So there we have it, democracy in its purest form. Mr Van Rumpy Pumpey is officially the new president of the EU or the Deathstar as I like to call it. A shining example to our boys in Afghanistan who are being shot at and blown up in an attempt to give a population in some far away land the right to elect their own leader while we have an unelected figurehead that no one has ever heard of foisted upon us. I do not recall any voting card being posted through my letter box. I had thought that many of my ancestors who died in two world wars had not passed away in vain. They died to stop some unelected leader ruling our lands and telling is what to do. How wrong I was. What pains me most is that many of the people who have said “what is all the fuss about”, have not read the Lisbon treaty and do not understand its full implications. Oh well if they do not realise then one day maybe their kids will.
In an attempt to relive the boredom of house arrest, I have been fed a diet of daytime TV and the other day I watched a programme about quantum mechanics. I do not profess to remotely understand the theory about Schrodinger’s cat nor how one thing can be in the two different places at the same time. I would ask all the academics out there one question. If something can be in two places at the same time then why can’t I be in the pub while I am in work? The theory is up there with the scientists from Gulliver’s travels trying to distil sunshine from cucumbers.
Work on the house revival has started and as I write two young guys are sorting out my aerials and placing a new super dooper aerial on the roof that should be capable of picking up radio Kamchatka. The cables are being sorted out and once the new window blinds are in place the house should no longer resemble Steptoe and Sons palace. The list of jobs to complete on the house before it goes on the market is one shorter.
With the night’s drawing in, the mercury falling and adverts for Christmas appearing with alarming regularity, thoughts of travel and sunnier climes are once more looming large. I recently wrote to the Tiler and realised it has been three years since he and his family left. I have no idea where the time is going but its gathering speed and heading for the horizon. I remember promising him just as he left that I would be out there to see him within two years. Sadly as with the promised referendum on the Lisbon constitution/treaty, it has turned out to be another empty promise.
I am still unwell and off work. It does look like that I will not return to work this side of New Year. I am still imprisoned and housebound by the fact I cannot drive and walking for more than 200 yards is painful. The scar is healing but slowly and much slower than I want it to and simple things like bending down or reaching up are still excruciating. How is it that most people who have a gall bladder removed are in hospital on a day case and back in work two weeks later while I have a 10 inch scar and have already been off work for five months? The boredom and sheer frustration of not being able to do anything other than watch day time TV is slowly killing me.
On the bright side friends have rallied around and Chateau Ghastanbury has been like central station. Two events, both old traditions to this household, have taken place recently. The first was Halloween and although I was not fit enough to prepare for everything this year Bean Counter said it would not be fair to cancel it. So with the aid of too many names to recall it went ahead with many people turning up in costume to scare the hell out of the kids for a change. This tradition started some years ago when the Marchioness of Ghastanbury was still alive and frightened by the new craze of trick or treat. I decided to surround her by as many friendly faces as possible and to make sure there was a party atmosphere. Although Elsie is no longer here the tradition has carried on.
The second was bonfire night or 5-11 as we now like to call it. A fine old English tradition that is sadly being phased out due to the elf n safety Nazis. A box of fireworks that was purchased by Roger Moor came with the warning that public liability insurance should be sought before igniting any of the said fireworks. In spite of terrible weather and driving rain the event went ahead with much success. Photographs of both events will be placed in the gallery as soon as time allows.
Mr Herbert Van Rumpey Pumpey from Belgium looks set to be the President of the new EU Federation. Even his critics have said the best thing about him is that he is not Tony Blair. This little known Belgian is likely to demand a single flag to represent all members of the Federation and for national flags to be scrapped. Let’s face it we cannot fly the Saltire, the Flag of St George or the Union Jack now for fear of upsetting the PC Nazis. I am sure the new flag will be white and pizza shaped with a Swastika in the middle and featuring Belgian chocolates around the edge with maybe a garlic bulb and a tulip thrown in somewhere.
As for a new anthem, the possibilities are endless. “Europe Europe uber alles si vous plais grazi”, produced by Chas and Dave? Let us be honest the EU Deathstar have attempted to harmonise cucumbers and bananas, how long before they try to standardise pets and then maybe accents and then god forbid people? Now there is a novel idea. In 50 years time Europe will be populated by a race of six foot tall (or should that be 1.9 metres?) with dark skin, red hair, blue eyes and speaking Esperanto in a Lithuanian accent. Geordies less than 6 foot tall with an English bull terrier will be frogmarched to stations en masse and transported by Eurostar trains to the forced labour death camps of the Belgian chocolate mines.
Throughout my period of enforced house arrest my constant companion has been dear old Genghis. This little ball of destructive fluff has exasperated and amused me in equal measures. He is a one off and mercifully not yet subject to the standardisation imposed by the EU Deathstar upon bananas, cucumbers and jam. Hopefully he will have died peacefully in his sleep before some Deathstar official turns up declaring him to be too orange, stripy or too short for EU regulations.