Whose Judge are You Anyway?

by Tim Timing for Urban Dandy

Judge

The previous Urban Dandy article asks whether Mothers have “totally lost their power to men with hammers in witches’ outfits”, decisions on the welfare of children being made in a “cold, clinical, lifeless, male milieu.”

To continue quoting: “this seems quite absent of the very female spark that initiated the offspring and all offspring for that matter”.

A good summary of the secret trials that seal the fate of so many children, and our dislocation from our true nurturing nature as a society.

In the much-publicised case of Rebecca Minnock, the latest news is that the boy is safely back with his father and Judge Wildblood* has stated that the mother had “positively invented allegations against the father on two occasions”.

The hype has died down and the media shuffled off elsewhere. We didn’t know much about the case anyway. But what do we know about the family court system?

We know that over 70% of judges are privately educated,

Were they loved at boarding school? Did they see more of their nannies than their fathers? Did their fathers express their love for them or were they just too painfully British for that?

We know that these are the people secretly deciding the future educational attainment, mental health, drug usage and ability to form healthy relationships of increasing numbers of children across our country.

We know that Solicitors, Barristers and the family law industry get fat off this,

“Family law firm of the year”,

“Legal aid law firm of the year”,

Better call Saul,

These awards were given by Johnny, aged five and Keira, aged two – she can’t remember her dad and has never been happier. He has behavioural issues but it’s OK, when he gets to primary school/secondary school/gets a job/gets off drugs/comes back from Syria (delete as you go along) he’ll be fine.

The class system feeds itself,

“We’re here for one thing only, the welfare of this young child,” they say with the straightest of faces, as the lawyers relax, their cover in place. £££.

“Yes your honour”

“No your honour”

“Why don’t you take that f*$##** wig off and have a conversation with me?”

Poor woman stays in her place – burdened with a cover of empowerment,

Poor man stays in his place – Condemned with a cover of liberation.

Britain needs to open up and sort out this system…

Or does it? Today you can guarantee behind every monster there is a genius that knows the nature and limitations of his beast. Like a crazed animal, only when it bites him is it a problem worth solving, otherwise it’s business as usual. Did anybody actually see the last Iron Man?

Editor’s note: This leads on to our upcoming post, another beautiful poem by Mark Bolton. Watch this space…

Better call Saul

* great, great name (ed.)

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