Miley Cyrus

My heart is breaking for the lad, who opened a bar in Peckham, put every penny he had into it and then Boom.
My heart is breaking for the girl, who taught dance to disadvantaged kids in Rome, saved all her pennies to buy a ticket and then Boom.
My heart breaks for the shy boy, who had been supporting himself, as a musician for years, got his big break beginning of February, and now Boom all his gigs have been cancelled.
Aged 33 they’re all having to move back to live with their parents – what’s the alternative?
And so all the children of the 80’s who wanted their own life are now lost. Pained and lost.
And I dont know how to blame the Tory Government – lack of investment over ten years, savage cuts, heartless policies – it’s not even that that breaks my heart, what breaks my heart is that the Conservatives are mostly wealthy pubic school boys, without a finger on any kind of pulse, who don’t engender any kind of trust – well not in me anyway – so I question their leadership, whilst still doing their bidding.
And since they are a bunch of career politicos I wonder whether we really are getting the right advice? How can we tell any more?. Trump says something on Monday contradicts himself on Tuesday, invents baloney on Wednesday, tweets on Thursday and by Friday we listen to more of his bollox and wish that he had tested positive for the virus. Oh come on we all thought it. Two scientists flank Johnson who stands behind a podium, and dizzy from U-turns leads us to lock down. Quietly the cock who brokered Brexit winces as getting drugs from Europe is now a faff since we are no longer part of the club, whilst his pregnant fiancee sits on the settee in Number 10 polishing the silver, and stroking her belly which holds his umpteenth child. Wearing nothing but white jockeys and a pair of threadbare socks our first minister schtupped his mistress whilst the virus was gestating and the stock markets were getting ready to tank. And tank they did, and are, and will continue to do so until Covid 19 has had her day.
‘Utopia for Realists’ a book by Rutger Bregman argues for a fare wage for all. America are thinking about a thousand dollars a month for families who are broke, will Boris do that here? Or will he continue to spend trillions on wars, on high Speed train tracks, or hiring beds from private hospitals who, unapologetically are accepting the NHS money whilst Richard Branson skips all the way to the investment bank.
There are those who are saying this is Mother natured pissed.
There are those who are saying it’s the Goddess up there who has had enough
There are those who say pandemics come in 100 year cycles.
There are those who say its the fault of the gays, the jews, the blacks the Janes.
There are those who blame the old, the infirm the intergenerational families.
There are those who just blame and blame and blame.
So now we are all in lock down. The over 70’s will be curfewed in their homes for twelve weeks.
Grandchildren will be forbidden access to their grandparents. Grandparents languishing from the loss of their grandkids.
And we follow orders lest we are slapped with a thousand pound fine, or get banged up.
And yes we have to protect the old, and the underlying unhealthy, so yes we have to look out for each other and split the pasta and learn to share again. so it is polite that we listen to our leaders isn’t it?
But are they getting it right? We wonder, talking and arguing, pondering and complaining and criticising and despairing, but now is not the time to judge Johnson, or heckle Hancock, now is the time to hold them to account. They’ve squandered our money, spent it fraudulently, leaving us to fight each other for lavatory paper in Tesco’s and battle for the last bottle of sanitiser in Sainsbury, and the Americans stand in line to buy yet more guns.
It’s late and I’m in the kitchen knowing that I am lucky enough to have a garden to isolate in, worrying about the dawter who is giving up her unaffordable life in London, self isolating for seven days, before she too comes back home to rest and recuperate without having to find any rent which will enable her to ponder on what life holds for her after this debacle.
Idris Elba tells us he’s tested positive and he didn’t even have any symptoms, and when thems that are in the know say we we should all be tested, mouths agape we hiss there aren’t enough tests to go round, or beds, or doctors, or nurses or hope.
For hope springs eternal, and hope is what we need. This insidious disease ain’t forever, even if it feels like it is. Watch as the Italians, on their balconies, sing to each other, sending their voices into the viral air. And the Spanish star jump on their balconies whilst a lithe Catalonian demonstrates how to keep fit on the communal green.
The Queen isolates herself in Balmoral, whist her immoral son laughs all the way to the Pizza Hut in Woking, and the world keeps turning, and even though we want to shout STOP we want to get off WE CAN’T.
We will weather this, we will help each other out and plant potatoes and tell our children stories of when old people fell ill way back in 2020, when the strange illness called Miley Cyrus by the cockneys (rhyming slang), when Miley struck and the folk in Wales had to deal with it in their flooded homes, and the Scousers cried as they watched their beloved team hang their heads in disappointment. And we will tell the story of Miley how she infected refugees who had no water and food whilst the children of the world watched when the elders stopped breathing.
But before our very eye the pollution levels fell because nobody drove their cars.,
The clouds parted and there was blue sky over the mountains and the birds sung. But we could only watch in splendid isolation.
For after the floods and plagues of locusts, after the dust storms and the death of all bees the cinemas closed then the theatres and the musicians practiced their scales in the silence of their own bedrooms. Writers wrote but the libraries were shut whilst the television played endless reruns of ‘Yes Minister’ and ‘Only Fools and horses.’
Things had to change, and the change had to be brutal for us to sit up and listen, learn lessons in sharing whilst we bumped elbows.
This is the end and this is the beginning.
You wrecked us Miley but as you said so eloquently
‘If you believe in yourself anything is possible.’