Sunday, 7 March 2021

Diary: Blowing hot and cold...

For an out-of-date vestige of a long lost era, the Royals certainly know how to sell newspapers. In fact, come the glorious day perhaps that's the industry a weary nation should set them up in, in return for the palace and pomp and pageantry, in exchange for the backstage influence on legislation, as a more-than-generous trade off for all their corrosive in-fighting and costly domestic dues? In fact, setting the Royals up as Press Barons would be apt, at a time when the newspaper's reign is also slowly drawing to an end. 

But who needs newsprint when you've got radio, TV and the internet salivating over every twist and turn?  In case I've not already made myself clear, let me put in this way: I'm utterly, utterly sick of the silly soap opera that is this country's out-dated, irrelevant and unbelievably expensive royal family. I don't want a revolution; but I do want to hear a lot less about them and pay nothing whatever to keep them!

This shit show between different members of a family descended from murderers and Machiavellian power-grabbers and in-bred preservers of their own self-interest that we - you and I - still pay for is a joke! And the joke is on is. This week's Royal circus has been  worse than #Brexit! Now we’ve “taken back control” can't we grow up?

Of course, I wish no ill will to any of them, least of all the Duke of Edinburgh. I'm delighted to hear of his successful heart procedure, and only wish the same speedy, quality care was available to all men of his age. I doubt he had to answer any awkward questions while someone decided whether or not to slap a DNR notice on his bed. 

And on the subject of wind, the actual zephyr of last week did some spectacular damage to one of the old, tall trees in the cemetery. We noticed it today, on our walk through the land of the dead which we take both as a change from our foot pounding perambulations of the living streets and because it's a haven of peace, beauty and wildlife. This part of the cemetery has been closed to burials for years; the trees are allowed to grow and bulbs and wildflowers thrive unchecked. I sometimes think of it as a small aide-memoir of what the world could be like (will be like) once there are no longer human beings to mess it up. The answer, of course, won't be simple; there'll be great beauty and tranquility (just no-one around to see it). But there'll also be acts of violent ferocity, such as that wrought by the recent gales on this tree...



 

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