On Those Not Fit for Purpose.

Coverage of the upcoming British General Election, and certain peripheral news stories attendant upon it, has convinced me more than any other that the world of politics really is routinely dirty, disreputable and deceitful. Politicians, therefore, stand indicted as the sort of people we shouldn’t really be asked to vote for.

It isn’t only the politicians, though. Rupert Murdoch’s media empire is polluting the cesspit even more, adding a powerful whiff of rat’s urine* to what would otherwise smell merely of uncleaned toilets. And the fact that anybody could possibly have their voting intentions influenced by what they read in the Daily Mail lends an air of incredulity to the whole business of being human.

I expect whoever delivered Murdoch from the anonymity of his mother’s womb, and yet failed to strangle him on the first breath, is dead by now. I think we should dig up whoever it was anyway and decorate the gibbet with their remains.

* A note of interest: I used to get a lot of rats in my garden, and so I smelt their urine often. Imagine taking a cupful of stale urine from an old drain, adding a further cupful of vomit, and stirring until well mixed. That’s what rat’s urine smells like. Maybe I’m being too kind to Mr Murdoch.