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The Ayatollah Buggeri

Another Sign Of The Surveillance Society

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Went into Boots on Saturday to buy a half-litre bottle of isopropanol. I wasn't born yesterday and know that it can be used for antisocial purposes, but even so I was surprised at what happened. The lady at Boots said point blank that they couldn't sell it direct to members of the public 'due to security reasons'. I explained why I wanted it: to make up a cleaning solution for use in my vinyl LP cleaning machine (250ml IPA, 750ml distilled and deionised water, which you can get from Halfords as car battery top up water, plus two or three drops of an ionic surfactant, e.g. dishwasher rinse aid. Virtually the same stuff you'll buy branded as record cleaner, but it costs about £3 a litre homebrew rather than £20 packaged and branded). She didn't care: not allowed to sell it, end of story. Interestingly, they were allowed to sell it when I bought my last bottle, around this time last year.

Went home; ordered some on Ebay. This evening when I got in, there was a message on my answering machine asking me to call PC so-and-so at the local nick. I did so: she explained that it had come to her attention that I had attempted to buy a dangerous chemical. Would I care to explain what I wanted it for? I told her and she seemed satisfied with the explanation.

But for goodness' sake, how much more of this pointless intrusion can we take? Firstly, all the antisocial things I can think of that you can do with IPA you can also do with petrol, and you can buy that in tens of litres at a time, no questions asked. Secondly, if I really was an international extremist terrorist nutcase (rather then just posing as one on a bulletin board), would I really be buying this stuff online (i.e. generates an evidence trail) and using my real name and address?

This is purely a case of harassing the innocent middle classes, most of whom likely to be too polite to complain, while leaving the real bad guys to get on with it. After all, going after them would be racism, persecution and disrespecting their 'ewman rights, wouldn't it? Grrrr...

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I also use Isopropyl and need some more soon, I wonder if the WPC would be as happy if you had told her you used it for servicing electronic equipment, cleaning up newly built circuit boards and other 'round the house jobs'?

What I want to know is did the police get your details from ebay (and was there a warning of your breach of privacy) or boots :blink: ?

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That does seem a bit silly. I thought it was going to be some decently dangerous chemical - I have occasionally had to get export/import licences for some of the stuff I use, but IPA!

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What I want to know is did the police get your details from ebay (and was there a warning of your breach of privacy) or boots :blink: ?

I would guess, from the company with whom I placed the order. There was quite detailed T & C you had to click to agree to, and I suspect it probably included a clause allowing them to pass your details to the authorities, either in a random sample or if they are suspicious for any reason.

Admittedly, five litres is quite a lot; but it was only £2 more expensive than just buying one...

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I also buy those highly dangerous things called contact lenses. Cant get them on the high street without prescription, so buy them online. Fair enough its the law, but its causing the high street to suffer.

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Went into Boots on Saturday to buy a half-litre bottle of isopropanol. I wasn't born yesterday and know that it can be used for antisocial purposes, but even so I was surprised at what happened. The lady at Boots said point blank that they couldn't sell it direct to members of the public 'due to security reasons'. I explained why I wanted it: to make up a cleaning solution for use in my vinyl LP cleaning machine (250ml IPA, 750ml distilled and deionised water, which you can get from Halfords as car battery top up water, plus two or three drops of an ionic surfactant, e.g. dishwasher rinse aid. Virtually the same stuff you'll buy branded as record cleaner, but it costs about �3 a litre homebrew rather than �20 packaged and branded). She didn't care: not allowed to sell it, end of story. Interestingly, they were allowed to sell it when I bought my last bottle, around this time last year.

Went home; ordered some on Ebay. This evening when I got in, there was a message on my answering machine asking me to call PC so-and-so at the local nick. I did so: she explained that it had come to her attention that I had attempted to buy a dangerous chemical. Would I care to explain what I wanted it for? I told her and she seemed satisfied with the explanation.

But for goodness' sake, how much more of this pointless intrusion can we take? Firstly, all the antisocial things I can think of that you can do with IPA you can also do with petrol, and you can buy that in tens of litres at a time, no questions asked. Secondly, if I really was an international extremist terrorist nutcase (rather then just posing as one on a bulletin board), would I really be buying this stuff online (i.e. generates an evidence trail) and using my real name and address?

This is purely a case of harassing the innocent middle classes, most of whom likely to be too polite to complain, while leaving the real bad guys to get on with it. After all, going after them would be racism, persecution and disrespecting their 'ewman rights, wouldn't it? Grrrr...

As they say in the Home Office "If you suspect it, report it" (never mind the evidence)

As they say on TV "Computer says No"....

But, honestly, are you really surprised, 'cause I'm not. This is modern England, common sense, careful discrimination and critical thinking are not our forte, rather they are considered dangerous traits.

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watertorturedm_468x404.jpg

Aw they aren't doing it right... you need to have a much looser cover over the mouth, get the cloth all the way in. Ideally get them to swallow 2 or 3 feet of cloth. Then later on you get to enjoy pulling it back out.

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Aw they aren't doing it right... you need to have a much looser cover over the mouth, get the cloth all the way in. Ideally get them to swallow 2 or 3 feet of cloth. Then later on you get to enjoy pulling it back out.

Give it a few years and drinking water from the tap will result in crock clips to the genitals via a fully charged car battery.

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Guest skullingtonjoe
I also use Isopropyl and need some more soon, I wonder if the WPC would be as happy if you had told her you used it for servicing electronic equipment, cleaning up newly built circuit boards and other 'round the house jobs'?

What I want to know is did the police get your details from ebay (and was there a warning of your breach of privacy) or boots :blink: ?

Ebay would have been the grass in this case. As long as there`s a court order they can divulge any information they are ordered to. I guess in the case of the police this would not have been necessary (`national security` etc). :rolleyes:

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A reminder of how times have changed...

The day I went to fetch the acids.

Joel Biroco

There’s a story I sometimes tell, that illustrates how times have changed since we

entered the Age known as “The War on Terror,†a feeble scared time when people are

encouraged by propaganda to check their own actions constantly, lest they be engaged

in something accidentally subversive. And certain activities are no longer deemed the

actions of ordinary upstanding citizens, and certain books you haven’t read but still

have in a bag to go to the charity shop may be enough to put you away.

I was about fourteen; it was in the 70s, a gentle innocent time of failed hopes of

parents seeking refuge in a mere two channels on the telly (BBC 2, though possessed,

could not be watched, it was a class thing), a time of a bath always on a Friday before

The Virginian and being allowed to stay up late to watch The Invaders. A time of not

being able to figure out the huge white ball in The Prisoner. A time when one never

realized bread also came unsliced.

I was into chemistry and had converted the shed into a laboratory. Put up shelves

and lined them with bottle after bottle of chemicals I’d bought mail-order from a

laboratory supplier in Birmingham. The chemicals and glassware would arrive in big

boxes packed in shredded paper “straw.†Even the red phosphorus had come through

the post. I loved taking the top off and smelling it, there was something rich and invit-

ing about that smell, a smell of seductive danger, and its beautiful crumbly texture;

it was like chemical truffles. Even the antimony dust was delivered through the mail,

which I later read Israel Regardie managed to poison himself with in one of his al-

chemical experiments.

These “vigilant†days it would be hard to obtain these things, and if you tried

your name would be flagged up on a database as a danger to society, you’d be seen

either as a terrorist or running an LSD factory. Honest curiosity about the elements

of the earth and how they combine is no longer considered a reasonable pursuit for a

private citizen. What normal person heats red-orange potassium dichromate crystals

on a spoon over a burner in a shed? Would the explanation that “I just love the way it

flares up and makes ten times as much stuff and green†stand up in court? Would the

strips of magnesium raise eyebrows? I saw an old battered child’s chemistry set in an

antiques arcade the other day, the copper sulphate tube still full, and thought, it has

gone the way of the golliwog. Not that there was ever anything much in a shop-bought

chemistry set.

But back to the innocent 70s, when you could plot to your heart’s content, just for

fun. My final box for stocking my lab arrived, minus certain items. A note in shaky old

person’s handwriting explained that I would have to come and collect them from the

supplier, as they couldn’t send the concentrated acids, concentrated ammonia, caustic

soda and the tub of phenol through the post. So I set off on my trek. Travelling to Bir-

mingham on the train then seemed like something grown-ups did; it was an adventure

involving a lot of responsibility. Buying the right ticket, having to make sure I was on

the right train, all those platforms. I felt easily out of my depth. This was underscored

by my mother’s nagging to ensure I had the correct money for the bus and my A to Z

of Birmingham. Never once did she seem at all concerned I was going to be bringing

back about a gallon of stuff that could burn a hole through the train carriage floor and

result in evacuation if the concentrated ammonia bottle smashed in a confined space.

Well, I was careful not to mention such details. Though, oddly enough, I’m not sure it

crossed my mind a great deal either. I knew what I was doing. I was just going to get

some things. I told my parents it was important, I needed this stuff because I was going

to be a forensic scientist when I grew up. Mum gave me her best shopping bag to put

the bottles in.

It was a grey overcast day when I arrived in Birmingham. I eventually found the

place in the back streets, great looming industrial chimneys, dirty walls, rats scamper-

ing by bins. It seemed to be some kind of warehouse, the only entrance was up an iron

fire-escape upon which moss was growing, vivid green in the drizzle. I walked up the

long and slippery iron staircase and into a small room with a seat and a serving coun-

ter in the wall. Behind I could see a cornucopia of chemical delights, long and wide

shelves stacked with bottles and equipment. I dinged the bell and a very old man came

to see me.

“I’ve come to collect these things you couldn’t send through the post,†I explained,

handing him the note sent with my last order.

He took the pencil from behind his ear, licked the tip, and ticked them off. Then

he went to fetch them.

“Is this your bag?†he said.

I unzipped mum’s best shopping bag. He placed the bottles in one by one. They

were litre bottles.

“That’s the concentrated hydrochloric acid, this is the concentrated sulphuric

acid...†Glass bottles. More followed, “Concentrated nitric acid, concentrated acetic

acid.†He crossed them off the list. Then he dragged over a ribbed amber-colored

bottle, “Concentrated ammonia.†He placed it at the other end and plonked in the

middle a tub of phenol and a plastic bottle of sodium hydroxide pellets.

He tugged on the handles of mum’s best shopping bag, the glass bottles clanking

together like pints of milk, and said, “bit heavy, will you manage?â€

“Yes,†I said, “it’ll be alright.†I wanted this stuff bad.

Then he zipped up the bag for me and in a moment of wonderful grandfatherly

concern, that grows more ludicrous each time I think about it, he said:

“Now you be careful with those.â€

Article reproduced under Creative Commons license.

Source: Ultraculture Journal One:

http://www.archive.org/details/Ultraculture_Journal_One

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A reminder of how times have changed...

Article reproduced under Creative Commons license.

Source: Ultraculture Journal One:

http://www.archive.org/details/Ultraculture_Journal_One

Interesting how times have changed. I still have a scar on my hand from the first time I made gunpowder at the age of 9. I got the formula from Encylopedia Brittanica and went into the local chemist for my sulpher and salpeter. Mady my own charcoal. For my first batch I counted out teasoonfuls of the ingrediants as i did not know that the proportions were by weight. The result was a dirty looking mixture which just fizzled. Howver my older cousin had just started secondary school and not only knew that we had to proportion it by weight but also had learned the pricipal of moments so we soon had the proportios right.

The next stage was to manufacture it it reasonable sized amounts, after all small boys want bigger bangs. We found a wholesaler where we got the sulpher and saltpeter a lot cheaper and made up a motorised mill to grind and mix it. Later on of course I realised that the mill device was indeed dangerous. The drum was a catering sized tin can with ball bearings bouncing around inside. It really is surprising that it never produced a spark which ignited our mixture.

You couldnt do it these days but I still think that every boy should have Britannica and a Mechano set, both essential parts of education.

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bit of a nasty experience for you.

theres a part of me that would like to email that seller on ebay and ask him what is the logic of offering a product, only to worry and file an intelligence report when an order for it actually comes in?

seems silly to me, if you sell 5l at a discounted price, why be surprised if it sells?

it really doesnt make sense unless the buyer's username on ebay is Deathtothewest or something !

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Me and my friends used to make gunpowder, thermite and a few other bits and bobs when we were younger. I know quite a few people in my line of work (scientific) who did similar. Back then we used a book called 'The Jolly Roger's Cookbook'. I fancied taking a look at it again recently, for nostalgia's sake, but I wouldn't risk downloading it. We live in a very different world now, and it's not worth the hassle.

OP's story is absolutely staggering, IMO. I can't remember the names now, but there are a bunch of pretty standard household chemicals that can make a big bang. Surely not everyone buying these is being monitored? The manpower required would be astronomical.

I know it's an old line, but why don't the police use their time to go out and solve real crimes?

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Went into Boots on Saturday to buy a half-litre bottle of isopropanol. I wasn't born yesterday and know that it can be used for antisocial purposes, but even so I was surprised at what happened. The lady at Boots said point blank that they couldn't sell it direct to members of the public 'due to security reasons'. I explained why I wanted it: to make up a cleaning solution for use in my vinyl LP cleaning machine (250ml IPA, 750ml distilled and deionised water, which you can get from Halfords as car battery top up water, plus two or three drops of an ionic surfactant, e.g. dishwasher rinse aid. Virtually the same stuff you'll buy branded as record cleaner, but it costs about �3 a litre homebrew rather than �20 packaged and branded). She didn't care: not allowed to sell it, end of story. Interestingly, they were allowed to sell it when I bought my last bottle, around this time last year.

This is purely a case of harassing the innocent middle classes, most of whom likely to be too polite to complain, while leaving the real bad guys to get on with it. After all, going after them would be racism, persecution and disrespecting their 'ewman rights, wouldn't it? Grrrr...

I think there has been some tightening recently.

(1) Pseudoephedrine is more difficult to get these days than it was last year and you can only buy 720mg at a time. FFS, I want more than that as if I get a bad enough cold that I need it, I don't want to pop out to the chemist every 2 or 3 days. Sudafed is now available on the shelves, but closer inspection reveals that the on shelf stuff use phenylephrine, which the most recent (non-drug company) meta analysis shows is no better than placebo.

(2) Buying anything more than trivial quantities of citric acid can lead to questioning. FFS, you know it has uses other than for cutting drugs...like making jam, beer, cleaning kettles, for use in ultrasonic baths etc. etc.

I really get sick of all this regulation. The assumption seems to be that if you buy anything other than prepacked tv dinners you are a threat to society. F*** OFF all of you ignorant control freak P***KS...if anything is going to make me go postal it is a med school dropout (aka pharmacist) suspiciously quizzing me in depth as to why I want to buy 100g of CITRIC F***ING ACID!

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I think what surprises me most, is the fact that Boots stock the stuff, but won't sell it to you... :blink:

All of this is just hugely pointless, and I can't understand how they have the time and the man power to follow up on such ridiculous reports.

V V crossening. :angry:

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