It just gets worse at Australia’s newspaper-turned-fantasy fruit cake recipe.
Unsatisfied with the gaslighting of dying homeless people, The Guardian of Nothing’s intellectual frauds have scoured the earth to find a style of living that agrees with its perverse aesthetic:
Meet Konstanze Winter in Delft, a canal-encircled city in the Netherlands best known for its distinctive blue-and-white pottery.
We are in the Tanthof quarter, one of the Netherlands’ so-called “cauliflower neighbourhoods” beloved of 1970s town planners.
These were conceived as an antidote to the rigid grid layouts and tower blocks of the era, featuring low-rise architecture and maze-like streets that are said to resemble the cruciferous vegetable when viewed from above.
Far be it for me to criticise a pack of hippy anarchists wanting to live cheek-by-jowl in a commune of dubious values!
Cults are part of freedom and can provide succour to the desperate, even if they take their pound of flesh along the way.
The police will raid the joint if it becomes clear that child abuse is part and parcel of the alleged idil.
But presenting this freakish clique in a context that suggests it is a solution to Australia’s housing shortage is a measure only of how mentally ill are the editorial staff at the former newspaper-turned-lunatic asylum.
Besides, does the following picture of The Guardian editor’s former Canberra mansion look like it houses scores of hirsute Dutchmen?
I don’t know where Lenore Taylor lives today, nor do I give a flying $%^#.
But I’d be willing to bet that she doesn’t live with 99 stinking fellow humans and that her domicile is no defective Sydney dog box thrown up overnight to house migrant millions.
Get off your bloody high horse, Lenore, and campaign for immigration cuts so that Aussie kids have somewhere to live other than Jonesville.
