06:25 am Checking out the Guardian on my IPad.
All is well!
Theresa May had a phone conversation with the Pussy-Grabber and we are still “special.”
Nigel Farage has promised to protect her pudenda when she does get to meet the new Commander in Chief.
The Pussy-Grabber had an “excellent” conversation with Obama and “buried” their differences. In the photograh you can see the fire in Obama’s eyes as he sits next to the Orange Play-Doh man.
“Yes, we can!”
Indeed.
And of course, now the Pussy-Grabber has been elected – only he didn’t get a majority of votes let alone the majority of those eligible to vote – it is the will of the “people” so he must be allowed to do what he plans.
And when the PG comes here – as he will at some time – he will be met by the Queen and what will the headlines say then?
Pussy Grabber at the Palace.
The Queen met with President Fart today making sure to keep well clear of his pudgy paws….
Only none of that stuff will be mentioned.
It was just part of the election campaign.
The people have spoken.
Like they did here.
And all the lies and unpleasant revelations are put under the carpet.
As politicians wipe their feet, fix their smiles and shake hands, ever mindful of their own precarious position.
Telling us that the way forward has now been decided and nothing can be done to change it.
Its democracy.
And what did the children learn at school today?
That it’s fine to say bad things about people who don’t look the same as you.
That it’s fine to make things up when the facts are inconvenient.
That winning is all that matters.
That decency, knowledge, respect or even integrity do not count for anything.
That little girls should not get above themselves.
Although for little boys anything goes
– anything at all –
– just mislead the “majority” with prejudice, lies and whatever bilious information they want to hear to make their sorry lives someone else’s fault –
and you too can represent your country.
Just like Nigel.
Just like Boris.
Just like the Pussy Grabber.
14:50 pm After a trip around the M25
I can’t listen to Radio 4 anymore. The BBC desire for balance means that anyone with anything to say gets a voice. In theory that sounds like a good thing but in practice it means people can talk complete and utter rubbish, bend the truth, turn facts on their head and instead of being laughed at, they get given a ” fair” hearing. This elevates them and gives them a platform to fool the not so savvy listener. It must be true I heard it on the BBC. Then comes the appearance on Have I Got News for You and bingo …
The British Bullshit Channel has a lot to answer for.
So I listened to Japanese Enka instead. The songs are mostly about sad people drinking by themselves in bars, mulling over lost loves. And of course after twenty minutes of that I felt the tears flow down my face -Not for me, my life is fine – but for the world right now. A bad thing has happened that will affect everyone. Hatred and anger has pulled the curtains closed.
All one can do is hope that through the fraying seams, a light will shine through.
17:20 pm After a Run
Out in the fields running before the sun went down, I saw a full moon low in the sky. And it would be good right now to come up with some profound statement about the ebb and flow of life under the watchful gaze of the moon and how we need to get all this in perspective.
But instead I can only think of my grandfather. We were standing on the balcony of his flat in Hoxton – in the seventies it was not at all a desirable place to be – he was feeding the pigeons sliced white bread – his rebellion against the neighbours who called them vermin. And when the moon came out from behind a cloud, I must have commented about someone being up there and looking down on us because I remember him saying, ‘The man in the moon is dead.’
He’d fought for six years in WWII so didn’t have much time for sentiment.
In Japan they believe a rabbit lives on the moon. If you look carefully you can just about make out its ears. Better a rabbit than a man. Less likely to do damage.
Julia Notaro 