Saturday, 1 July 2017

Future Planning.

I think I might as well announce now that the priestess and I are going to be Emperor and Empress of China in our next lives (but not in that order.)

 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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