Hello Peeps
I’m feeling a little more cheery today, either because my wife still isn’t talking to me, or because we have just over three days to go before bipartisanship politics switches sides.
All was quiet in the Sunak household this weekend because he was busy with trying to make a silk purse out of a sow’s a*se.
The Starmer household was a little more dynamic, although there was a row over the wallpaper for the flat above Number Ten. Mrs Starmer isn’t having Hulk wallpaper at any price. It might be how he sees himself at the moment but she’s a realist.
The Davey household was busy, but as we now know the lack of havoc is for a very good reason. I couldn’t sit in a tree and observe them it just wouldn’t be right. Well as right as I get.
What do you expect? I’m a journalist and they won’t invite us in, but then if they did they’d spin it, we’d twist it, and the entire exercise would be pointless.
As much of what you read is.
On a less boring note, that very extraordinary phenomenally late goal last night saved my television. One moment they were wandering around seemingly dazed, I had a brick in my hand, the wife was sulking at her mother’s, the next moment a first class football team erupted onto the pitch. I half expected to see Harry Potter in the stands hurling unpronounceable spells at them.
One thing we know, they respond well to pressure, having set that pressure up themselves all evening so that they could show us how well they can cope. There can be no other explanation for whatever that was.
Bit of cheer on what was a really boring pre-election campaign weekend, categorised by:
If you want to follow the process of three – tell them, tell them what you told them, then tell them again, some of it should at least be true, or maybe interesting, or not complete bull poop.
Today we’ve had two more horses in London chuck their riders off and go sightseeing. They were caught on Vauxhall Bridge, apparently trying to find Downing Street, and calmed down.
One could be heard muttering “damn I wanted to get there and show them what real manure looks like”, the people taking care of them nearly gave them a map and the key to Number 10.
The other one wanted to see the King and ask for an honourable discharge to somewhere there’s no traffic. Such as Buckingham Palace gardens when he promised to crap respectfully after hearing that the King was above politics.
We have more election repetition tonight, and I will be microwaving a tv meal in a shed where I don’t have a tv. I wonder if it will taste just as nice without the tv?
I could go to the House though, do a quick interview, write up something completely different, and get a free meal in the MPs dining room. That would be in my guise as an MP called Dick Whittington who hails from Gloucester. The staff love seeing pictures of my cat, Dick Turpin.
I was even told once that my speech that day had been one of the most stirring they’d ever heard third hand. One MP said it wasn’t entirely awful. I was quite touched but also worried as Theresa May gave the speech and we’re not very alike, especially in the trouser department, hers were so badly cut!
Hey ho.
I will continue sleuthing. I missed the bungee jump this morning. So now we have a budgie smuggling bungee jumper hoping to finally get some real attention. He does have a lovely laugh I’ll say that for him. He’s been a bit of light during a murky campaign, hope he does well, at least he’s put in more effort than repeating himself,
Yours Clarence
Deb Hawken - Amorah 