Monday, 11 June 2012
This Cat never ceases to be surprised and amazed at the predisposition of the Northumbrian people and their political Establishment for various forms of entertainment - principally in the form of popular fiction. The line between reality and fantasy has now become so indistinct that it requires the wisdom of Solomon to prise apart the factual from the fantastic. Even those popular theatrical entertainments called 'daub-and-wattle dramas' - which have no pretensions to factuality - have influenced the bovine Northumbrian knuckle-draggers to the point where their actors are confused with the characters they portray. This can - for the actors, at least - be somewhat embarrassing and tedious. But never mind. I've shed my imaginary tears for them already.
This muddying of the waters certainly owes - in significant part - to the routine fictitious outpourings from the politicos and the soothsayers, whose sole currency on the trading floors of the Realm is the counterfeit coinage of mendacity, tempered by exaggeration and innuendo, and occasionally graced by a half-truth or homeopathic fraction thereof.
Were the worthy denizens of this Kingdom to be denied their chosen medication, all manner of evils would be loosed into the atmosphere, and Pandora's Box would release civil disturbances and plagues of unrest, dissent and biscuit into the normally placidly vapid and stupefied Northumbrian arena.
Today's daily dose - not to mention those popular fictions such as 'Enthronement Way' and 'Yeast Blenders' - includes the appearance of cheery, joke-cracking psychopath Guffmund the Brown - the previous Chicken Supreme of the disgraced Redistributionist Faction - before the Great Ass Size - an ongoing public entertainment laid on (at taxpayers' expense, of course) designed to discredit His Highness Prince Ruprecht Evil-Merodach, the Commander-In-Chief of seventy thousand soothsaying interests, whose minions have - like all other soothsayers' hacks - faithfully been overhearing the private conversations of politicos, entertainers and other thugs and ne'er-do-wells in order to supply themselves with gossip, stories and silly chatter. Woe, woe and thrice woe. What's for lunch?
The truth - as they're wont say here in Northumbria - is out there. It's certainly nowhere to be found in the Great Ass Size...