After the gloom of these past few days, it's so gratifying to hear some good news like the forthcoming Royal Wedding, for example. We certainly need cheerful tidings here in the lovely Kingdom of Northumbria. And to our relief, help is on its way; now that the Witangemot is closed for the duration of the summer, we're in that time of year referred to by the soothsayers as The Silly Season. In the absence of political news, the soothsayers – those bastions of measured objectivity, impartiality and sweet reason - turn their unwelcome attention to less worthy items of news and gossip for fresh material with which to entertain, stupefy or terrify the bovine masses.
Thanks to this annual non-event, we now know that Dagwood Caedmeron – the Reverend Leader of the Tree Faction and Chief Cock and Bluebottle washer of the Tree/Liberationist Alliance administration - is Taking a Holiday. (For the benefit of ordinary Northumbrian labourers and my fellow four-footed creatures, a 'Holiday' is a period of time spent away from the tedium and backbreaking drudgery of daily toil – usually spent in exotic places.) Bless.
No longer pressured with the arduous responsibility of breaking electoral promises, changing fifteen policy decisions before breakfast, telling porky-pies and pretending to have the very best interests of the Northumbrian public at heart, he's gathered his wife and family, and at considerable personal cost (drawn from his substantial public taxation-funded salary) and has boldly set sail for the warmer climes of Italy, where he will doubtless cavort in numerous tavernas with his ancient Roman counterpart, the priapic and corrupt Silvius Burlesquonius, who's renowned for his decadent parties and the pond life he chooses for company...
I wish Caedmeron well; he deserves a long break from the duplicitous business of Northumbrian politics. He deserves it far more than the lowly, long-suffering masses he leaves behind in poverty and deprivation. I hear that the wines of Italy are particularly fine; he may be tempted to drink far too much in the sweltering Tuscan heat. His head will serve him the due punishment – if his wife doesn't do so beforehand..
Another piece of news to delight the Northumbrian populace is the other Revered Leader, Edweird The Milliner. Flushed with his astonishing recent political successes (I forget what they were: I've been to bed since then), Eddy Boy has decided to take a break as well. But unlike his Tree rival, he won't be taking the family. He's going to a Redistributionist Health Farm, where his nose is going to be broken by expert hands at considerable (public) expense. The reason for this is that Eddy is a skilled snorer – much to the annoyance of his unfortunate spouse. I've heard it said that he can snore Redistributionist political theory in seventeen different languages – no mean achievement – but the poor woman has reached desperation point because of years of sleep deprivation. Enough is enough. So his nose will be lovingly excavated and reshaped by dexterous Redistributionist hands. I wonder if they gave him a chart of nasal shapes to choose from?
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