Saturday, 28 March 2015


Sanguine, that’s me, or so some think; cheerful in apparently adverse circumstance. Others believe me dour and pessimistic. And yet more have in the past remarked on my impassivity and calm in the face of the shit storm, remaining imperturbable and somewhat nonchalant as all around empires crumble and the mighty are impotent to stem the tides… or at least, the photocopier is up the spout again and we’re out of milk.

The thing is, I really don’t see the point in getting all worked up about stuff; no rational reason to get too excited – only disappointment will follow. No, stay grounded and the Earth will turn, the sun will rise, the weather systems will run their regular seasonal gamut of change and no matter the prophecies and prognoses of all the well-paid hot air spouters we have genuinely seen it all before. The same with pretty much all disasters and chaos, natural or man-made.

While I can readily agree that to send aid to destitute victims of floods and famine, terror and tragedy, is ‘a good thing’, I don’t see why I need to be emotionally involved. It strikes me that a mewling, keening, ululating display of mourning and garment-rending for people who I don’t know, will never know and with whom the most interaction I will ever have is maybe dropping loose change into a tin, is entirely unnecessary. I want neither their gratitude nor their never-ending dependency; in fact if I do put money in a tin the most likely reason is that I just want rid of the shrapnel.

Each to his or her own, I say. We have enough to do just to look after our own hearth, never mind the rest of the world. Charity really should begin – and in many cases end – at home. Look after the pennies, they say, and the pounds will look after themselves. The same applies to humanity – sort out your own shit and don’t go looking for a mission until you have done so. Far too many people take umbrage on behalf of others, or take up cudgels for lost and unworthy causes when their time would far better be spent taking personal responsibility.

All of which – and more besides – is why I could never be a politician. Pretending to care about things I know nothing about, spouting supposed ‘opinions’ which are every-ready to change, depending on the audience. Promising solutions to problems I don’t fully understand with money whose production I know little about. Like Jeremy Clarkson, or Katie Hopkins I would look about me and laugh at the little people… because they are, quite frankly, hilarious.

Five-finger fuck-off!
The answer to pretty much every question...

So, there’s no point in trying to wind me up on The Twitter, or trying to persuade me of some noble cause that involves people whose significance to me is as an ant on an elephant hide. I’m not without emotions but they are mine and mine alone and I don’t deploy them, Diana-like, to be part of some weird drone-driven hive-mind of morbid mediocrity. My Twitter profile says “No need to argue; I'm always right.” Take that as read and we’ll get on fine when I’m King.

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