February 29, 2012
This whole WT palaver has been going on long enough that this is the third leap day it has witnessed. The first one even prompted a sort of interesting response; I was more loquacious in those days. This time around, perhaps not so much.
It is not as if there hasn't been plenty to report since getting back from parts south. Au contraire, mon frère. Possibly too much, in fact. There were all those bloody photos, for a start, so many that several seams remain as yet unmined, even in the popular -- if meretricious -- realm of Facebook. If you haven't checked out those pics, do; though if you are one of the few who still stand steadfast against Zuckerdom, rest assured that eventually some alternative venue will be found.
Yesterday the forces of reactionary fatuity finally got their way, and the admittedly-not-terribly-effectual #occupy protesters adjacent to St Paul's were given the old heave-ho. I'd like to think that at least the Church of England, that limitless wellspring of sanctimonious hypocrisy, might come out of this fiasco a bit tarnished, but who am I kidding? In the meantime, our hateful Nestene overlords are all a-quiver in anticipation of successfully sacrificing the National Health Service on the altar of witless market ideology and cronyist profiteering. (I really must get around to that cargo cult post.) It's a dark fucking week for the UK, and it's unlikely to be at all lightened by my taking to the uke.
Doubtless I would have spent that time better by tracking down Andrew fucking Lansley and staking him through the oozing putrescent chancre that stands in place of his heart.
Next post will be cheerier and also much less delayed. Does anyone know a decent DJ?