Wednesday, 28 September 2011
Whenever I reflect about politicians here in the lovely Kingdom of Northumbria, I invariably find that the rather distasteful ideas of falsehood and pretence lurks nearby in the labyrinthine reaches of my feline consciousness; I've no idea why this is so, since I've invariably found politicos to be admirable human beings, who are with a highly-developed sense of principle and immaculate integrity.
In yesterday's gathering of the Redistributionists' Annual Unfortunates' Outing And Picnic, the assembled adoring window-lickers and hard-nosed Redistributionist ideologues and apparatchiks were treated to a particularly heart-warming presentation by a tiny little boy, whose mother skilfully translated his infantile prattling into coherent sentences for the delectation and edification of the audience. I described the enraptured response - along with the unfortunate effect that the entire spectacle had upon Feaxede the Fox's alimentary system, not to mention mine. And I know that neither of us had accidentally consumed any magic mushrooms, since our thought processes still remained rooted in cold and pedestrian reality.
So imagine my overwhelming sense of disappointment when I subsequently heard that the presentation with the little mite was no more than an empty and baseless charade. Feaxede was even more upset than I was, since he rather admires the Redistributionists for making the sport of fox-hunting illegal during their nine hundred thousand years' tenure in government.
Let me explain. The story has been circulating round the Kingdom of late that the tale that was (allegedly) told by the child was nothing more than a contrived piece of fantasy fiction, carefully crafted by Edweird the Milliner's speechwriters and propagandists in order to evoke an optimum emotional response in the audience. Furthermore, the story of destitution, poverty and hopelessness was equally imaginary; the child's family was exceedingly affluent and well-educated. However, it's not certain whether or not they did draw deeply from the generous coffers of the Northumbrian Kingdom Poor Relief. The slobbering, teething infant is also attending a grammar kindergarten - the very kind of educational establishment that the Redistributionists have sworn upon their mothers' graves to abolish.
It all goes to show that the Redistributionists have a very tenuous relationship with that most unmerciful abstraction - now, what's it called? - ah, yes. Truth..