Circle of not so Improbability

Every night I go to bed full of apprehension as to what political tension will awake when I do, or possibly before. Should the Chancellor of the Exchequer give us a 2 week warning that coins are going to be phased out, contactless will be replaced with a card which requires a 10 digit PIN consisting of at least 2 capitals, 2 numbers and 3 special symbols but must also spell out a chemical formula which will be manufactured and fed to the poor. The culture secretary will abandon and pack away all exquisite art, clearing out the museums to only display the rotting, bloated carcasses of forgotten winter pensioners in a summer backdrop of the most picturesque Fracking sites, with a cash prize awarded to the person who can give us A) the name of the fracking site, and B) an amusing name for the cadaver based on their clothing and present accessories. The Home secretary has issued guns and mobility scooters to everyone over the age of 80 and told them to fill their boots in their local towns with firelighters awarded to the person with the highest kill rate, they will then be locked into a lonely flat with minimal food and told to crack on. Months later these folk could be lucky enough to see themselves displayed in one of the new Grotesque Galleries, kind of like the York Dungeons, but smellier. The minister for transport has been replaced by the guy who gave a ferry contract to a company with no ferries and terrible sea-sickness issues, a knighthood for holding dirt on Mr Johnson (not your penis) and presumably a comfortable smoking jacket which he wears whilst looking out over his estate picking off muntjacs and humans as they leap over his Ha-Ha, and recently revealed that the entire transport system would be replaced trillions of oily marbles scattered on every cm of this land so people slip and slide their way about their business.

So I’ll wake up, have a piss, let the dog out and make some tea. Back to bed for Wordle, then Waffle, asking if she’s gone yet, and then eventually turn on my work computer, and dream the day away in a state of ever angering angst listening to LBC between 10am and 1pm and then falling back into an altogether more suitable spot from 1-4pm. But all the while questioning no one in particular as to the merit or merits of this government. And to what aim and direction are we all headed, how will my kids afford a house, when will I be able to start buying records again and will this Covid vaccination I had this afternoon save me from the pox. 

Then I go to bed full of apprehension, and the whole thing repeats itself.

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