Purveyor of Bollocks to the Crowned Heads of Europe
Friday, 19 May 2017
My retirement plan
Everything is so bloody boring here right now, what with the inescapable party-political power-struggles - both internal and external amongst all parties - and the worst of it is that nobody can see it getting any better in what is left of my lifetime.
At least France has settled down in the best seat of the rollercoaster with Macron and his rather lovely older wife. Another reason to be jealous of Cro.
The Liberal Democrats have pledged a second referendum on the Brexit vote on the grounds that we should keep trying until we get it right, but there is no chance of that, even if we could afford yet another election.
A few years ago, before agricultural land was bought up by speculators, I had a plan of buying a 4 or 5 acre stretch of dormant farmland with a patch of woods at the top, bordering on a swathe of meadow leading down to a river, for about £5000. I even knew exactly where it was.
I would set up a little wooden hut on the fringe of the wood, and if anyone complained I would put a wheel on all four corners. If they continued to complain I would buy about four sheep and let them loose in the meadow to do as they please for as long as they lived.
I would have a small wood-burning stove in the hut, and if anyone complained about the smoke I would tell them to fuck off.
When things would become as intolerable in town as they are now, I would move to the hut and renounce electricity and all the evils that ride on its current. If I outlived H.I. then I would permanently move into the hut, knowing nothing but sunlight in the day and moonlight and candles by night.
I would probably stop washing and shaving due to the shortage of hot water, so it wouldn't be too long before I would turn into an old man who is both revered, feared and avoided by children, who would dare each other to pay me the odd visit after dark on Halloween.
After a while, even the occasional visit by outreach social services officers would cease and I would be left to my own thoughts forever.
A few years ago, I went to the stretch of wood leading down to the river and there was a sign up saying, FOR SALE. WWW.WOODLAND.COM.
I left it too late.