How I see it.

Some clever UK education chief recently suggested that children should not be allowed to take their mobile 'phones into class. Well, fancy that!

The question of consulting 'phones in the classroom seems to me yet another way of dividing the nation. Rather than dragging schools up to higher standards, they have been surreptitiously keeping their pupils down by allowing them to consult 'facebook', 'Skype', or 'Instagram' in class. 

I must say, if schoolchildren find their 'phones more interesting or important than whatever their teacher is attempting to teach them; then I see problems ahead. Frankly I'm amazed that strict rules were not laid down when mobile 'phones first became widespread amongst children.

In my own teaching days, had a pupil started texting, or sending selfies, during one of my classes, I would have put the device straight into the dustbin.

There are many insidious ways to encourage social divide at an early age, which may not seem obvious at first, but they do the intended job. Children using mobile 'phones during lessons is one such, and is frankly ridiculous. 

Call me old fashioned, but the idea of children playing with their 'phones during lessons, at table, or whilst they are supposed to be sleeping; is completely crazy!

Comparing chalk with chalk.

Exact same age.

Exact same spot.

Exact same pose.... (just 9 years apart)

Anyone believe in reincarnation?

Courageux.

                           

The word Courageux of course means Courageous, but it also means Hard Working, and I've only ever heard it used in this latter sense.

Courageux was a word of praise. To be seen as Hard Working was a compliment, and was as good as any young working man could expect. In certain sections of society, brawn over brain was seen as a virtue, and possibly still is. Over here the word tended to be used for those who were involved with agriculture.

These days it's something that one hardly ever hears, and I wondered why.

I suspect that bureaucracy is to blame, and the EU in particular. In the days when a young lad was up with the Alouette to do milking before school, then on returning home he cleaned out the Pigs before supper, he was expected to work hard, and did so; it was all part of being born into a farming family.

These days, there are very few milking herds, hardly any Pigs, and even farmyard Ducks and Chickens have become rare. EU regulations have made Hard Work uneconomical and pointless. Why bother getting up before daylight to milk a dozen Cows, if you are only going to lose money by doing so? The small scale  'peasant farmer' is no more.

If you let a person work hard, and benefit from his/her work, everyone wins. If you restrict them to doing only what 'The State' wants them to do, for little (or no) return, they will soon become forcibly unproductive.

That is what has happened here in France. Some of my neighbours hardly know what to do with their land any more. Some grow Sunflowers or Maize, others let holiday homes to Summer visitors, and some just scratch their heads; but they probably all need to be subsidised by Brussels.

What a terrible mess the EU has made of its agricultural policy; and this is only the beginning. It wouldn't surprise me if before long there's a massive Hay (silage) Mountain, as it's the only crop that still appears uncontrolled, and you don't even have to move from your sofa. Twice a year you call-in the contractor and he does everything for you.

At about €60 per 'wrapped' round bale (almost what you pay the contractor); they'll be very hard-pushed to pay off the debt on that Japanese 4 by 4, or the huge new green American tractor that they were encouraged to buy a few years back.

Meanwhile, the long line of retired EU Agricultural Ministers are all living the high life, on huge pensions; doing what so many farmers are now doing.... NOTHING.

p.s. There are rumours afoot that the Brits will all starve after Brexit. Of course they won't, but the rumours abound simply because Brussels has made such a mess of British agriculture and fishing.

Dairy farmers would love to provide milk again, arable farmers would love to grow crops again, and fishermen would love to catch fish. And without the destructive EU rules, they will.

The Schoolgirl Bride of Isis.

The story that simply won't go away!

Katie Hopkins' inimitable view of the Shamima Begum affair.



19 year old Ms Begum was either born in Bangladesh or England; no-one seems to know.

At age 15 she stole some money, and her sister's passport, and secretly flew off to Syria to become a willing 'comfort girl' for some Dutch ISIS terrorist that she'd never met.

Now that defeat is in the air for ISIS, and her killer 'husband' is in prison, the dream is over and she wishes to return to the comforts of her home in E London. Since her time in Syria she has given birth to three babies; the latest of which is the sole survivor.

The UK Home Secretary has said 'NO' to her return, so she is now stateless.

Personally I would like to see her prosecuted, but not cosseted at the expense of the British taxpayer. Maybe she should go through the courts in Syria, as it would have been there that any serious crimes would have been committed.

In the UK, her minor peccadillos would hardly warrant a slap on the wrist. Now read on.....

Cro meets Stravinsky (re-posted from April 2012).

I was privileged to attend a school where the study of music was taken extremely seriously. In about my second year I was introduced to the works of Schoenberg and Stravinsky, and since those days, their work has remained amongst my favourites (although I must admit, I haven't listened to either for quite some while).

In 1966 I was managing an art gallery in London's Devonshire Street, when I received a phone call from my distinguished friend Dr Camille Honig saying 'Don't leave the gallery on any account; I'll be round in about an hour'. I was intrigued.... Dr Honig was the Secretary of The International Martin Buber Society

Knowing Camille well, I imagined he was about to turn-up with some gorgeous model, well known actress, or famous pop star. So, you can imagine my surprise when an hour or so later he walked through the door with Igor Stravinsky.

I was shocked. Camille introduced me, and I genuflected, bowed, and shook his hand (that same hand that wrote The Rite of Spring); I then spent about 10 minutes in his company. I remember very little of our conversation, other than about halfway through he changed from speaking English to French; and the fact that I was able to continue without any fuss seemed to impress him..... Thank goodness he didn't break out into Russian!

Stravinsky had been in London to attend the premier of one of his works (I think at The Albert Hall), and was also, at the time, the Honorary President of The International Martin Buber Society (hence his connection with Camille).

My boss at the gallery, Miklos Vilag, had been away for most of the day, and was FURIOUS that he'd not been present to meet with Stravinsky. He later took his anger out on poor Camille by banning him from the gallery (on some silly trumped-up charge of having stolen a bottle of gin).

Camille later dedicated the above flyer to me, using the words 'with un-homosexual love'. I somehow think he wished it was otherwise, but as my Italian girlfriend at the time was one of natures' most exquisite creations; I think he understood.

I am eternally grateful to my dear old friend, Camille. He was kind enough to engineer one of the most memorable days of my life! I continue to thank him.

Remember to pay your bills!

One man's rubbish...

                                   

The day I left my Art College Foundation Course, I came across the Caretaker throwing away all sorts of (what he considered) 'rubbish'.

He was pushing a cart-full of broken easels (like the one above) towards a giant bonfire; ready to chuck them on.

I asked him if I could take a few of them, and piled about 7 or 8 onto the roof-rack of my VW Beetle.

Whilst talking to this discerning cleaner, I asked him if he was chucking out anything else that might be of interest to me. "Only those old plaster casts" he replied, nodding his head towards a pile of old and broken plaster Greek and Roman torsos, heads, feet, etc. I grabbed a large torso, a corinthian capital, and a head. I still have the head (below).

Back at home, I managed to assemble two complete easels from the pile of bits-n-pieces. The assembly work took about ten minutes, and I was left with a nice pile of rejected wood which went on the fire.

I still have one easel; the other one I lent to a friend. When I eventually went to collect it from her, she told me she'd thrown it away. Charming!

I don't wish to moan about the UK's Education budget, but multiply that carefree Caretaker's attitude towards equipment by tens of thousands schools and colleges, and you begin to see just a tiny fraction of the unnecessary waste.

Not that I'm complaining, of course!

The Tudor Monastery Farm.

                          

I don't know how I missed this series when it first came to TV; I must have been busy. We had a cold rainy period a few weeks back, and rather than watch dreary TV, I reverted to YouTube.

I've always been interested in medieval times; the architecture, the farming practices, and daily life. It was an era of hardship for most peasant farmers, but it had its moments.

The first thing one learns in Episode 3 of TTMF, is that the average peasant ate 2 lbs of bread a day, and drank 3 pints of ale. To provide for this, one person's diet required about 6 acres of wheat/barley per annum. If the crop was to fail (which was likely every few years), starvation followed. Life was tentative.

If you are interested in such things, I have given the YouTube link below. Personally I found this particular episode fascinating. Milling, brewing, baking, candle-making, pig-breeding, bee-keeping; all is there. It's about an hour's worth, but filled with interest.

If you have the time; enjoy.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jLyw6w-UH6U

Haddock's 2019.

I try not to change my selection of vegetables too much, as I seem to have found the right balance of quantities and varieties for my annual needs.

However, I have had two particular recommendations for this year. The variety of haricot vert called 'Crockett' is said to be a really excellent new variety. It is highly productive, very tasty, and quite dark in colour. My friend Margaret Barwick gives them 10/10, so how can I refuse. The second change is my Beetroot; I shall sow a new variety (to me) called betterave d'Egypte, which again comes highly recommended.

Not much happening down at Haddock's as yet. I'm digging and spreading compost, and trying to ensure that the whole plot is relatively weed free.

Elsewhere there are a few signs of life. The Daffs are just in flower, and both of our varieties of Clematis are sprouting leaves. However, we mustn't be fooled into thinking that Spring has arrived, I expect there's plenty of cold weather to come.

The Return of Homing Pigs?

One farce that has been successfully stamped-out from the Irish border, is that of its infamous 'homing Pigs'.

Before both sides of the Irish border became members of the same club, there was a subsidy from Brussels on all 'Swine' that crossed from the South to the North, and as you might imagine there were suddenly lots of them.

What happened was that the Pigs would cross the border in huge cattle trucks. At the customs post the driver would be given a certificate stating how many Pigs had crossed the border, so that the subsidies could be claimed from Brussels. The Pigs would then be offloaded a few miles down the road, and driven 'loose' through a hole in the fence, and loaded onto another waiting cattle truck back in the South, for the process to be repeated. The empty truck would then also return and await another load of escapees.

Each Pig could make several crossings a day, and never actually be sold.

They were known as 'homing Pigs', and people became rich on their to and fro travels.

Inventive, yes; but not really in the spirit of the Brussels' dream state. I'm not certain, but we may see them again if they can't find some new border solution.

Open or closed?

I did like it when our fire was just an open fire. We burned metre length logs that sat on ancient dogs, the rather battered fire-back did its best to reflect heat, and (of course) most of the heat went straight up the huge chimney!

Our cast iron fire-back was (I'm assured) made for a newly married couple; P and B (Pierre and Berthe?). The Pine tree and cones were a symbol of fertility. 

Having an enclosed woodburner is both safer and more efficient. No sparks fly out onto the carpet, and one can simply close its door and leave the house, knowing that all will be safe; something one couldn't do with an open fire. 

This means we can also burn cheaper Chestnut wood (which 'spits') rather than the more expensive Oak which doesn't. As I have also temporarily blocked off the huge chimney opening, we also benefit from far more heat staying in the room itself.

However, I do miss the old fire, with all its build-up of ashes, the smoke, and the waste of heat. So few houses now have big open fires, it's rather a shame not seeing these huge Inglenook fireplaces being used as they were intended.

It can always be undone.

New school.

Boo Boo is now at school in Thailand.

Yesterday's lesson; 'How to make your own Guitar'.

The boy done good. 10/10

Meet Billy!

Kimbo had organised the whole affair in secret.

Having landed at Toulouse airport, he drove to the breeders home, then presented me with the above on arrival here yesterday afternoon.

Was I surprised? I should say I was!

Billy was born on December 19th (I think), and, as you can see, is that greatest breed of dog; a Border Collie. I've had more dealings with Border Collies than any other breed, and I adore them.

I've already tried him with "Away" and "Come by", but he still has a little to learn.

There's time.

Winter Mushrooms.

Surprisingly, there are actually some Mushrooms growing at the moment. Just yesterday I was crossing a field that was covered with small white Mushrooms.

Then today I was picking some Kale at Haddock's, when I noticed the above growing beneath their stalks.

I've not seen these before. They were black, very small (less than 1 cm in diameter), and seemed to contain 'seeds'; which is very strange. You can even see where some of the 'seeds' have separated from their 'cups, and are lying on the ground nearby.

It didn't take me long to find them on Wiki. They are called Cyathus; also known as Bird's Nest Fungi (for obvious reasons).  

It you are interested, here is the Wiki link....  

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Cyathus

Ain't nature wunderbar.

Thank you guys!

The riots over here continue, and although there was original legitimacy to their protests, it has now become more wanton destruction, and opportunity for looting, than political angst.

Above are some charming people kicking-in the window of my bank (not my own branch, luckily).

I have never liked left wing gratuitous violence and destruction, but I do understand that without coherent voice, many of them have little other option. 

Burn, destroy, and loot are the tools of today's dissent. I suppose they always have been, and probably always will be, but it doesn't make it acceptable.

Courtesy.

Our local small roads are not only very quiet, but they are also in remarkably good shape.

The average width of a rural road is 3 metres, or less. My own small car (The Compact Royce) measures 1 Metre 60 cms wide. It doesn't take much calculation to see that two passing cars (a reasonably rare occurrence) would each need to head for the grassy verge in order to avoid contact. Something I always do.

However, there's one breed of car owner who never does. You've guessed it; 4 by 4 owners!

The very cars that have no problem driving across fields, are the very ones who always refuse to budge.

They're usually either big Japanese or German 'todger replacements', owned by 5 ft 2 inch local farmers. These are not used as farm work-horses, but as ordinary everyday cars; not replacements for the Land Rover Defender as seen on every UK farm, but as shopping cars for Madame.

For some reason it's always these that refuse to move onto the verge when required, and it drives me bloody nuts. 

And, yes, I do shout at them.

Cleaning the Augean stables.

The labour Party has been having a public clear-out of a few anti-Semitic members. Of the 673 reported cases of anti-Semitism, there have been just 12 expulsions.

Above is Labour Leader Jezza Corbyn (in white shirt), in Tunisia in 2014, laying a wreath at the tomb of Palestinian Black-September terrorists, some of whom were involved in the 1972 Munich Games massacre.

He can writhe, squirm, and make as many excuses as he wants, but I'm amazed that the 12 hasn't been increased to 13, with Corbyn being the 13th.

With more time on his hands, he might then like to lay a wreath at the memorial (above) to those innocent un-armed Israeli Olympic athletes who were so callously gunned-down by Palestinians (just to balance things up a bit; you understand).

Hell on Earth.

                         

Some wee scamp at the Hornsea School & Language College recently altered the name of his East Yorkshire school on Google Maps, to read 'Hornsea Prison & Hell on Earth'.

What a very wicked thing to do, he deserves at least five minutes on the naughty step!

If ever any of my children were to 'personalise' the names of local roads on Google Maps; I might actually be quite annoyed amused (you might need a magnifying glass).

Actually, I do have to thank my oldest (Kimbo) for having baptised our little 'chemin' about 15 years ago; I'm pleased to see that its name is still there. Merci mon petit!

p.s. He assures me it's on all the world's sat-navs too.

Jam tomorrow, jam yesterday, but never jam today!

Well I have to disagree with The White Queen, because very occasionally I do have jam today (as in yesterday).

I'm not a big jam maker, or even a jam eater, but last Summer I had a real glut of Tayberries (big Raspberries), so decided to preserve some, other than in the freezer; and that meant JAM.

I don't know if Tayberries are particularly high in pectin, but every jar I made set perfectly, and was child's-play to make.

If I remember correctly it was 1 Kg Tayberries to 600 gms jam sugar, and the juice of half a Lemon. Boil and process.

Some mornings it just has to be bacon and eggs, on others only muesli will do; but yesterday morning I definitely had jam-urge.

Let me bang my own drum for a bit, and say that this was probably the most delicious Tayberry/Raspberry jam I've ever tasted. It was simply fantastic; a real intensity of flavour. This won't herald a new era of jam eating, because eating overly sweet things makes me feel a bit strange (probably my diabetes). But every so often to experience such jam is a real pleasure.

I shall leave the rest of the jar to Lady M. She doesn't know how lucky she is!

Canine Love.

                          

                           

                           

                           

                           

Oh how I miss my lovely boys.

Pesky Asian Hornets (Frelons Asiatiques)

It's almost time to set your traps for the wretched Asian Hornets. It's between Mid February and March/April when the Queens leave their winter underground quarters, and the traps are most effective. I believe these particular Hornets are already in the UK, so this applies to Brits also.

I read recently that traps set in Spring can reduce Hornet numbers by anywhere up to 90%.

Traps are simple to make. I use large glass jars, with a good Hornet-sized hole in the lids. I quarter fill the jar with a mix of beer, jam, sugar, and anything else sweet that's hanging around at the back of the fridge. Ours are hung in Fig and Apple trees.

These simple traps are extremely efficient; last year I must have caught hundreds, if not thousands.

I am reliably (I think) informed that in Germany one can be fined €50,000 for killing Hornets. Well, if the German Hornet Police come round here threatening to fine me, they'll feel the sharp end of my pitch fork pretty damn quick. They can pamper their own bloody pests if they wish; here we are not so keen.

I live in a major Chestnut growing area, and Bees are brought in every year to help pollinate the trees. Asian Hornets, and maybe the native ones too, kill thousands of Honey Bees annually, so the less Hornets the better; not to mention the danger they are to humans.

We want Honey Bees, not Hornets! Get setting those traps!

Northern Ireland.

                                    

N Ireland, it's probably true to say, has been a thorn in the UK's side for quite some while; and with all the backstop business, continues to be so.

Not only do the six counties cost the UK more per capita annually than any other of Britain's member countries, but they also try to kill us.

Between the Fenian attacks, which began in 1867, and recent times, the Republicans have launched hundreds of bombing raids on British soil, killing countless civilians.

Sinn Fein leader Mary Lou McDonald stated recently that if there are any changes to the Eire/N Ireland border as a result of Brexit, they will certainly campaign to reunite the two countries.

I know that this goes against everything that The Government (and The Crown) adheres to, but frankly I think it's by far the best solution to the myriad problems that Ulster presents. They would even be able to officially rename Londonderry as just plain 'Derry'.

Personally I cannot see a single problem to an united Ireland (other than for the Unionists). They could still fight amongst themselves if they wished, but at least they would have no more reason to bomb hotels in Brighton, or slaughter horses in London's Hyde Park.

Just looking at the map above, it does seem perfectly logical that Ireland should be a single entity.

I wish them well.

You know it's Winter, when...

The other morning we woke to a severe white frost. It was -6 C outside, and everything was totally white; the worst frost so far this year.

So, what's a chap to do? Well, in the evening I decided it was the perfect day to broach my annual bottle of Single Malt.

This year's is a 10 year old Speyside Aberlour. I only drink very tiny amounts; more for the aroma than the taste. But, sitting by the fire with a minimum of light, and my first little glass of Winter Aberlour, was simply wonderful. 

I imagined there were hardy folk, in their crofts, all over Scotland who were doing much the same.

Cheers!

Trump's Speech.

No doubt Trump's State of the Union words will have appealed to his supporters. The lengthy bouts of applause seemed to have confirmed this.

I just happened to be listening to the radio when his wise words were broadcast live, and I couldn't help noticing the following.

'In the 20th Century America saved freedom, transformed science, redefined the middle class, and when you get down to it, there is nothing in the world that can compare with America'.

Well, let me assure you Mr Trump, there are other places in the world where things do also happen. Take the UK for example, where Tim Berners-Lee invented the World Wide Web; just go outside and see how many people are wandering around with hand-held computers, on which they consult the web throughout the day. Maybe you forgot that that was a British invention.

And whilst on the subject of those computers themselves, it might be worthwhile remembering who first invented those too. A certain Mr Charles Babbage can be thanked for that; yet another Brit.

Possibly the two most important inventions of the 20th Century were British; not American. Perhaps in next year's State of the Union address, you might like to acknowledge this basic oversight.

Brown Eggs.

I'm as guilty as the next man for always choosing the darkest eggs; somehow they do look as if they would taste better, which of course they don't.

I recently bought the above eggs at market, and they are some of the palest eggs I've seen for a very long time. In fact I would say they 'stood out' because of their paleness. They reminded me of the piles of white hard-boiled eggs one used to find in Parisian Railways station cafés.

Well, I've just fried a couple for my breakfast, and I'm pleased to say that they were some of the freshest, and tastiest, eggs I've had since we used to keep our own hens.

Huge resources are spent on colouring eggs so that they appeal to the buyer, and I suspect that buyers will always continue to find the darker ones more appealing.

What we should all be doing, however, is insisting on fresh, free-range, and tasty eggs, rather than buying mass-produced indoor battery eggs, simply for their attractive colour.

The only problem is finding them. Amen.

The new EU National Anthem.

I have to thank Aussie Andrew for this.

Frankie Howerd.

I was listening to a 'repeated' radio interview recently, with David Croft.

Croft was responsible for either writing or producing Dad's Army, Are You Being Served, It Ain't Half Hot Mum, Allo Allo, Hi-Di-Hi, etc, etc. A remarkable life's work.

When talking about Frankie Howerd, Croft claimed that he was a devil to work with. He hated rehearsals, was always late, and never seemed to learn his lines. Yet, when time came to record the shows 'live', Howerd was always totally professional, and word-perfect.

My own favourite of Howerd's shows was, without question, Up Pompeii (produced by Croft). Here is a very small extract. I apologize for the quality of both sound and picture.

Jeremy Corbyn praises Chavez.

With the political chaos that is Venezuela, I'm posting this video of Corbyn once again, simply because one has to wonder if he ever regrets his support for the IRA, Hamas, Hezbollah, Chavez, etc.

His hero Chavez's chosen successor, Nicolas Maduro, no doubt also had/has his support (I've just read that he does).

Venezuela's disastrous Socialist policies would no doubt be replicated back in the UK if ever Comrade Corbyn was to become Prime Minister. He lauds Chavez's policies, as can be seen by the video.

There's little point itemising all the appalling human rights abuses of the Chavez/Maduro regime, but with inflation forecast to reach 10 Million% this year, billions of dollars being regularly looted by political/military cronies, and the average weekly wage of a Venezuelan being £1.50; be warned, this is Corbyn's idea of  'a better way' called Socialism.

Luckily there are very few such regimes left in the world; let's all hope that the UK doesn't join their ranks. Gawd 'elp us.

How did we allow this to happen?

The picture, above, shows the High Street in a W Midlands town called 'Shirley'. I'm afraid I don't know this town so I can't comment on it.

However, it demonstrates very clearly what is happening to towns across Britain (and in certain cases here too). The shops we all knew and loved have gone, and charity shops have taken over. In 'Shirley' there are now fifteen charity shops along a half mile street.

Nowadays, rather than finding Woolies, C & A, or BHS, we now find Oxfam, Nationwide, and Ladbrokes.

A few traditional High Streets do still exist, with family run bakers, butchers, and tea rooms, but they are mostly in unaffordable or exclusive parts of the country.

So, who's to blame? Well there are three main culprits; lazy shoppers who head to Aldi for their week's supply of ready meals, online giants who offer everything one could possibly desire without having to leave your TV, and local councils who charge such crazy inflated business rates that they have priced small shopkeepers out of the market.

And the future? Well, it can only get worse. I see the Bookmakers eventually going online exclusively, even more charities setting up shops, and no doubt some of the well established supermarkets going to the wall. High Streets will become Ghost Streets; the exclusive haunt of muggers, panhandlers, and squatters. What a prospect!

All you ever wanted to know about tinned Sardines.

If you're anything like me, and you love tinned Sardines, you may be interested in this short 3 min video.

At 1.50 mins the breakdown 'cost' of each tin reveals it to be 47% tins, 17% fish, 14% labour, and 13% oil. The tin costs more than the fish, labour, and oil, combined. I shall look at them very differently from now on.

I always try to buy Moroccan Sardines, and preferably the cheapest available. 3 fat fish to a tin bathed in Olive Oil are by far the best. Avoid fancy tins and fancy descriptions; although Sardines in Harissa are superb.

Ms Onasanya.

Most of my contact with the outside world comes via the radio, and LBC in particular. LBC is a talk-radio station, and invites listeners to phone in with the comments about the day's news.

High on the recent list of subjects was the jailing of MP Fiona Onasanya for repeated speeding; about which she lied on various occasions, claiming that others were at the wheel. There are other equally serious aspects to her story, but it was the speeding that initiated it all.

Onasanya practiced as a lawyer before entering politics, and soon became a 'poster girl' for Corbyn's Socialist Party. Her 3 month jail sentence has been criticised as far too lenient, and may well be lengthened.

During a recent radio debate about her lenient sentence, one caller claimed that her treatment was 'racist'. How she came to this conclusion I have no idea, other than the caller was also 'black'.

Crying wolf in this fashion does nobody any favours. If every time an 'ethnic minority' criminal is sent to prison there are shouts of 'racism', it devalues the true face of racism, and the UK's excellent, and unbiased, legal system becomes weakened. Maybe that is the intention, but it will come back to haunt them.

One thing is guaranteed, that EVERYONE is treated equally in UK courts, regardless of colour, race, or creed; and long may that continue. Crime is crime, and racism is racism, but to accuse those who uphold the law as being racist, is a form of racism in itself.