Regular readers – (A Mrs Trotsky of North Wales) will have been monitoring updates to this site in order to keep up with news of the revolution. Keen to be first to read of the overthrow of capitalism, and the establishment of the People’s Republic of the Earth, where men can live as brothers, women can live as sisters, (this may involve relaxation of strictures against incest), there will be a just distribution of the world’s resources so that no-one need die of malnutrition, there will be no shortage of things to laugh at, and marketing will be abolished.
(I had a telephone call from someone the other day who said that I need not worry (I wasn’t worried anyway, so they need not have worried to tell me that), they weren’t selling anything, but just wanted my opinion. This proved to be a lie. When I started to give them my opinion, they rang off.)
I hope that you have all realised by now that I am not a man of violence. I would prefer Mr Murdoch, for example, to realise his mistakes by my reasoned argument about why greed is not good for anyone or the planet on which we live. I would like to see Slimy Dave educated (unlikely, I know, while Wackford Gove is in charge) and work out for himself that constantly overproducing goods which no-one needs does not serve a useful purpose.
My position was further reinforced by my visit to the dentist this morning. It turns out that he did not take kindly to my lambasting the Tory government, I learned, while he was probing my pre-molars (or bashing my bicuspids, if you will), that, in his view, this government was not Tory – they had liberals in the government, that Tony Blair was a socialist, and that – well fill in the rest yourself. During this dental diatribe, I did not contribute much in the way of cogent counterpoint. (I did, at one stage, say “mgffllbt”). My position, I realised, was not so much that of a man of peace, but that of a committed coward. My militancy does not extend to confront armed opponents, whether they be wielding assegais, machine guns or extracting forceps. I left the dental surgery this morning, paid the £17 fee for having to listen to Norman Tebbitt while he ascertained that I didn’t need any treatment, and I didn’t even mention Nye Bevan.
So, here is the revised plan for the revolution:
- Tut a bit when you hear Vince Cable on the electric radio.
- Get quite cross when someone says “entrepreneur” and means it in a good way.
- Call Wackford Gove a pillock
- Er …
- That’s it.