Thursday comes round quicker these days. One minute we’re eating Sunday fare, then before you know it it’s ‘Strictly Come Prancing’ . Einstein has a lot to say about time and speed and age and stuff, I understand a tiny bit, but only a gnat’s testicle’s worth. I’m ‘right brained’ which means I’ve got as much logical intelligence as a bent banana.
Now our political leaders were mostly educated in the ‘left brain’ institutes of Eton and Oxbridge, however, having knowledge for knowledge’s sake is like having a pressure cooker, and then expecting it to cook those aduki beans just because you’re standing there looking at it.
Applying intelligence is the name of the game, so as we stand on the kerbside of a crumbling motorway watching a pile up of monumental proportions it would be true to say that our intelligent government knows not what it is doing. Our so-called clever MP’s, with their years of private education are about as canny as a can of tuna unsustainably caught in a polluted sea off the coast of Cornwall.
It is a filthy culture that spills its dirty linen onto the streets, then demands that somebody else cleans it up. Only a culture of unadulterated shamelessness can demand that those with the least clean up for those with the most.
The 12 year reign of the Conservatives has taken away, balled up and binned any sense of society. Yes, we can all blame the thin lipped Thatcher, but as intelligent left brainers, those corporate law makers should know that there is no such thing as a society that is driven from the top down. That a society that cares not a jot for the vulnerable has been heating up, like a compost ready to spew its deadly liquid. Good old Maggie swung her handbag like a poisonous thurible, spewing her hateful policies over the blind masses, screeching that there is no such thing as society. But I would argue that without a healthy society we have what we have now;
People fighting for food.
People fighting for heat.
People fighting for health.
People fighting for their very survival.
For it is the higher echelons that are smiling all the way to the closing banks.
Just how many times do we have to remind the greedy, myopic bastards, that they, themselves, the right wing leaning twats, have caused all the problems and that the least prepared are having to put their hands into their deep empty pockets to pay for the chaos brought on by those corrupt fuckers.
None of us are exempt. Our normal Thursday awaydays have to wait now. Petrol + coffee + a slab of chunky cake costs more than a weekly shop.
I would like to stand in front of Rishi and point my finger; NO I would say, it’s your mess, you clear it up. Just take some money out of your piggy bank and pay for the destruction you and your left brained wankers have caused.
I would like to say to Reece Mogg, “You have more money made from flogging contraceptive pills than the whole of Preston Northend; you pay for the fucking mess you have caused.”
I would like to say to the Bravermans and the Hunts, “Wipe that slimy smirk off your faces and take responsibility for the sewage you have spewed.”
I would like to say to the owners of our air, and water and gas and electricity, “Put your wizened old hands into your till and pay for the shite you spray over our land.
You pay for it,” I would say as I pointed my finger at their throats.
“You fucking well pick up the tab since you are the ones who have wreaked havoc over our nation.”
And to charge postal workers, or firefighters, or teachers, or nurses, or police officers, or doctors, or train drivers, or bus drivers for the cost of living crisis is like tearing out the heart of a dying man and blaming him for heart failure.
We are driving at a million miles an hour into a hurricane and the only people who seem to be taking it seriously are thirteen year old children who can see the writing on our crumbling walls. Life cannot continue when a few hold the pursestrings for the many. No country can operate when it’s chucking buckets of shit at the windows then complain because they can’t see through the shite.
It is not the fault of the lowly that the country is asphyxiating under a mountain of debt. It is not the fault of a pandemic or a Russian despot that we are left, like Kate Winslet, clinging to a polystyrene ice berg as Leonardo de Caprio sinks to the bottom of a Paramount Studio’s wet set.
We’re being played for kippers, they watch us scream in agony as they hammerer our feet to the floor. From mould in our bathrooms to crazy, ill turkeys. From catastrophic electricity bills to the cost of a bag of chips. From unadulterated greed and smug chuckling, we are lying on our backs and taking it as they piss all over us whilst we listen to the empty warbling of a group of people who have never known what it’s like to be penniless.
As the food banks feed our teachers and carers, as the British Government discuss the pain the country is facing, they stuff their faces with chateaubriand washed down with £73,000 of Cuntservative bought wine.
As people scavenge for coins down the sofa, or try to find ways to bend the system, as children shiver whilst their parents attempt to put eggs on the table, as farmers weep and corner shops shut, as maternity units close and fishermen flounder as the very fabric of our society frays in the wind of change, as the fucking Tory gobshites blame and point at the unions, as their outmoded crocodile tears leave us all drowning in a sea of misery, I’m aware that millions are suffering, millions are angry, only the likes of those made in Chelsea can enjoy a wholesome life whilst millions contemplate the barricades. For make no mistake we are at war with those who haven’t got a smidgin of compassion. We are at war with a government that has failed, and are doing what all failures do – blame the innocent.
‘Let all that is ours by Divine Right manifest under grace in perfect ways.’
A house made out of paper money cannot survive. Let them huff and puff as they blow our houses down but know that as more of us band together to build our own brick shithouses, the sooner those cadaverous wolves will cower and die.
1 thought on “The winds of change”
More like jackals than wolves …