Saturday, 23 September 2017


Cometh the hour, cometh the man. Unfortunately, for we in this benighted nation of ours there is no man to succour us in our perilous times, there are men at the pinnacle of what could comically be described as our democracy, but in actual fact they are nothing more than a bunch of bloody old women, not that such a term would be considered acceptable in modern society where the function of men is to be charged with rape by drunken tarts who change their minds over the culpability of the male after having had a damn good screw. So, we are left with Teresa May, who could hardly be compared to Julius Caesar not that she has ever heard of the fellow, after all the dame is in receipt of a modern education, which if nothing else guarantees that one can face the world confident of knowing nothing whatsoever about the place. A perfect qualification for a politician.

Mrs. May is Prime Minister of England, a position in life she acquired by offending nobody other than the electorate, who, we all know to our cost, count for nothing in the real world of politics, which is why it is safe to hold elections every now and again, as the results if unpalatable to the ruling elite can always be ignored safe in the knowledge that the buggers will not know the difference. The same situation prevailed in ancient Rome, the mob was kept quiet with a plentiful supply of bread and circuses, whereas now we give them the dole coupled with endless episodes of brain destroying soap operas, nothing changes does it? They play, we pay.

Daisy May is now lady of all she surveys, as the daughter of a clergyman the woman probably feels that Jesus wants her for a sunbeam, perhaps the old boy does but he is probably the only one of that persuasion, I do not think the Conservative party is singing too many hosannas in her praise other than they who wish to scupper the brexit process, which is why they voted her in as leader in the first place. To have done otherwise would have given the voters the impression that their opinions counted, and god knows where that might have led to. It is all well and good talking about democracy but putting the concept into practice is another kettle of fish altogether, a thing not to be tolerated in a freedom loving society.

Our glorious Prime Minister has just returned from Florence, home of the spiritual godfather of politics, Machiavelli, an apt choice as the purpose of the shindig was the interment of brexit, which will be vigorously denied despite all the evidence to the contrary. Mrs. May undoubtedly sees herself as the modern Boadicea, but we all know what happened to that old broad, only with only a modern education to fall back on, the mistress of the shoe shops remains in blissful ignorance of the fate awaiting her.

It is said that all political careers end in tears, they do not, they end with a stab in the back, as will assuredly be the fate of mother T. Who will yield the knife? For Caesar the coup de grace came from Brutus, the big B of his time, consumed by resentment and ambition. If you are of an historical disposition would put your money on Boris doing the dirty deed. But, mark my words, Brutus stuck the knife in, but he did not last too long afterwards. Enjoy your domination of the Forum Teresa, it ain’t going to last, and you will be replaced by another charlatan, ‘twas ever so.

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