Ian Bone’s Latest Delusional Claims

After promising everyone he was going to stand against Jacob Rees-Mogg at the General Election (until it was pointed out to him his constituency is in Somerset, not London as he’s assumed), Ian Bone – oops, sorry ‘Class War’, which is a real political party which really does exist with real people in it, rather than being Bone and his drinking buddies delusional fantasies – has once again proved a man of straw.

No change there.

Of course, it’s all pretty embarrassing for Bone. His ‘party member’ pathetic little weed Andrew Fisher tried to screw things up for Corbyn and Labour at the last General Election by leaking their manifesto a fortnight too early, in the way comrades are never happier than kniving their own side in the back (the more nihilistic anarchists believe Labour in any form distracts ‘the workers’ from realising revolution is the only way to change things – along with football, Coronation Street, Hollyoaks and Strictly Come Dancing).

We all know how that turned out – a few thousand short of victory in a general election Labour were supposed to be about to record their lowest share of the vote since the 1920s. A real Max Bialystock moment if ever there was one.

Instead he’s confining himself to his stock delusions, such as being one of the ten million people who all claim they used to live in Grenfell Towers (the zeitgeist’s new ‘was at the Sex Pistols first gig at the Common Room of Saint Martin’s School Of Art’, or something about 9/11).

One snag.

The Guardian (who else!) have been gushing over this oxygen thief for years, since pretend revolutionaries who post no real danger to their malodorous metropolitan livestyles on the backs of the worst wage slavery (Suzanne Moore being the same hero of the proletariat who called for a crackdown on ‘aggressive begging’ back in the days of Tony Blair when The Guardian was that bastard’s mouthpiece).

Most of them did it themselves when students and thought The Clash was the most important band in the world because the NME said so. Until they decided Manic Street Preachers was the most important band in the world. Et cetera.

But go a little further down the page, what do we find?

Two years. So does the number of years he ‘lived’ in Grenfell accumulates interest? Or is he a lying old toad trying to accumulate interest in himself? Considering he also claims to run the South Norwood Tourist Board (where he’s actually lived comfortably with partner and fellow pretend anarchist Jane Nicholl for the last two decades) and claimed during Class War’s heyday to be living in a squat, readers can make up their own minds.

Bone was one of the many vultures told to piss off by the Grenfell Action Group for trying to hijack their fight for justice for their own aggrandisment: again, par for the course with Bone, who still peddles fantasies about being responsible for the Brixton Riot of 1985, miners queuing ‘twenty deep’ to buy the Class War newspaper during the 1984 Miners Strike, and a host of other flights of fancy – including that he was going to reestablish the Glenbuck Cherrypickers football club (famous for the Shankly brothers – Bone claims his great-grandfather founded the club), despite living 389 miles away from it and the village having been abandoned since 1931 (all traces since vanished to make way for a quarry).

Ian Bone is little more than the left-wing Richard Edmonds, a pathetic old skeet that’s thrown away his life on drinking bitter and being bitter at everyone else, but with the ‘talent’ of a Colin Jordan when it came to the tabloid press and making up any old crap so long as it got him in the papers – most of it trying to gatecrash other people’s limelight.

It’s perhaps no surprise he was an associate of fellow waste of space Cynthia Payne (London ‘madam’ who exploited prostitutes and somehow became a celebrity on the back of it) – although considering his prudishness ironic (by contrast Corrective Party boss and prostitute Lindi St Clair despised him). London is full of tossers like him desperate for their fifteen minutes of fame and significance and with no qualms on how to get it. They’re the sorts of ‘hero’ certain people richly deserve – and good and hard!

This week Bone’s got all upset because the Prime Minister says his favourite band was The Clash: the public schoolboys who pretended to be Marxist revolutionaries and are still held in awe by your grandad but no one else.

‘But … but … but he’s a TORY! HOW DARE HE LIKES THEM!’

Leaving aside the small matter none of The Clash ever knew poverty their entire lives, Bone immediately called for a revived Rock Against The Rich – down his local pub.

Unfortunately for him neither Damon Albern (Blur/Gorillaz) or the NME (which barely exists as a website the newspaper having long folded for lack of sales) answered the call – nor anyone else by the look of it.

Right as it looked he couldn’t have lost the plot any more, this morning came this.

The prehistoric car in the picture along with the word ‘Yuppie’ (last used three decades ago) kind of give the game away this photograph isn’t as current as Ian would have everyone believe.

Karl Marx once warned that history repeats itself, first as tragedy, then as farce. Ian Bone manages to be both to infinity and beyond.