FlipFlop Freddy and his Fabulous Fibs

An attempt to translate "Verarschung" into English and the state of play in this strangest of German parliamentary elections

The editorial beating heart (literally) of these Pitchfork Papers has this last week been uprooted and moved from the tranquil rural environment of the southern county of Wicklow, nestled between the heather-decked Wicklow mountains and the pristine beaches on the eastern fringe of Ireland to a Bavarian alp (or alplet to be more precise) some forty five minutes South East of Munich where it is now surrounded by cows instead of sheep and commands a fairly spectacular view of the mountains to the South. Leaving a much beloved Ireland and moving (back) to Germany (your correspondent spent some 27 years of his young and then not so young adult life in and around Munich and raised his family there) was prompted entirely by familial considerations - all four of our children have now reached the age of attainment and chosen to return to the country of their conception and childhood, having decided - not without some justification - that their prospects of advancement, mate-finding and quality of life were significantly higher in Munich and its environs than in rural Ireland, which as they all reminded me at times during the last year was entirely my choice and not theirs. Cue Fairy Nuff, one of my favourite Irish spirits. Four children have now evolved into four plus a grandson, so the idea of keeping their mother and now grandmother away from her expanding brood was not one that was ever going find a consensus in the Star Chamber of our marital Parliament, a decidedly non-democratic institution at the best of times. So here we are.

Those of you have read these Pitchfork Papers for a while will know that I am by conviction a late cycle Libertarian (ie an erstwhile free market, “leave me alone” conservative when that term used to mean something) Christian who has found himself on the wrong side of the cultural fence and well outside the Overton Window, somewhere closer to the Overton tradesmens' entrance round the back by the coal shed for the best part of the last fifteen years. Heading back to Germany from Ireland at this particular point in both countries respective trajectories has me feeling like a Tutsi deciding to head home to Rwanda in the summer of 1994 - not exactly brilliant timing.

Just so there is no misunderstanding - Ireland is far from a paragon of institutional governance. It is run by midwitted numpties with mind-numbingly parochial perspectives and fully in thrall to the EU’s globalist, woke, puerile climate worshipping infatuation, replete with a state controlled media (RTE) and a compliant press (one blessing of this move is that I now no longer have to breathe the same air as the ghastly Fintan O’Toole, Idiot in Chief of the Irish Times, who has the singular distinction of having singlehandedly redefined the boundaries of elitist smugness and condescension over the past decade) to rival any of the current European contenders for the covetted Pravda prize. Given the importance of incentives in all human activities, it is as well to understand that for most Irish politicians living as they do in a system free from Opposition, the primary goal is to be seen and noticed as a good European (or EU lackey) so that the option of a cushy sinecure in Brussels with jobs, pensions and expense accounts for the whole family remains viable when they have served their time as useful rubberstampers of EU directives in Leinster House.

Ireland’s singular advantage to those of us in the erstwhile small c conservative diaspora, is that the toxic radiation of this policy environment is largely confined to the Greater Dublin area where all the virtue signalling takes place, leaving rural Ireland to get on with life much as it always has, pace the disruption caused by the relocated migrants and refugees foisted on the country by said masters in Brussels. Ireland is too underpopulated and its law enforcement (civilian and military) too small (and nice) to ever effectively enforce an authoritarian diktat on its population. They couldn’t go all General Franco even they wanted to and anyway the Irish population has had more than enough practice over the past, say 1,000 years in dealing with authoritarian elites better organised, intelligent and principled than the current lot. It is still very much a country in which you can be left to your own devices and in which, as my wife pointed out a few weeks ago, citizens are given the benefit of the doubt as a matter of principle when interacting with the State and its officers.

Which brings me to Germany and my for-the-time-being new and erstwhile home.

Where to start?