Goodness! Dr. Livingstone’s latest dispatch from the Heart of Darkness, published in The Jupiter, is most encouraging. There has been a coup in Debra Dowa, with His Excellency the Supreme Warlord, President-for-life and Emperor of Bush, Veldt and Hinterlands, Robert Mugombi, placed under house arrest by the army. Why, one asks, did it take them so long? Let a Marxist into government and it is a sure-fire recipe for economic and social disaster, accompanied by a high body-count. From being the ‘bread-basket of Africa’, Mugabeleland has become the White Man’s Graveyard, at least as far as farmers and their families are concerned (these are the very people we should be offering sanctuary to in my humble opinion). One hopes Mr. Stanley can find our renowned and intrepid missionary before the cauldron reaches boiling point.
When one also considers the absolute mess that is now Venezuela, it should make one think very carefully about our shadowy opposition: let Comrade Corbynov and his friend McStalin get their paws on the nation’s finances, and it’s toilet-paper famine all round. As for Robert Mugombi, one sincerely hopes he has his Ceausescu Moment – not a very Christian thought, I grant you, but for Marxists I veer towards Old Testament remedies. As for loving thy neighbour, I would merely point out The Palace lies adjacent to Hiram’s Hospital, and one has standards.
Following Australia’s referendum on same-sex marriage this week, Mr. Slope was invited to preach in the chapel of the Australian High Commission in London, dedicated to St. Streuth and the Bonza Sheilas. He was most delighted with the arrangements, which began with a fanfare of digeridoos, the donning of liturgical budgie-smugglers by an escort of Bondi Beach lifeguards, and tying a kangaroo down, though Mr. Slope wisely demurred on the latter opportunity.
“We can do this,” said Frau Merkin as she welcomed the Third World into Dusseldorf et al. Well, she can’t form a government, at least not at the time of writing. She could of course extend the hand of friendship to the AfD, but being the ‘conservative’ that she is, she prefers to woo those pesky Greens, who demand too much in return. I mentioned the subject to Herr Pumpernickel, who runs the Sausage-U-Like franchise on the Market Place. He is not a fan.
“Ach, Frau Proudie, I came to England to get away from Geli and her Wilkommen choir!”
“Goodness,” I exclaimed, “so you are a refugee? I thought refugees were all the rage in Germany these days.”
“Nein, nein… I am ze wrong sort of refugee… I am German und zer is no platz fur me in ze fatherland anymore. Geli’s policy is ‘Out viz ze old and in viz ze new!’”
“Is she that bad?” I asked.
“She started out as bad, now she is wurst!” he replied, brandishing his chopper.
There followed a stream of German words that all sounded very unpleasant and which, thankfully, I did not understand. If the Reichkanzler is unable to forge a coalition, I believe she must go to the country again, hoping this time the people will get it right. I’m surprised she hasn’t conjured up one of those enabling laws that German politicians are so fond of. Give her time…
I do wish Bishop Broadbent would stop acting. He is not very good at it.
I was distracted from thinking about what lesbians wish to be called this week by the Archdeacon, who was positively beaming with joy. As this is a rare event, I ventured to ask what could possibly have happened.
“My dear Mrs. Proudie,” he chortled, “have you not heard? The French are revolting!”
“Rather an old joke, Archdeacon,” I replied.
“No, Madam, they really are revolting – they have taken to the streets to protest against the insane policies of their Young Jupiter, the idiot Macron! It seems details of his make-up bill have been leaked from the Elysée and the sums are astonishing – but that is only the tip of the iceberg. It has finally dawned on people that their president is a tool of the bankers and big business, that he cares nothing for ordinary folk – and, indeed, blames the French for radicalising the Islamics!’
“A catalogue of disasters indeed, Archdeacon, but I fail to understand why this makes you so happy?”
“One word, dear lady… Schadenfreude.”
Which, all things considered, is perfectly reasonable.
It may well be that the good people of Bonny Scotland will follow their Auld Alliance chums’ example, now that Chippy Ms. Krankie has legal sanction to stop poor people buying alcohol. This woman is determined to get her claws into every facet of life, extracting every ounce of joy she can, but then Scottish National Socialism has more of Calvinism about it than it would care to admit. The crunch will come when Krankie gets round to banning deep-fried Mars bars.
I hear the Houses of Parliament are going to be bathed in red light this Christmas. It is to show solidarity with persecuted Christians across the globe. I suppose it is cheaper than actually doing something constructive to save them. One hopes the red light isn’t misconstrued…
Goodness, look at the time! I must go and get ready for Evensong, after which I must try to find the Cathedral Nativity set ready for the Christmas season. No doubt the figures will be covered in dust, so the kings will need touching up and the shepherds receive their annual blowing. Perhaps I should delegate this to Mr. Slope… but then again, perhaps not.
Until next week, dear friends, adieu.