So, you thought you could go on a weekend trip to the Seychelles last year celebrating Saffron’s GCE results and not find the equivalent of the Wuhan virological laboratory in a street near you?
I know you need that Chelsea Tractor to shop in Waitrose and as soon as this crisis is over you will be taking a trip to Devon to the cottage, but have you glanced up at the skies over London recently and noticed how clear they are or how the rivers are running clear again after few weeks without the likes of you on the streets ?
Of course, you will be the first to get the vaccine when it comes out because your husband knows a man in Imperial College, or was it Oxford?
Do you remember years ago, when you went to Poland when it was communist and discovered cash bought almost nothing? That £5000 business rate relief grant you got today from the government for your raffia weaving shop was good to have ( I know Daddy is in banking and you don’t really need it) but has it occurred to you that getting it today might mean that the same sum might only buy you a loaf of bread in 2023 by which time all capital projects will be in the hands of central government ?
Imagine the horror of a communist autocracy run by bankers
But like the Scotsman who after he died complained to God,
‘Lord I dinna ken,
To which God answered,
‘Well ye ken the noo.’
Well, dear rabid consumer.
‘Have ye kenned?‘
The account of the Scottish reprobate who wanted to get into heaven was spoiled because when informed that his sinful life on earth prevented admission he actually said “I didnae ken” (past tense) not “I dinna ken” (present tense) because otherwise the response from Saint Peter “Well you ken the noo” doesn’t really make sense.
Aye, I ken fine.
How clear the skies! How clear the rivers! I find myself coming over all fotherington-Tomas and saying hello skies! hello rivers! Also hello birds and hello bees, because here in my little Lincolnshire village the birds and bees seem to be breeding even faster than Romanian immigrants.
The lesson to be learned today is that we won’t starve if we lead our lives at a slower pace and spend more time at home. A few specimens of Chelsea Tractors will be preserved in village museums, where the white-bearded attendant, in exchange for a groat, will patiently explain how monstrously hasty people’s lives were in the olden days. For a florin, he might even show you the last surviving Drag Queen in its glittery cage, fuming and spitting and much less likely to breed than the pandas who gambol between the crumbling tenements of what used to be Communist China.
And every house (a spacious house, not a nasty little box) will have a tiny image of Michael Wharton above its front door. Passers-by will salute the images, not because they know who MW was, but just for luck. And the bells will ring out every Sunday morning to tell us that God is in his heaven.
Or, if you prefer, we can “clap for carers” and continue to cling to the sides of the fast-flushing lavatory bowl of cultural-marxist history.
What else would you expect from a society that relies on ever-greater consumer spending to maintain its ever-growing debt payments.