Caedmon was an early English Christian poet who lived in Whitby in the 7th century. The writer of this blog has no pretensions to such exalted gifts, and for this reason (as well as the fact that the name has already been taken) has chosen his Cat. They say that a cat can look at a king; this cat certainly does that. He's also had a good Christian education from his master, and he's quite prepared to use it when necessary.
Friday, 14 October 2011
Like all governing bodies, the Tree/Liberationist Alliance Administration in this lovely country of Northumbria is never short of ingenious devices with which to curry favour with the electorate, and to tap into the yawning and ever widening abyss of ignorance in the body public. I can only yawn in sheer wonder at the inventiveness of the human political mind. I feel tired already..
A fresh expression of this genius is a suggestion which has been floated to the bovine and docile masses through the omnipresent, chattering soothsayers; the Tree-led Coalition have decided to extend De-Mockery-Cy in this blessed Kingdom. Hooray for commonsense and fair shares for all! Now, where are those magic mushrooms?
Once upon a time, the right to cast one's lot in favour of a ruling elite was the sole prerogative of the Rich and the Clever, so the heaving, unwashed masses didn't get a look-in; they simply had to bear patiently with the idiotic decisions of their Betters, and continue to pass their days in their drudgery.
But time, tide and history grind on in their relentless way, and the sacred mirage of Progress was chased through Measures, referred to jokingly as Reform. The outcome of these new measures was to grant enfranchisement to adult males over the age of ninety seven. This made an astonishing difference to the political life of the Kingdom, but what was so carelessly overlooked was the unfortunate fact that after a lifetime of hard toil and deprivation, most males were already in their graves by the time they'd reached the age of ninety six. Eventually however, the age range was dropped through successive Reforms to the point where the minimum voting age was twenty one. Soon the Ladies of the Realm started to complain that they were being overlooked in this vital process, since they'd been led to believe that they were merely child-raising, weaving and cooking chattels of their menfolk. But it was but an unhappy misunderstanding; after a series of riotous assemblies, coupled with a campaign of systematic agitation and unladylike violence, they were also brought into the Fold.
Eventually, the voting age was dropped to eighteen, so that the cool, hip and trendy Redistributionist Administration of the day could count on the fervent and naively enthusiastic support of the yoof. The newly enfranchised children were so excited about this development that they took their responsibilities very seriously, and assiduously researched the Sacred Writings of the Redistributionists and the One World Revolutionists, and following their self-inflicted indoctrination, most of them became card-carrying members of the idle Redistributionist Workers' Faction, burned incense in devotion to their various Redistributionist gods and monsters, and campaigned for a One World Diktat Proletariat, where voting is forbidden and consigned to the midden. Another astonishing success for the Redistributionists! Bless.
And now the wheel turns once more, and newly-weaned infants are going to be permitted to cast their lot into the box in favour of their preferred Faction. This Cat is bedazzled by the sparkling wit and intelligence behind this new proposal. For a start, newly-weaned infants are still teething, and they aren't gifted with the finer intricacies of human speech, so they're unable to ask their feckless parents for advice on their choices. And I've never yet found a one-year-old with an in-depth understanding of political theory. But at least they'll be able to contribute even more of the one resource that abounds in our esteemed political classes: slobber.
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