Incorporating 3 prompts, Fandango’s One Word Challenge, Ragtag Daily Prompt and Your Daily Word Prompt. Photos are my own, allegedly not doctored.
The challenge as far as I can see it is to sit tight, listen to the shite spouted by our politicians, when all you have to do is look to NZ to see how the thing should have been done. No amount of shouting slightly louder than the journalists asking the questions or putting the blame onto the general public, “Well, if you feel that way, then i’m sorry but blah blah blah”
Its easy to be an armchair politician in these times, God knows I’m spending enough time in one, the seats are slowly moulding to my nice tight arse, but this is the longest since I learnt to drive that I haven’t been in a traffic jam too which makes being a political armchair warrior so much better since the ban on going anywhere took effect. Thinking about it, a strong politician, who has the best interests of the country’s health at heart would probably take the hardest choice which would be to tell everyone to stay inside, and not publicly procrastinate, looking around like a school child being asked if they liked Bauhaus or the Sisters of Mercy, wanting to make the correct choice, which of course is Bauhaus.
Who the hell do they think we are, when they appear on the telly, believing their own Hype, knowing the public like sheep will vote for the cunts anyway, capitalism over common sense. Some say we need a revolution or a fucking massive disaster like this to sort things out. Interestingly enough today we hear the economy could shrink by 35% once the pox is eradicated, which of course it won’t be if Trump et al get their way and open up for business sooner than they should, like a indiscriminate purge, throwing the dice of self-perpetuated random slaughter. Well, I hope you sleep well at night, you fucks. The whole Tory party voted against pay rises for Nurses in 2017, the whole fucking party. Speaks volumes, hypocrites the lot off them, and with luck this sort of mud will stick.
Conversely on the other side of the coin, patio digging and compost bin moving went exceptionally well over the bank holiday. Can you drink too much aged 48? Yes you can it seems, this is why nothing gets written in this contrary world of the Ministry of Shrawley Walks, we walked miles, on virgin paths to Mrs T, but now after a weekend of excess, a Zoom quiz with friends, much moving of soil from A-B via C and then back to B again, now we have the decision to actually build the patio, I’ve taken advice from many, the more I take the less I’m inclined to do the technical things. The God of destruction at Froggers, is my superhero name, and suitingly I have a spot in front of my shed as far away from the house as possible (about 18 metres) where I can quaff Mrs T’s cider because I’ve run out of everything else apart from Gin (of which i’ve drunk too much lately and only have some ginger ale which won’t do) and Prosecco (which no one really likes unless you’re at a wedding).