I have no idea what’s happening! No, really!
I know that the world hasn’t ended because I am still here. And, thanks to the wonders of the internet
radio and (praise be!) Radio 4 I know that the Blond Buffoon has made his first
Brexit speech in which he managed to do a very convincing vocal impersonation
of The Donald by using sentences composed entirely of unrelated phrases and
dismissive waffle. What a repugnant,
self-seeking, condescending apology for a politician he is!
The Donald
has some sort of reason for his putrid existence, as he is the logical outcome
of the Republican excoriation of every breath that Obama has taken,
irrespective of any logic or ideology – apart that is, from the pandering to
the lowest possible common denominator of prejudice that they could find. I am not sure that the previous sentence went
any logical way itself, but in its own befuddled way it does at least express
my sadness at what the party of Lincoln (whose speed of rotation in his
monument must be approaching the speed of light at the moment) has created.
But The
Blond Buffoon is an entirely different creature. I assume that his hair is natural (at least
in its colour) but the buffoonery is entirely intentional on his part. He is no fool. He is capable of writing a mean
sentence. He has a sense of humour. And he wants, oh how he wants, to be Prime
Minister. I don’t for a single solitary
second believe that he went through anything even remotely approaching ‘heart
searching’ to determine what position he should take on the question of Britain
remaining in the EU. The only thought,
no, the main thought in his nasty tousled head was what would bring him closer
to his main goal in life. He has
reasoned, because unlike The Donald he is capable of that, that opposition to
British membership of the EU is likely to play best with the voters in the
Conservative Party whether or not the UK votes in or out. He has calculated that even if the vote goes
against him, he can take the wishes of his discredited party towards his
ultimate goal.
The
Capering Clot’s jovial mask slipped when it turned out that he (oh, sorry, not
him, just one of his most trusted advisors) told senior officials in the London
Mayor’s Office that they had to support his point of view or shut up! It was, of course, a “cock-up” as he
described it later, when the instruction had been discovered, using what he
thinks of as the language of the common man, the man in the street (not the
woman of course, they are only good for bedding and betraying) to show how
blusteringly funny and out of character it all was. Not a bit of it! That is the man. The privileged autocrat with the excruciating
fractured conversational line of filler-filled marshmallow ideology to deflect opprobrium.
You may
wonder why this vitriol towards The Beast of Boris. The answer is prosaic: Toni is visiting his
family and I have not turned the TV on.
I am not sure that I know how. I
mean I know how to turn the television on, but not to get the programme that I
want. There is also a way of getting the
language into English, but the complex button pressing to get that to occur is
beyond my thumbs. The end result is I
have no idea what Spain is up to.
You rarely
hear anything about Spain on the national news on Radio 4, though I think the
recent occasion of the Infanta (the sister of the present so-called king) being
cross examined in court and, in answer to the questions that she deigned to
answer, lying her head off – I think that made the news, and I think that Brits
actually got to see pictures of her in court looking uncomfortable.
As she should.
But, apart from the more garish and
outlandish elements in our news, the day-to-day corruption and the fact that we
do not have a government are not deemed newsworthy.
I can’t
really blame the news outlets, because saying, “Oh, the Spanish Popular Party
(Conservative) seems to have another case of corruption where their politicians
have been stealing from the public purse!” is rather like saying, “Oh, IDS has
told another corpse that it is fit for work!”
They are both so common that they are hardly noteworthy.
But, there
is a gleam of hope for Spain. The right
‘lost’ the election and the ‘left’ won.
But the parties on the ‘left’ still have not agreed to pact – and time
is running out before the so-called king has to declare another general
election.
There is a
simple solution, and one in which a start could be made to try and rectify the
terrible damage that PP has done to the country during their time in
power. But the two parties cannot agree
and so, day by sad day, we march on to the unpredictability of a second general
election.
Even my OU studies
are not helping, because I have now arrived at that part of the course where
our thoughts have turned to Renaissance Art and Death. Looking at various representations of the Danse Macabre, I feel like photocopying
a few of them and sending them to the politicians who I feel are hindering the
formation of a new leftist government.
Time is fleeting! Get on with it!
