Goodness! One is quite relieved that hurricanes hardly happen in our dear Home Counties, though the occasional flash-flooding is not altogether unknown. The news from Texas is terribly upsetting, but who can deny they do things bigger and better over there? Perhaps bailing out will provide temporary relief from statue-smashing, at least until muscle-fatigue sets in. Alas, hatred still manifests itself even in disaster, as the sabotaging of a rescuer’s boat simply because he flew a Confederate flag testifies.
As yet we do not know for certain how many people have lost their lives, and of course we must pray for them and their families. Sad how President Trumpelstiltskin and his wife have been lambasted by anarchic left-wingers for turning up ‘inappropriately dressed’, as he would have been attacked for not turning up at all. He has donated one million dollars of his own money to the rescue fund – howls from the left that it is not enough! Damned if he does and damned if he doesn’t. Quite unfair, but it is not about fairness, is it.
My Lord the Bishop and I were shocked to hear of the kidnapping of a Christian child at the hands of Muslim pirates this week. One of the great mysteries is how the activities of such villains along the coasts of Cornwall (and indeed the rest of Europe) over centuries is never referred to, “…for only the white man has slaves.” As it turns out, this information was somewhat twisted in the telling – Dr. Vesey Stanhope can never be relied upon to get his facts checked. No pirates were involved, just Tower Hamlets Social Services, and the child was not sold into slavery but taken from her parents and fostered by Muslims, where she was forbidden to eat bacon and had her silver cross and chain removed. Imagine the outcry if that story had been the other way around? Though briefly reported by the Bolshevik Broadcasting Company, it was immediately followed by a more detailed ‘uplifting’ example, highlighting a successful placement of another Christian child with Muslims, unicorns and rainbows. Oh, how are manipulated, Lord! Thankfully, we don’t have Social Services in Barchester; we find the orphanage, workhouse and local chimney sweeps manage the necessity of ‘fostering’ very well.
President Trumpelstiltskin’s executive order forbidding transgendered transvestites from joining the military has upset many (and delighted just as many) across The Pond. On reflection, he may have missed a trick. Imagine the horror and bewilderment in the Russian camp as the Light Brigade charged wearing crinolines and bonnets and a little bit of slap! Surprise being a key element in an attack, what could be more surprising than a well-armed bustle? I discussed this with Mr. Slope, who seemed all in favour. He asked if I would write to the War Office and suggest such a move, putting his name forward as regimental chaplain. He is well-qualified – he loves nibbling his soldiers at breakfast.
I am not a fan of Mrs. Dismay. To those who say she is the best of a bad bunch and our only hope of Brexit, I reply, “How did we sink so low?” I read in The Jupiter yesterday that she intends to stay on as Prime Minister after the next election. Presumptuous, is it not? For such a thing is in the gift of the electorate and cannot be taken for granted. That is at the heart of LibLabCon’s problems – the shared contempt for the man (and woman) on the Clapham Omnibus, unwashed though he-she-it may be. Alas, there is no Mr. Disraeli waiting in the wings to bedazzle the nation and save the day. Make no mistake, I do not advocate a Corbynov government – perish the thought – yet such a thing may come to pass, for the young are dancing to his tune.
The story of the young Treasury official who demolished the legal arguments of the Zollverein (regarding stumping up hard-earned cash in order to leave the club) reminds me of David and Goliath. If that boy does not deserve a knighthood then nobody does.
The Archdeacon is on holiday but sends his regards. He and Mrs. Grantly have taken a small villa in Great Ranting by the Sea, which sounds delightful.
As for yours truly, I must away to the shops before they close. Mr. Slope has started with a summer cold and I need to make a bread poultice to stuff down his long-johns, an age-old remedy that never fails… to amuse, that is. So, as the horse-drawn carriage of gender certainty draws up to the crossroads of self-identification and the underpants of free speech are packed away in Frau Merkel’s portmanteau of oblivion, I bid you all adieu.