Aaaaaaaagh

WARNING: Do not read this and drink at the same time.

This is a review for Veet For Men (which I must say I didn't know existed) 3 July 2012 By A. Chappell which can be found on Amazon. If you don't cry you will wet yourself.

After having been told my danglies looked like an elderly Rastafarian I decided to take the plunge and buy some of this as previous shaving attempts had only been mildly successful and I nearly put my back out trying to reach the more difficult bits. Being a bit of a romantic I thought I would do the deed on the missus's birthday as a bit of a treat.

I ordered it well in advance and working in the North sea I considered myself a bit above some of the characters writing the previous reviews and wrote them off as soft office types...oh my fellow sufferers how wrong I was. I waited until the other half was tucked up in bed and after giving some vague hints about a special surprise I went down to the bathroom. Initially all went well and I applied the gel and stood waiting for something to happen.

I didn't have long to wait.

At first there was a gentle warmth which in a matter of seconds was replaced by an intense burning and a feeling I can only describe as like being given a barbed wire wedgie by two people intent on hitting the ceiling with my head. Religion hadn't featured much in my life until that night but I suddenly became willing to convert to any religion to stop the violent burning around the turd tunnel and what seemed like the destruction of the meat and two veg.

Struggling to not bite through my bottom lip I tried to wash the gel of in the sink and only succeeded in blocking the plughole with a mat of hair. Through the haze of tears I struggled out of the bathroom across the hall into the kitchen by this time walking was not really possible and I crawled the final yard to the fridge in the hope of some form of cold relief. I yanked the freezer drawer out and found a tub of ice cream, tore the lid of and positioned it under me. The relief was fantastic but only temporary as it melted fairly quickly and the fiery stabbing soon returned .

Due to the shape of the ice cream tub I hadn't managed to give the starfish any treatment and I groped around in the draw for something else as I was sure my vision was going to fail fairly soon.I grabbed a bag of what I later found out was frozen sprouts and tore it open trying to be quiet as I did so.I took a handful of them and tried in vain to clench some between the cheeks of my arse. This was not doing the trick as some of the gel had found it's way up the chutney channel and it felt like the space shuttle was running it's engines behind me.

This was probably and hopefully the only time in my life I was going to wish there was a gay snowman in the kitchen which should give you some idea of the depths I was willing to sink to in order to ease the pain. The only solution my pain crazed mind could come up with was to gently ease one of the sprouts where no veg had gone before.

Unfortunately, alerted by the strange grunts coming from the kitchen the other half chose that moment to come and investigate and was greeted by the sight of me, arse in the air, strawberry ice cream dripping from my bell end pushing a sprout up my arse while muttering..." Ooooh that feels good ". Understandably this was a shock to her and she let out a scream and as I hadn't heard her come in it caused an involuntary spasm of shock in myself which resulted in the sprout being ejected at quite some speed in her direction.

I can understand that having a sprout farted against your leg at 11 at night in the kitchen probably wasn't the special surprise she was expecting and having to explain to the kids the next day what the strange hollow in the ice cream was didn't improve my status...So to sum it up Veet removes hair, dignity and self respect...:)

Do read some of the other reviews

Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaagh.

Before you get comfortable let me warn me that this post has an X rating. Filled with pain, torture, cruelty, and bad language.

Turn away now.

I went to Vlad the impaler  the dentist yesterday.

Now my teeth have deteriorated over the years through all the bad habits of  eating too much sugary food, smoking drinking, and general other vices( Use your imagination here. Or maybe not).

I’d decided that my upper teeth were going to have a complete makeover and it was decided that a complete refurbishment was in order. Therefore some months ago Josef Mengele the dentist removed all those ailing gnashers and fitted me with a temporary denture. That was bad enough, in that I could only eat soup for a week until the pain from the removal settled down.

Not boring you I hope.

Any way whether you like it or not I shall continue.

yesterday was the  was the day for implants to be fitted into my upper jaw, to allow for a fixed plate. Now I should really have done a bit of research into the procedure. Stupidly I didn’t. If I had I’d probably have caught the first flight out of the country.

Three hours I was laid out on the rack the chair, FFS.

After at least enough anaesthetic to kill a couple of horses, which should of set alarm bells ringing, the work begun.

1. Cut open the upper gum. Bloody hell it took forever. Apparently I had the toughest gums known to man according to the sadist my dentist. (doesn’t do much for his original diagnoses that I suffered from sever gum disease, does it?).

2. Enough X rays were then taken to make me glow in the dark and set off airport scanners, most like.

3. The drill, the drill. Ok that wasn’t too bad.  Four holes in all.

4.  Another gallon or two of anaesthetic as the first lot was wearing off.

5.  Next was the inserting of the implants. These were of the self tapping variety inserted with a ratchet spanner until they were tight.

6. Now I’ve been a marine engineer for many a year and have cheated at times when the screw needs a helping hand ie with a hammer. Not approved engineering practise needless to say. I think he must have had a inferior apprenticeship to me, as he loved his hammer. Have you ever had your jaw bone hit with a hammer? It feels as if someone has rung the great peels of the bells of Westminster Abbey, in your head.

7. It’s over. No it’s not. The Executioner  decides  TFE would be advised to have one more implant (bastard). So it begins again.

8. As I posted in para 1, about cutting open my gums with a shovel (at least that’s what it felt like), of course now he has to rectify his butchery finely crafted work. Stitches had to undertaken. Though I would have preferred he used a needle rather than a crochet hook.

9. Done. Well not quite. I was ambushed on exit by the prison wardress receptionist in order to that I pay for the privilege of being tortured to within an inch of my life. Not cheap I can tell you.

Now comes for the crunch. There are rules to be observed for the next week.

No hot drinks.

No smoking.

No alcohol.

Wash my mouth out with salt water. (No, not soap and water)

A soft diet. (Whatever that means?)

Needless to say I have ignored every one of those above. After 3 hours of leaving Gitmo the surgery, my upper jaw felt as if it had been attacked by a team of Irish navvies on piece work. To cap it all, this morning I woke up to find my pillows covered in enough blood to make an axe murderer proud.

Oh and I’m back on a diet of soup. And enough pills to kill one of those horses mentioned above.

Don’t forget to book your dentist appointment on a regular basis. Best you read this on a regular basis just to make sure.

The demon drink

If you had been around in 1919 and came upon the following poster...

I mean, seriously, wouldn’t you just keep drinking?

I‘ve lost my appetite.

 

First-take the tram up to the start of the trail.

Now follow the path on the wooden planks

Be sure to hold on to the 'railing'
the chain attached to the side

Keep an eye on the person in front of you.

Be very careful when passing someone going in the opposite direction.

Now just up a few steps. (they are on
the left in the picture)

Gets a little steeper here - so put your
toes in the holes.

A few more steps to go
You might want to hold on

Finally in sight.

THE RESTAURANT' !!!

This restaurant is in China
If you manage to reach the restaurant
the food is free

Let me know how the food is.
I'm not going.

I’m Poorer today.

No. I’m not going to bother you with the comprehensive spending review. This is far more serious.

Today I was coerced into transferring a considerable amount of money into a solicitor’s bank account. This solicitor is acting as an intermediary, for a shadowy couple who appear out of the shadows every so often. This is not the first time I’ve had dealings with these people. They’ve even followed me abroad in pursuance of gain, in their quest to bankrupt me.

I’ve even been accosted in restaurants and pubs and forced to pay for their meals in order to get them off my back. How much more can a man stand?

I’ve even been forced to lock money into a bank account for three years in order that they can extract the maximum out of me.

At this time I would hope that my readers have now phoned The Police, Social Services, The Vice Squad, Their Local Diversity Outreach co-coordinator, Gay Lesbian Transgender Representative, (What ever floats your boat) etc. In order to help FE from these criminals.

Stop that dialling. NOW.

Saint FE has actually been trying to get the Eldest Daughter and her Fiancée onto the housing ladder. But my God the hoops you have to go through.

The end is Nigh. Hopefully.

Retread - the Desperate Cigarette

This entry eloquently demonstrates why you really shouldn't take up smoking.

Take one cigarette paper, one filter (if you have one) and one ashtray. Remove a butt from the ashtray, hold it above the paper and roll it between your thumb and forefinger so that any remaining tobacco falls on to the paper. Remove another butt from the ashtray and repeat until the paper is covered with tobacco. Place the filter at the end of the paper, roll the paper, light the cigarette, inhale and instantly regret it.

Why?

At some point many tobacco smokers will have experienced the 'retread', a second-hand cigarette that is usually rolled in the days immediately preceding pay-day or giro-day, and that carries with it the shame, desperation and lack of forward-planning that characterises the psychology of those of us addicted to tobacco. These characteristics manifest themselves as follows:

Lack of Forward Planning

A retread is rolled when a smoker has run out of tobacco and has also run out of money, preventing the purchase of any more. The smoker generally doesn't notice the imminent tragedy until it's too late. At no point during the previous week or so does the smoker think 'Oh, tobacco's a bit short, best stock up while I've still got some cash'; it's not until the hand reaches to the bottom of the packet to find only crumbs that the severity of the situation becomes apparent. The lack of forward planning is inherent in any smoker - we all know that in the long term smoking isn't going to do us any favours but we carry on regardless.

Desperation

A retread is constructed by scouring ashtrays and attempting to amass enough tobacco from the butts contained therein to cobble together a new cigarette. A retread is never pleasant and a rational person would rarely smoke one out of choice, but desperation can do terrible things to rationality. Being a combination of ash and dry tobacco, a retread burns badly, hurts the throat and, during construction, makes a terrible mess under the fingernails. The smoker can only hope that they can find a nail brush and that there are some filters left.

And some papers.

Shame

The natural successor to such an act of desperation is shame. Rummaging around ashtrays in search of a final drag lacks dignity. Rummaging around the ashtrays of other people is even worse (though that is generally localised to the early hours of parties). As the tobacco comes from the end of smoked cigarettes it has already been coated with tar and nicotine, making the retread a nasty affair and leading to a horrendous cough the following morning, reminding the smoker of the depths to which they have sunk. A retread smoker is rarely a proud smoker.

Oh No Not Again

A seriously bad planner might find themselves retreading two-three days before getting paid. This can lead to retreads of retreads and even retreads of retreaded retreads, which are as ghastly as they sound. It's a humbling moment when you find yourself eyeing up the ashtrays, knowing that the same thing happened last month and will no doubt happen next month, re-treading the retread path.

Ash. (The cousins chapter)

They really can’t stop with their hectoring. Not content with their assault on the smoker with the crap pedalled about 2nd hand smoke damaging innocent bystanders. Now Ash America is trying to re-instate the myth of “third hand smoke”.

Parents who do not smoke in the presence of their children, including even those who smoke only outdoors, nevertheless put their children at serious risk of "massive damage" to both skin and nerve cells, according to a new study, notes ASH.

Now I’ve got three grown up kids and I haven’t seen people in the streets running and screaming away from them due to the hideous disfigurement I have inflicted on the Cheeeeldren.

What is it with these new puritans?

Using radioactive (Note 1) nicotine as a marker, German scientists showed that the neurotoxin nicotine is not only released from a parent's clothing by perspiration so that it can be detected in all the layers of a babies' skin, but that it is also transported through the child's skin into deeper tissue layers.
They also demonstrated that the toxins from the smoke that were dissolved in the perspiration caused massive damage to children's skin cells -- this included changes in shape and even death to some cells. Also, nerve cells -- which are particularly active and developing in young children -- demonstrated major changes, and were no longer able to connect properly with one another.

I’m certainly not going to emigrate to the good old U S of A. They’re more draconian than the UK.

Already, judges is most of the states have issued orders prohibiting smoking around children involved in custody disputes, about a dozen states have banned smoking in cars or homes when foster children are present, and a small but growing number of states ban smoking in cars -- all to protect the health of children put at risk by secondhand tobacco smoke.
Now all of these protections may have to be expended to include the risks caused by thirdhand tobacco smoke as well as secondhand tobacco smoke, suggests Banzhaf, whose legal actions have been in the forefront of the movement to protect children from the risks of their parents' smoking.

I wonder when the coagulation will get around to it over here.

H/T to Grandad. Or not, as my blood pressure has just shot up. Oh well. A large whisky and a cigarette should fix that.

Note 1. Are they sure they didn’t irradiate the kids with a lethal dose of pollonium?

Splattergate goes global.

OK it’s only on Fox news.

UPDATE.

It would seem that one of 10:10 sponsors is not too happy either. Read the letter HERE.

FURTHER UPDATE

And another one bails out as well. From 350.org.

We respect 10:10's previous work to encourage companies, schools, and churches to voluntarily cut their carbon emissions 10%. Upon seeing the video, however, we have informed 10:10 that we can no longer remain partners on 10/10/10 or any other initiative.

I’ve told you so.

All this green energy is going to cost you even more than you thought..

Households will have to pay an extra £60 in bills to cover the cost of connecting windfarms and other renewable energy sources to the National Grid, the industry regulator warned today.

Energy bills will almost certainly have to increase to make Britain's ageing national electricity and gas networks “fit for purpose” in the era of climate change, according to Ofgem.

I’ve written before about the Operation and maintenance costs before. Here, here, and here

Now of course with those pesky wind farm not delivering a steady output (If any output at all), we will have to build a smart grid to match.

It says about £32 billion needs to be spent on modernising the networks over the next decade, more than twice the amount invested in the past 20 years.

And don’t forget the increased maintenance cost of all these new power lines in out of the way, exposed places.

*No exploding school children were used in the drafting of this post*

Power “Hungry”

I see NHS Medway are at it again. This time they want to restrict the building of fast food outlets.

Fast-food outlets could be banned from operating near schools in Medway as part of an effort to cut child obesity.

More meddling from the Righteous. Their justification is..

The obesity rate among Year 6 children for 2008/9 in Medway is 19.4%, above the national average of 18.3%.

Oh dear you might say. Something must be done for the sake of those poor cheeeldren.

But then in the same article this figure is quoted.

The statistics also showed the rate had dropped from 20.4% in 2007/08.

Huh?

I think this is power for power’s sake, and a desire to protect these Health Fascists professionals’* jobs.

It might be a better idea if they just got on with the job that we pay them for. Healing the sick.

I’m off for a burger.

* I use the term professional loosely here, very loosely.

Then and Now revisited.

 

Home Security

Then: We could leave our houses unlocked.

Now: Double locks, security alarms, gated compounds, and we still get burgled.

Air Travel

Then: Even though we had an active campaign by the IRA, boarding a plane from arrival at the airport to sitting in your seat only took one hour at the most.

Now:

• Arrive at the airport three hours before the flight.
• Questioned at length during check in. “Did you packs these bags yourself” (No it was my Islamic Butler).
• Passport scanned at passport control whilst facial recognition technology scans your every twitch.
• Arrive at security and take belt, coat, shoes and just about everything else off.
• Take everything out of pockets and place everything in a little tray to be x rayed. hand luggage as well.
• Pass through full body scanner.
• Asked if I packed my hand luggage. (See above).
• Numerous announcements incessantly telling us to look out for suspicious packages. (We’re lucky if we can get non suspicious packages through. I.e, our luggage). And what is a suspicious package anyway. Does it have a sticker on it such as, “May contain Bombs”.

Smoking

Then: You could smoke almost anywhere. Except the lower compartment of a double decker bus for some reason. But fair enough.

Now: Well, I don’t know where to begin. I can still smoke in my own home for now. How long that will continue to be case is unknown. There’s bound to be some faked up study in the near future that will attempt to outlaw that last little essence of freedom.

Police

Then: Every village had a police house and a resident Policeman. Our Policeman was called Kevin, was 6ft 3ins, and built like the proverbial brick shit house. Kevin was by nature a sociable chap and used to wander around the village and chat to all and sundry. He was also very clever, in that he built up a mental database of who the miscreants were, and what was their modus operandi. Crime and antisocial behaviour were no problem.

Now: Kevin was moved on and the police house sold. The village is now awash with litter, vandalism, and no-one has a personal representative of the police to talk to. (Except a useless, brain dead, PCSO). The only police I see are going mach1 in their souped up Skodas.

Education

Then: I was taught the traditional way. In maths you learnt the tables. In English I was taught using synthetic phonics. For writing I had to write each letter over and over again. It worked for me. And all supported by discipline in the classroom.

Now: Teaching is now ruled by a fear of upsetting the cheeeeldren. Maths is a joke. My sister asked me for help with a simultaneous equation (New maths was being taught), and I solved it in six lines of working. Oh no. The new maths needed 2 pages of reasoning.

Spelling is now not taught by assembling words. Oh no, that is too demeaning to those who can’t straight away master the technique, so instead pupils are taught a basic vocabulary instead.

Politics

No I’m not going to go there, apart from saying that there are no discernible difference between the parties. Now I can’t get a fag paper between the coalition and labour.

Europe

Then: They were the Johnney  foreigners and we seemed to manage without them. In fact we enjoyed thrashing the french when we could.

Now: We’re seriously fucked.

Global warming

Then: No such thing. All the rage was global cooling

Now: This skeptic rages against the machine.

 

Ok, do I make myself clear? Or do I need to be carted off to an old peoples home, under the mental health act?

NO.

A school has told its pupils to break with tradition and address their teachers by their first name.

Children have been told they should now informally address teachers as part of a term-long trial.

The pupils at Boughton-under-Blean and Dunkirk Primary school in Faversham, Kent have been ordered to abandon using teachers’ surnames with the title of either ‘Mr’, ‘Ms’ or ‘Mrs’ in front of it.

Oh that’s really going to re-inforce discipline in the classroom. And why are they using Mr, Ms, or Mrs. When I was at school (Alright, the memory is fading into the fog of old age), the correct form of address was “Sir” or “Miss”.

And the very next paragraph

Now school bosses say they hope the trial will “enhance the relationship” between the kids and their mentors.

Are they not proud of the word “Teacher” anymore? And why do you need to “enhance the relationship” anyway.  FFS. You’re paid by the public to Bloody Teach.

In my opinion, there should always be a strict line between the teacher and the child. How else can discipline be maintained? But then this is the era of a failed education system where anything goes, except teaching and discipline.

And trying to keep his options open the Head teacher, Hugh Greenwood adds.

'Obviously we are just trying it out and if it doesn’t work we will refer back to the traditional custom.'

No Hugh. You opened a can of worms. You’ll have great difficulty cramming them back in. I learned as a parent that kids exploit weakness in a way that  would make Attila the Hun look like a Monk.

I hope Hugh reads the comments following the article. If he does he might rethink his policy sharpish.

Union leader wants pensioners to die.

I read that Bob Crow wants pensioners to commit suicide.

‘Why shouldn’t pensioners who are having their pensions attacked be able to sit on the M25 and demonstrate?’

Right Bob, you set us an example and sit down first. Oh, and make it the outside lane please. I like to get a good run up at Prats like you.

U turn. 20 yards ahead

Remember the article yesterday about the council that was going to refer a family to social services for a vicious crime against their seven year old daughter. The crime being, that they allowed her to walk 20 yards to school on her own. And, shock, horror, cross a road alone.

It is a 45-yard walk from school bus stop to front door and seven-year-old Isabelle McCullough’s parents were confident she could handle it alone.

Their home is in a quiet village and Isabelle had already been making the journey across the small 30mph road for the last year.

Unfortunately council officials disagree – and have warned the parents they face being referred to social workers if they do not escort their daughter to and from the school bus every day.

Well it would appear that the council are carrying out a screeching U turn.

Lincolnshire County Council has decided to take no further action over a father allowing his seven-year-old daughter to walk alone to a bus stop.

Of course we have the usual weasel words that it was only for the sake of the children.

Debbie Barnes, assistant director of Lincolnshire County Council's Children's Services, said: "The safety of children is the responsibility of everyone and where a member of staff brings a situation to our attention where the safety of a child or adult is compromised, we must react.

Here’s where it gets interesting though.

"NSPCC guidance states that children under eight should not be out alone; in this instance, a seven-year-old girl has been standing unaccompanied on a roadside and left to cross the road by herself."

What has any guidance from any non governmental body such as the NSPCC in this case, got to do with social services? And where do they get this figure of eight from? My children were quite happily walking a similar distance to school below that arbitrary figure. (I’ve Just walked it).

Of course the law of unintended consequences comes in.

From the Mum

"This has got so much public attention that we will have to be outside with her for the foreseeable future because now everyone knows there is a seven-year-old standing on the side of the road every morning.”

Nanny state at it’s best. Debbie Barnes. You are the weakest link. Goodbye.

I didn’t expect anything else

I’ve just received a reply from Medway plod concerning the letter I wrote concerning the Hitler Youth students from the Hundreds of Hoo school in Medway, about their “Ciggy busters” stunt.

It’s what I was expecting. Absolutely nothing. If the students had been ripping burkhas of muslims, I expect dear Margherita would be in the dock in the Old Bailey by now.

As received, below.

 

Dear Mr. Filthy Engineer

The Medway Hate crime unit have spoken to Margherita Gramegan at length about the issues that you have outlined. It has been explained that the project has offended several people.

She has taken on board what has been said, and will be more mindful in the future.

Should you have any further queries then please don't hesitate to contact me.

Yours Sincerely

Sallie Baisley

DS 10142 Baisley

Footnote:

They really should proof read their mail before sending.

From the original reply. "A Betty* Medway, should read, “A better Medway”. (I wonder who Betty is?).

Sallie can’t even spell the miscreant’s name right. It’s Gramegna, not Gramegan.

Pah

War and smoking. The dangers.

Now, I’ve been around for a fair few years and had one or two life threatening moments in my career.

Just a simple question. What should I fear the most?

1. Smoking cigarettes and dying at the ripe old age of 65?

2. A 500lb bomb and living to the age of 33?

The heath fascists would say I probably shortened my life by smoking 60 a day whilst the 500lb bombs were raining down. At least I would have died with a smoke wreathed smile on my face.

Life is full of risks, and to be scared to death of risk is to cheapen the very essence of being a sentient being.

That’s why smokers need to chip away at the boundaries of the anti smoking crusade, drip by drip. The answer is as Leg Iron writes, they don’t know who you are.

It’s also a case of embarrassing them in the public eye. Making them looking petty minded, spiteful, and only after money.

Petty minded and spiteful is exposed by the school that decided it’s pupils were going to run around the Medway stealing cigarettes from smokers.

Money is Sandwell council’s decision to prosecute a 70 year old women from dropping cigarette ash.

Believe you me, smokers, this is a war that can be won, just by exposing the righteous for what they are. Petty tyrants that are addicted to control. Just chip away at their power, bit by bit.

Then of course a 500lb bomb on Sandwell council and one on Medway would be so much more satisfying.

PS. If MI5, CIA, SOCA, and any other security service reads this blog. Fuck off.

Oh and before I forget, If you drink or are slightly overweight you’re are next in their sights. Don’t say you haven’t been warned.

Aaaaaaargh

The demon drink. Oh bugger my maths.

 

Another Silly season story.

Flip-flops 'injure 200,000 a year' costing the NHS an astonishing £40m.

Give me strength. Have they nothing else to gripe about?

Go on and read the rest of the drivel here. If you can be bothered.

I suppose they'll be another "Fox attacks Child" story come along in a minute.

Oh Noes.

Girl, 13, attacked by fox which ripped open her tent while she camped with friends in garden

I think I'll go and lie down in a darkened room.

Nanny still knows best

 

Another one of those "Fake Charities" sticking it's nose in again to try and justify it's existence before it's funding is cut off. (Hopefully).

Children using takeaway shops at the school gates could be consuming more fat and salt in one meal than an adult's maximum daily recommendation.

and who is it you ask? One of the old favourites.

The snapshot study, carried out by London environmental health food teams on behalf of Consensus Action on Salt and Health (Cash), will refuel fears over child obesity in London.

Of course the general public gives generously.

Its 2007/08 accounts show a total income of £213,347, of which:

• Food Standards Agency: £23,500
• ---
• Total £23,500 (11% of all income)

There is no record of any voluntary donations from the public.

And we also have another Fake charity chipping (Pun with no salt) in.

The School Food Trust, established by the Department for Education, has consistently supported the use of stay-on-site policies at lunchtime, which are working well for many schools and have the backing of the majority of parents.

And we're all giving generously to this one aren't we?

Nope.

Its 2008 accounts show a total income of £8,897,000.

• Grant in Aid (Department for Children, Schools and Families): £1,215,000
• Capital grant (Department for Children, Schools and Families): £6,436,000
  ---
• Total £7,651,000 (86% of all income)

All the rest of its income (£1,246,000) came from the Big Lottery Fund.

I hope they are building a big enough bonfire. It's up to the parents to decide what's best for their children.

My first.

I've just had my first political flyer through the door today. This was the most pathetic piece of utter shite I've seen for awhile. It was from the green party. Apart from a small paragraph about giving me some cavity wall insulation (Not much use to me as my house has not got a cavity to be seen) the rest could have come from the communist manifesto circa 1950.

Oh well. Time to oil the shredder in readiness.

And this bag is his wife.

Hazel Dawe

Hazel Dawe lives in Tonbridge, Kent with her husband, fellow Green campaigner Steve Dawe and their dog. She is Chair of Kent Green Party and campaigns officer for West Kent Green Party.

Hazel is active in Transition Town Tonbridge, Haysden Country Park Users' Panel and Tonbridge Line Commuters. She supports UNITE the Tunbridge Wells multi-cultural organisation.

Hazel is a senior lecturer in Law, at London Metropolitan University. She teaches Contract Law, Consumer Protection and European law.

She does not drive a car and uses public transport, cycling and walking. She commutes to work by train.

For a Low Carbon Kent

• Opposition to a new coal fired power station at Kingsnorth in Kent

• Opposition to expansion of Lydd and Manston airports and to an airport in the Thames estuary

• Support for Transition Town groups in Tonbridge, Sevenoaks and Tunbridge Wells.

No Coal Fired Power Stations or Airport Expansion for Kent

Hazel is resisting the building of a new coal fired power station at Kingsnorth in Kent. She marched from Rochester to Kingsnorth and visited the Climate Camp.

Hazel does not believe that airport expansion in the South East is necessary. She particularly objects to expansion at Manston and Lydd in Kent. She is also opposed to Boris Johnston's proposals for an airport in the Thames Estuary

Hazel spoke at the march and rally for peace in Gaza in Tunbridge Wells organised by Stop the War.

Hazel Dawe at Heathrow Climate Camp

 

Another barking idiot trying to drag us back to the stone age.