Hwæt! There you are, something different to open proceedings – not at all ‘another week, same stuff’, as some might opine. As you may suppose, I have been brushing upon my Beowulf, an Anglo-Saxon treasure which tells the story of a brave hero setting out to slay horrific man-eating monsters (not, on this occasion, an oblique reference to Harriet Harperson); a tale pertinent to our times, for we have many ‘monsters’ rampaging the land, hiding in the undergrowth of politics, education, religion, health and the arts, not to mention social services. But who could play the part of a latter-day Beowulf (apart from the Archdeacon, of course)? No point in looking towards ‘The Lady is for Gurning,’ not after the disastrous Conference speech on top of the Florentine Capitulation. The Turkish Buffoon might know a thing or two about Classical history, but is not PM material. As for St. Jezza of Kumbaya… words fail me (well, they don’t, but one must maintain decorum). Quo vadis, O my country, I hear you cry? Quo vadis indeed!
My Lord the Bishop and I are great fans of country music. The Wurzels are a particular favourite, and their rustic version of Handel’s ‘O wee like sheep’ is guaranteed to please the episcopal ear, provided a mop and bucket is handy. As yet, nobody has climbed the Cathedral Tower with an assortment of automatic weaponry and fired upon the music aficionados gathered on the Palace lawn to hear Mr. Slope perform his party piece, ‘Here We Go Gathering Nuts in May’, with appropriate hand actions, but perhaps it is only matter of time. As ever, the Americans are way ahead of us on this one, as recent events in Las Vegas have confirmed. Of course, the disarmament brigade are demanding more and more gun control – and they do have a point – but curiously, when we suffer vehicles ploughing through Christmas crowds in Berlin, or young women stabbed in Marseilles, or priests beheaded in their churches, there is no similar call for immigration control. Funny, isn’t it?
No, sadly, it isn’t…
I’m rummaging in my Gladstone to find something new and refreshing, not the same-old, same-old… Of course! Viva España! Well, perhaps not so much… as things are getting hotter out there by the minute. The Catalans want to go, Madrid wants them to stay, and the King of Spain is getting his beard singed by all and sundry for sticking his royal neck out (albeit not as far as Louis XVI). I do love a good Bourbon but they are so hard to find. The Archdeacon, it has to be said, is strong for the status quo:
“One cannot led the rabble decide their own fate,” he spluttered whilst downing a rather fine Rioja at dinner yesterday evening. “For one thing, they vote with their hearts, not their heads, and for another thing, state education is specifically designed to prevent the emergence of political – and individual – thought.”
It is true. This is what we set out to achieve at Doctor Wortle’s School, where we churn out generation after generation of happy, contented Ag. Labs. As a system it works… don’t knock it.
Oh, I am slipping into my old ways…
(Memorandum to self: innovation, innovation, innovation… that has to be my watchword this week! Can’t be scribbling the same old tripe… got to be innovative!).
Oh, the stress!
Mrs. Quiverfull called this morning in a state of agitation. She had read somewhere that the Danish Midwives Association have said it is now possible to detect Downs Syndrome babies in the womb, so that they may be safely aborted. As the mother of an impressive brood, dear Mrs. Q. was horrified, and one shares her concern. Eugenics is like Tony Blair – it constantly turns up. It even reared its head in Manchester, when Mrs. Dismay announced henceforth it would be presumed that everyone consented to have their organs harvested by the state after death. Satan’s fist and the Big State are but one and the same; its fingers clasped around the throat of freedom and democracy. One wonders if this particular step into the abyss is to provide transgendered folk with the bits and pieces they need…
But I must refrain… His Grace thinks I have a downer on the hapless Mrs. Dismay. Whatever gave him that idea?
Here’s a bit of news not found anywhere else. My dear nephew now works for Mr. Blair’s International Institute for Global Dominance (I know, I know… he’s no longer in my Will). He was coming out of the water closet the other day and literally bumped into Messrs. Blair and Cameron – it seems the two ex-premiers are working together on this global project but are looking for a celebrity to be the ‘human face’. My nephew tells me they are thinking of some Irish minstrel named Bono (sounds Italian to me but then we are all mixed up these days, are we not?). Well, you heard it here first.
Have I trodden enough new ground? Has my post been refreshingly new and of the moment? If not, may I leave you to ponder on this quote the lost Epistle of St. Agapanthus of Argus: “Frankly, I say unto you, I don’t give a monkey’s…”
So my dears, as the inventor of all things new and wonderful falls onto the buzz saw of indifference and splatters the whited sepulchre of constructive criticism with the blood, sweat and tears of a very English sense of humour, I bid you all flap-toodle-pip.
Be good, be vigilant, be alert… Britain needs lerts.