But let me tell you the right way to live . . . well, I will at some point but perhaps not today. Somehow or other the defences are breeched and the doubts swarm in over the ruined walls, whooping and hollering, gobs open wide in derision. Of course doubts don’t kill, not exactly, their particular skill is in undermining, digging under, cracking the reinforced concrete of what, a few moments before, had been certainties. So the challenge is to stay alive, to keep breathing as the pressure on the rib cage intensifies, as the mind swirls in the blizzard of demands and it’s downhill, all the way to the cliché of disaster. But then one must ask the question, is disaster too easy an option? Certainly Pinky and Perky have very successfully spun their spin of a disastrous recession (oh let’s blame that Brownian government and for God’s sake don’t mention the bankers) so that they can get their sledge hammers, chain saws, crow bars let alone the JCBs in action to attack those they judge too politically weak to make much of a fuss.
What fun politics is! Is it a joke or is it serious? Let’s have a joke and make it a tragedy. Surely Pinky and Perky are a joke. Public school pranksters, a bit smarmy, and you wouldn’t trust them with your granny, but I’m sure they don’t mean any harm. Where did they come from? They look alarmingly ‘out of the same mould’ as that other slippery character: grinning-all-the-way-to-the-bank-Blair.
But let me tell you the right way to live . . . I will, tomorrow, maybe.