Imagining The Past

As the Annual Unfortunates' Outings and Picnics trundle on in their customarily tedious fashion, this Cat has to snigger at the issues stirred up from the murky silt of these rivers of drivel and uncleanness. Last week was the Redistributionists' turn to parade their pompous idiocy, fuelled (of course) by copious chewing of the funny fungus. With tiresome predictability, Edweird the Milliner in one of his twelve-hour orations turned his fire on the Rich, who are the inevitable targets for their bilious attacks. Since the edifice of Redistributionist theology rests upon the doctrine of the sacred trinity of Taxation, Equality and Nepotism, this was bound to surface from the depths of the murk. However, it hasn't escaped notice that Edweird the Milliner himself is no stranger to the trappings of Filthy Lucre, since his nose was lovingly restored to its pristine glory to the tune of one and three quarter million Holy Groats, and his humble dwelling place is situated in a fabulously opulent suburb of Yorvik. One would hope that the Holy Emperor and Angel Cake of the aforesaid Faction would be equally committed to donating a significant proportion of his private treasury to the Northumbrian taxation industry to fund several million new diversity administrators, but few Northumbrians imagine in their wildest reveries that such contributions ever take place from the hallowed cash boxes of politicos. No one has yet managed to obtain from Edweird the Milliner an estimate of his total financial worth…

Eddy also took great time and trouble to accentuate that he was a regular child from an average family, who was sent to an ordinary school where he spent the happiest years of his life – unlike those overfed, over-privileged and pompous Tree Faction parasites, who all (to a person) were educated in the top-flight expensive educational hot-houses of the Wealthy. Unfortunately, such a picture was more inspired by a memory addled by years of hallucinogenic mushroom mastication, as it emerges that Eddy was a child who spent most of his school years in a state of terror, owing to the cheerfully intimidating behaviour of his meat-headed contemporaries, who regarded him as a whining and bookish nonentity (most of whom are now gracing the ranks of the Tree Faction benches).

For all this, the faithful knuckle-dragging lackeys and sycophants of the Faction have regarded the Picnic as an Astonishing Success, and they're all now preparing themselves for a term in office, where they can indulge their grotesque fantasies (at taxpayers' expense, of course). This illusion is also a recognisable symptom of mushroom misuse – but nobody's told them that yet..