Down the rabbit hole...

It can be difficult, mused a muse, that parody and satire can be lost at times when fact seems to encroach upon fiction. Or indeed simply replaces it. In a world where facts about misconduct are simply denounced as lies and 'fake news' is not so much the problem because it has always been thus. It has commonly been the case that an individual or company or government would simply state that some piece of news reported about them, or even just scurrilously repeated down the local bar, is a lie and then there would be hundred of hours of investigation by people that believe it is true and that this truth should be reported as such and that the perpetrators should be called out about their misdeeds. And so it came to pass that huge organizations were brought low, political careers were ended, marriages destroyed or even wars started. By truth. And things have not changed so much, except now of course, the lies and mistruths are now more greatly accepted as being true. And when

On a more serious, reflective, topic. It seems uncommon to think much about death until death itself knocks on your door and says 'hi, I'm here to collect..' and then looks down the list of names that today are due to catch a ferry across a river to another place. But I think about the manner of death and about how people look upon those poor souls, of whom I have known too many, who suffer from either debilitating diseases or simply rigours of old age that make their minds go to, well, mush! There have been more than one or two people I have known that have said 'I would kill myself before I get to that stage!' and yet they never have and they have instead endured a slow, sometimes painful death which does not end like the knock on the door above, but instead is more like death turning up and saying 'hi, I've come to take x away for a decade of torment and literal hell on earth before finally taking them to the ferry!' Medicine is a wonderful an

There is nothing so troublesome as procrastination. To be indecisive about a direction and so take no decision. To stand, if you like, at the head of a path that splits in two and be unable to decide which one to take. Robert Frost would understand, although he chose one, and it was less trod, if memory serves me correctly. BoJo was vacillating. When he was advised, by an advisor, that he was vacillating, he claimed somewhat to the advisers dismay, that he was not currently in need of any form of lubrication. He also gave the advisor a kind of curious, stay away from me with your whacky ideas kind of look. This look was commensurate with a man who mistook vacillation for something completely different and something that only has questionable usages by a very small proportion of the population. Mainly that proportion of the population attended very private schools with a pretty much entire male attendance although there were always the odd questionable ones. And indeed, nowadays the

I'm not finished with my story, I'm just taking a break. Partly coz there are things I must address and also because my attempt at humorous parody of current events are less funny than the actual events! Especially now that BoJo has compared himself to the Hulk... the Bulk maybe, but not the Hulk. What's more, the actor best known for playing the Hulk has even weighed in the matter. How are you supposed to parody stuff like that? I mean, it's crazy and ridiculous already and funnier than anything I could think up! That doesn't mean that I'm not going to try. I just need to lie in a dark room with a cold wet towel covering my eyes, just for a little while you understand.

Today was a beautiful day and Dumpy was out and about playing with some sticks and a ball. He tried very hard to hit the ball with one of the sticks but quite often missed and even when he hit the ball seemed not to be getting the message that it was supposed to go in a certain direction. To help educate the ball often Dumpy would take to picking the ball up after hitting it, when he did hit it, and moving it to where it was supposed to be after being hit. He would then spend several minutes lecturing the unmoving ball as to the rights and wrongs of going where he wanted and not where it seemed to want to go. There were, as it happened, as it always seemed to be the case, several men standing around him following him up and down the nice greenery with excellent sandpits in which Dumpy was very keen to play with his balls and always one or two other people accompanying them who also had sticks and balls but they always seemed to have balls that were far better trained as they defin