Friday 10 August 2012

Hopped Out

While the Northumbrian Kingdom has been under the spell of the Holy Roman Empire (which is as holy as Guardy-Ann's underwear, Roman as Erik the Red, and is a lampoon of an empire) Games, there's been an interesting election taking place in the settlements of Celle and Bullock Smithy. This election has been called to determine whether or not the citizens of those Cestrescir towns want the opportunity to vote regarding the Kingdom's continuing thraldom to the aforesaid Evil Intergalactic Federation.

The majority of Northumbrians - intoxicated with mead, ale and the successes of the Northumbrian Games Team in winning golden honours in stone-throwing and various kinds of competitive enterprise - have been blissfully unaware of this development; this ignorance without doubt owes to the fact that Beeby See, Guardy-Ann, the Windy Pedant, Dellymell and other soothsayers haven't passed on the news to them. The charitable side of this Cat (for there is one, to be sure) would suggest that they've all been so engrossed with the distractions of the Games and the resulting golden awards, which, incidentally, will be  forcibly seized from the successful athletes and - in line with contemporary political dogmaredistributed into the back pockets of the politicos and their friends, purportedly in the Greater Interest of the Colossal Deficit). But on the other hand, my suspicious nature puts forward an alternative hypothesis. The result of these minor plebiscites has been an overwhelming vote in both places in favour of an opt-out-of-the-Empire vote for the entire Northumbrian Realm. This is not what the politicos and their noble moneylender friends want to hear, as they enjoy all the cosy benefits of continued servitude to the leaden and unimaginative rule of Emperor Jose Borracho and his limp-minded accomplice Hermit the Rumphole.

Since the process of de-mockery-cy in this lovely Kingdom is merely a piece of window-dressing to present to those knuckle-draggers unreflective enough to accept it as the real thing, the votes and aspirations of ordinary Northumbrians are studiously ignored by the myriads of political princes and their hangers-on.

Sooner or later, Northumbrians are going to cotton on to this. And when they do, Dagwald Caedmeron, Edweird the Millner and their ilk will be taking part in another event - the High Jump...

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