Cogito ergo sum.

In cartesian terms does drumf actually exist? We’ve witnessed his ability to react, boast, humiliate, demean and threaten but no evidence of actual thinking. Therefore he does not exist.

 

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Jam today, shit tomorrow.

As the world seems to unravel before our eyes, well at least to us sentient folk not wrapped in an unthinking fug of media mendacity and dancing balls (typical bollocks from an arrogant liberal, when these blogs are read by the grinning gargoyle’s thought police (now there’s an oxymoron) in the near future I’ll be hauled in front of the ‘people’s court’, all the previous learned judges having been incarcerated for having the temerity to apply the law, and found guilty of having blasphemed against brexit, fuhrer farage and tyrannical trump). And it’s in the everyday little things that confirm this unravelling, for example in a large Waitrose the other day I went to get a Grauniad and was confronted at eye level with a row of at least 5 piles of the mail, as I was contemplating this and muttering to myself a man came alongside and casually commented “having trouble choosing”, “no” said I, “just appalled at the lack of eye-level choice and the preponderance of the malignant mail”, he then picked a copy up with a weird smile on his mush. This is how it’s becoming, it is like actually living in an increasingly dystopian world, as if ‘Invasion of the Body Snatchers’ is happening.

Many years ago I likened the change I observed in teaching colleagues as they changed their image, way of talking and general behaviour as they prepared for promotion to their having been in pods like in Invasion of the Body Snatchers. I noted that in the most recent piece by ‘The Secret Teacher’ in the Grauniad they too use the same analogy, I am sometimes prescient and fear the coming of the grinning gargoyle’s people’s courts.

And, as in 1984 newspeak continues apace, although the use of the JAM acronym may not be technically newspeak it does speak of political bollocks and of course the old refrain of jam yesterday, jam tomorrow but never jam today. Already the initial speech and ‘aspirations’ (how I’ve come to loathe the term) of unelected premier may are unravelling: workers on boards of companies – of course not, greater pay equality – you’re having a laugh, support for the increasingly poor folk of this country – just whistle. The whole concept of the tts being on the side of working folk a tragic facade.

But in this rapidly unravelling world at least some things remain the same and the current unravelling of moanrinho the arrogant one a good example. He’ll be gone by Christmas.

So, here’s another song from The Oysterband who’s song title I’ve blatantly plagiarised, I still haven’t heard whether they can play at our bash next year.

 

Keep on keeping on, I’ve got to go and set up my pop up shop, love Duncan.

No amount of emollient can cover the shit.

As the western world splits asunder it is but a continuation of the “universe sundered ages ago in a divine war” and time we all take sides and pick the splinters out of our backsides. Trouble is which side do we choose? Already we have the emollience of drumf by those who want to keep or get power or keep their jobs, examples abound such as yesterday on Women’s Hour when after someone had stated, quite rightly, how horrendous drumf is the presenter poured the new emollient by stating immediately that many millions had voted for the fat fart. Even drumf is oozing emollience such as saying he won’t prosecute Hillary. This process of emollience is not soothing despite folk wanting it to appear so. drumf only really entered the presidential race to boost brand drumf and his childish ego and, much as boris de pfeffel twatface russian mole johnson the morning after the referendum, now finds himself in a position that he hadn’t really considered. But don’t be duped there are really nasty folk now in power such as brannen and the alt reich.

As Lindy West and others write it is giving white nationalists the opportunity to spout their shit, it is a continuation of the American civil war, and over here the white nationalist murderer of Jo Cox is on trial and offers no defence, one wonders why he gave no evidence.

And as for the grinning gargoyle, he extends the trumping metaphor as he comes out of trump’s arse as a shart (combination of a shit and a fart).

I’m off to make my own emollient.

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Keep on keeping on, love Duncan.

 

I’m nostalgic for a pre-nostalgic age.

It feels so difficult to be in the now, to be present. I think our corrupted world has been so influenced by the corrupters that it feels as if we are in a constant oscillation between perverted past paradigms and false futuristic frameworks. I know I view the world through a political prism, and that is one of my many failings, but it does give me some perspective even in these turbulent times.

I think it’s a given that  we all sometimes succumb to the thought that things were better in the old days and we were never healthier than when we had rationing, except if you contracted TB or polio and everyone smoked and life expectancy was lower. It’s just another example of cognitive dissonance with good old memory bias, we tend to remember the best bits better. I suffer from an alliterative ailment. Politically this is what fuels the grinning gargoyle and the ucrappers and played a significant part of drumf’s triumph; make America great again like it was sometime in an indeterminate past.

We Brits love our nostalgia; Rule Britannia, we’ll never be slaves but we’ll use slavery to make us rich and bring back grammar schools even though all the hard evidence is that they are worse for us and all the nostalgic TV crap wrapping us in a warm fuzziness, bring back jim’ll fix it eh?

And then the spinmeisters spin their hopeful messages for the future and all the time the present gets missed. Trouble is the present is so fleeting it doesn’t actually exist, just briefly look forward to the coming now and then in a flash it’s history. Oh to be mindfull.

And this current business lark I’m in, so hard for a sensitive twat like me. Phone up a shop owner in Bridport who was so enthusiastic about my unction she had it on her shelves within minutes of my arrival and she tells me sales have been very few, down I go. Then an email from a cancer support group, also Bridport based, asking little old me to give a talk about my unction, up I go.

Look into my mouth ‘cos there’s a painful bit, oh no another cancer, down I go. Look where it is says Kate, right where you’re teeth will bite the inside of my mouth, a few days later the swelling has gone, up I go.

And right now I’m a little discombobulated; the phone rings, a withheld number, a woman asks if I am Michael Smith, I say no, hello Michael how old are you. I don’t know say I, I have pre-senile dementia, are you 52 says she, why do want to know ask I, are you 78, 63 asks she not waiting for an answer, I butt in again asking why she wants to know, this is no conversation, she asks are you in your 80’s even in your 90’s, this is a little bizarre think I, you are very old, bugger off says she and the line goes dead. A very weird moment.

And we live in a post-truth world, so I’m listening to the radio and they are discussing this post-truth bollocks, the presenter finishes the discussion and then says now some truth with the news, it starts with what the new chancellor will present in his ‘autumn statement’, I laugh.

And I feel very nostalgic for Andy Murray’s win, I even defrosted a little towards Djokovic with his post match speech. And I remember when England won at cricket. And poor old moanrinho and babylon united, the unluckiest team in the league, I laugh again.

And just for Hector:

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maybe it will be in his christmas stocking. Check out Gemma’s cartoon noms de plums in yesterday’s Observer magazine, really made me laugh.

Keep on keeping on, love Duncan.

 

We need to have a new category of psychological disturbance to describe what I and others feel when we see a picture of drumf and the grinning gargoyle.

So I just hear that boris de pfeffel twatface russian mole johnson exhorts us not to “prejudge” drumf. What the fuck! What more evidence do we need that drumf is so many bad things as he would simplistically assert. But then what do we expect. And the world gets worse, the mainstream media feeds our increasingly insatiable appetite for absolute crap, what has happened to the dear old BBC as it too succumbs to the neoliberal incubus and all we really hear and see is what the  right wing neoliberal neanderthals want us to hear and see. Again on the dear old beeb I hear this morning that drumf says “stop it” to the racists being racist as we get the all too predictable rise in racism, misogyny and hate unleashed by the unconscionable drumf. He is telling people to stop being racist, it is beyond satire, beyond belief, like telling your trigger finger to stop pulling the trigger as it sprays bullets all around. And then to see the grinning gargoyle standing with drumf in front of a really ugly doorway, and in that image of 2 white privileged elderly western males who are spraying their bile, puking their malicious shit (oh how I love mixing metaphors) over everyone, and I am developing a deep phobia, actually probably a psychological condition much worse than a mere phobia as I can imagine being covered with giant person-eating spiders in a very confined space with the birdy song playing at full volume as being preferable to ever again seeing that image of the 2 goodness destroying twats. Please David Attenborough, kill them both.

Keep on keeping on, love Duncan, even in these dark times.

 

9/11 to 11/9.

Life’s a piece of spit when you look at it, so always look on the bright side of life. drumf, the brexiteers, marine le pen and their ilk will soon show they have little understanding of the where we are, let alone how we got here and absolutely spit about what’s to be done to improve the lot of us. There’ll be a ranting and a raging as they incompetently demonstrate their ignorance and opportunities will present themselves for a progressive rather than a regressive approach.

Unless they impose martial law before then.

Took a lovely old lady to Poole Hospital today, I left her in the waiting room to go and move the car and when I returned the waiting room was empty, in fact the whole oncology outpatients department was empty. I retraced my steps, no sign of her, did ever increasing loops around the labyrinthine hospital, spoke with folk at various reception areas, called her care home and felt very much like I had when students in my care went awol (an infrequent occurrence I might add). On one return to the oncology department there was a receptionist, she’d just started her shift and was only able to tell me that she’d had her appointment and the doctor had gone. Over 45 minutes had passed and panic was beginning to set in when I finally discovered she’d gone for a blood test, very relieved to find her.

When she asked how much she owed for taking her, we get token travel expenses, I told her the exact amount due with the mileage. Ooh she said that’s not as much as others, one person in particular takes a little liberty with what they charge, no names but their email used to include rockgod. Just like the drumf and others this chap will get their comeuppance, they will be fully exposed for the charlatans they are and the schadenfreude will be sweet.

Up the Irish, stuffed the All Blacks.

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Keep on keeping on, love Duncan.