Dawn this morning
My newly installed log stove smokes quite a lot. I hit it with a sapling a few times and warned it that Smoking Kills, but it continues to do it. A few weeks back, it went critical at 3am, and only the smoke alarm saved me. I unfortunately ingested a lot of wood smoke, and now I have a nasal infection as a result. The nasal infection is also partly to do with being born without sinuses. But I do have a shadow, so there’s nothing to be afraid of.
I’m having a special cowl fitted at the top of the stove pipe to remove any chance of a recurrence, but this has to come from England. Actually, it’s a Simon Cowell. The pipe has to be slotted very firmly into his anus, after which he will feel deservedly intense pain for the brief remainder of his pointless life. I’m having a floodlight installed so I can watch him wrestling with hypothermia and third degree bum-burns at one and the same time. I’ve already sold the rights to CBS as a weekly game show called I’m a celebrity get this pipe out of me. Week 2 is Jeremy Hunt, and the Christmas special will feature Rupert Murdoch, with a special cameo slot for Rebekah Brooks.
Look, nobody said being a Christian was supposed to be easy.
I rang a chum and said my fire had a downdraft problem. He ignored the remark but then later a mutual friend rang to say the first chum thought I might be going mad. When I enquired as to why, he said “Because you told him your fire had a dandruff problem”.
Each and every day I devote my life selflessly to helping the Black Knights of Camerlot find new ways to sell all our souls to the highest bidder. The care of our nuclear power safety having been snapped up by Beijing, and our car industry by Delhi and Stuttgart, the next and most obvious bit of the family heirlooms to go must surely be the English language.
I have it on the very best authority from a well-placed source deep within the bowels of Buckingham Palace – just below the foundations of our democracy but within the realms of possibility – that Good Queen Bess only leased the English language to the American colonies for a limited period of time – viz, in her very own mispelt words, ‘an intervale of foure hundrid years folowyng the date of my demyse’.
This means that, for the last twelve years, the US has been employing what it laughingly refers to as English without our permission. Draper Osborne should now get tough with Washington and negotiate a deal with our Special Relations whereby this abuse of our generous Lang-Lease policy comes to an end forthwith. If they wish to seccede from speaking this Island Tongue, then we must see their offer list – clearly set out and no shilly-shallying mind – at the very earliest opportunity, or send them back to the 1740s with only a Franco-Hispanic-Cherokee-Sioux-Jive creole for comfort.
Devout Catholic Iain Duncan-Smith commented today that the Paris attacks showed, above all else, the importance of religious faith. I really do wish I was making this bit up, but I’m not.
It would not be the greatest literary hardship of my life to construct an essay suggesting that the Jihadist atrocities of a week last Friday were the direct result of deranged religious faith….as indeed were the Crusades, the Spanish Inquisition, the Cromwell massacres of Irish Catholics, Russian pogroms against the Jews, and Boko Haram’s charming contemporary habit of burning a Church full of Nigerian Christians to death on Christmas Day.
I wouldn’t actually accept much of the premise of that essay; but I do find it hard to take this kind of public piety from an ignorant drone who cannot grasp the moral conundrum of cutting the poorest income while retaining Trident and encouraging a fatcat economy based on utterly dysfunctional financial jiggery-pokery.
I could of course don my blond haystack wig and declare all of it to be “a load of right-wing poppycock”. But my cock lacks the knee-jerk reflex to pop for which Mayor Jobsdone of City Hall is justly infamous. So I shall simply fall back on The Slog’s favourite admonition, “Bollocks!”