Was it genuine indignation do you suppose, driving Headgirl Sophie's truculent pout, this morning when Oliver Dowden firmly told her that Boris would be leading the Conservative Party into the next election? She had been firing a round of hard fucks into him about Partygate, Fines and Lies, but he was not one to be easily swayed by the lash of the Head Girl's whip.
|Oliver Dowden, chairman of the Conservative Party - proof that politics is showbiz for ugly people.|
|Fatty Blackford - further proof that politics is showbiz for ugly people|
The Religious Musings Page.
Although I despise organised religion, I value the idea of a people coming-together in worship, by arrangement or spontaneously and like even the most uneducated, the most defiantly agnostic, I am steeped in the art, architecture, literature, music and jurisprudence of Christianity, I could not be otherwise, even were I Richard Dawkins, Bishop of the Holy Church of Show Business.
I try to go to church at Easter and Christmas, preferably in a big, fuck-off cathedral; I try to listen to Choral Evensong on Radio Three and I go to the odd Christian drama, like the recent Mystery Plays in York Minster, and although I would hang, draw and quarter most prelates and priests, I love the King James Bible as though it was the Granny I never had; the psalms, the proverbs, the lamentations and the gospels. I am a cultural Christian, a Zen-Presbyterian-Marxist.
It simply doesn't matter to me whether or not my ancestors fought at Waterloo or Agincourt and there's absolutely no way of knowing what they did in the last Ice Age; all I need to know is that my ancestors, like yours, got pissed-off with swimming around in the seas, crawled up the beach, up into the trees, down into the caves, out onto the planes, into the cities and with any luck out to the stars, that's my genetic inheritance, my great aunt being a missionary in Africa is neither here nor there.
Back when he was an engaging young singer-satirist, before he became an awful, grimacing, prowling, buffoon-like parody of himself, Loudon Wainwright used to sing I'm a son and I'm a father, I am just ay middle man. It's a good line, for him, anyway. That's all there is to it, for most of us, those of us not connected to thieving, murderous, venal royalty and aristocracy - or to GoodFamilies, as the nation's filth call themselves; that's all there has been for most of humantime, one's parents might glimpse one's own children before dying themselves.
You read about loving couples who truly deeply want a family because they truly deeply believe that it is right for them and that she just knows that he would be a wonderful father and he knows that a family would be just howsorightisthat for her - don't they just make you fucking heave and puke these couples - and so they make love considerately, thoughtful of each others' needs, and, if they are family-hungry, in just the right position and at just the right time of her cycle and on and on and fucking on they go, about the perfection of their shitty little consumer lives, even their copulation benchmarked against some Which Report on ProCreation. The rest of us just do fucking, as we have since we came out of the ocean and our children, rightly, in my judgement are Lust's remembrances of itself.
How could it or should it be otherwise? These are urges at work, forces way beyond rationalisation, try as we might, we and the priests. Y'know? In the beginning was the word and the word was LetsFuck. Says so in the Bible.
Many thanks to mr mongoose for the Easter Crossword. For those who may not have entirely got there, or want to confirm their answers are correct - here's the Sol-u-shon.
Honest Not Invent and Vent Stack - anthologies of the work of mr ishmael and stanislav, the young Polish plumber - can be purchased from Amazon or from Lulu.