THE UNFORTUNATE

Light gone but for great sheets of lightning. Great sheets of rain then nothing. Absolute silence. Absolute dark. Followed by a crack of thunder and a flash. Silence. Another thunderclap and the fields and the hedgerows appear for a moment in semi-colour, flicker perhaps for a few moments into view. Then blackness. As before. These interruptions grew less frequent until just the dark and the calm were left. Eventually the clouds parted and a star or two could be seen, a sliver of moon. The waning gibbous. I scrambled out from my nest at the base of a blackthorn bush and hobbled, sodden to the river’s edge. I pissed against a willow tree. I could feel the warmth of my stream rising towards me. The cluck of a moorhen briefly startled me such that I nearly wet my boots, these trusty old brown leather boots of which I am so fond. But I recovered myself. I waited a while by the river, pondering. Once or twice I inspected my nether regions, like runes in the spindly moonlight. I have a soft spot for soothsaying and they have always proved reliable aids. They told me there was nothing left for me here in this country. Nothing. Not a jot.
 

POLITRICKS: THE PRIME MINISTER’S MEDIA STRATEGY

These events occurred in Great Britain in the summer of 2021 but funnily enough went unreported.

One day a Government Minister was caught with his hand in a pot of honey. ‘THE MINISTER THE MINISTER HE’S GOT HIS HAND IN THE HONEY POT,” cried the newspapers, “CAUGHT STICKY HANDED,” quick quick write it down. And just as this was about to be printed the Minister, still with his hand in the pot of honey, pointed animatedly to his left and yelled, “LOOK LOOK A SHADOW MINISTER JUST KICKED A HELPLESS PIGEON.” And over ran the newspapers shouting and shouting, “THE SHADOW MINISTER THE SHADOW MINISTER HE’S KICKED A FRIENDLY PIGEON,” “BIRD BRAINED SCHEME,” quick quick write it down. And the Shadow Minister interjected, “Now see here chaps, that pigeon was in receipt of considerable government funds and was being aggressive towards my young son here–I went lenient, it deserved a harder kick than the one I gave it.” And the newspapers scratched and scratched their heads and furrowed and furrowed their brows and couldn’t make head nor tail of it. And then they saw to the right the Prime Minister himself urinating into a public fountain, waving and smiling at them as he did so, and they lost their minds and leapt and hollered and ran straight to him bowing down in awe and yelling, “HAIL HAIL YOU ARE THE PRIME MINISTER OF THE GREAT BIG FUN FOUNTAIN.” And the Prime Minister instructed each of them to open their mouths wide and he filled them up, yea and verily he filled their mouths up full.