Thursday, December 10

the colour of porridge

 

The sky was the colour of porridge, looking up from Calle Real, clouds harbouring their next deludge, with which to dampen our enthusiam for , well, just about everything.


I was an unhappy individual with damp, cold, feet slipping on the damp, cold, cobbled street, wondering about a pending dental bill, and further, if people whom did not have some surplus wealth secreted away for such contingencies, did they simply go without what was, in reality, a necessary health treatment? I remember a moment in time where simply to go to a dentist was to lose your teeth, all of them, a sort of dental euthanasia.


So now we enjoy life in a modern age, where cash is king, and I actually had a dentist with a cash register of sorts in her surgery, totting up as she drilled and filled. Determined, apparently, to save what she could, well at least until the bell rang for the next round of blood and saliva.


But compared to the current nightmare problems, health and otherwise, around our small girating planet, I have no problems. And try I do, every day, to remember just that.


Sadly our current political leaders seem only interested in themselves. Boris Broadcasting Corporation is in being entertained in Brrussels, trying to reach an accord on the Brexit debacle, a political process that was started to halt immigration into the UK, although many will deny that truth. How much has it cost, and will continue to cost? Did you see Boris in his luxury limo at both ends of his personal carbon footprint, destination the low countries. I wonder how many members of his team are in his exalted company, top hotels, etc. Can you imagine this latest summit being held in budget accomodation? Bed and breakfast Boris?


No, wait, that will be accounted for in a seperate budget. Of course, silly me, not just another junket. Clearly. The thought of our leaders abusing their position of power, unthinkable. Clearly unthinkable.


As I type no deal has been reached, another few days for Boris to get out of babysitting duties, or does he babysit his party as well?


Happy Brexit.

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