As I walk out on my feline rounds through this lovely realm of Northumbria, my eyes and ears are greeted by the now all too familiar sight and sound of politicians and soothsayers slinging accusations at each other, protesting their own unsullied innocence and integrity. It's very touching to see that this Anglo-Saxon kingdom - now reduced to a mere provincial backwater and vassal state of the fly agaric-led Holy Roman Empire (which has no rightful claim to either a Roman heritage, holiness nor the dignity and greatness of an empire) is busy arguing the toss about the activities of the Prince Ruprecht Evil-Merodach soothsaying empire while the remaining serfs, yeomen, farmers, artisans, bakers, spinners, weavers and every other specimen of humanity are struggling to keep flesh on the bone - and the Grim Reaper is gadding about with a permanent smile on his face.
But why should I care? After all, I'm a mere cat in this grand scheme of things; at the drop of a hat I can forage for mice and birds, go feral like my ancestors, prowl, climb trees, spray marker scents on trees and gateposts and fight territorial battles with trespassing fellow felines.
True enough; I have enough of my original instincts to make my own way through life without being involved in the sordid and terminally stupid affairs of fallen human beings. But the fact is, I have good human friends like Caedmon whose company I enjoy, and having an innate propensity to idleness and an easy life, I know which side of my bread is buttered. The fact is, I Care. The Latin name for a cat is 'felix', which means 'happy.' We're happy and purring when we have the attention and the affection of humans, can chow down into a hearty bowl of fresh fish and curl up in front of a fire on a cold winter's night.
And when humans are happy, then so am I. But the politicos and the soothsayers don't want the ordinary humans to be content or self-sufficient. They want them to be desperately poor and permanently dependent on the scraps of rotten food and disinformation they condescend to throw them - which is why the Redistributionists - under the inspirational leadership and tutelage of witty psychopath Guffmund The Brown - kindly brought the Kingdom to a state of bankruptcy and indebtedness to line the coffers of the poor Moneylenders. And his ideological cousins - the Trees and Liberationists - are determined to make sure that the ordinary people pay dearly for all the colossal debts for which they're neither responsible nor liable. Bless.
I have a feeling in my bones that people are starting to realise that the Holy Roman Empire (which is neither holy, Roman nor an empire) is something we neither want nor need - especially when the feckless puppets and clowns in the Witangemot have voted to sign away even more of our Kingdom's debt to offset the debts of the poor, benighted Greeks..
Cat
Me!
Wednesday, 13 July 2011
Tuesday, 12 July 2011
Named And Shamed
Aside from all the arrests and the ongoing discussions colorectal statement-slinging of the politicos and the soothsayers concerning the Great Prince Ruprecht Evil-Merodach Eavesdropping Scandal, I've a great piece of news to share which will doubtless bring some welcome beams of joy to our present dark and foreboding landscape.
The new baby daughter of Dagwald Baecern – the inarticulate but fabulously wealthy former mascot of the renowned Madcaster Untied football team has been named. Hooray for Bekkers! What a great day for such auspicious news!
Ever since word got out that the latest addition to the substantial Baecern tribe had entered this vale of tears, the entire Northumbrian Kingdom has been anxiously waiting for an official pronouncement concerning the name of the new mite. Moreover, the iconic Baecern name is widely known beyond these shores, and in the Holy Roman Empire (which is neither holy, Roman nor an empire) and even within the distant, legendary shores of Ultima Thule, people have also been eagerly listening out.
Dagwald Baecern exemplifies everything that makes our lovely Kingdom of Northumbria and its politics and its entertainment so great and desirable. It's a story of rags to riches; born in a bakery in the East Saxon Kingdom, Dagwald dazzled his contemporaries by his formidable control over a pig's bladder, and his ability to propel it through the air in a curved trajectory has earned him a fearsome reputation as a penalty kicker. Many a time he has rescued Madcaster Untied and the Kingdom squad from ignominious defeat by a well-aimed kick. Many shins have permanently suffered as a consequence.
But Baecern is a modest, uneducated and simple man, who quietly married a shy prima donna entertainer called Viradecthis – a girl of equally humble origins and wildly expensive tastes. They live modestly in a palace, surrounded by servants and their formidable tribe of children. The soothsayers have found them to be an endless source of interest – despite Dagwald's inability to string two coherent sentences together. What has provided the soothsayers with a significant amount of material to disseminate through the Kingdom is their bizarre choice of names for their progeny.
And the name of the latest addition to the Baecern clan is called Wade Eleven And Three Quarters. A pretty name, isn't it? I believe she was named after Dagwald's footballer colleague Wade Rune.
Nevertheless, I expect the little mite will grow up to be ashamed of her name – along with those who inflicted it upon her. My prediction is that when she's grown up, she'll change it to something anonymous like Winifred – or Ethel. Such a pity…
Monday, 11 July 2011
As Good As Arrest
Well, it's been quite a weekend! With everything that's being going on with regards to the Great Eavesdropping Scandal, events have certainly got out of hand. No sooner had Crown Prince Ruprecht Evil-Merodach terminated the faithful services of his ancient and priapic soothsayer Nus Utherworld, when people were being arrested left right and centre - for alleged involvement in the Great Eavesdropping Scandal.
I was arrested yesterday morning, and I'm just a cat. Feaxede - my fox friend - was arrested yesterday afternoon while researching the local tip, and my friend Lareow - my eyes and ears in Caedmeron's headquarters - has just been arrested today. In fact, every living creature and human being has been hauled in by the Municipal Costumed Thugs for questioning. Even members of that noble and incorruptible institution have been arresting each other. Such fun!
My fellow creatures and I were released from detention, once more discerning members of the Thug Force worked out that we were mere four-footed animals. It had taken a long time for them to realise. Still - it all makes an interesting change, and I can chalk it up in a lifetime's experience. Nevertheless, the Thug headquarters are still surrounded by queues of humans and their babes-in-arms who are nervously awaiting their fate as Investigations continue. So sad. I've seen the terror on their little faces. It's not pretty.
Apparently, this entire debacle has opened up a veritable can of worms as accusations and counter-accusations have flown in all available directions. It's somewhat reminiscent of monkeys holding dung-flinging parties. Jedweird The Milliner, the King Rat and Revered Leader of the fly agaric-inspired Redistributionist Faction has publicly wrung his hands and called for the Prince to reconsider his intent in purchasing the soothsayer and entertainer Beesky-Bee. After all, the reputation of his soothsaying interests is ruined beyond redemption. (Chews, looks glazed and pauses for what passes for thought.)
Whatever.
It appears to me that Weirdy and his pox-ridden, delusional mates have sided against Rupie simply because he decided to switch his allegiance to the Tree Faction during the last (and most disastrous) Redistributionist regime. And since Rupie has a lot of clout and has groats, piasters and ducats by the barnload, he owns a lot of soothsaying interests, and he's quite capable of enthroning political leaders at the drop of a helmet. Jedweird and his kind would do well to watch their mouths: I hear that Rupie can dish quite a bit of dirt on quite a few of their happy number...
Idiots.
I was arrested yesterday morning, and I'm just a cat. Feaxede - my fox friend - was arrested yesterday afternoon while researching the local tip, and my friend Lareow - my eyes and ears in Caedmeron's headquarters - has just been arrested today. In fact, every living creature and human being has been hauled in by the Municipal Costumed Thugs for questioning. Even members of that noble and incorruptible institution have been arresting each other. Such fun!
My fellow creatures and I were released from detention, once more discerning members of the Thug Force worked out that we were mere four-footed animals. It had taken a long time for them to realise. Still - it all makes an interesting change, and I can chalk it up in a lifetime's experience. Nevertheless, the Thug headquarters are still surrounded by queues of humans and their babes-in-arms who are nervously awaiting their fate as Investigations continue. So sad. I've seen the terror on their little faces. It's not pretty.
Apparently, this entire debacle has opened up a veritable can of worms as accusations and counter-accusations have flown in all available directions. It's somewhat reminiscent of monkeys holding dung-flinging parties. Jedweird The Milliner, the King Rat and Revered Leader of the fly agaric-inspired Redistributionist Faction has publicly wrung his hands and called for the Prince to reconsider his intent in purchasing the soothsayer and entertainer Beesky-Bee. After all, the reputation of his soothsaying interests is ruined beyond redemption. (Chews, looks glazed and pauses for what passes for thought.)
Whatever.
It appears to me that Weirdy and his pox-ridden, delusional mates have sided against Rupie simply because he decided to switch his allegiance to the Tree Faction during the last (and most disastrous) Redistributionist regime. And since Rupie has a lot of clout and has groats, piasters and ducats by the barnload, he owns a lot of soothsaying interests, and he's quite capable of enthroning political leaders at the drop of a helmet. Jedweird and his kind would do well to watch their mouths: I hear that Rupie can dish quite a bit of dirt on quite a few of their happy number...
Idiots.
Friday, 8 July 2011
Dropped
The bells are ringing here in Streonaeshalch, and it's a day of jubilation. The banners are dripping in the heavy showers of rain, and the merry-making activities have been moved indoors to the Moot House to escape the wet. And what is the occasion for these damp festivities? It's to celebrate The Day That Villanous Arch-Prince Ruprecht Evil-Merodach dismissed the services of one of his most trusted Soothsayers. The announcement went out to the Northumbrian Kingdom yesterday - and the subsequent gasp could be heard for miles around - along with the steady chewing of magic mushrooms.
The activities of Nus Utherworld - the disgraced and ancient soothsayer - have been met with complete shock and abhorrence - or at least from the other soothsayers, who've pontificated about the eavesdropping of the private conversations of distressed gentlefolk as if this were a new and hitherto unknown expression of human depravity. Nus Utherworld had always possessed a reputation for ribaldry, and was noted to have some priapic preoccupations with the sordid private lives of the squalid political and aristocratic sub-classes and Madcaster Untied team members. It's all very sad. The window-licking acolytes of pox-faced Guardy-Ann and her pantomime dame companion Beeby See have been in jubilant mood, as they've seen one of the mighty bastions of anti-Redistributionism fall. Bless.
The rumours are now circulating that Evil-Merodach will be setting on the services of a new soothsayer to replace the discredited one. Nice try, Rupie.
I was talking with Caedmon about this last night, and I found out that he shares my own feeling that those soothsayers who've been making the most of this series of misdemeanours and the consequent fall from grace are those with no shortage of skeletons in their own closets. They just haven't been caught yet. But in these dark and perverse days, the illusion-dwelling Redistributionists and their fly agaric-chewing camp followers are joining forces (and farces) against their detractors, and contrary views are becoming increasingly demonised as 'dangerous', 'extremist' and 'inappropriate.' The gathering of faggots for public burnings follows soon, children. Bring your chestnuts.
I mentioned the whole sorry saga to my mate Feaxede - the fox with an archeological interest. He looked intently at me, and suddenly dropped something rather unwholesome from his back end, and proceeded to walk away. It was by far a more eloquent statement than those I've heard from the soothsayers lately...
The activities of Nus Utherworld - the disgraced and ancient soothsayer - have been met with complete shock and abhorrence - or at least from the other soothsayers, who've pontificated about the eavesdropping of the private conversations of distressed gentlefolk as if this were a new and hitherto unknown expression of human depravity. Nus Utherworld had always possessed a reputation for ribaldry, and was noted to have some priapic preoccupations with the sordid private lives of the squalid political and aristocratic sub-classes and Madcaster Untied team members. It's all very sad. The window-licking acolytes of pox-faced Guardy-Ann and her pantomime dame companion Beeby See have been in jubilant mood, as they've seen one of the mighty bastions of anti-Redistributionism fall. Bless.
The rumours are now circulating that Evil-Merodach will be setting on the services of a new soothsayer to replace the discredited one. Nice try, Rupie.
I was talking with Caedmon about this last night, and I found out that he shares my own feeling that those soothsayers who've been making the most of this series of misdemeanours and the consequent fall from grace are those with no shortage of skeletons in their own closets. They just haven't been caught yet. But in these dark and perverse days, the illusion-dwelling Redistributionists and their fly agaric-chewing camp followers are joining forces (and farces) against their detractors, and contrary views are becoming increasingly demonised as 'dangerous', 'extremist' and 'inappropriate.' The gathering of faggots for public burnings follows soon, children. Bring your chestnuts.
I mentioned the whole sorry saga to my mate Feaxede - the fox with an archeological interest. He looked intently at me, and suddenly dropped something rather unwholesome from his back end, and proceeded to walk away. It was by far a more eloquent statement than those I've heard from the soothsayers lately...
Thursday, 7 July 2011
Ask Ed No Questions, Told No Lies
While the Prince Ruprecht Evil-Merodach eavesdropping scandal repeatedly laps the shores of human consciousness like dirty scum in the North Sea tide, Jedweird The Milliner - Revered Leader and Esteemed Prophet of the fly agaric-chewing Redistribution Faction has been busy.
Replete with the buzz from his recent astounding political triumphs (I forget what they were, and it may be that I was dreaming - sorry), Edweird has been anxious to cultivate some support for his Faction, which - owing to the considerable debt and hardship that his worthy psychotic predecessor Guthmund The Brown bequeathed the Northumbrian Kingdom - has fallen on hard times. But during these years of exile from the reins of power, Eddy Boy - like Moses in the Sinai desert - is learning the tender craft of Leading A Nation to The Promised Land. In his case, it's the never-ending process of following mirages. He also has the unflinching support of Beeby See and her pretentious, pustule-punctuated mate Guardy-Ann.
He has a lot to learn. He's a likeable enough fellow in his own way, but nevertheless doesn't inspire the adoration and adulation in his followers that his simian brother Dagwald would have done had the mantle of Leadership been handed to him. Despite all this, Eddy has been exercising his sharply-honed political instinct and wit, forged through years of Redistributionist indoctrination at the feet of his academically gifted father - aided by those necessary hallucinogenic fungi, without which the entire edifice of Redistributionist thought would inevitably collapse.
Eddy Boy has already traded blows with Caedmeron on the floor of the Witangemot, and has imagined some astonishing victories in the cut-and-thrust of political debate. But Caedmeron is by far the wilier and astute of the two, and in reality, he's run rings around his more honest rival.
But no matter. Our redoubtable Eddy has Taken The Initiative and has once more invited questions from the legions of clueless knuckle-draggers and the fanatical window-lickers who hang on his every word. Here is a sample of questions and his answers:
Question: What are you proposing to do about the Financial Deficit?
Answer: This is - of course - a big problem which has been compounded by the Tree-led government, who have savagely subjected the Kingdom to a death by a Thousand Cuts. We propose to do all we can to improve the conditions for the Northumbrian people as pleasant as possible, and we intend to spend unprecedented sums of money to create new jobs. We need new Trade Guild representatives, diversity co-ordinators and fish quota accountants. The Trees only want to hold the population down and drag them into poverty.
Question: Does your Faction take any responsibility for the dire financial mess we're in?
Answer: This is - of course - a big problem which has been compounded by the Tree-led government, who have savagely subjected the Kingdom to a death by a Thousand Cuts. We propose to do all we can to improve the conditions for the Northumbrian people as pleasant as possible, and we intend to spend unprecedented sums of money to create new jobs. We need new Trade Guild representatives, diversity co-ordinators and fish quota accountants. The Trees only want to hold the population down and drag them into poverty.
Question: How's married life?
Answer: This is - of course - a big problem which has been compounded by the Tree-led government, who have savagely subjected the Kingdom to a death by a Thousand Cuts. We propose to do all we can to improve the conditions for the Northumbrian people as pleasant as possible, and we intend to spend unprecedented sums of money to create new jobs. We need new Trade Guild representatives, diversity co-ordinators and fish quota accountants. The Trees only want to hold the population down and drag them into poverty.
Good grief..
Replete with the buzz from his recent astounding political triumphs (I forget what they were, and it may be that I was dreaming - sorry), Edweird has been anxious to cultivate some support for his Faction, which - owing to the considerable debt and hardship that his worthy psychotic predecessor Guthmund The Brown bequeathed the Northumbrian Kingdom - has fallen on hard times. But during these years of exile from the reins of power, Eddy Boy - like Moses in the Sinai desert - is learning the tender craft of Leading A Nation to The Promised Land. In his case, it's the never-ending process of following mirages. He also has the unflinching support of Beeby See and her pretentious, pustule-punctuated mate Guardy-Ann.
He has a lot to learn. He's a likeable enough fellow in his own way, but nevertheless doesn't inspire the adoration and adulation in his followers that his simian brother Dagwald would have done had the mantle of Leadership been handed to him. Despite all this, Eddy has been exercising his sharply-honed political instinct and wit, forged through years of Redistributionist indoctrination at the feet of his academically gifted father - aided by those necessary hallucinogenic fungi, without which the entire edifice of Redistributionist thought would inevitably collapse.
Eddy Boy has already traded blows with Caedmeron on the floor of the Witangemot, and has imagined some astonishing victories in the cut-and-thrust of political debate. But Caedmeron is by far the wilier and astute of the two, and in reality, he's run rings around his more honest rival.
But no matter. Our redoubtable Eddy has Taken The Initiative and has once more invited questions from the legions of clueless knuckle-draggers and the fanatical window-lickers who hang on his every word. Here is a sample of questions and his answers:
Question: What are you proposing to do about the Financial Deficit?
Answer: This is - of course - a big problem which has been compounded by the Tree-led government, who have savagely subjected the Kingdom to a death by a Thousand Cuts. We propose to do all we can to improve the conditions for the Northumbrian people as pleasant as possible, and we intend to spend unprecedented sums of money to create new jobs. We need new Trade Guild representatives, diversity co-ordinators and fish quota accountants. The Trees only want to hold the population down and drag them into poverty.
Question: Does your Faction take any responsibility for the dire financial mess we're in?
Answer: This is - of course - a big problem which has been compounded by the Tree-led government, who have savagely subjected the Kingdom to a death by a Thousand Cuts. We propose to do all we can to improve the conditions for the Northumbrian people as pleasant as possible, and we intend to spend unprecedented sums of money to create new jobs. We need new Trade Guild representatives, diversity co-ordinators and fish quota accountants. The Trees only want to hold the population down and drag them into poverty.
Question: How's married life?
Answer: This is - of course - a big problem which has been compounded by the Tree-led government, who have savagely subjected the Kingdom to a death by a Thousand Cuts. We propose to do all we can to improve the conditions for the Northumbrian people as pleasant as possible, and we intend to spend unprecedented sums of money to create new jobs. We need new Trade Guild representatives, diversity co-ordinators and fish quota accountants. The Trees only want to hold the population down and drag them into poverty.
Good grief..
Wednesday, 6 July 2011
The Truth, Forsooth
One constant in the lovely Kingdom of Northumbria - along with the rest of this island - is the mutability of the weather. In recent weeks we enjoyed a dry and generally warm patch, but the invincible Atlantic systems have once more prevailed, and the weather has become cooler, windier and with no shortage of showers of varying degrees of intensity and longevity.
Whilst on the subject of showers, my attention has been drawn once again to that shower of ordure referrred to in this Realm as the Soothsayers. These delightful specimens - a distinct subspecies of the human race - are charged with the task of advising and informing the denizens of the Kingdom. In our distant pagan past, they chewed the hallucinogenic mushrooms and threw the bones, dispensing sage advice to those gullible and stupid enough to seek and heed it. Nowadays, all they do is chew the mushrooms and having done so, pontificate freely on matters of which they have neither the gift of knowledge nor insight. For this they are revered by the starry-eyed window-lickers and their knuckle-dragging, unreflective counterparts.
Not renowned for impartiality or objectivity, the soothsayers present their own skewed view of the world to their eager audiences. They specialise in fantasy fiction - which usually involves the rewriting of history to suit the latest trendy agenda. Most of them are (tell it not in Gath) ardent, hallucinogen-fuelled Redistributionists, although Beeby See (bless her malodorous socks) is reputed to be bound to an objective stance. This 'impartiality' is a actually a long-standing joke, which comes at the expense of the more right and fair-minded persuasion in the land.
But I digress. There's been a battle in of late between Master Soothsayer-in-Chief Prince Ruprecht Evil-Merodach and the rest of the soothsaying world. Allegedly, some of the Wicked Prince's minions have been discovered to have been listening in to the private conversations of people in the public gaze and reporting what they've heard. Shock. Horror. Take a magic mushroom - quickly.
The resulting furore has been wondrous to behold. There's been indignation tipped by the bucketload - particularly from other soothsayers. Beeby See, Guardy-Ann and Dellimell have been tutting and clucking about this like demented hens. They would never stoop so low. O tempus, O mores. Whatever. All this theatrical posturing means is that they haven't been caught doing the same things.. yet...
It just so happens - by way of remarkable coincidence - that this row has erupted at a time when the Prince - a man of substantial means and an emperor of a legion of soothsaying interests - was intent on acquiring Beesky-bee - an asthmatic soothsayer with considerable skills as a mountebank and popular entertainer. Poor Beesky-bee has been down on his luck lately, and needs some encouragement. Since the Grand Prince has withdrawn his support of the Redistributionist Faction, the knives have been drawn, and the partially impartial, illiberally liberal soothsayers have been intent on revenge. Losers hate winners...
The worthy politicos have also brought their own cacophonous harmonies to the chorus of outrage - although it's ironic that these wretches - ever adept and skilful in the subtle arts and crafts of duplicity, treachery and betrayal - have quite cheerfully allowed the governmental institutions of Northumbria carte blanche to listen in on anyone's conversations in the interests of 'security' - whatever that is..
Monday, 4 July 2011
What About The Workers?
The relentlessness of the tides of the North Sea and the seasons can only be matched by the inevitability of human stupidity here in the lovely country of Northumbria. Having witnessed the sheep-like manipulation of supposedly intelligent members of the pedagogic fraternity into strike action because - in these straitened times - the public purse is no longer deep enough to support their indulgent and excessive tax-funded pension benefits, anyone could be forgiven for sitting down and recuperating awhile until the next wave of idiocy appears. One doesn't have to wait for very long...
A decree from On High has gone out throughout the Kingdom, commanding that any new employment be automatically granted to Anglo-Saxon young people. Since our annexation and relegation to our present position as a mere province of the Holy Roman Empire (which is neither holy, Roman nor an empire), multitudes of people from the other provinces have traversed the waters surrounding these islands and have sought their fortunes over here. As a consequence we've been greeted with the sight and the sounds of young people with Slavic accents, speaking amongst themselves in their strange tongues, working in the markets, the workshops and fields of the Kingdom. For the most part, the normally bovine and tolerant Anglo-Saxon populace have accepted them as an inevitable consequence of our absorption into the Evil Federation. To their credit, the Slavs have been generally industrious and willing to take on all manner of different occupations - no matter how menial.
This influx of Slavs - along with other tribes - has been a convenient excuse for members of the indigenous population to find a scapegoat for the current misfortunes that beset the Realm - in particular, the dearth of employment. Since the Great Moneylenders' Disaster - which resulted in the Redistributionists throwing colossal amounts of tax money at the Moneylenders to help them to continue rewarding themselves for their spectacular failures, the knuckle-draggers in the Witangemot who direct the day-to-day running of the Kingdom have announced that there's not enough groats in the Kingdom, since the Moneylenders are too busy sitting on it, admiring and playing with it. Therefore, Expenditure Cuts have been deemed Necessary by the Tree/Liberationist Administration to help the taxpaying working people of the Kingdom pay back the vast sums of money of the loans for which they're not actually liable. Furthermore, the Moneylenders have been reluctant to lend groats to the workshop owners and farmers, and many jobs have had to be lost as a consequence.
While the simple solution for the problem would be to politely ask the Slavs and others to graciously leave their work and return to their respective homelands, the fact is that there wouldn't be a corresponding rush by eager native Anglo-Saxon unemployed to fill the remaining positions. The Kingdom would actually hit the skids. Why? - Because young Anglo-Saxons have been encouraged to consider themselves by their magic mushroom-chewing educators and their over-indulgent parents as divine gifts to the world who deserve to earn significant salaries on the basis of their so-called education. So they won't get their soft and pretty hands dirty. So instead they join the fly agaric-chewing ranks of the Redistributionist Worker Faction instead and blame everybody - but themselves. Bless.
A decree from On High has gone out throughout the Kingdom, commanding that any new employment be automatically granted to Anglo-Saxon young people. Since our annexation and relegation to our present position as a mere province of the Holy Roman Empire (which is neither holy, Roman nor an empire), multitudes of people from the other provinces have traversed the waters surrounding these islands and have sought their fortunes over here. As a consequence we've been greeted with the sight and the sounds of young people with Slavic accents, speaking amongst themselves in their strange tongues, working in the markets, the workshops and fields of the Kingdom. For the most part, the normally bovine and tolerant Anglo-Saxon populace have accepted them as an inevitable consequence of our absorption into the Evil Federation. To their credit, the Slavs have been generally industrious and willing to take on all manner of different occupations - no matter how menial.
This influx of Slavs - along with other tribes - has been a convenient excuse for members of the indigenous population to find a scapegoat for the current misfortunes that beset the Realm - in particular, the dearth of employment. Since the Great Moneylenders' Disaster - which resulted in the Redistributionists throwing colossal amounts of tax money at the Moneylenders to help them to continue rewarding themselves for their spectacular failures, the knuckle-draggers in the Witangemot who direct the day-to-day running of the Kingdom have announced that there's not enough groats in the Kingdom, since the Moneylenders are too busy sitting on it, admiring and playing with it. Therefore, Expenditure Cuts have been deemed Necessary by the Tree/Liberationist Administration to help the taxpaying working people of the Kingdom pay back the vast sums of money of the loans for which they're not actually liable. Furthermore, the Moneylenders have been reluctant to lend groats to the workshop owners and farmers, and many jobs have had to be lost as a consequence.
While the simple solution for the problem would be to politely ask the Slavs and others to graciously leave their work and return to their respective homelands, the fact is that there wouldn't be a corresponding rush by eager native Anglo-Saxon unemployed to fill the remaining positions. The Kingdom would actually hit the skids. Why? - Because young Anglo-Saxons have been encouraged to consider themselves by their magic mushroom-chewing educators and their over-indulgent parents as divine gifts to the world who deserve to earn significant salaries on the basis of their so-called education. So they won't get their soft and pretty hands dirty. So instead they join the fly agaric-chewing ranks of the Redistributionist Worker Faction instead and blame everybody - but themselves. Bless.
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