Life is sometimes best shown in the obscure
Who would have thought that four centuries after the notorious gunpowder plot there was a different way to blow up Parliament. All we needed to do was have a referendum on a politically divisive matter and the place exploded all on its own.
And as we rush towards a no deal Brexit as a worst case scenario (and a might be a deal but not what we wanted as an alternative) we have our own malevolent plotter, or divisive scapegoat (take your pick), in the Mister Toad of Twat Hall, Nigel Farage.
Heck Fawkes, Farage, the names are similar in a number of ways let’s be honest. I think that dear Nige’ would look good with the git-warmer facial hair and massive hat.
Brexit Night,(Mark Keating 2019)
Let’s grab Nigel
and set him alight…
One can only hope that the fate that awaits the premier crapmeister of this little fiasco matches somewhat his historical counterpart. But, that would be a pipe dream.
Will the future huddled masses of a post-Europe Britain huddle around bonfires on March 29th each year to celebrate the trashing of the country. Perhaps they will burn a number of different effigies and light miserable fireworks to mourn our collective idiocy. Or can doubters of the great and noble exit like me be mistaken? Will we celebrate these pioneers of falsehood and reward them as true architects of a Greater Britain?
For now, I can only ask, ‘Penny for the Nige?’
In pretty much every medical conversation I have had over the last few years the same question is always asked, ‘do you drink’. The same set of answers appear in my head but I never use them even though I really want to. I always answer fairly plainly and honestly as the flippancy will not help.
However the conversation that should happen is there in my imagination so I thought I’d share with you how it goes in my head.
Them: Do you drink Mr Keating?
Me: Yes. I have 3 children under 10, of course I drink.*
Them: How often?
Me: As often as I can.
Them: Really? How often do you actually drink?
Me: The moment I am not responsible for them.
Them: So every night?
Me: It doesn’t have to be night.
Them: Do you drink during the day?
Me: One of the kids is a toddler.
Them: So, no then.
Me: Are you joking, as long as I don’t have to put the little fucker to sleep I am straight onto the gin.
Them: So you drink spirits?
Me: I’d drink petrol if it was in a cocktail. I have 3 kids under 10.
Them: Seriously now.
Me: Good point, Petrol is expensive. You can get turps at Poundland.
Them: You should really have a few free nights a week without drink.
Me: I think the same about my kids.
Them: Well you made the life choices and need to deal with them in a sensible manner.
Me: I do. I told you. I drink.
Them: Excessive drinking can reduce your lifespan.
Me: I have 3 kids under 10, I’ll drink to that.
Them: How many units of alcohol a week are we talking about here?
Me: I find it best not to count, but a safe number is to add the children’s ages up and times by 10.
Them: Best medical advice is to have fewer than 14 a week.
Me: Kids or drinks?
Them: Units of alcohol, you need a different strategy for children.
Me: I had a vasectomy.
However none of this actually happens… maybe next time
*NB This is all just in jest, if I really need to say that. I love my kids. They are not the reason I drink, they’re the reason I get up and run each morning so I am more alive each day to enjoy being with them.
In today’s WTF conversation with #1Son we have the following gem:
#1Son: Life is Like a Rubik’s Cube.
Me: (busy reading a news page looks up) okay, I’ll bite, go on, and?
#1Son: It’s ten-sided.
And that dear reader is when he left me and I was left stupified. It’s a new day in the life of a nearly-nine going on 40 year old bar philosopher. Answers to this riddle will have to be determined by the observer as the speaker has left the building.