oscar Wilde isn’t up there yet!)
We were shown around the museum this morning by its curator, Mr Geoffrey Kensal, a rather rickety but amiable old man with a cheery grin and a twinkle in his eye, who was a fount of macabre information. (Exciting news flash: Mr Kensal has agreed to host a special event for us at his museum next month to help publicise Dan’s forthcoming book The Importance Of Being Jack. More details soon!) (above: one of the framed ‘Ripper’ letters on display at the museum.)
After our little tour, we went downstairs and perused the fabulous gift shop selling mugs, tea towels and stationery as well as dolls of the victims (complete with removable internal organs- yikes!). Then we went to the café and sat down with Geoffrey to have a nice pot of tea and some scones and a jolly old chat.
“So what do you reckon to our theory?” asked Dan, as he spread clotted cream and jam onto his scone.
“Oh, Oscar Wilde?” asked Geoffrey with a chuckle. “It’s bound to ruffle a few feathers, I shouldn’t wonder. But it’s all fuel to the fire. If it gets more people through these doors then I shan’t complain!”
“But you don’t believe it?” asked Dan with a raised eyebrow.
Geoffrey chuckled again. “I look forward to hearing the full irrefutable facts and finding out what damning evidence you’ve unearthed.” I thought I detected a hint of sarcasm in Geoffrey’s tone and I think Dan did too. I saw his fist tighten around his jam-stained knife.
“Oh,” said Dan calmly, “and who in your expert opinion was the true culprit then?” (Sarcasm detector pinging again!)
“Oh, some nobody,” said Geoffrey with a chuckle, “his name lost forever in the mists of time. Serial killers are always nobodies, and London was as full of nobodies back then as it is now, but by the sounds of all these books you’d think the only people in London in 1888 were the Duke of Clarence, Walter Sickert, Dr Barnardo or whatnot.”
Dan put down his half eaten scone and leaned back in his chair.
“Would a nobody have had the surgical expertise required to carry out those murders?” snapped Dan.
Geoffrey snorted derisively at this, “surgical expertise? Oh, please, not that old codswallop! And anyway, unless I’m vastly mistaken Wilde wasn’t a surgeon, was he?”
“His father was!” Dan shot back triumphantly, “he learnt at the feet of a master!”
“Those killings displayed no surgical expertise whatsoever!” snapped Geoffrey, no longer chuckling, “That’d be an argument only if he’d managed to keep the poor women alive somehow, but any damn fool can hack someone to pieces if they feel so inclined. Just look at Jeffrey Dahmer or Dennis Nielsen, neither of whom were trained surgeons!”
“Ah,” said Dan, “but they were both homosexuals, just like Wilde!” (Dan had got him there!)
“Yes, well,” said Geoffrey, shifting uncomfortably in his seat, and clearly unable to formulate an effective response, “I’ve got a spot of work to do so I shan’t detain you chaps any longer.” I thought I detected some slight reddening in his cheeks. And with that he got up, shaking both our hands and bid us adieu. (No wedding ring, I noticed.)
But anyway, do pop along to the Ripper Museum. It’s a great day out, (perhaps not for all the family, though). Open Mondays to Saturdays 10-5, and Sundays 12-4. They also serve a range of pies in the café named after each of the victims and filled with various offal. (Although Dan and I weren’t quite brave enough to try them!) They’ve got Nichols Pie (steak and kidney) Chapman Pie (chopped chicken liver) Stride Pie (cow lung) Eddowes Pie (sheep’s stomach) and Kelly Pie (pig intestines in congealed pigs blood). Remember to keep checking back here for further details of our special event at the museum next month!
I can scarcely be bothered to pick up where we last left off but here goes. I’d fainted in front of the blue whale (which as one of our BTL commenters has so kindly pointed out is NOT in fact a real whale. Yeah thanks for that chum, any other illusions you care to shatter while you’re in the mood?)
The dastardly young Zac and a kindly member of the museum staff had escorted me to a table in the café just behind the main hall, where Zac sat with me, glugging tea and stuffing his impish face with ginger cake, whilst the embalmed corpse of Chi Chi the Panda covertly observed us from behind its glass case. I sat in silence enduring Zac as he gloated over my damp squib recruitment day and lavished scorn upon our website. “I can’t believe what you wrote about the dinosaurs,” he chortled, spitting cake crumbs across the table, “the dinosaur bones are black because they’re plaster casts, they aren’t real but there’s no secret about it.” I didn’t say anything to this. (But don’t you think it’s a teensy-weensy bit convenient that they have to lock the “real” skeletons away from scrutinising eyes and substitute them with plaster ones?)
On the tube on the way home I flicked through the ‘God Is Not Great’ book that Zac had given me. I must say I was a little shocked. The author Mr Hitchens has always seemed to me (from his various Question Time appearances and Mail on Sunday columns) to be a pious and principled man, a committed Christian (albeit an Anglican) bracingly intolerant of gays and liberals, yet here he was denouncing religion and all its works for being, (guess what?) intolerant and illiberal! Well, this really set my head reeling! Was he yet another Anne Widdecombe, a media hypocrite indulging in secularism behind closed doors? T’would seem so, alas.
When I got home that day Dan was still out, at ‘The Garage’ with Joel, and I still felt a little poorly so I went and had a lie down. Bad idea! I had a very disturbing nightmare involving Aaron Johnson (in his ‘Kick-Ass’ costume) Andrew Garfield (in his Spiderman outfit) Rory from Doctor Who (in his Roman Centurion get-up), Ron Weaselly (naked) and David Miliband (with his banana).
Above; boyishly handsome Blairite MP David Miliband. (You don’t know want to know where he was putting that fruit!)
I woke up with a start, the ghastly images still cavorting in my brain and I quickly gathered up my pyjamas and bed-sheets and hastened to the washing machine in our kitchen but to my horror Dan was sat in there waiting (he had arrived home whilst I was sleeping) and was sternly skim-reading the Hitchens book (I had foolishly left it on the table). He wrestled my bed-sheets off me and gave them a cursory inspection. Well, I just wanted to die right there and then! I shrank to the floor, my head in my hands as Dan stood over me. “Shall we take a little trip to The Garage, Matthew?” he asked. “No, no,” I pleaded pathetically, tears streaming down my face as I cowered at his feet, “please, Dan, don’t take me to The Garage!” “But Matthew, it looks to me like you might need a little ‘M.O.T’?” “No! No!” I shrieked, quaking with terror “please, no, anything but that!” (Golly, it really does shame me to think of my behaviour now!) Thankfully Dan was merciful and merely sat me down and we both prayed for my soul. “And how about Zac?” asked Dan, as he switched on the washing machine.
“What about him?” I asked, as I began to make us some supper.
“Well, if he’s so troublesome, perhaps he needs to join Joel in The Garage?”
“Oh no,” I said, “Zac’s not worth bothering about.”
Dan stared at me suspiciously through narrowed eyes.
“You’re not protecting him are you?” he spat.
“Of course not,” I protested, (quite truthfully, he can go to hell as far I’m concerned- and he will of course, LOL!)
“Good,” said Dan, and he lit a candle and thrust the Hitchens book into the flame whilst we both held hands and watched it burn.
The “Twitterati” has become the “Titterati” (as in “tittering”, i.e; laughing) over the above letter to a New Zealand newspaper by a brave 14 year old girl named Jasmin (surname redacted to protect her identity from assassination attempts by the “gay rights” lobby!) which has become a subject of scorn on social(ist) media (“gone viral” in their hideous parlance) to various “intellectual” types who thinks its awfully clever to sneer and poke fun at children, (there’s a name for that, peeps; it’s called “bullying” yeah? Hello!)
So what does young Jasmin say to earn such derision? Well here she is on the subject of “gay marriage”;
Homosexuality, including same-sex marriage, is not an enlightened idea. The Romans practised homosexuality. Surely, after 2000 years, our level of intelligence should have evolved somewhat, so that we can truly pride ourselves of being cleverer than our forebears.
If homosexuality spreads, it can cause human evolution to come to a standstill. It could even threaten the human position on the evolutionary ladder, and say, ducks could take over the world. Ducks always next in pairs and if we allow same-sex marriage then the ducks will have evolved further than we have. We will be in danger of all being equal, with ducks more equal than us.
Ok, you might think; Jasmin is saying ducks are going to take over the world? Ridiculous, right? LOL! Isn’t she stupid? Let’s all have a good laugh at her!
Well, let’s back up a moment and read that again. What she is actually arguing is that once we have “gay marriages” instead of traditional marriage, the human race will stop reproducing, (because, duh, gay people can’t reproduce!) and once that starts happening humans will start to die out. In that scenario, any other species of animal could soon start to outstrip us and ultimately take over. Yes, so she cites ducks, but she makes clear this is an example cited at random. It might be foxes, badgers, sheep or even puffins! The example of ducks is indeed ridiculous, but intentionally so! With their absurd quacking and comical waddle, the duck is a ludicrous animal, but that is precisely Jasmin’s point! Even the absurd duck could soon outnumber us if the gay lobby has it’s way! Jasmin goes on to say;
None of this really bears any weight for me, because I do not believe in evolution. However, the powers that be believe in evolution, and have made many decisions based on it. They should be consistent: If you believe in evolution, you can’t be in favour of homosexuality, or the ducks will get you in the end.
Well, hear, hear! Of course many people have used the apparent contradiction in Jasmin’s above argument as a stick with which to beat her with; “how can she argue on the basis of evolution when she doesn’t even believe in it?” they crow. But regardless of the pseudo-science of Evolution (quackery?) Jasmin’s argument still stands and is watertight, because the point she’s arguing is one of demographics. As is already happening with the Muslims, the ducks would soon outnumber us and we would be competing with them for scant resources. Laugh as much as you like now, but if you were alone and defenceless in a duck-ruled dystopia and having to fight a million ducks for your next meal, I don’t think you’d be laughing then!
Deeply distressing and disappointing news has reached us here at Dawn Rescue towers regarding the Tory party conference. We are sad (and furious) to learn that former Archbishop George Carey (above) and former Tory MP Anne Widdecombe were headline speakers at an event on “gay marriage”. The Conservative party under David Cameron is of course fully in favour of “gay marriage”, but we were dismayed to see formerly upstanding allies such as Carey and Widdecombe joining the enemy and backing “gay marriage”.
Apparently, Carey compared opponents of same-sex marriage to Jews! “Lets remember the Jews in Nazi Germany,” he stated, “what started it all against them was when they started being called names.” Now, not only is this derogatory comparison hugely offensive and insulting to all true Christians, such extreme language is also totally disproportionate. When you start hurling abuse like this you’ve really lost the argument! So why have Carey and Widdecombe turned on their fellow Christians? Perhaps it was those appearances on Strictly Come Dancing (Anne’s, not Georges’*) rubbing up against various “confirmed bachelors” in the light entertainment industry? Well, Anne and George, it takes two to tango! (geddit?) The real Jews here are in fact YOU!!!
*Although I wouldn’t be surprised if George did appear on Strictly Come Dancing! If you catch my drift!