And the comedy just keeps coming...

A chap in Morely, a suburb of Leeds, in Yorkshire, very politely asked Boris to "please leave my town". I believe Momentum, the left-wing pressure group at present running the Labour party, are distributing the video. That saves me the bother then; whether I agree with Momentum or not. (Not, but that's by the way.)

And then we come to a slightly more important issue:

www.theguardian.com/us-news/2019/sep/05/mike-pence-ireland-shat-on-the-carpet

Wherein we find that under Trump and Pence, this GOP/Trump administration has no understanding of the Irish base in the US, let alone an understanding of the complexities and nuances of the Irish question. Pence is supposed to be of Irish descent. When a West Brit, and I suppose a unionist (uncapitalised) like me appreciates Ireland's position better than an American of Irish descent there has to be something wrong with the world, the Trump administration, the Irish-American caucus, and my meagre understanding.

What has happened to the Irish in America? Or more appropriately; what has happened to Mike Pence that he is so divorced from Irish opinion?

Was it Leo and his husband?

Or was it something else? I mean if all the Anglo-Saxon right wing folk get their briefing from some general source, and those contributing to it about this particular issue are ERG/Right-wing Brexit types who have always ignored the Irish question because of a peculiar cultural blindspot, of course ones attitudes are going to be screwed. But Pence is meant to be of Irish descent, nevertheless; as is Bannon.

Having discounted expertise, intelligence, and all the paraphernalia of reason in favour of "positivity" and "energy", and other such nebulous concepts when applied to the body politic, we come to ignorance and prejudice as tools of governance. Why can't I see this as a good call? Is it just the cynic in me? Ignorance, prejudice, energy, positivity, and a can do mentality. What could possibly go wrong? No doubt hard work will free us, or somesuch. (Maybe I paraphrase to avoid invoking the demons of the past; inexact translations have such a cavalier poetry.)

The madness is showing further symptoms. It is obvious that the largest Anglo-Saxon cultures are senile; but I think in these cases the dementia is reversible with the right treatment.

I see Mugabe has died. There's a chap who makes Tony Blair, Ronnie Reagan, GWB, or Maggie Thatcher look like a saint; but who still liberated his nation and then destroyed it. He had few equals. In terms of politicians/dictators/whatevers he is one of the most successful. Only beaten to the top of the table by Uncle Vlad. Mugabe didn't actually die in power though. When it comes to the Mad Dictator Top Trump game, dying of natural causes while still in power has to be the absolute zenith.

More drugs please nurse; and I hope you have brought enough to share.

Did I mention the Comedians...

So it now appears our redoubtable PM called both his younger brother Joe, and David Cameron "Girly Swots" as if they were a brace of fotherington-tomases, and our Bojo was the terror of IIb. Bojo hav turned into Grabber Maj. (Winner of the mrs Joyful prize for raffia work etc.) but who think he is as cool as Molesworth. Let me disabuse him, ahem.

Girly swots get the firsts, old thing. Girly swots sweat their briefs and understand them (ooer, Matron; that could be misconstrued). Girly swots, even when they get caught like a rabbit in the headlights, stammering meaningless syllables, can recollect themselves, take a deep breath and croak on, trying to make sense and impart it too; rather than hope meaning can be extracted from the word cloud that issues from an unedited stream-of-consciousness, replete with the remnants of a classical education with which to adorn the nonsense, obvs.

You see Boris still has horsepower in that brain of his; but in life, learning and intelligence respond best to regular structured exercise. And the great offices of state need diligent folk rather than amusing mavericks, as for all that many folk have vaunting ambition, few of them are actually up to those particular jobs.

The odd thing is that Boris never loses his capacity to surprise us, and right now the most surprising thing would be for him to find a good way out of this pickle for us, and maybe even himself.

Never say never; but I reckon it would need a chap more diligent than Boris and with more than second helpings of good luck as well.

Let's see if Boris can prevail where the Girly Swots failed.

I'm going to form a new band called the Girly Swots. It will be ver rocknroll, as any fule kno. (Full drag or not, that is the question? Or is that like cultural appropriation unless I'm prepared to live like that? I'd like to cite Rock 'n' Roll tradition here, because there is a crossover; but at the same time I don't want folk thinking I'm mocking the wrong target.)

We are the Girly Swots... but do we really have to let "Dagenham" Dave Cameron into the band? I mean being fellated by a dead pig is pretty Rock 'n' Roll, even if he didn't get to join the Piers Gaveston club; but he can't play guitar for toffee, and even though he didn't peach on other folk, it's pretty damn obvious he didn't smoke enough weed himself.

The thing about the Gaveston club is they've all done the dick-in-a-dead-pig's-mouth thing. IIRC Hugh Grant was a member.