a word from our sponsor (14/Jan/18)

dear Mr So-called Leader of the So-called Free World,

Phew! that’s a long title, maybe we can reduce that to a single syllable?… something like Flump perhaps… that’s catchy, ok we’ll go with that…

dear Mr Flump,

Please feel free to take it personally as it probably is… it is a personal sleight from old Blighty-land for which there is a swathe of concurrence against you personally so it’s fair to see it as personal… though not against the US…… oh no, no, no, to think that would be wilfully misunderstanding and ignorantly misinterpreting the situation… we have nothing against US citizens nor even US culture, except maybe for the plethora of adverts you litter your television with making it unwatchable……no, indeed this is personal, we don’t like you, although I use the word ‘we’ loosely…… on the loatheable scale you even out-Nixon Nixon, though I know you thrive upon being reviled which is a peculiar trait to boast and actually encourage but I suppose certain personality disorders predispose one to that end…

To be honest we have enough racist, bigoted, cruel, bully-boy, self-absorbed me-me-me-me-it’s all about me politicians here already and really we don’t really want to be babysitting yet another… and we are quite capable of opening a building without you (i.e. American Embassies)…… not to mention we have our very own puffed-up popinjay Mr Flump look-a-like here already and should you swan over here on your broken wings then the ruse may be busted that you’re in fact one and the same person!……

As for the potential impact on our (here comes another…) so-called “special relationship” I think as it was there before you came fallumping out of the swamp it will be there long after you’ve experienced a toxic meltdown in your own excess of bile… and anyway to call this hands across the ocean relationship ‘special’ is all a bit twilight zone but it makes us feel good about ourselves enabling the illusion and delusional pretence that Britain (or the UK, Great Britain or even Britannia, take your pick, everyone else does) still rules the waves, even if it’s only on a tiny pond filled with shopping trolleys in some suburban back garden somewhere, instead of the far less prosaic lapdogs licking others polluted shores of influence……

see recently you have had a few, arguably, successes?… is that right?… although most seem only for the benefit of big corporations, a world in which you yourself seem to have an abiding interest in more ways than one… also, full marks on recently having clearly taken at least a smidgen of advice from someone with half a brain cell to keep your family (largely) out of the spotlight, or at least on the very edge as they are indeed your Achilles heel, and being your other dodgy tendon is yourself then there’s a danger of not having a leg left to stand on……

… and honestly, enough with the petulant twittering…. I’m sure Twitter are laughing all the way to the bank but really, making policy in 140 characters at a time?… or 270 now…. damn! I shouldn’t have told you, I’ve just given you the excuse to abuse even more exclamation marks…… apparently, so I’ve been told, you’re all grown-up now, wow!… I remember when you were knee-high to a dollar bill, we all had such high hopes… ‘ shame.

with as much regard as I can muster as sincerely as I can be in the circumstances,
me~

ps…… dear Mr Flump, stop turning our rare natural landscapes here into yet another golf course… thank you.

© 2018 robert greig

cusps for breakfast (30/Dec/17)

another one bites the dust as another cusp growls into view and 17 becomes 18… twenty-eighteen, or two thousand and eighteen, all these years into the 2000’s (two-thousands or twenty-hundreds, also subject to much disagreement) and still no one knows which it should be, twenty-whatever or two thousand and whatever… perhaps we should just call it the whatever century, the ‘whatevers’, certainly sounds better than the daft noughties… really? it sounds like some tacky British farce so beloved in the sixties and seventies…… now they were decades we had no problem shortening to agreed pronunciations…… and also the term “whatever” has become an integral dismissive, perfect for the state of the world today……

… as usual it’s an artificial cusp, like so many we invent, note, celebrate, mark, essentially meaningless in itself… any excuse for a party, as they say…… we seem to thrive on cusps, feed on them, it even sounds like a breakfast… “would you like milk on your cusps?”…… or could even be a naughty word (naughty, not noughtie), I’ll let you use your imagination on that one for fear of being censor-botted…. lordy, another innuendo!… they are coming thick and fast….. oh no! not again!… I really must stop this now and find my way back to what I was saying, which admittedly wasn’t a lot……

… looking back I can’t say 2017 was going down in my books as a classic year, in fact the opposite, things began rough, and steadily cascaded pyroclastically into terrain so rough it smoothed itself out into a vast wilderness under the weight of anything barely perceptible at all… imagine a landscape, tundra perhaps, or better still an ice sheet, no trees, no mountains, no undulations, not even waves as you’d find on the sea and definitely no people, which was probably the only forgiving factor about it… no people…… if 2017 has taught me anything it’s people are growing increasingly more stupid, present company excepted… in a land which has become itself increasingly divisive, bitter, insular, frightened, racist, nasty, and hypocritical in oh so many ways…… so I guess you can say I won’t look back on the year fondly… a frayed year…… there were a few moments perhaps, having gone through my appointments diary (yes, I have one of them though why as I rarely have any appointments of any kind I’m not sure, just an attempt to show willing…) there’s not much leaping out with the enthusiasm of a glee club…… not that “glee” is a word I nor anyone else would associate with me admittedly……

… thus another year is stirring, or threatening, while this one on the verge, or cusp, of extinction, and I’m far too terrified to predict anything that may befall the next twelve months……

“couldn’t you for once end on a happy note?”
“don’t be silly, this is me we’re talking about…”

© 2017 robert greig