Low life

The secret life of Sir John Major

I thought our former PM was just a gentle cricket lover but it turns out that he’s a Master of the Universe

23 January 2016

9:00 AM

23 January 2016

9:00 AM

Putting old or contaminated petrol in a car needn’t be catastrophic, but in the Golf’s case it was. With 37,000 miles on an 07 plate, it was a tight, solid little car before I accidentally wrecked it. Someone offered £300 for scrap, and I was about to sadly take it, when a pal pointed out that one second-hand Golf door alone costs £300 from a scrapyard. He urged me instead to buy a second-hand Golf engine for a few hundred quid and simply ‘drop it in’ — as he so persuasively put it. He even found a buyer for a Golf thus renovated who was guaranteeing trade price sight unseen.

I’m no mechanic. So I made a few calls and found Roy. Roy was available and he had enough confidence in his abilities to set a price for the job that seemed as unbelievably low as the trade dealer’s offer was high. Ordering a used 07 Golf engine from a nationwide scrap dealers’ website was as straightforward as ordering Michel Houellebecq’s latest from Amazon Prime. Roy and I set the day (Saturday) and the hour (10 o’clock) for him to come and do the work.

On Saturday morning, Roy’s white Berlingo van swung punctually into the drive. He got out and went straight to work, like a worker ant emerging from the egg. There in the garage was the engine sitting on a pallet. And there on the drive was the 07 Golf. He needed no further cues. Standing in my slippers and dressing-gown, cradling my kick-start coffee, I observed his purposefulness and confident expertise with unreserved admiration from an upstairs window.


Then I showered and dressed, made more coffee, and took a mug of it to him outside. His head was under the bonnet, buried deep in the engine vault. The cylinder head was off already and he was ratcheting away with his telescopic wrench. ‘Coffee, Roy?’ I said. He stood up, accepted his mug and took a grateful sip. ‘How’s it going?’ I said. ‘So far, so good. I might need a hand later to lift the new engine in,’ he said. He was in his mid-thirties and tall. The face was friendly and intelligent with a neat, thin beard arrangement. Vowels, modulation, diction and vocabulary were moulded by one of the middle classes.

He eyed me over the rim of his mug, placing me as I was placing him. ‘What do you do for a living?’ he said. I said that I was a sort of journalist, and this seemed to greatly excite his imagination. Quick-fire supplementary questions followed, such as how did an ordinary chap like me come to be one? And, which publications did I write for? I began to wish I’d said meat packer, which is what I usually say when the pointed question arises. Conversation tends to move on from meat packer (night shift) much more quickly. Now Roy began a ruthless examination of me as someone who is, or should be, ‘in the know’.

‘Islamic State,’ he said. ‘That’s Isis, right? You’re a journalist. What does Isis really stand for?’ I looked blank. Counting off the initials on his oily fingers, he said, ‘Israeli Secret Intelligence Service.’ I mimed an involuntary step backwards. ‘No really. It’s an Israeli organisation. The head of Isis is an Israeli. It’s well known. The creation of Isis is a brilliant plan by the Israelis to destabilise the Middle East. Didn’t you know?’ I promised Roy I’d google it.

But that wasn’t all. ‘And surely you must know,’ he said, ‘that the world is run by a small secret cabal concealed within, and largely comprised of, the executive of the European Union?’ I said, ‘You must think me terribly ignorant, Roy, but I’m afraid I didn’t. Anyone I might have heard of?’ Roy hesitated before divulging a name with a flourish, as if the mere mention of it would make the scales fall from my eyes. ‘John Major,’ he said. Quickly reforming my mental image of our former prime minister from gentle cricket lover to Master of the Universe, I said, ‘Well, no wonder he turned down that peerage, Roy.’ ‘Once you start to question things,’ said Roy, regarding me with a gnomic intensity, ‘everything falls into place. What do you know about the Jesuits, for example?’ I shook my head apologetically. And so for the next hour, with startling prolixity, but without pause, he told me the real history of the world, which seems to hinge above all on the ulterior motives of the Jesuits, the Knights Templar, the Knights of Malta, the European Union executive, and most obscurely of all on the mystical powers of the Stone of Scone. I couldn’t get a word in edgeways, even to excuse myself for a moment. But the Golf is now back to its former tight, nippy self. And, Sir John Major: we’re watching you.

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  • The Laughing Cavalier

    The internet is full of that sort of claptrap. Some of it can be quite entertaining.

  • James McClellan

    EXCELLENT story. Thank-you!

  • NickG

    We’ve been done! I clicked here expecting sordid, prurient, graphic inside-gen on John Major’s shag-fest with Edwina!

    Gutted I am….gutted!

    • King Kibbutz

      So was she.

    • Oh – I do wish you hadn’t reminded me of that. The image of Curry having an
      or gasm is one of those recurring horrors that once in the head, like
      beheading videos, you can’t expunge and it will ruin your life.

  • Polly Radical

    Did you go for a Currie afterwards?

  • King Kibbutz

    Youtube is heaving with this kind of thing.

    Pretty much the default – and actually, quite understandable – Weltanschauung of those inflicted by having been ‘educated’ by the post ’68 state. Things are not how they were told they would be, and it must surely be that some nasty people are meeting in dark places to keep us all from a world more just. People who, quite handily, are Jews!

    And all the while, amid the busy hunt for proof of this malign grip, through identification and analysis of a set of symbols and clues which are at the same time top secret and freely available for download, Europe and America bimble blithely into the clutches of a very much more potent and actual, murky cabal.

  • pobjoy

    I said that I was a sort of journalist

    Well, that’s one way of describing people who work for Jesuits.

  • Picquet

    You’re on the List now. I hope you’re awake and dressed when the knock comes at 0300hrs.

  • Jackthesmilingblack

    Right picture, wrong story. Alternatively, wrong picture, right story.
    Still can’t quite understand how you destroyed the engine. Overfilled with oil? Petrol in a Diesel engine?

  • Malcolm Stevas

    Roy sounds like one of several regular wackos posters whose messages – often very long, with links to obscure sites – appear like overnight mushrooms whenever Israel or anything to do with Jews is mentioned. Mind you, I don’t recall any of them ranting about John Major or the Jesuits. And they don’t give the impression they could fit a new engine into a Golf, or indeed walk and chew gum at the same time.

    • Village Idiot

      I think this and a couple of the posts further down are a little unfair, our Roy isn’t saying they are all lizards or anything. Bilderberg meetings, the masons, Common Purpose, Skull and Bones, Bohemian Grove are some of the the usual suspects, and these all exist, and you can see footage of people trying, and not always failing, to infiltrate them. In some cases you can even visit their websites. The question is, are they benign, or are they to some greater or lesser degree up to something?

  • Chamber Pot

    Major is a Bilderberger and, at a time when the behaviour of our leaders in encouraging mass immigration by hostile masses whose culture is quite alien has been almost inexplicable, conspiracy theories don’t seem nearly so crazy.

  • Village Idiot

    Why is the distance from Major’s nose to his top lip so very large?

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