Tuesday, 16 October 2012
Taking The Rise
Since that Momentous Announcement concerning the Great Award to the Holy Roman Empire (which neither waddles like a mallard, quacks like an Aylesbury nor even remotely resembles a duck, let alone a sanctified Latin civilisation), this Cat has heard yet another piece of news from this lovely Northumbrian Kingdom which has caused a great deal of concern, consternation, constipation and fishpaste among the destitute, downtrodden, disease-ridden but stoical hordes of ordinary people.
The noble, honourable and worthy members of the Northumbrian Witangemot have decided to award themselves a Pay Rise. Hooray for politicos, delusions of self-importance and sanctimony! When I first heard this piece of knowledge, which happily dripped from the lips of the soothsayers like a salivary rivulet, I was so terribly pleased for them, and, delighted to be the recipient of Wonderful News before my vulpine friend Feaxede the Fox, I rushed over to share this latest piece of verbal treasure with him. It's wonderful to have friends! We danced for joy.
I simply can't understand why the human population of this beautiful realm don't share our euphoria at hearing this remarkable development. They normally don't mind in being governed by others, and for them to have their meagre incomes continually reduced by frequent hikes in taxation is for them an unspeakable pleasure, since their representatives - who have their best interests fondly nestled in their bosoms - deserve the Very Best that the (negative) resources of Holy Groats can supply. I think it's very mean-spirited of them, and Feaxede agrees with me. After all, only the best is enough for these great exemplars.
In view of the fact that the majority of the politicos of this realm have self-sacrificially committed themselves to the noble art of pretence (no mean feat in itself), have cultivated at great personal expense an additional persona which has rapidly developed and - like a nascent cuckoo - overthrown their original psyches, and furthermore have sweated buckets to manfully resist the ferocious inner wrangling of scruple and conscience to take the Iscariot bread and high-mindedly lord it over their inferiors, I think that they deserve all the earthly rewards that they freely and cheerfully appropriate for themselves. After all, they've nothing else to look forward to, have they?