Monday, 10 April 2017

Seriously...

It being the start of the Easter school break today, the town was full of children. Most of them were pretty and many were accompanied by warthogs who I assumed were their mothers. That’s one of the things I always found mysterious about life. You’d think that pretty children would have pretty mothers, wouldn’t you?

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I read a news report about a decomposing bat having been found in a pack of salad bought at a Walmart store somewhere in Florida. You can imagine where my sympathies lay, can’t you? Bats are splendid little creatures, whereas Walmart shoppers are just… well… Walmart shoppers.

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And might I reiterate a point I’ve made before on this blog for the benefit of the odd person here and there who might read it (and especially those who just decided they’re never going to read it again.)

I’m English and therefore given to that peculiar kind of madness for which my breed are well known. (The song Mad Dogs and Englishmen was written as a gleeful celebration of our national nuttiness.) Not only do I occasionally make a consciously outrageous remark just because my perverse sense of humour thought it funny at the time, I also send out the odd coded message to a specific person who I think will probably read it.

Such a message might mean: I know what you did last summer. Another might be translated as: Though the spring be advancing, there are still some gaps between the new leaves. Another might say to the recipient: I’m sorry I crossed the road when I saw you today, but my constitution didn’t feel strong enough to be in close proximity to the hat you were wearing. People do the same to me on their Tumblrs. It’s fun.

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I also just read that Serbian students are revolting (every evening at 6pm.) Seems they have their very own Trump over there, which is further evidence that you don’t need to be intelligent to rule a country even in a democracy. All you need to do is get other dumb people to vote for you. Whether that remark should be taken seriously or not is open to conjecture.

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