Well I am back in Gloucestershire, house sitting one of ‘my’ mansions for a couple of weeks and marvelling at the inanities of the modern world.
Take coronavirus for example. I suppose I am having my own quarantine at the moment, but isolated though I am, I take three dogs for a long walk along the roads every morning. I go early so seldom meet anyone, but I don’t suppose that is one hundred percent certain to protect me from this bug.
It would seem that as I am well over seventy, I am more likely than most to turn my toes up should I get the bug, but should I panic? I don’t really think so but I watch the media and read the newspapers and it seems that I am in a minority. People seem to be running around like headless chickens, even to the extent of ripping hand sanitiser dispensers from hospital walls. Why can’t they use soap I wonder? Britons have always been proud of their stoicism and I hear a great deal about the ‘blitz spirit’ but see little signs of this.
The problem is that nobody really knows what the coronabug is or how best to avoid it. Bunter J’s government are doing their best to make plans to combat the virus, but they seem to be as confused as everyone else. They tell us that their plans are based on scientific advice from the health ‘experts’ and we must accept that. The politicians are not clinicians and can only follow advice and that applies to us all.
Yet the government are being castigated by the ‘celebrity experts’ such as that bumptious clown Piers Morgan who is ranting at me as I write. According to Morgan, we are all in desperate danger and the government – because they won’t come on to his programme – are deliberately endangering us all. I know it is Morgan’s job to be contentious but he is stoking up ever more panic among the great unwashed out there.
It is surely time that everyone calmed down and did what they could to stay healthy and avoid infecting anyone else. Where is the British stiff upper lip for Pete’s sake?
In the meantime, the world keeps spinning with all its attendant madness. For instance, a former British spy who murdered a child has been awarded sixty thousand pounds by blaming his horrific crime on having contracted post traumatic stress disorder caused by working for the intelligence services. The man who cannot be named for security reasons alleges that MI5 and SIS chief allowed him to carry out dangerous missions in Egypt and Afghanistan despite knowing he was suffering from PTSD.
Believed to be in his forties this man claims to have infiltrated al Qaeda and to have been tortured as he shared company with Taliban insurgents.
His career ended in disgrace when he was convicted of murdering the child and in 2015 he launched a legal bid to sue the Home Office for compensation. The child killer won twenty thousand pounds for his alleged PTSD and was also awarded forty thousand pounds which he argued was money, owed to him by the government.
Surely this is ruddy outrageous? The idea of a child killer receiving this sort of compensation for a ‘disease’ that cannot be reliably diagnosed is abhorrent to me. No matter what service you give to the government or what effects are suffered, there can be no excuse for a grown man killing a child.
I have an Instagram account on which I occasionally post photographs of the Moor but I don’t follow the magical world of SussexRoyal which is apparently a little like Disneyland with less gritty realism.
This of course is the Instagram site of the Royal Biscuit – should that be prefaced with former perhaps? – and is their main conduit for communicating good deeds – usually their own – to the world.
These days they are accompanied by their own film crew and photographers so only the most polished and flattering images are sent out to their fans. In SussexRoyal-Land Harry’s bald patch is as elusive as the ruddy unicorn — it is simply never seen!
Meanwhile, every little film clip finds adoring crowds hanging on Meghan’s every word and laughing uproariously at her jokes. This really is Hollywood at its best.
This Instagram account is followed by 11.3 million people, who surely must be wondering if anything bad ever happens in this funny little Never Never land.
There is no mention of hoax phone calls, royal rifts, sister-in-law Kate’s thunderous face at Westminster Abbey, private jet travel or secret lives of luxury. In this land of make believe, the Sussexes are forces for inclusivity and change, just like they told the fake Greta Thunberg. What absolute claptrap!
Talking about the worthy Greta and that phone call, why on earth did the Biscuit give the Russian pranksters his email address without being suspicious when they talked about the island of Chunga Changa? ‘I know a man in the North Pole’ was one of his responses. Most of us do Harry – he visits us every December.
This prince or possibly ex prince obviously sees himself as a misunderstood maverick but really, he is thick as two short planks.