By now, everyone will have seen or at least be aware of Nick Griffin’s appearance on Question Time, which has given the BNP their first national exposure. But more than the appearance itself, attention has focused on the fight between the BBC and Peter Hain, Welsh Secretary, over whether it should have been permitted at all.

My position is that the BBC have acted to defend the separation  of state broadcasting from party politics, and that Mr Hain’s position is a dangerous attack on democracy.

The only force that can overcome an idea and a faith is another and better idea and faith, positively and fearlessly upheld – Dorothy Thompson

The BNP’s platform is abhorrent, and indicative of an ill-judged and reactionary vision of Britain and the interdependent world in which it fits. But they have achieved electoral success in a free and fair way. Mr Hain’s attempts to have them banned from Question Time imply either that he does not respect the will of the voters or that the democracy we take for granted is not true democracy but rather the rule of the status quo, given credence with false promises of universal representation.

The BNP’s positions are matters of faith among their supporters, and as Dorothy Thompson (and indeed the Prime Minister) have pointed out, the best way to defeat an idea is to demonstrate, constantly and aggressively, that your idea is better. Not by denying a voice to other opinions, but having the best one.

The only way to make sure people you agree with can speak is to support the rights of people you don't agree with – Eleanor Holmes Norton

The parts of the show where Griffin came off worst were those in which the panel and audience did not specifically target him and drown out debate with boos and chants. The last question about the Daily Mail article following Stephen Gateley’s death led to Griffin criticising homosexuality. Non-slanted questions about immigration led to him claiming that white people had been the victims of a ‘genocide’.

But too much of the show, and too much of the media coverage, concentrated on letting people vent their anger that the BNP existed at all. This is entirely the wrong way to go, as this along with attempts to silence them will add to the perception that they have been victimised for their beliefs and will cause their supporters to dig in. You cannot beat such entrenched beliefs head on – the only way to win is to use their racial bias and fury against them.

 In the end, extreme opinions must be aired and crushed fairly and without duplicity before they take hold in a dissatisfied populace, and become a protest against complacent establishment.  Or to put it another way...

The tree of liberty must be refreshed from time to time with the blood of patriots and tyrants - Thomas Jefferson

• Skype phone
• Transferring DVDs to the extra 1TB hard drive that came with the computer (in addition to the 640GB one that's already in there.  Nice of them) to store all our movies.
• Downloaded Tversity Pro to stream said media to the Xbox 360 consoles in the two front rooms.
• Using Tversity to link directly to Youtube playlists and stream them directly to the TV.  Quality's a bit of a thing, but I've now got Part Troll, Glorious, Two Night Stand, Nirvana Unplugged in NY and Metallica's S&M set up and ready to go.  And all for free and not actually touching any of my disk space.  Huzzah!

• The way we're trying to set ourselves up will be cheaper month on month (no phone bills beyond Skype and mobile top ups, no TV package from Virgin) but the start up costs were always going to be huge.  
• It's come from our loan money, so it's not like it's affecting the day-to-day.
• Look at the shiny.

I had my third (and official) stag do on Saturday.  It was great, and I shall tell you about it.

Having had Mike, Emma and Owen round the previous night, I was up and out at 8.00 with Mike snoozing next to me and Sweeney following me in his uber-suave sports car.  We arrived at the car park of the Centre Pocket Snooker Club in Kirkby, which is every bit as classy as you're thinking.  Groups of scousers stood around in boots smoking weed and spitting.  All good fun.

We went in convoy to the paintballing place itself, which was tucked away in the middle of nowhere.  We paid our £35, which got us in, fed us and gave us 500 rounds of ammo.  And we split into teams, all told there were about 25 on each side.

First game was POW.  One team had to defend three flags whilst the other team had to retrieve as many of the flags as possible.  I was attacking first time, lasted until I tried to rush someone whilst they were reloading and their mate took me out.  Whilst defending I pushed out too far, went out of bounds and got shot in the face for my trouble.  When I was trying to run back to cover (as headshots don't count), I got shot in the arse.

Second game was convoy, defending trucks from the other team.  Whilst attacking I got absolutely reamed by three blues when I tried to advance and found them all behind a log.  That hurt.  Whilst defending, I shared a foxhole with Ant and took one in the shoulder in cinematic fashion (fell back into the hole yelling FUUUCK).

Then there was the unlimited BBQ and brew from a styrofoam cup that tasted like manna from heaven.  Then the last two games.  Assassination involved protecting a man-shaped target named 'El Presidente'.  Both teams failed.  Then it was the last one, which was ostensibly capture the flag, but was really 'infinite lives until your ammo runs out'.  That was the worst of the lot, as it's different being shot and people knowing you're no longer fair game.  Different when the gun goes 'click' and you whimper 'I'm coming out, don't fucking shoot me!'.  I got fucking shot.

Back to Nan's, few cheeky beers and pizza before going out into Liverpool.  Met up with the lads from Wigan and met Emma and Owen.  Got slaughtered.  I found out the next day that the pint they dared me to down was a Frankenstienian brew of lager, sambuca, gin, vokda and lemonade.  Things got messy very quickly, and the last thing I remember was waving at people as Ant dragged me off.

Woke up on Sunday with a fan on and a glass of water next to me (god love my brother).  Felt fine, smugly thought I had bested alcohol.  Then I moved, and ran to the toilet with due haste.  Managed to keep a bacon n' egg sarnie and a brew down me, then checked that the Wigan lot had managed to get home ok - they had.

Felt bad until the paracetamol kicked in and I got to play Halo 3 for a while - needed to focus the mind and the restorative effects of slaying alien foes cannot be underestimated.

All in all, this was the most stereotypical do I've had in honour of this wedding, and despite my reservations about the male-centric approach (or Sausagefest 2009 depending on your view) I had an awesome time.

 

According to shaman law, what goes on tour must stay on tour.  But not being a wizard, I'm ok with posting on the Internet.

Started at Dad's house in Camberley, having gone out the previous night for Alex (younger stepbrother) finishing college.  This was mainly a loud student affair in which I felt out of place until we moved onto a club and sat outside.  Got the opportunity to chat to new people.

Hung over, we made our way to Dad's Millbank flat where we ditched our gear and moved on to the Sport Cafe in town.  I have no interest whatsoever in rugby, however as Dad and Ant used to play I had a basic idea of the rules, which was fleshed out by actually watching the match.  The place was heaving with South Africans, and the atmosphere was amazing.  Once the additional beers kicked in I joined in heartily with Swing Low, Shall We Sing A Song For You and the anthemic You Wear Your Y-Fronts On Your Flag.

Was a better sport to watch than football and the attitude of the fans afterwards was something I'm not used to.  Everyone was shaking hands and discussing the game, not trying to beat the living shit out of each other.  Fantastic stuff.

Then to Ronnie Scotts Jazz Club, which was what I always expected a jazz club to look like.  The house band came on for about an hour and were fantastic, including the fastest non-metal guitarist I've ever seen.  I got a shout-out and a song dedication, which was a high point.

Then Buddy Greco came on and redefined 'performer'.  This is a 84 year old man who was friends with Sinatra and the Rat Pack, The Beatles and essentially every major name in jazz for the last 50 years.  From the second he walked in to the end of the show almost 2 hours later, not a single person was anything less than mesmerised.  And I got a photo and signed CD afterwards.  Awesome.  There was a moment in there, with a glass of Pinot Noir, a plate of fine English cheeses and watching the jazz legend where I thought 'It's just not going to get better than this, ever.'

I was hammered by this point, so going back to the flat with more beer sounded the best course of action.  I had to share a bed with my brother, woke up at 6.30am and wandered for a brew.  Unfortunately, the only milk in the fridge was almost approaching decent cheese.  So I crashed on the couch with The Dark Knight Returns and at some point I passed out.

Good times.