Blog: June 2023

I'm enjoying this warm summer in the Scottish Borders, before settling I only came to Scotland in mid-winter months as I also enjoy cold wild winds, the clarity of reflection, and bright enamouring whiteness of this here, serene bonnie Scotland.


Tell me why?
I don't like rainbows
Tell me why?
I don't like rainbows
Tell me why?
I don't like rainbows
I want to burn
The whole day down


Bit pissed at having a £180 council tax bill land on my doorstep this morning; never mind, I'll pay it all off tomorrow. The flock at the grass keep were horrid today, only retained five lambs and one ewe; the fly spray leaked all over my right arm whilst I prepped the pump action squirt gun whilst Charlie was worming them. I sprayed a blue line down each of the sheep's back, and a dot on the head, then a squirt between their legs. It's incredible how sheep shun this help against fly strike; they'll be much healthier as a result of the process we attempted to put them through today, can't rationalise with animals though eh.


Galashiels disturbed me, to think I liked this town when I first came here; now it just zones me out, but there was shopping to do. First, we visited Halford's to purchase a small bottle of pink OAT coolant for our 4x4. Charlie bemused commented at a lady's leopard skin attire, Bet Linch I thought, a cheap trick bar tart, cheap and nasty appearance. Leaving Halford's she clambered into a two door Freelander 1, smirking she drove away, the car rear window a quarter wound down, a common but simple to fix calibration fault with this particular model.

A visit next door we found Sports Direct to be overwhelmingly confusing, so many items, scattered in so many places. Alas, we found a pair of walking shoes, I haven't owned a pair of she's for three months, instead choosing to walk about everywhere in crocs, yet who am I, to talk about fashion if it were not for a painful foot problem; but leopard print is just so.. how do I put it? ahh.. unforgivable. At TK-Max Charlie purchased snack food that on opening had a putrid smell akin to dog food; I snatched and threw the packet out of the car window.

Via returning to Borthwick water we visited the Hanning, Selkirk; and found the wee loch to be bonnie, serene. Previously I had visited this location last year in the colder month of October; though on this occasion the manor house was cordoned off and covered in scaffolding. Charlie told me the guy who owned this estate kept many cats; that when he died he left the estate to the people of Selkirk, whom thus came and helped themselves to the statues, so now only a dozen remain; reminisent of today's flesh hunting fest of multiculturalism.


Have a terrible headache, sheep are shunning sopping rain, but the kitchen garden is enamoured with vibrancy. The hillside is drenched, the contrast between green and brown has increased to draw the pale whiteness of roses reaching from the farmhouse's north-western corner. The fungicide I sprayed appears to have rid the rose bush of rust. Relieved that we had found and eradicated the garish orange coloured mould early enough to allow the bush to bloom this summer; it's such a compliment to the ascetic of the farmhouse.

Our potatoes!

Dwarf beans!

In the afternoon we purchased four bags of Ewe nuts, and visited both grass keep; one flock was visibly stressed with flies; we'll be straying and worming them soon. Yesterday, Charlie completed the perimeter fence by attaching a gate; he used a piece of paper to position and tack the wire on with staples. Our dwarf beans are growing significantly, I am optimistic that these will be delicious and nutritious. In the evening I encrouaged Charlie to bring the flock into the polytunnel, the rain has been a relentless downpour today.


Charlie fixed the gate onto the kitchen garden today, this completes the perimeter fence.

I've been waiting a while for this job to be done, if he had not done so today I'd of done it myself.


Charlie woke me but 6am on a Sunday morning in much too early to be drinking coffee. I strimmed the paddock roadside walling, that wasn't in reach of the topper yesterday. At 2pm we attended the 100th anniversary of Fordham Hall in Roberton, a stone throw away from where we live in the Borthwick valley. I always nag Charlie to attend these functions, because we live here, we exist, existing with others has meaning, so we go, nonetheless to show our faces and support the hall. There was a talk by an elderly man, who I presumed was related to Mr and Mrs Forman, who built the hall in June 1923.

Fields of Gold in the Scottish Borders.

There was a talk by one of the Andersons [they have an influential presence here in the valley] about another memorial, that he claimed boasts the best view of Borthwick water, although I'd have to disagree. To reassure myself, we visited the memorial, and found that our view of Borthwick water was the best. We were greeted with a friendly smile and seated; a few minutes had passed when we were offered a plate of cream cakes and a choice of tea or coffee. Animosity was mild, perhaps I felt over self-conscious, so much colourful summer dresses, yet I was cloaked in a solemn black. The Cherry tree they planted in commemoration is beautiful. Charlie purchase three strips of raffle tickets, but no prizes did we win.

A monument to William Henry Ogilvie, born in Kelso 1869 - 1993.
Rememberance plaque.
William written an inspiring poem about Roberton.

The hill road to Roberton: Ale Water at our feet,
And grey hills and blue hills that melt away and meet,
With cotton-flowers that wave to us and lone whaups that call,
And over all the Border mist – the soft mist over all.

When Scotland married England long, long ago,
The winds spun a wedding-veil of moonlight and snow,
A veil of filmy silver that sun and rain had kissed,
And she left it to the Border in a soft grey mist.

And now the dreary distance doth wear it like a bride,
Out beyond the Langhope Burn and over Essenside,
By Borthwick Wa’s and Redfordgreen and on to wild Buccleuch
And up the Ettrick Water, till it fades into the blue.

The winding road to Roberton is little marked of wheels,
And lonely past Blawearie runs the track to Borthwickshiels,
Whitslade is slumbering undisturbed and down in Harden Glen
The tall trees murmur in their dreams of Wat’s mosstrooping men.

A distant glint of silver, that is Ale’s last goodbye,
Then Greatmoor and Windburgh against a purple sky,
The long line of the Carter, Teviotdale flung wide,
And a slight stir in the heather – a wind from the English side.

The hill road to Roberton’s a steep road to climb,
But where your foot has crushed it you can smell the scented thyme,
And if your heart’s a Border heart, look down to Harden Glen,
And hear the blue hills ringing with the restless hoofs again.

William Henry Ogilvie.

The rain poured down as we left the hall; many folk complained about the rain, along the short distance to their cars. I parted feeling apprehensive of optimism, but Charlie was reinvigorated, this helped me take leave from social apathy; knowing he enjoyed this event is to know he gained something that I had somehow missed. Curses be upon the spite-driven bitch mouths that enable alienating flesh crawlers. It's crazy to witness the happy clap cult smiling maggots driving about, from the voided epicentre of this black mirror crucifixion. You cannot imagine the psychological torture these alienating monsters inflict to perpetually incapacitate a vunerable person hapless.

From a foreign land, most of us have never seen; they arrive to deprive us of everything we mean, have been and are yet to become from each other. Deeming us unworthy of humanity, to barely exist, isolated, and alone, as if we should have never existed at all. How they look at you with fear, loathing and envy, when you refuse to lie down and die, cease living as death, and dare to receive and validate inherent worth from the recognition of your ancestral people. The police won't protect us, the government won't enact laws to force the police to protect us; the only way to stop this is to take self initative, and manifest an autonomous reaction to drive these vile predators from our homelands before we are completely erased.


Today the garden was strimmed in just under an hour; our once muddy driveway have now become touched by a pleasant verdant green. Creative visualisation is therapeutic, but only if the mind can be protected from outside influences. When strimming, I'm imagining lopping heads off estranged family members that wholeheartedly subordinated to enacting horrific acts of defacing miscegenation, and it is a great thing to strim them of ancestral spirit.

Loaded and ready to go fencing.
Hammered in and nailed a steak into an existing post for support.
Rolled a tort metal wire mesh down the side of the paddock.
And repeating again once we had reached the end of the paddock.

Charlie connected and placed fence wire, posts, sledgehammer, staples and then me onto the topper, and drove the tractor up the steep incline of the farmhouse paddock. Looking back it is always breathtaking, how lucky I am to have lived here in peace, within the Borthwick valley. The steaks hammered into the ground quite easily, considering there is solid bedrock, in areas protruding to the surface. The wire mess was heavy and tort, as I rolled a one-hundred yard length along the side of the hill.

Before letting out the naughty absconding lambs from their detention pen and into the newly fenced paddock; we had to give them numbered ear tags. The piercing doesn't seem to hurt them, a mild discomfort in contrast to how much the other observing lambs feared this necessity was irrational. They have to wear these ear identification tags by law, and it is illegal to remove them without the owner's consent. These numbers will be logged into a sheppards book and added to a movement book when transported to market.

Craik Forest

To finish off a productive day we wound down by taking a drive through the Craik Forest; we almost reached the outdoor centre before turning back towards Roberton.


After four days, I'm beginning to shake off a heavy bout of flu; felt as though crushed glass were inside my throat. I'm an avid online watcher of paedophile hunter stings, this is an good example of a strong, calculated and timely approach, excellent confrontation delivery by Save the Children Online team:

Predator Mark Newell, Bradford, came to meet a thirteen year old girl; he is being stung by Save the Children Online.

Fantasies are fantasies, to bring fantasies into reality you require consent. Enacting fantasies without consent condemns reality unto an unreal world; subordinated to wants and desires of the manipulator fleshing out fantasies. Children cannot give consent, nor take away another's consent; confrontation of the manipulator is therefore imperative.


Upset that a pretty Japanese vase got smashed from my window sill whilst attempting to squash a huge meat fly. My neighbours are deprivation beast enablers, I hate them and the flesh crawler they enable. In the afternoon I help Charlie feed the lambs at the Farmhouse, my how the farmhouse kitchen garden has grown since we created it just under a month ago!

Dwarf beans.

I recommend gardening to traumatised people who can initiate interest, actioning functional process, observing plants grow from seed is rewarding and therapeutic; knowing our projections, existences are effectual and not subordinated to contempt of silence of this estranged world, crucified hapless, zombified despondent with arrogance and ignorance.

Honeysuckle hegderow has bloomed into glory.

And heartless criminals of this inhumane aposolate of spite-driven cruelty, who instil and inflict this worthlessness; will never allow you to be awoken, because as a deprivation cult they enjoy watching you deprived too much. Advancing sick gratifications, they overshadow by supersizing flesh crawling deprivation beasts who, unseen, over the horizon, replace you.


Not been posting, been flat out with terrible flu. This morning dragged myself out of my sweat pit and travelled to "Twelve Apostles" Stone Circle between Holywood and Newbridge, near Dumfries, Scotland. I don't celebrate Summer Solstice other than acknowledge the event, because winter solstice is when the true resurrection of the sun / life ignites.

The stone circle had a wide circumstance with stones few in-between; this was the first time I'd visited "Twelve Apostles".
Stinking Daisy.
Shepherd's Purse.

The stone circle was reputed to be the largest in Scotland. We parked in a small lay by north, from an information plaque walked five hundred yards though a grass field into the centre of the circle. We arrive five hours after sunrise, other than deflated blue and gold balloons tied to a gate post there were no other indication of people having been here.

Nith Estuary
I opened the car door and a cool breeze blew calm across my aching body; I was glad we stopped the car here at Drumburn Viewpoint.
Nith Estuary

We then drove to East hill stone circle, at the foot of the hill we drove into a farmyard, but I was physically to weak to do this walk; Charlie turned the car around, and we drove towards the seaside via Drumburn Viewpoint. We visited Southerness, Charlie dropped me off at a lighthouse before he departed to fetch two ice creams / bottles of fizzy pop.

Reminded me of Mannar Island Lighthouse.
Wondered who was inside this lighthouse.

It is so awesome to be a part of somebodies life, that acknowledges me as existing; that cares about me, appreciates the things I do and have done. A person to hold, to rest with and feel safe; a humanity that was and still is spitefully alienated from me, decades chased down and demonised hapless by a virulent racially mutilating miscegenation apoloslate.

Always remember your worth, because, through lengthy disposition of worthlessness there is always a hope of somebody who'll arrive to value and nuture your worth.

We travelled west to Rockcliffe, parked the car and walked some distance across the mud flats. On the beach a tattooed woman waited as if she were trapped by anxiety, her dog reminded me of a friend I lived with in Bath, decades ago. The shoreline was covered in crushed shells, Charlie remarked how sharp they felt upon his feet.

We drove to Castle Douglas, past a park, down a high street, before reversing direction to return us to Hawick. Leaving Castle Douglas the sky broke and rain poured down; Apple Maps directed us through the centre of Dumfries before we arrived in Lockerbie. At Langholm, a shouting driver blocked our right of way, he pulled over because we refused to reverse.

Arriving at the farmhouse we found our replacement used console delivered, that was purchased from Ebay only a few days ago. The existing console in the Freelander had been hacked and wired up wrong, presumably by the previous owner attempting to fit another car stereo. Retired to bed, lay, sweated and slept for an entire twelve hours.


We completed the perimeter fence around our kitchen garden today, the rear side had been open for almost two weeks (ran out of wire). Now I'll have to get Charlie to hang on the gate! We also purchased a hundred yards of mesh and posts to fence the perimeter of the farmhouse paddock.

Kitchen Garden fence completed.
Paddock broken stone walling.

Charlie is going to run wire across the top as the netting has sagged; he noticed part of the stone walling had gone during the storm on Monday; debris had rolled down the paddocks steep incline leaving us worried for the lambs.


Overheard pigeons on my balcony, opened the door and two pigeons flew away from their nest. The nest, built recently (no eggs) was swept away, hours six hours later another nest appeared.

No1 nest.
No2 nest with pigeon.

I'm weary of any intrusion of nature after enduring prepetual intrusion from enablers arriving from the cruelties of the apostolate of Martimism; so to be honest there was not much fuss about or guilt over evicting them. But I do care for animals more than people, they have never cared for me, I guess because people came to take my humanity away.


We decided a week ago to go for a drive today, we picked up our friend in Hawick and drove to Ettrick. We pulled into a campsite shop for a coffee and was immediately followed inside by a smirking cult victim, a rodent obtaining sustenance for maggot/s of Martinism. Replacing ostracised presence with food and drink, as embodiment from disembodiment, in futile attempt to transmigrate and instil accumulation of projection, transmigrate, captivate and altercate ancestral spirit from fleeced succession of terrorised hapless, terminated life.

Ettrick Valley.
Ettrick Valley.

The Ettrick valley is beautiful, driving along a twisting narrow lane, passing a monument to James Hogg, the Ettrick Sheperd, we noticed a gaggle of sheperds wives gathered to observe a sheep dog trail below. The end of this public highway became a car park, before forking into forest track. Bewilded to see this gravel road go to Over Phawhope Bothy (MBA) 55.361°N 3.293°W; as I stayed a night there. Kept asking myself this question: why oh why was there no walk for me, through the Ettrick valley, exacting reception of inherent worth.

We had planned to revisit the Gray Mares Tail waterfall but altered course to Samye Ling, Europe's largest Tibetan Buddhist monastery located in Eskdalemuir, as we figured this location would be of interest to our friend. Seeing her take lots of pictures reminded me of myself, except this time only a few pictures of pretty flowers appeared on my phone; must state, among this enrichment of nature, there is an admiration of this sangha's spinach cultivation, very impressive. But be wary of visitors arriving from Martinism's concept of esotericism. Rainy Days and Mondays huh.

“So they sprinkled moon dust in your hair, of gold and starlight in your EYES OF BLUE.”.

Usually, amidst ego kicking lamas, there is apprehension leaving this peaceful sanctuary, but not so in this instance. We departed with incense, two key rings and a memory of two warming Tibetan smiles; oh why does the oriental past have to be so frightfully jaded and to know they celebrated the world's most prolific mass murderer, Mao Zedong after the famished death of millions, until the puppet regime's condemnation of the "Four Olds". I took refuge and bodhisattva vows almost two decades ago, with Kagyu tradition; whilst no regrets, if world history were known, at the time, bearing over instance of initiation, this would not have been so.

Samye Ling has not be left unscaved by this legacy, which still prevails to destroy the Tibetan people today. Remembering the exploitations of the "open door" because for every opened door there is a "closed door" in the western world; remembering there is no "forever" within the maya, if we are to attain Moksha, liberate from Dukha cycles of Samsara; there can be no absence of Dharma; ignorance must never be accepted as bliss if we are to attain enlightment as sangha. Martinism is corrosive and incompatible with Buddhist teachings, being historically contrived from those wishing to debase Christianity, reaping reward from systematically cultivating human failures.

But we know about that, because Adolph Hitler and the Germanic peoples knew before they were raped, crucified, burn alive and blown to bits during WW2. To have nothing in this emptied world but to hang onto misery for dear life; alienated beside ourselves, too estranged and lost to find a way to care through deprivation. No moment can ever be relived, no place can ever be found once more; you are erasing the soul of people from existence, your insaitable disatisfactions, unhappy to be who you are, to rise through what you are, unto the light, with a truth beyond the grasp of your lies. Cult of betrayal, plunder from discord, Eris, Eris, Eris, a Crying Game, before your Breakfast on Pluto.


Whilst editing my exposure on Anti-Fascism I found myself disturbed by the Loxism of Nick Lowles; the more I research this "charity" the more it appears Hope not Hate is actually Hate no Hope. Tactics used are classic examples of Loxism, describing targeted gentiles lives being bought down and destroyed by the collusion and corruption of every second person. It should be noted that COINTELPRO used very similar tactics to stifle political dissident during the late 70s. I have also been suppressed and attacked in this way, every day, for decades.

Sunset 17th at the Farmhouse.

It's important to know that this systemic and destruction hatred of our people exists within every facet of "our" society. There are outsiders, that prey to exploit our altercations. Psychological wars upon the existence of an individual are never announced because prepetual isolation, witin this compartmentalsied society is key to destroying somebody with near impunity. The end game is to reduce our people into such a dejected loss, fleshed into inhumane states of hapless, lifeleness that they commit suicide.

With a degree of hindsight it's not suprising that we have a drug and alcohol addiction epidemic amongst our surpressed people.


Had an overview of Foundation framework, decided to continue using Bootstrap 5 who removed jQuery as a requirement in 2020. Today was my day off, but in the evening I decided to keep Charlie company whilst he did the jobs at the farmhouse. On the way there we stopped at Sainsbury, whilst I waited in the car I noticed the Bagel man pull up and follow Charlie inside the supermarket. We've encountered cranks buying the same things more than twice now, so I've taken a picture of this encounter.

Also to note the tranvestite [forearm tattooed Luna] has returned to stalk Charlie, perhaps it was Charlie being stalked, and not me; but I had to say something to him as Charlie is too polite. Interesting that our friend who has recently settled into the Borders complained of being stalked by them also. Maybe there is an agenda to this? Every time I revisit the farmhouse garden I see beauty, today I was in awe of bright blue catnip flowers, and have only now just realised the honeysuckle hedgerow.


Was at the farmhouse the entire day, Charlie found more flex for the strimmer, so I strimmed and weeded the garden; looking alright now. The farmhouse still needs a lot of cleaning as the place is still very dusty, and there is black mould in some rooms which needs to be treated and walls painted.

Charlie came back late, we took the dog out for a walk, and noticed how many midges were about now! We enjoyed pizza in the evening, I played Super Tux Racer, having unlocked extra players and racetracks via editing the game's XML files.


Back at my flat today, the drive, returning from the farmhouse, was pleasant. We found different lamb pellets at half the price of the ewe nuts we usually buy, both lambs and ewe find them delicious; result! We stopped at Borthwick water to admire the view, it's a calming place at length from Roberton to the Craik Forest, and the slow flowing water is clean; I am on a lookout for a rare kingfisher sighting; there are plenty of small fish in the shallow depths of this here water.

Recieved an incoming weird high pitch, fluctuating tone through the speaker of my mobile phone, almost as if the phone line were screaming at me, whist attempting to ring Scottish Borders Council. I hung up the line and retried with success seconds later.


Charlie had the day off work, we drove to the first grass keep to shear a dozen sheep. From the beginning he did not appear to be up to the job, but his perseverance saw half a dozen sheep sheared before his mechanical shears stopped working. The first sheep kicked his right shoulder red, and catching the 4th sheep dragged him twenty feet through dirt and broken stone, leaving grazes on his forearms. The last sheep had to be sheared by hand.

Charlie shearing a ewe by hand.

Emptying the pen of the remaining flock, we felt, but didn't actually realise how much we hammered the morning through until several hours later. And today I learned through experience, that black sheep are more bold and aggressive, more edgy, tetchy paranoid than white sheep who are roughly the same admixture of breed.

Two ewes waiting to be sheared.
White Teeswater Ewe.
Black Teeswater Ewe.
Shearing ewes at first grass keep, weather was so hot, sweat was pouring off his brow.

In the afternoon we visited Berrick-on-Tweed and walked Spittal shoreline; relax upon the absence of people, and felt safe among the few that were around to enjoy this wide open space. During the summer month, I enjoy the breeze of the North Sea; that enabled the voyages of my Viking ancestors.

Spittal beach.
Spittal beach.
Spittal beach.
Spittal beach.
This lighthouse was manned by several generations of Wilsons.
Facing towards Spittal.
Spittal beach.

We drove to Berrick, crossed the River Tweed, slowed through the town, side lining the forte, twisting and turning northwards until arriving at the dual carriageway of the A1, returning us to bonnie Scotland. The fresh, sea air had made Charlie hungry, we rested at Eyemouth harbour and enjoyed a takeaway meal of chips. Crime was noticeable and confirmed by a police scouring the area from behind a windscreen of their crawling van.

Returning to the farmhouse Charlie was shattered with tiredness, I told him to go to bed, whilst I finished the jobs. Working out at the farmhouse is enabling me to lose weight, and also allowing Charlie to do more of the jobs he should be doing, that need to be done; so by helping him I'm helping myself in this instance. He knows I write this blog, but does not get involved in any way; and I'm happy with that.

He is very patient and stable with my erratic, disturbed state of mind, and he just keeps on smiling, reminds me of my mascot doll Rosie, she kept smiling, through all the horror it took to get where I am now. Never, ever forget your worth in this world, especially when your people's inherent worth is being crucified, and devoured by alienating, flesh crawling monsters. Disheartening to find "white dove" Martinism miscegenation propaganda pushed under the guise of "substance use" on public display in Sainsbury's supermarket, Hawick.


Have terrible noisy mind, it's environmental, dissociated thoughts triggered by psychological tribulations spitefully cast by Critical Religious Theory's misery church; alienated as a pariah from the nurturing embrace of humanity, cradled by the hands of my people, within this my sacred homeland. Today I am focussing on bringing my website up to date today, I've enjoyed the last few days, movement is life, an enrichment of life is experience' I have learned so much since my arrival and residency in the Scottish Borders six months ago.

Church of Misery song's intro has Jonestown victims describing a cut off thumb, a thumb represents mother and nuture from a motherland [pour ma patrie].

I feel aggravated by an unseen commotion out in the street below, that twitched curtains, and peered faces through shiny windows along one-hundred yards of neighbouring houses. Yet I know that racism comes from decimating disparities wagered concepts of alienation, created by anti-white racism named Loxism. Because of fear, loathing and envy, we'll never be accepted or valued when we're existing as a fleeced disinheritance, as opportunity mules, serving insatiable appetites of cannibalistic, corrosive multiculturalism.

“We are being fleshed of our inherent worth, dispossessed and defaced from our homeland; our humanity forsaken and liquidated into alienating monsters defacing our history, our ethnicity unrecognisable from our homogenous and ethnocentric ancestral spirit. Everything we were, are, and come to be, spitefully crucified into mere experiences, as our ancestors; forbidden of rebirth, are rendered down into worthlessness by forked projections, shunned into a hapless abyss.”.

Could anybody possibly imagine or even contemplate hosting a relentless invasion of anti-White migrants, chasing down our sons and daughters with Third Worldism aspirations, that deem them unfit to prosper, even to exist with their kin, and so forked as a dispossession, haplessly forbade of a nurturing, ancestral succession. This proxy war on our identifiable existence is Saturnalian, and moves unabated between revolving doors along corridors of compartmentalisation, brick walled by concepts of alienation, cemented by Loxism.


In the morning I mucked out the trailer whilst Charlie finished nailing new hudles; allowing the flock at the first grasskeep to be sheered. We loaded up and away we went.

Charlie sheered sheep at the first grasskeep, after we errected a pen, we caught a third of the flock, baiting them with ewe nuts.

We sheered Teeswaters, the wool from a pedigree was poor quality, she had almost died a few months ago; we sheared her first because she was covered in poop.

Charlie also trimmed and sprayed violet onto two ewes hooves because they were lame. We finished early, letting ewes go, only shearing six sheep as Charlie had to go to work. The evening was quiet, after cooking fish, chips and mushy peas I settled down to do some knitting whilst Charlie bathed, he scrubs up well.