An earlier version of P and me
By then the world will have descended into chaos and the
whole of the planet will have become Mad Max country, which is why the
priestess had to be born in Australia this time around so she could learn the
lingo, while I had to be born in England so as to become accustomed to sitting
upon the ground telling sad stories of the deaths of kings.
And having established ourselves as Emp and Emps of China,
we’re going to set about ruling the whole world very nicely. All will be sweetness and light, justice and honour
will prevail, kindness will count for something, the Romantic tradition will not only be encouraged but
enshrined in law, and even the reborn Donald Trump will be allowed an
appropriate role as village idiot somewhere in the remoter reaches of Xinjiang Province (which, fortunately for the rest of humanity, is a very long way from
anywhere.)
The one thing the priestess and I haven’t yet agreed on is
the matter of concubines and women-about-whom-rumours-are-rife, but I’m working
on it. We have, however, agreed on the name of our first daughter. She will be
called Avalon, since that was where her mother and I first met. (And I bet nobody has ever been called Avalon in China before.)
Did I say ‘agreed’? I did, didn’t I? In actual fact, all the
above came out of my seer mind (which is situated a little to the left of the
higher mind, where it skulks and sulks and pops out mischievously to tell us
truths and win us with honest trifles, only to betray us in deepest
consequence.) I have a sneaking suspicion that the priestess’s concurrence
emanated more from a kindly desire to humour me than any remote intent to take
me seriously. She does that a lot.
(And do excuse the Shakesperean references. It’s just that I
get a free Smartie every time somebody goes direct from my blog to Wiki.)
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