I think that this must be the season in between the summer and autumn schedules where there is nothing but repeats on. I have already done Jane Austen (missus) and old stuff this week, and am aching to find something new about which to pontificate.
Alas, my friends at BBC news have thwarted my yearnings and caused me more than a little distress by reporting that some great steaming wassock has found the remains of another henge in Wiltshire. I have, on more than one occasion, made it sparklingly clear that one henge is too many, to the tune of one.
The henge that is the only famous thing in Wiltshire is irksome to me, as it is visible from my route to Tom’s house. Visiting Tom is stressful enough, what with all of his problems about which I am too considerate to dwell on here, but to have my attention drawn to countless daft bastards gawking at some old rocks every time I pass by does nothing to put me in the right frame of mind for dealing with Tom.
I wish someone would knock the monstrosity (Stonehenge, not Tom) down, or perhaps steal it.
Bloody great eyesore (Stonehenge, not Tom, and I won’t clarify the subject of my writing again).
At least the new henge doesn’t have any stones. Just holes where they think the stones were. John Lennon wept. There will now be CDB (see above) going to look at the place were the stones aren’t. Bugger off, the lot of you. Stay at home, and look at the stuff that isn’t there – Tosspot on Severn or Witless, Kentucky whereeverthebollocks it is that you live.
“The circle was made using the Preseli spotted dolerite stone.”
Hoo pigging ray. Well you won’t be able to bloody spot it any more, will you, because it ain’t bloody well there?
I may be missing something, but cannot work out all this fascination with trying to work out the significance of Stonehenge is about. It is just a bunch of rocks stuck in a field in Wiltshire. It is either the work of some prehistoric loony god-botherers, a student prank or the psychotic result of an attempt to relieve acute boredom by my great granddad and his mates one weekend when the internet was down. We should be no more fascinated by the eccentricities of these ancient weirdos than by their descendants today who watch “The Antiques Roadshow”, enjoy Country and Western music or vote Conservative. Or go and gawk at a bunch of stones in a field in Wiltshire.