1) turning around

2) weaving

3) changing the story

It is a very apt word for what I was feeling at the time. I needed a change, and where could my talents be put to use? I could argue a case where none really existed, browbeat opponents using obfuscatory themes, and present a case where none really existed. Where could I use these talents? As a moral person, I could not stoop to the depths of the legal profession, as I still had a conscience. Other Islamicists had become security experts, New Labour activists and writers. I realised I had to put my talents to the service of a higher calling. I joined the Coutryside Alliance.

Where once I proclaimed the ideals of an Islamicist Superstate, I could now speak about ‘traditional Countryside sports’. When I once spoke about injustice in Muslim Lands, I now spoke about ‘protecting Rural Livelihoods’. The useful thing was that my speeches against dictatorships in the Middle East were dusted off and re-used, simply replacing ‘Oppressive Western Powers’ with ‘Draconian and knee-jerk destruction of rural ways by an out-of-touch Government’.

My Hizb colleagues reacted with extreme and violent indifference. My home was not targeted, and the only threatening thing posted through my letterbox was a rather garish Eid Card from brother Chicken and Chips. I had become persona non-grata, but in secret I was rather glad as I quite liked my new horse-riding friends. I moved to the countryside, to be nearer the foxes and badgers. I married Taqwa, and we have a baby boy called Genghis, in honour of the first real Islamicist, and keen lover of horses.

Since the 7/7, the Iraq war and other countless incidents, I have kept quiet. My ex-colleagues (ex-tremists?) have made a nice career promoting themselves. Unlike them, I take paypal. I have realised my story is just as unique, and now is the right time to speak. This was my story, and I hope you re-read it to your children to warn of what could happen if they don’t listen to you.

Previous: How Harry Potter led to my leaving the Hizb

It was clear the Hizb was splitting into two camps, the Verbose and the Angry. The Verbose used large words and philosophical concepts to discuss the finer points of intellectual discussion to bring about radical social change.
The Angry Ones used pamphlets and banners to browbeat people who did not agree with them. Some Angry Ones were also Verbose, which led to banners such as “The Hegemony of the Western Powers is Leading to Injustices in the Muslim World as part of an Ongoing Imperialist Plan To Control Muslim Oil Which Can Only Be Resisted By Having The Masses Mobilised In Muslims Lands Whilst in Non-Muslims Lands the Non-Muslims are persuaded to Convert to Islam Using Efficient Distribution Of Pamphlets After Friday Prayers and Precise Discussions With Intellectual Elite and Boycotting of Select Department Stores”

I did not fall into either camp. I was upset. How would my activist life go on now? This doubt coincided with another dramatic change. In the Hizb, we had concentrated on a politicised version of Islam. I was missing a gap in my spiritual growth. It was developing Taqwa (Mindfulness of God) and Imaan (Faith) that helped me leave the Hizb.

Taqwa and Imaan were the local imam’s daughters. They were bright, young, interested in the Hizb, and most important for me, not yet married. I knew if I could develop these two sisters, it would be a personal and organisational triumph. However, they kept asking awkward questions like ‘what’s wrong with voting?’ and ‘Surely corruption and dictatorships occur elsewhere throughout the world and not just in Muslim Countries?’ My explanation for the latter point that the Muslim oil-wealth-and-arms-deals brand of corruption and dictatorship made us singularly different from other types of dictators was not easily accepted.

I started to doubt myself, and then, Taqwa and Imaan introduced me to Harry Potter. Here was a world where a group of people, with a special status, had to hide themselves from ordinary people, where good versus evil was clear, where corruption had infiltrated politics and where simple children used values like loyalty and friendship to win battles. I knew this would be the key to mobilising the masses.

I went to the Hizb hierarchy and explained my proposal. We would do an Islamicist version, Hariri Puttar, who is the Chosen One, who would unite all the Muslims and be Caliph. They were not interested. If it couldn’t be printed on an A5 monochrome pamphlet, it was “not a viable project”. I began to detest those Project Managers that had now been promoted to the board.

My doubts increased as I realised in the four years I had been with the Hizb, nothing much had changed in my life except I had become a master at spin and debate, and even in that I wasn’t always successful. I needed a change.

Previous: Having Your Islamicist Cake and Eating it (aka ‘The Biscuit Speech’)

Next: The End: Let this learn us all.

The cakes of the West are symbols of their hatred. The croissant is an Islamophobic crescent, referring to the Crusades. And the Victoria sponge is named after a Queen who ruled the British Empire which helped destroy the Caliphate! Even the Rich Tea biscuit is a veiled insult, a symbol of the rich exploiting the poor tea-pickers of the subcontinent. They even have a sweet called ‘Jammie Dodgers’! The most popular chocolate chip cookie is the Maryland cookie – a blatant reference to slavery. Even Penguin bars are merely chocolate-coated bourbon creams, compounding deception into its additive-infested mix.

When we examine the momentary pleasure these sweets provide, it is nothing to the pleasure of our Muslim sweets. Let us examine the variety of Muslim cakes, and compare them with the clearly inferior Western cakes. We have our sweets from the Indian subcontinent, the mithais, the luddoo, and the jalebis. From elsewhere we have the honest and sweet baklava, clearly superior to the Yorkie Bar and its ilk.

There is however, one exception to this rule. The humble shortbread. Although there is no evidence that the companions of the Prophet, or the early Muslims, residents of Medina, or even our own elusive scholars of the Hizb-ut-Tizer have eaten it, we endorse the shortbread as the official sweet of the Caliphate. We reach out to the kuffarocracy community with prime Scottish shortbread. Verily, in Jannah, it will be the sweet that unites us all. The Caliphate, when it comes, will establish a covenant of cakes with other communities. We are a civilised people, and inter-civilisation dialogues are important.

Now to conclude, the sceptics amongst you will wonder, what is the difference between you and the West? Their sweets are made with sugar, milk and butter and funky nuts, and so are ours. The West has its ingredients, so have we Islamicists. Brothers and sisters, this is not about ingredients, it is about standards and principles. The West has its double standards and so, in our state of war, do we Islamicists. However, it is clear to all that our double standards, like our cakes, are morally superior to the double standards of the West!

Previous: The gentrification of the Hizb-ut-Tizer

Next: How Harry Potter led to my leaving the Hizb

My progress in the Hizb-ut-Tizer had levelled off, and I had taken to engaging in obscure theological debates to hone my skills, preparing for when the masses were finally mobilised. My favourite debate was ‘Under What Conditions is it Halal to share Giraffe Meat with a Jew’. Suffice to say, many a young mind was sent packing by my rapier-like wit and lightning tongue. We also engaged in many debates with the al-Margarine crew. They were not as middle-class as us, so we naturally felt an air of superiority. We did not mind if we lost debates to them as our houses were warmer and had nicer postcodes.

We were becoming more gentrified as the al-Margarine Islamicists were becoming more militant. We wanted to have round table discussions with academics about the redundancy of the international capitalist system. A common debate with these academics was whether to pay service charges on restaurant credit card bills. Some of us started to leave generous tips as the “Argee Bhaji”, the local balti house, was not to blame for the inequities of the global government-military-industrial complex, and we liked their special sauce.

However, our leader, Abu Tesco, was becoming more and more exasperated with us, his trusted lieutenants. When he wanted to have more and more fiery speeches, we wanted to drive our Lexus coupes to the local bowling alley. Having avoided being thrown out university, we had now got nice jobs as doctors, accountants and lawyers, which allowed us internet access to chat rooms were we could be decrying the west from the comfort of our leather chairs. Matters came to a head after the notorious Biscuit Speech in Kensington Town Hall in 1999…

Previous: The deviants of Al-Margarine

Next: Having Your Islamicist Cake and Eating it (aka ‘The Biscuit Speech’)

We had perfected the art of frequently denouncing the West, with appropriate calm and measured tones. We learned to be really nice to TV and radio producers, to the studio assistants, to the drivers and anyone who would be able to get us onto a radio or TV show. We memorised our stock phrases, and learnt how to smile and say thank you – but only after the cameras had stopped rolling. The media expected a mildly menacing Muslim, and we felt it was our Islamic duty to provide them with one.

After a good few months in the Hizb senior management, I was making a name for myself. An indication of Abu Tesco’s trust was that I was allowed to look menacing in the background while party spokespeople were being interviewed. However, the thing that I really excelled at, which raised my profile within the Hizb, was my denunciation of Al-Margarine.

Now Al-Margarine was a group of fellow Islamicists who had strayed from the righteous path (i.e. our path). Like us, they wanted a separate Muslim superstate, but they did not believe it should be based in Scotland. They wanted to support an armed struggle against the West. We disagreed, but not for ideological reasons but rather pragmatic ones. Blood-stains are very difficult to get out, and we had invested in expensive suits for our TV interviews. We balked at the prospect of having to don their seemingly regulation trainers, combats, robe, turban and tracksuit top. If we wore tracksuits, we made sure they were Le Coq Sportif or Asics, rather than the bland Adidas two-stripe. When other Muslims went to march for peace, the shouty al-Margarines would hold a counter-march with banners saying ‘It is Haraam to March’. We knew they were bad people as they had been banned from more community centres, mosques and campuses than we had.

Matters came to a head when members of al-Margarine joined the Hizb, and some of our members started attending al-Margarine study groups. The senior Hizb members were at a loss as to why our members would defect, until it was pointed out that some of al-Margarine sisters were particularly passionate in their denunciations, and this was attractive to some of our unmarried brothers. So we announced that once the Caliphate was established, women, especially native Scottish women, would flock to our cause. These women would need husbands, and if our members were patient, good things would come. This seemed to stem the flow of HIzb defectors to the al-Margarines at least amongst the men. There was also a secret meeting between Abu Tesco and the secret Ameer of Al-Margarine. The result of this meeting was not known, but Abu Tesco always twitched whenever it was referred to. We realised he had been al-Margarined.

Previous: Slogans to remember II

Next:The gentrification of the Hizb-ut-Tizer

Previous:Ordering Chicken and Chips, Islamicist style Next: The deviants of Al-Margarine

I see you are behind the counter selling chicken to people like me. Have you thought about this chicken? This chicken is a symbol of the oppression of the Muslims. The Muslims are like caged birds. Brother, like the chicken, these people are pumped full of hormones, are not given room to manoeuvre, and spend their entire lives in a pointless cycle of eating, doing their chicken business and sleeping, all in a confined area. Does that not remind you of your life? Don’t answer that, I haven’t finished. Akhee, the Muslims, like the chicken, have only two certainties, one is death and the other is taxes. But, in the Caliphate, there will be no taxes, only Zakat. All this work you do …you can keep the money yourself! And yes, I know chicken don’t pay taxes, but their death is certain. Think deeply and reflect.

Look at this money I am handing to you. See the picture on the note? It is the Queen. Now brother, do you know how society is organised? If we are a democracy, what is this Queen doing here? She is the head of the Army, she is the head of the Church. And they criticise Muslims for mixing religion and war! See their double standards! In the Caliphate, there will be no army, citizens will defend the state when danger arises. It will be no Dad’s Army, it will be a glorious militia! Instead of trading in coinage that is symbolic of the oppressive monetary system not-linked-to-the-gold-standard, you can trade in Dinars and Dirhams. How does that sound? Before you answer that remember you have been conditioned my friend, conditioned to accept this five pound note. Think deeply and reflect.

Can I have some chilli sauce on that..thanks.

Previous: Slogans to remember I

Next: Slogans to remember II

• Actions speak louder than words. However, loud words do have their place, especially if delivered with synchronised arm-waving. Asynchronous arm-waving is also allowed, but only with a rotating hip-movement.

• After a storm comes a calm. That is the time to point out that the storm took place because of the inherent corruption of puppet governments.

• All good things must come to an end. All bad things may come to an end also, we hope. Otherwise what’s the point?

• All is well that ends well. All that is not well is destined to end in annihilation and abasement. Abasement is a good word and should be used in its proper context, meaning being humiliated. Incorrect use would be ‘We had our meetings in abasement, it was good for our nafs, but it was damp’

• All that glitters is not gold. However, all that is gold does glitter though. If it doesn’t, a drop of lemon juice, some newspaper and a five minute buff will bring it out in a beautiful shine.

• As you sow, so shall you reap. So sow the seeds of dissent, to reap the fruits of dissent. Again, this might not be immediately apparent, so you may have to complement your seed sowing with the “three ‘p’s”, a protest, a petition and press release.

• Beauty is only skin-deep. Thankfully, with the advent of Muslim fashion, that skin can be conveniently hidden under layers of silk, chiffon and those funky Palestinian scarves.

• Better be safe than sorry. Also, better to deny any previous comments you may have made that contradict what you have just said. The logical impasse is a useful tool, but only if obfuscated with jargon.

• Better the devil you know than the devil you don’t know. There are many devils to be observant of, including junk mail, a most pernicious devil indeed.

Previous:  Controlling the womenses Part 2

Next: Ordering Chicken and Chips, Islamicist style

Now the inner circle of the Hizb was an exclusively male one. However, those males were men of different types. There were no twins, or triplets or any sort of siblings-born-at-the-same-time. There was an associate body called the Sisters Circle, which met at the same time as us. They seemed to have much more fun than us but we had no idea what went on there. It became a bit of an obsession for us. However, as most of the senior members lived in quaking fear of their wives, they allowed the meetings to continue.

A perennial topic was the issue of the women’s modesty and problem with ‘covering up of the Womenses’. It wasn’t a theological issue, it was just an obsession. For example, it wasn’t enough that some women wore the traditional Pakistani dress, the shalwaar kameez was deemed unacceptable, as it proved the woman had two legs. Even the long loose robe, the jilbaab, was deemed not modest enough. A man, thinking about nothing in particular, could be mentally scarred by seeing a sister in a jilbaab. Some of the more hardline members of the Hizb wanted to go further and maintain the image that women floated by on a metaphysical magic carpet, like Mary Poppins, except covered up a lot more.

The women’s committee came up with a number of solutions. For some reason, the Hizb was dominated by IT graduates and medical doctors, so most of the solutions that were arrived at seemed to involve an electronic contraption of some sort.

The solution to the ‘Covering up of the Womenses’ was a full suit of metal that covered the entire body. Apparently under no circumstances were we to point out that the suit looked like a dalek suit sans ray gun. The designer, the husdband of Convener of the Women’s Committee, was very sensitive and had beaten his colleague quite severely after some ‘Exterminate! Exterminate! Jokes were made.
The first version of the suit had been made of a balsawood frame and thick fabric, but a sturdier contraption was needed. The next version was a metal exoskeleton with integrated wheelbase and lightning conductor. The management committee liked the suit and dubbed the phrase ‘Divinely Attired Ladies – Exoskeleton Kit’ – the DAL-EK. We didn’t tell the inventor.

Previous: How to boil an egg, Islamicist style

Next: Controlling the womenses Part 2

The next debate that took place was what to do with those that rejected our fine solution. Although the concept of modesty was a fine one, people would choose to interpret that in a way that was different to the Hizb. This would not do. After all, we couldn’t march women into warehouses where they would be forced to wear metal exoskeletons with integrated wheelbase and lightning conductor?

A non-threatening solution needed to be found. Our inventor friend came up with a portable miniature modified overhead projector that PROJECTED the hijab onto women. The film ‘Lawnmower Man’ had been out for a few years, and our ‘Q’ liked his gadgets. This portable projector would allow an observer to quickly draw on his pad, and a full hijab would appear on the lady in question. This was first done on plastic transparencies, but the inventor was not an artist, so his personal interpretation of the hijab was not accurate. We also noticed sometimes it was incomplete on the prettier ladies, but we gave him the benefit of the doubt.

To use the machine, we had to point the projector at the lady, and press the red button. The inbuilt scanner would scan and the image analysed for prohibited hair display. It would then select an appropriate hijab and project it back. As our inventor, during his demonstration, told us ‘initially it was based on Windows 95 operation system, but due to inherent system instabilities and lack of a sophisticated graphical user interface, Windows95 was dropped and the system was based on a UNIX computer operating system.

The brother who was typing up the minutes was still staring at one of the incomplete-hijab-hair-flick-showing sisters and mistyped the name not as ‘Unix-based Projection’ system but ‘The Eunuchs Project’

This led to the drafting of infamous press release ‘The Eunuchs will Project Modesty onto the Womenses of the West’. A front organisation was set up, the ‘Convocation for the Projection of the Head-Covering’. The whole plan was pulled at the last minute, not because of any strategic objection, but the machine itself was not working as planned. Apparently 24 projectors were needed per person to get a full 3D view of the hijab, and the concept of 24 volunteers surrounding each hair-exposing lady, fanning out and putting their Eunuchs projectors on was a step too far. The Hizb just didn’t have the money. Yet.

Previous: Controlling the womenses Part 1

Next: Slogans to remember I

Ingredients:

an egg
water
Equipment:

a stove
a cooking pot
a clock.

Put the water in the pot. Put the egg in the pot, and ensure the water completly covers the egg and then some. Heat the water until the water is boiling. Look at the clock.

Keep the egg in the boiling water.
remove after three minutes softboiled
remove after five minutes hardboiled.

The egg of the Muslims will rise up and unite the Muslims

There are 1 billion Muslims on this planet. Those that are not living in non-Muslim lands are living in arenas of sin, drink and drugs, drugs like cannabis and marijuana. They are living in a house of homegrown debauchery, the ‘Dar-ul-herb’. Muslims are in a state of denial. The temperature is rising. We have been told to boil an egg. Who are THEY to TELL us to boil an egg? For years they have stolen our eggs! They have stolen our eggs! They have stolen our Eggs! They are the people behind the Masons, they are the Zionists, they are the Communists, they are the Far-Right. They are the Liberal! They are the Monster Raving Loonies!

The other egg stealers are the Muslim corrupt leaders who enforce strange habits on the masses. These puppets are holding our eggs. These puppets are of two kinds, those that are being pulled by strings from above, and those that are glove puppets. All of these puppets are dangerous. We did not have these puppets when there was unity. In those times, our eggs were in one basket.

So what is the solution? How do we get our eggs back? Well, the only solution is a Muslim State, based north of the border, which will unite all the eggless Muslims. These eggless Muslims have been led astray by the corrupt and deviant Sunni Extremist, the corrupt and deviant Shia Extremist, the corrupt and deviant Dictators, the corrupt and deviant Politicians and the corrupt and deviant Misguided Ordinary Man in the Street. All of the above are also decadent.

Other solutions by other Muslims will not work. The Salafis will argue the egg is taken because it has become a bid’ah. The Sufi will argue for eliminating the egg from oneself. The Shia will argue that the Mahdi will come to restore the egg. The Muslim liberals will argue that the egg was a misinterpreted out of context verse, in fact it is a phoenix. The Barelwis will build a special mosque for the eggs. The Deobandis will still not let female eggs into the mosque. Harun Yahya will argue that the egg did not come from the chicken, but spontaneously appeared. Academics will argue that the egg is merely a small incident in a long line of orientalist interpretations and further evidence of the essentialisation of the Other. And behind all of these is a mysterious malevolent controlling hand.
So what is the solution? We at the Hizb-ut-Tizer firstly, are not anti-Semetic, a fact we are obliged to emphasize since that whole court case a few years ago. Our salvation lies in our own homeland, based in Scotland, with covenants of accord with our infidel neighbours. It is they who will have egg on their faces. The state will be a fine amalgam of Scottish and Islamicistic culture. What is our solution? We do not boil eggs, we make them into halal scotch eggs! Wonderful halal shawarma meat with a creamy egg centre. The question is not how do you boil an egg… the question is how will you eat you halal scotch Hizb-ut-Tizer egg?

But this will not come easily. It requires sacrifice. We must devote all our resources to this end. And it can be done. We will not crack. We must not let the loss of our eggs distract us. In the words of William Wallace, they can take our eggs, but they can’t take away our freedom!

Previous: The beginning of the speechifying, and how Abu Tesco got his name

Next: Controlling the womenses Part 1

We also changed location to keep the authorities off our tail. This changing of locations was quite confusing. Occasionally, there would be more people at the wrong location than at the right location. The definition of the right location being wherever the local Ameer was at.

It was in the next meeting that I attending was not the regular discussion about how the world would end and how our only salvation was to take a subscription to ‘Neo-Celtic Conspiratorials’ the magazine for the discerning over-intellectualised Scotcentric Islamicist. This particular meeting was important, as we were being addressed by our noble national Ameer, Abu Tesco bin Bakery

Now a quick note here, as to why the kunya, the ‘Abu’ nickname. Now our Ameer was known as plain Faried Kaream in his student days. During his first Islamic Society Ramadan meal, Fariedfound himself in the middle of an argument with a medical student five years older than him. The medical student poured orange juice over the hand of Faried, who responded back by upending a curry in the head of medical student. Other people joined in, and after the food fight, Faried vowed never to return to the Islamic Society. He was spotted on many occasions shopping in the Tesco near the student halls and thus was dubbed ‘Abu Tesco bin Bakery’ by the other students.

Many years later, Faried, having risen to the heights of the Hizb National Committee for the the Enforcement of Beneficial Acts and the Thorough Debunking of Inappropriate Ideas Through Cheaply Printed A5 Leaflets Handed Out at Jumah Time, took over the Islamic Society and adopted his nickname as a trophy. He was known to be upset if people referred to him by some other epithet.

Anyway, bin Bakery addressed the meeting. Now, due to a rather strange twist of fate, bin Bakery always found an excuse not be at the meetings himself but always sent a message electronically somehow. This week it was read out by a voice synthesiser, in the style of Steven Hawkings used. Now before one gets accused of making capital out of a disability, it has to be emphasised that many other voices were also available, but the Stephen Hawkings one was used as it was meant to add a certain gravitas. All it did was to send us into a mildly catatonic state, and we all expected equation about collapsing wormholes to pop into the speech.

Bin Bakery mention that we had been chosen because of our dedication, hard work and extra commitment to the cause. We were to be rewarded with more hard work, and an expectation that our commitment would increase. The ban on orange juice would remain.

The local Ameer turned off the laptop, and outlined the main way we were to convince people that what we were doing was right. I could explain theoretically, but its more informative if I post my first ever attempts at a Hizb speech…

Previous: A sticky situation

Next: How to boil an egg, Islamicist style

The meeting were meant to be segregated by gender. However, sometimes we did not have separate places for meeting rooms, or the microphone/amplifier system broke down, or any number of things went wrong. Our backup system was a brother who we referred as ‘Brother FT’. His father owned a corner shop, and he bought in copies of the Financial Times which he considered to be a particularly hateful publication as it documented ‘the Financial hegemony of the Kuffar. And it is pink, the colour of pigs and homosexualists’. One day a small argument ensued when it became apparent that the colour of the homosexualists had now evolved to a rainbow colour. It was then settled by one of the physics brothers who pointed out that the spectrum contains red, and when the spectrum is merged it makes the colour white. As red and white make pink, so the FT still, in a fashion, could continue to represent the homosexualists. The brother who liked the chicken and chips was getting quite agitated and we didn’t want a scene.

At each meeting, if no barrier was present, Brother FT would lay a quick washing line across the room and clip pages from the Financial Times onto it with clothes pegs. He became very effective at it. I wondered if the Hizb really did manage to control the Muslim superstate, would brother Financial Times march along the borders with his hammer, nails, washing line, pegs and piles of paper, dutifully decrying pigs and homosexualists as he marked out the Muslim border.

After my fourth meeting, I was taken aside by local ameer and told that I was eligible for membership. Up until then, I though I was a member, but no, I was merely an attendee. After becoming a member, I would further have to prove myself. I was quite happy with this. Finally, I had some direction and a clear set of goals. I was destined for greatness, I was convinced of it. My first task was to design a new sticker set for the Hizb. Now, letting the masses know about our message was a key part of our campaign. The old sticker said ‘Khilafah’ but it was felt that was too Arabic, so a new message was need, something that would appeal to the natives.

We had a small focus group brainstorm. I thought of ‘Down with the Imperialistic West with its Military-Industrial Complex and Authoritarian Hegemony! Up with the All-Encompassing Benevolent Muslim Theocratic Superstate with Armed Citizen-Militia and No Standing Army! That didn’t scan well, the group agreed. The chair of the focus group then decided on ‘Putting the phat in Caliphate’ for that streetvibe connecting with the youth thing. We were tired, and brother chicken and chips wanted to get home, so we agreed.

I was in charge of ordering the stickers, and was given an budget. However, the company that processed the printing had offset the stickers so that each one read ‘ate Putting the phat in Caliph’. It was too late. Despite the rather bizarre heading, our website was correct so we began stickering around the lampposts of London. Again, my mind wandered. If the hizb really did establish that state, would we promote new laws by stickering lamposts with ‘Bait-ul-Maal announces increase in child benefit. Logon at www.bait-ul-maal.kh’?

The next meeting I was commended for my effort and enthusiasm in sticking. They were especially impressed with my putting stickers on a homeless person. ‘Brother, in the future, there will be no homeless, as second houses will be abolished’. This statement itself caused a mild argument as one of the sisters had an investment flat in the Barbican and was looking to move into it once she was married. After some calming noises by the local ameer, and the chicken and chips brother standing up and wobbling menacingly, things calmed down. I had passed the first stage. In my next post, I shall show how I passed the second stage, and how I was schooled in the art of convincing people, Hizb style.

Previous: Hizbutized at College

Next: The beginning of the speechifying, and how Abu Tesco got his name

When I first entered the college building, I was surprised at how many women there were. The next thing I was surprised at was how many men there were. The women and men seemed in equal number, but that number was large. I realised that with all these people, I would not stand our from the crowd.

Two weeks into my college life, and it was going well. I had made a number of friends, and things seemed OK. The college had been very gracious in supplying a small airing cupboard for our Friday prayers, and we dutifully prayed on the shelves. However, two things became apparent. One, the main khutbah always seemed to refer to ‘Our Brothers in Chechnya, Kashmir and Tottenham’. The Imam, who came from the local mosque, was obviously a Tottenham Hotspurs fan. I became a little upset. We were based in Leyton, surely our loyalties should have been to Leyton Orient. Sure, they played on a pitch that was worse than the local marshes, and yes, they were really rubbish at football, but they were local. I felt that the loyalties should have been to our local brothers rather than some far off place.

The second thing that became apparent was the lack of space. The shelves were very small, and we had to crouch down and pray. To an observer, it became very difficult to know what state of prayer we were in as the standing, bowing, sitting and prostration positions were almost identical, tiny variations in our neck movements differentiating them.

It was then that I became involved with my first Islamicist group, the Hizb-ut-Tizer (party of Tizer). They wanted to get rid of corrupt Muslim states and replace them with a superstate, based in Scotland, made from girders. They felt this would strengthen the Muslims. They successfully lobbied for a new prayer space, and we got a lobby. It became a little crowded with people passing through our prayer area, but we were happy. The Hizb-ut-Tizer had come through for us. Little did we know, we had become Hizbutized.

The Hizb seemed very hierarchical, with a very long initiation ceremony. I was told that if I worked hard and was obedient and made a Scottish khalifate my priority, I would be successful. I took to wearing a kilt and turban, and attending meetings. After all the problems I had been through with my family, here was a clearly cut vision I could plug into. I did not seem to be very high up in the Hizb hierarchy as other people seemed to speak a lot more. I realised early on that importance was directly proportional to hyperbole, a lesson I draw upon today.

The Hizb were particularly concerned with the needs of the Ameer. It was only after a few months that I realised Ameer was a title, and not someones name. The Ameer of Hizb-ut-Tizer was a certain Abu Tesco bin Bakery. In my next post, I shall detail my initiation into the Hizb, meeting bin Bakery, and moving up the Hizb-ut-Tizer hierarchy, and my quest for a sassenach-free halal state.

Previous: The Islamicist: The beginning

Next: A sticky situation

Growing up in London, it was clear that my faith, my dress sense and my predeliction for playing with girls marked me out to be different. It did not help that I wanted to do sporty things with girls like soccer (I know it is called soccer because tours to promote my Book have taken me all the way to Los Angeles). This led to a terrible confusion on my part, and I spent most of my childhood being beaten up by girls. Again, in the early eighties, this was before Girl Gangs, another revelation taken from my Book.

As I have tried to point out, things were very difficult for me as a child. Then came the notion of a religious education. You see, I really liked christmas carols, not just at christmas, all the time. No really, i mean all the time. As I was recovering from the bruises the girls inflicted on me, I sang ‘Little Donkey’ and ‘As Shepherds washed their socks by night’.
This became a real problem on two fronts. One was my parents, who thought I was going a little bit crazy. I merely assured them that this was the National Anthem. Because I said it in English, they believed me. The next problem also came from my parents. My parents were cousins before they were married, not first cousins, but more like second cousins once removed, which means basically, my father married his distant aunt. When I was growing up, sometime he would refer to her as his ‘Auntie’ rather than wife. That is something I have still not become used to.

My parents attitude to religion was very relaxed, very cultural. When the Imam of the local mosque came by once a month, the Imam would pretend he was coming to do some minor religious duty, and my parents would put on their religious clothing, and they would go through their regular charade. Now, because my parents religious clothing was only worn once a month, the clothes always looked new. Consequently, the local imam thought we were rich and religious, and the meetings kept on happening. Thats was my only contact with religion when I was growing up.

One particular incident struck me. I saw my father one night sneaking out into the back yard. Fearing he was a closet polygamist, I sneaked out behind him, to observe his potential bigamy. However, my father remained in the back yard. He started whispering in the darkness, and out of nowhere a big bouncy blonde dog appeared. My father then started to play with the dog, throwing balls to fetch and mock wrestling it. He had never shown myself or my mother this much attention. I did not understand how if dogs were so unclean, my father would be playing rough and tumble with a rather shiny golden retriever. These disappointments were the beginning of my split with my parents.

Next: Hizbutized at College