Journal of the Plague Year

continued, by a Gentleman

Alas poor Countrie, where the Woo Han Peſtilence tramples all before the horrid Jawes of its cruſhing Tread, where the immortal Victory of the People's Will at Runnymede muſt count for no more than a Shred of Piffle, and where law-abiding and honeſt Citizens muſt needs permit the inalienable democratick Repreſentations of their innate Britiſhneſs to be ground into the Sands of Tyranny by the conſuming Teeth of a Parliamentary Beaſt. To ſpeak ſpeſifically, all Publick-Houſes, Eating-places, Watering-holes and the like, yea even unto the Bloater and Blueſtocking Coffee-houſe its Self, are to cloſe by ſix in the Evening, while preſent Reſtrictions will remain upon all Gatherings whether their Purpoſe be feſtive or ſubverſive. I cannot conceive, that our noble Prime Miniſter with his famous Jocularity of Spirit and Inſtinct for perſonall Liberty, hath agreed to ſuch Repreſsions upon his beloved People, and I can onlie conclude, that ſome beſtial Treachery is afoot beneath the Wainſcotting of the Corridors of the Palaces of the Mighty. Fortunately all is not loſt, for certain Theſpians have joyned to raise their Voices in the great and righteous Cauſe of Britiſhneſs, and have demonſtrated the lacking Neceſsitie for Maſques with proteſting Piſs-uppes, incendiary Rhetorick and unconducted Sneeze-ins. It is a Sight to reſtore Faith in the great realiſtick Traditions of the Engliſh Stage.

Bad Theology

Text for today: Leviticus 9 xxiv, Leviticus 10 i-xi

Two sons of Aaron, the brother of Moses, burn incense before God. Since He has not commanded them to do this, God sends out fire from before Himself and burns them both to death. He then orders Moses to sanctify Him among the élite and glorify Him before the people. Moses advises Aaron's family not to show the customary signs of mourning in case God kills them too, but permits them to bewail the burning. Later God lectures Aaron on the perils of drink and, perhaps with the golden calf in mind, promotes him to high priest and orders him to teach the people His forthcoming list of taboos.

When a burnt offering is made, God habitually provides the fire; and like any authoritarian, He becomes annoyed when His prerogatives are usurped, as He most famously made clear at Exodus 20 xiii. The offence may have been inadvertent - possibly resulting from intoxication, given God's subsequent threat to kill anyone from Aaron's family who enters the meeting tent after tasting alcohol - but the punishment, as usual, is immediate and unpleasant death. Both Moses and Aaron are wisely circumspect about the post-mortem arrangements, dumping the victims' bodies unceremoniously outside the camp and disassociating their deaths from the family's grief, so as not to fan the flames of the tyrant's displeasure.

Prevent Perverted

There is further bad news about the Prevent programme, the Government's scheme for co-opting schools, local councils and other public servants as informers for Home Office witch-hunts. Only a tenth of those denounced have been found to be at risk of radicalisation; more seriously, the largest number of referrals relate to fellow travellers of the Conservative Party rather than beastly Muslims. The minister for snoopery, James Brokenshire, made haste to imply that "the far left and single-issue extremists," viz. the likes of Momentum, Extinction Rebellion and the Black Lives Matter movement, are a threat to rank with Islamic terrorism and stabby gammons. As an apparatchik of the government fronted by Boris Johnson, Brokenshire proceeded to eructate an oracular denunciation of those who "promulgate twisted perversions of the truth," rather than simply lying outright as befits a British patriot.

Rut and Ruin

If the deliberate infliction of pain on a helpless victim constitutes an attack, then family values constitute one of the few remaining socially acceptable forms of sexual assault. By the act of bringing their offspring into existence, fathers and mothers inflict suffering on those offspring. By bringing their offspring into a global economy based on competition and deprivation, parents in the present day also ensure that their offspring will inflict suffering on others, since two persons cannot occupy the same space or consume the same resource. Certainly since 2015, as it has become increasingly clear that no action will be taken over the climate crisis except to worsen its consequences, no informed or educated person can claim the slightest moral excuse for conceiving children. To glorify breeding while faced with clear and present global disaster is to tout the trumping of reason and compassion by the brute urges of rabbits and rats. Granted, most of the new lives will include pleasure as well as suffering; but even a few breeders might consider it a little strange to justify a date-rape by citing the quality of the preceding dinner.

Right Royal Fun

Our approaching escape from the Euro-wog yoke has plunged the casting process for a forthcoming film into near-poetic depths of Britishness. Pablo Larraín, the Chilean director of dramas about life under the kind of people Margaret Thatcher admired, is preparing a film about the family difficulties of a clan of London-based benefit claimants, but the casting director has been forced to stipulate that those bearing passports of a certain colour need not apply. Major roles are usually cast with people who have the same citizenship as the financiers, and the backers of Larraín's film belong among the lesser breeds. Such refined ironies are a welcome touch amid the charmless farce, reminiscent of a late-period Carry On film rebooted by Julius Streicher, which has thus far characterised the patriotic posturing of the master race.

Institutional Hostility

Despite being led by the jolly racist rich boy Boris Johnson, who was preceded by the obsessively racist corporate consort Theresa May, who was preceded by the smarmily racist rich boy David Cameron, the Conservative Party has occasionally been known to adopt policies which might uncharitably be construed as racist. Taking unfair advantage of this philanthropic compulsion to address legitimate and understandable concerns, the Equalities and Human Rights Commission has defamed the hostile environment on the grounds that it worked. Not only was ill-treatment meted out on a regular basis to people the Conservatives dislike, but the Ministry for Wog Control provided an outstanding demonstration of its commitment to loutishness in the best bulldog tradition, and the Conservative Party was able to make due provision for the Johnson gang's legal self-enshrinement as a fatter breed without the law. Despite all this, the EHRC's report goes so far as to imply not only that the hostile environment had negative consequences, but that these same consequences were ignored rather than sniggered over. Doubtless the EHRC has succeeded only in furthering the case for its own privatisation and eventual sale to Trump, Tribble and Farage Community Relations, Inc.

Journal of the Plague Year

continued, by a Gentleman

As befitteth a Chriſtian and civiliſed Adminiſtration, Her Majeſty's Government is reſolved to call a Chriſtmas Truce with the Woo Han Peſtilence, which is expected to be in a pitiful State of Demoraliſation as the Feſtival approaches, thanks to the unbending reſolute Britiſhneſs of our preſent Reſiſtance. Indeed, ſuch hath been the Advances upon the Battlefield againſt this ſavage yet ſubtle Oriental Adverſary, that a leſs phlegmatick Race might eaſily believe the Conqueſt to be entire and the victorious Humours already broiling beneath the Guſsets of the Mighty. The inevitable Succeſs of our Holy Warre againſt the Heathen Diſeaſe muſt not be permitted to lure us into a fatal French Complaiſance, to which End our noble Leaders have permitted Gatherings not exceeding ſeverall Families, or Tribes or Tartans among the Natives of our Celtick Poſseſsions, except in thoſe Boroughs and Pariſhes where the taxable Propertie of the Electors doth not exceed the Value of one hundred and forty-four native Sheep of the ſame Borough or Pariſh, excluding Lambs under a Fortnight in Age and thoſe mature Beaſts which are utiliſed for Purpoſes purely erotick. In ſuch Circumſtances the Gatherings may go beyond the aforeſaid Limit, provided onlie that the ſecond-ſmalleſt back ſpare Bed-chamber of the neareſt Vicarage poſseſseth not a Hearth capable of roaſting a whole adult Gooſe without ſpattering more than ſeven gobs of Greaſe upon the Floor, including that utiliſed for Purpoſes purely erotick. It is to be hoped that the Woo Han Peſtilence, when faced with ſuch unpretentious Magnitude Simplicity and Reſolve, will manifeſt ſufficient Honour to fulfil its own Part, and to vaniſh unreſiſting and for ever from our Shores.

They Still Can't Keep Their Minds Off It

Having successfully blinked away the mote of child abuse, the Church of England is once more braced to tackle the beam in the eye of consensual homosexuality. This latest joyous plunge into yet another heavenly erotic episode has been precipitated by the gay-baiters, who have resurrected their eternal threat to gather up their skirts, flounce away and deprive the doddering church of their loving kindness and spiritual guidance should it fail to keep the perverts in their place. The archbishop of Canterbury responded with the moral backbone appropriate to his position, asserting that there are fine people on both sides and that the issues are much more complicated than certain simple-minded binary thinkers are making out. Undoubtedly, simple-minded binaries are the last thing anyone would hope to see in the church of sheep and goats, salvation and sin, heaven and hell, orthodox and heretic, and tithe-gatherer and Pharisee.

The Father of Teeth

Text for today: I Caries cxxiii-cxxxvii

Bless me Father for I have sinned, said the paedophile, and the Father of Teeth grinned through the lattice. Tell me your sins, my son, he said. I have sinned exceedingly in thought, word and deed, said the paedophile, and I have brought great opprobrium and disrepute upon the holy name of my church through the indulgence of my unnatural and wanton desires. And what desires are those, my son, asked the Father of Teeth, grinning through the lattice. Children, groaned the paedophile, children, Father; I love them, only not entirely in the manner of our Lord, and they do lead one on so. The things they will do, Father, for the promise of some petty reward or the prospect of gaining favour with the powerful, should be a lesson to us all. Quite so, said the Father of Teeth, grinning through the lattice; and tell me, my son, about these unnatural and wanton desires of yours. Did you ask for them, did you beg for them? Did you pray to the Creator every day, petitioning Him to bestow upon you these unnatural and wanton desires, along with your daily bread and the serenity to accept what you cannot change? On the contrary, Father, said the paedophile, on the contrary, I prayed day and night to be relieved of these urges, to be granted the strength to conquer them for the good of the church, as the strength to conquer sin comes only from the Creator. And yet, said the Father of Teeth, grinning through the lattice, the Creator chose not to bestow that strength upon you, even for the good of his holy church, the One who gave you those unnatural and wanton desires chose not to circumvent the work of His own hands. But Father, said the paedophile, the Creator never lets us be tempted beyond our own power to resist. In that case, said the Father of Teeth, grinning through the lattice, since all virtue emanates from Him, the Creator might have sent the children better strength to resist your persuasions and forgive your transgressions, He might have sent the church better strength to keep the children out of danger, He might even have bestowed upon Himself the common decency not to work so many tasteless pranks into His eternal plan, but there you have the problem, my son, said the Father of Teeth, grinning through the lattice, there you have the whole problem, the poor old bastard simply cannot help Himself, honestly, my son, I could tell you stories that would make your humours curdle. But will He help me, Father, asked the paedophile. Ego te absolvo, said the Father of Teeth, grinning through the lattice, for all the good it will do you, and the paedophile went his way comforted for exactly as long as the Creator had ordained.

Our Miraculous Cliff-Edge Could Be Gateway to Slippery Slope

As we all know, there are few more insidious dangers to liberty than planning. Planning means bureaucracy, and bureaucracy means the triumph of un-entrepreneurial and un-British elements, and leads to famine, persecution and concentration camps for all the wrong sorts of people. Without the evil socialistic legacy of planning, there wouldn't be a housing shortage because anybody could knock up a new hovel wherever they pleased. Were it not for the suffocating Stalinist restrictions imposed by planning, the environment thingy would be solved in no time thanks to pluck, gumption and the miracle wondergredient hydrogen.

Of course, Britain's new freedom to do things without reference to the bothersome conditions of mere reality is nowhere shown to gaudier advantage than in the fight for independence from the beastly Euro-wogs. Nevertheless, certain fake entrepreneurs are attempting to turn back the clock to the bad old days. Responding to a stern warning from a minor apparatchik that whatever happens after Britain toddles off the precipice will be their fault, metropolitan élitist business groups have criticised Her Majesty's Government for imposing, of all things, not enough rules. The next thing we know, they'll be begging for experts and free banquets for juvenile shirkers.

Journal of the Plague Year

continued, by a Gentleman

There is much idle Goſsip among the Servants, concerning the approaching Seaſon of Chriſtmas, when in Accordance with their baſe low Morals, they expect to take Advantage of the Woo Han Peſtllence and make of it an Excuſe to remain away from their Families. Thus far the Houſekeeper, ſome Laundreſses and ſundry idle Fellows have requeſted, that they be permitted to ſtay in Towne and not obliged to take the uſual Half-day of Worſhip and humble Gratitude for the Privilege of Service while viſiting the Hovels of their Begetters. That ſhrewd and knowing Theologian, Biſhop Swygge-Sherriwyne, hath ſtated ſcientifically that the Gathering and Crowding of poor and undeſerving Perſons into ſmall and paltry Spaces during the Celebrations, could well prevent new Outbreaks of the dread Diſeaſe, owing to the reſulting unique and formidable Concentration of pious Britiſhneſs. Therefore I have ordered all Servants, ſave that bare Majority which cannot be ſpared in any Circumſtance, to acknowledge the Miracle of our Lord's Birth at their native Hearth, returning to their Duties only in time to enſure that the Houſe is properlie ſwept and duſted and all my neceſsarie Guſsets full prepared and perfumed. And I have adviſed them further, that I ſhall equip my Self and deal moſt harſhly with any who ſuccumb to the Woo Han Peſtilence over the feſtive Seaſon, by way of a ſlothful and impious Attempt to eſcape the Obligations of honeſt and improving Labour.

The Like That Dare Not Speak Its Name

Consternation is loosed upon the Vatican because of a casual encounter between the papal Instagram account and the immodest image of a Brazilian model. This electronic indiscretion has caused the Mussolini-sponsored monastery state, which also happens to be the rampant, throbbing centre of the world's largest official rape and paedophilia protection racket, some small degree of embarrassment. The lady in the case has reportedly been led into serious doctrinal error, pronouncing her own salvation and thereby blaspheming against the male prerogative on spiritual matters. As God's representative on earth, the Pope himself naturally bears no responsibility for what is clicked in his name: "The pope is not like Donald Trump, he’s not sitting around using his phone or computer to tweet all day long," sniffed the editor of La Croix, exemplifying that famous charity which vaunteth not itself and seeketh not her own; "So he would have nothing to do with this - it’s the communications department, and how this happens … who knows." The faithful will rejoice to know that it was not the Pope but one of his fallible servants who managed to imply that somebody at the Vatican may be afflicted with a perverted predilection for grown-up human females.

Let Them Eat Potato Cake

Is there no patriotism in Ulster? Have they forgotten who won the war, to say nothing of who remained neutral? Where, now that Westminster needs them most, are the healthy jingo hatred, the Britishness at all costs, the urge to social division and economic martyrdom? Alas, farmers and industries in Northern Ireland appear to have gone native thanks to decades of Nazi-Soviet occupation by the beasts of Brusso-Strasbourg, and are begging for the status quo to continue, no matter what the consequences for Albion, sovereignty or fish. In the absence of any actual policy other than blithering rah-rah and blaming the ghastly Euro-wogs, the labyrinthine difficulties of switching over to a completely new trade régime in forty-three days are being dealt with by a committee co-chaired by the jabbering homunculus Michael Gove; yet somehow the dour businessmen of Ulster have fallen a little short in their duty to be reassured.

Precautionary Precriminations

Not only the beastly Euro-wogs and their instruments, the treacherous Remainers, will be to blame when the sunny uplands turn all grim and chilly in the new year. With its usual mix of radical foresight and confident traditionalism, Her Majesty's Government has taken appropriate steps to ensure that interruptions in the food supply to schools will be entirely the responsibility of bolshie teachers. A blather dispatched by the Department of Stupid Boy has made clear that the Government takes no more than its usual degree of interest in the feeding and upkeep of juveniles whose parents aren't even deserving enough to afford a nanny.

Despite this good news, certain unelected enemies of freedom have sought to cast a damper by pointing out the security implications should the former Cummings administration allow its front-man's stupidity to trump his natural blend of indolence and cowardice. If the UK refuses to accept what the grown-ups put before it, police chiefs predict major operational damage to their ability to fight crime and terrorism: a consequence that even Tumbledown Tessie May only favoured for about six months.

Journal of the Plague Year

continued, by a Gentleman

I heare from my Lord the Marqueſs of Slypslymie-Clyſterpype, Adjutant in Ordinary to the Palace Chirurgeon and Maſter of the Royal Sphincter, that our noble and beloved Leader hath acquired a new Filly to diſtract the Publick, and by the Operations of a malign Coincidence hath once more been forſed to ſeclude his precious Self, for the Protection of the Nation and the final and utter Defeat of the inſidious Woo Han Peſtilence. So profound is the Senſe of renewed Hope amid the Halls of the Mighty, that there is encouraging Talk of commencing a new Warre with ſelected European Powers within a Weeke of Chriſtmas.

Meanwhile the traytorous Surgeons and Apothecaries continue to ſpread the moſt arrant and ungodly ſuperſtitious Nonſenſe, even deſcending unto rank Subverſiveneſs with the blaſphemous Aſsertion, that ſhould any Cure or Prevention be diſcovered for this dread foreign Plague, all Citizens ought to benefit from Treatment, whether from the deſerving Claſses or no. A moſt proper Ripoſte came from certain Holders in a Modern Corporation, who ſtated that their own patented Cure will be provided at low Coſt until the the opprobrious Calumnies of the Shirkers may be outweighted by the Profits to be gathered from raiſing the Price. Indeed it would be a moſt encouraging Sign of Progreſs, ſhould ſuch delicate economick Judgements be altogether removed from the ſanguinary Hands of the medical Profeſsion, and placed upon the broad and accommodating Shoulders of reſponſible Buſineſses, to the immenſe and convenient Diſcomfiture of the uncommercial Heathen.

Bad Theology

Text for today: Ephesians 1 iv-vi, 5 iv-xii

Someone writing in the name of Paul the Apostle proclaims that God has predestined the faithful since before the Creation, according to no purpose but to gain praise for the working of His own arbitrary will. Later, the same writer warns against listening to those who hold differing points of view, and orders that such people should be made outcasts and denounced.

Although the authorship of the Epistle to the Ephesians is in some doubt, as theologians we can only admire the writer's realism and candour. He begins by reasoning with ruthless logic from God's omniscience: if God knows everything throughout eternity, then He knows who will be saved and who will be damned, and He has known since before the Creation and will never lift a finger to change the outcome. In the fifth and sixth verses of the first chapter, the author brazenly lays bare the tyrant's motives in selecting certain persons for adoption: not according to their virtues, but according to His rigid and unalterable will and His eternal lust for sycophantic adulation.

With coolly calculated self-interest, the writer orders that anyone who disagrees with the church should be ostracised and publicly accused of carrying out secret and immoral rituals. With allegiance to an all-knowing, all-powerful tyrant, no enemy can be too bad, no denunciation can be too far-fetched and no purge can be too harsh. The writer also warns against displays of broad or bawdy humour, and recommends that his subordinates at the church of Ephesus sublimate their baser urges by giving thanks to God rather than amusing one another. It is one of the misfortunes of history that no reliable record has come down to us concerning the general effectiveness of this measure.

Unconstructive Business

As might be expected given the Conservatives' promise to eliminate bureaucracy and get things jolly well done, the Conservatives are increasing bureaucracy and letting things stagnate. As with Brexit and the NHS, so with the greening of the construction sector, for which a sort of scheme thingy was set up in July, a mere five years after the previous ditching of green crap by the glistening pink pig-sticker. This latest wheeze is supposed to provide financial help for the plebs to insulate their little hovels; but the work has to be done by specially accredited firms, and gaining the accreditation takes longer and costs more than almost any firms find worth while. Surprisingly few small business owners are prepared to sell off the family jewels or rent out their spare stately homes in order to participate in a thingy which might at any moment fall victim to the Johnson attention span and will in any case be wound up in a few months so as to free up more money for lorry parks.

Papal Plasma Perfidiously Pilfered

Every good Christian values the spirit above the flesh; which doubtless explains the famous disdain for money and unswerving refusal of tithes by all their major churches. It also provides a clue to their reverence for those bodily bits and pieces which are preserved from holy persons once their soul has gone to its heavenly reward. Pope John Paul II, whose disregard for the mere earthly bodies and minds of rape and abuse victims doubtless contrbuted to the seemly haste with which his canonisation was accomplished, has been honoured in just this manner. Bloodstained cloth from the 1981 assassination attempt has been preserved in a metal frame, and more blood has been stored in vials of gold and crystal to remind the faithful about the vanity of worldly wealth and the evils of superstition. By the grace of God one such treasure was stolen from an Umbria cathedral in September and the police have now identified a suspect, although the vial itself remains at large. The archbishop of Spoleto committed a disappointing lapse by publicly demanding its return, rather than simply praying for its miraculous reappearance and letting his faith do the rest.

Context Strikes Again

Her Majesty's most Britannic Minister for Wogs, Beads and Trinkets has dealt the Heathen Chinee a jolly old dressing-down for treating Hong Kong like a colony full of lesser breeds. The perilous non-whites have adopted measures allowing the disqualification of "unpatriotic" members from Hong Kong's parliament, with the subtle and cunning proviso that unpatriotic does not mean the same in the barbarous gabble of Heathen Chinee as it does in the Queen's English. Speaking as firmly as he could through the rank opiated fumes of cosy British hypocrisy, Her Majesty's most Britannic Minister delivered a stern moral rebuke to those who would breach legally binding international commitments in a manner that was neither limited nor specific enough to suit the convenience of the Parliamentary Brexit Party.

Journal of the Plague Year

continued, by a Gentleman

In due Keeping with my patriotick Conſcience, in this Time of Peril when the dread Worm of Treachery ſtands poiſed and ready upon its venomous Haunches to ſeize in its horrid Claws and bear away as its ill-gotten Prize the ſlighteſt Sign of Weakneſs in the national Backbone, I truſt that our noble Prime Miniſter hath not forgot his famous and long-ſtanding Maſtery of the diplomatick Trade. When enforcing the National Will upon the lateſt Governor of our American Colonies, our great Leader muſt call to Mind our Poſition in the World, our exalted Preſtige among the leſser Breeds, and the unrivalled Might of our Navy Preſs-gangs now the Univerſities are cloſed. He muſt impreſs upon the upſtart Snollygoſter our limitleſs Dedication to free and fair Trade, regardleſs of Tariff or other vexatious legal Petty-foggeries, and our plucky Determination, ſhould it become neceſsary, to grow our own Potatoes, pork our own Barrels and beat our own Niggers at whatever the Coſt to our expendable Claſses. And he muſt above all make clear that we will tolerate no Interference by foreign Powers in our excluſive and inalienable Rights regarding the interim Solution to the Iriſh Queſtion, and that the manifold dire Conſequences of any ſuch aggreſsive Activity againſt the free Market might well reſult in punitive Taxation. If the Prime Miniſter or his gracious Conſort ſhould condeſcend to offer appropriate Remuneration, I am minded once more to look with Favour upon the Proſpect of a ſenior Poſition in the Colonial Service.

Dietary Disloyalty

Researchers at the London School of Hygiene and Soon-to-be-European Medicine have discovered that eating habits in the UK are subject to an encouraging degree of structural Britishness. During the very period when Her Majesty's Government has striven for levels of self-isolation, xenophobia and exceptionalist delusion worthy of England under a Conservative administration, an ungrateful public has been stuffing itself with filthy foreign food. Despite the robust yet reasonable cleansing activities of the Ministry for Wog Control, consumption of pineapples, bananas and other migrant fodder has risen at the expense of such boarding-school delicacies as cabbage, carrots and peas. It is to be hoped that wholesome, home-grown fare will soon make a triumphant return to whatever limited and specific national diet remains for us on the sunlit uplands.

Fatherly Chastisement

Although the state of Florida dutifully donated its electors to the Trumpster and his hydrophobic head-tribble, in obedience to the braying and squealing of the patriotic Lurve-pushers and Jesus-mongers, it seems the vote was not quite decisive enough to appease that grand old party in the sky. In accordance with His notoriously arbitrary mercy, the wrath of God has descended upon the region, destroying and disrupting lives in Florida and causing numerous casualties among the sinister superpowers of Central America. Speaking from a prudent distance, in the miraculously hurricane-proof city-state which specialises in converting tithes from the poor into legal fees for rapists, the Lord's elected representative made the usual public appeal for God to mitigate the effects of His own improving work. Doubtless the results from the grovelling will be as detectable as ever.

Let No Traitor Carp

There is a fragrance on the mourning breeze,
A taint to glorify some plucky trench:
Such patriotic perfume is this stench,
Sweet symptom of our cosy old disease.
There is a noise upon the mourning air
Of bullets dodged and sacrifices ducked;
Of paper wreaths most reverently chucked
To beat the world at showing that we care.

So let no traitor carp nor criticise,
With conchy-pacifistic shirker fuss,
Our profitable fight to civilise
And raise the lesser breeds to be like us;
And let no vulgar shame ring out its knell
While virtue-sirens scream from silk lapel.

Hardman Standfast

Their Trumpster Right or Wrong

It appears that the Trumpster and his hydrophobic head-tribble are on their way out, whether under the tribble's own control of its transporter's motor functions or at the doubtless gentle hands of White House security. Their opponent gained the greatest number of votes ever polled by a presidential candidate in a US election, while the Trumpster gained only the second-greatest number. After four disastrous years of climate reversal; after four years of attacks on human rights once assumed to be basic; after four years of children in cages and some fourteen hundred daily demonstrations of corruption, mendacity, racism, sexism, ignorance, incoherence, stupidity and utter, hapless petty-mindedness by their candidate, the Trumpster's base did not fragment, the Trumpster's vote did not collapse, the Trumpster's fan club did not dissolve, and the Trumpster's brand of democracy remains very much alive and well.

It's possible that seventy million voters actually believe the Trumpster and his gang have not only governed, but governed well enough to deserve a second term; the people that can't be fooled quite all of the time did, after all, elect an empty-headed actor twice and a chimpanzee once. Then again, it's also possible that they voted for him because he was their Trumpster: because he claims to be a Republican, an American and a victim, and because his squeals of persecution while persecuting others put his Christian credentials beyond doubt. They voted for him because they think he's one of the tribe and because they believe, no matter what he does, that he is on their side. The triumph of the Trumpster is the very image of a democracy based on faith and patriotism.

Keep Smiling Through

Plucky plebs and pious peasants throughout the land will offer their humble thanks to the Minister for Profitable Incarceration after his admirably straightforward remarks on just who is to blame for any problems with the Government's too-latest lockdown. As a minister in an administration which considers itself above the law and which employs those brilliant Serco people to manage what passes for its test and trace programme, Robert Buckland brought all the force of character one would expect to his denunciation of the British public and its chronic inability to follow the rules. We cannot all be moral and physical Übermenschen like the Supreme Leader of our Nation, Dominic Cummings, but the little people should at least be trying.

Buckland burbled that "the majority of people do brilliantly, but we have to deal with that tiny minority who do not wish to support other people," but it remains as yet unclear whether this was a covert assault on his hated rivals in the Cabinet or a momentary lapse into veracity, perhaps resulting from some unfortunate cerebral accident. He further profundified that the public seems to dislike measures that "not only disrupt life and wellbeing, but disrupt the economy", Brexit and World War II excepted as always. Since life and wellbeing are apparently independent from the economy, Britain's plebs and peasants should be in no doubt that the path to true contentment lies elsewhere than in those material rewards which all Government ministers must reluctantly accept for themselves.

Journal of the Plague Year

continued, by a Gentleman

Before commencing to ſhare with the reſt of the Nation our renewed Confinement againſt the Oriental Depredations of the Woo Han Peſtilence, I ſpent yeſter Night at the Bloater and Blueſtocking Coffee-houſe, where a Mr Shyne-Moontrype of the Royal College of Aſtrologers gave a moſt intereſting Lecture upon the lateſt ſcientifick Method of preventing further Infection. Addreſsing a packed Meeting of the Libertarian Brotherhood of Maſqueleſs Marauders, the intrepid Explorer of the coſmick Myſteries gave a relatively brief Expoſition of the projected Moon-ſhot which hath lately gained much Prominence among our Leaders. According to the lateſt Reſearches, the terrible Progreſs of the Peſtilence beyond its natural and God-given Realm amid the Heathen, reſults from the evil Influence of the Lunar Sphere which, according to certain recently decoded Prophecies in the Revelation of Saint John, the Book of Common Prayer and the Spectator, Heaven hath looſed upon the World thanks to the ſinful Riſe of a deſtructively ſceptical and un-Chriſtian Attitude among the vulgar Publick, ſpecifically in the matter of paying Aſtrologers their Fees. Accordingly the Gentlemen of the College propoſe a Retaliation againſt the ſiniſter ſelenick Boddy, which being a flatte Diſc like the Earth ſhould prove eaſily penetrable by Cannon-fire. In addition to defeating the Peſtilence, the manly Britisſh Aſsertiveneſs behind the Act of ſhooting a Hole in the villainous Orb will inevitably ſerve as a ſalutary Object-leſson to thoſe leſser Breeds, which lurk like ravening Wolves below the Horizons of Britannia's Waves and ſeek to accompliſh our Downfall through the Chinks in our national Bloodſtream.

Going South

Less than forty years after the sainted Thatcher's victory over her fellow anti-communists and former business partners in the Argentine junta, staunch British territory in the South Atlantic is once more under threat. An iceberg the size of South Georgia is steaming steadily towards a British isle; hence it remains debatable whether the iceberg can be considered a threat to rival the General Belgrano, which was famously steaming away. Besides sharing with many ideal Britons a certain whiteness and emotional reserve, the iceberg also displays that plucky national potential for washing up in the wrong place with potentially hazardous consequences for shipping and local wildlife. Nevertheless, any favour in the eyes of the master race may be compromised by the likelihood that the iceberg, unlike Her Majesty's Government, has something fairly substantial under the surface. No decision has yet been taken whether to dispatch a task force of unemployed migrants to melt down the enemy with their woggishly overheated body temperatures; but some such titanic scheme must surely soon be floated.

Fear Not Them Which Kill the Body

Some believers in the supernatural have written a squealy letter to the Government about its lack of scientific rigour: the Cummings administration has declared teachers and children expendable, and faith leaders are morally indignant at their dupes being legally barred from a similar chance of martyrdom. One Church of England bishop with a secure income and a warm house blithely shrugged off the minor sacrifices made by those employed in less significant industries than thoughts and prayers: "The church is not a branch of the leisure or hospitality industries with a tap that can be turned on and off by politicians at will," he huffed, before the inevitable blather about Magna Carta and "the essence of our common life" as manifested in public god-bothering. Apparently the Saviour's explicit recommendation that prayer be silent and solitary has been overruled by better men; presumably because where only two or three are gathered in His name, His presence pays no tithes.

Not Very Sporting

Enemies of the people have conspired to foil a Conservative local authority's attempt to ward off the swarming hordes by dumping unaccompanied child asylum seekers in adult accommodation. Clearly such treatment would have had the people-traffickers quaking in their jackboots, especially after the news was passed on when the Ministry for Wog Control deported all their victims back into their hands. Yet even as Her Majesty's Government denies people tuition in English so it can demonise them for not speaking English, lefty lawyers are free to continue polluting the Britishness-sustaining purity of the hostile environment with the cockroach-coddling methane of vexatious virtue-signalling. If things go on like this, the playing field will be so tilted that we shall scarcely be able to admire the straightness of our bat.

The Father of Teeth

Text for today: II Pulp ccxliii-cclxi

When the Father of Teeth awoke from his intoxication, however, he felt forty-eight fingers and a dozen thumbs all groping at various parts of him. By cunning rotation of his bloodshot eyeballs within their black leather bags, he discovered that six blind persons were gathered close about him and feeling him with their hands.

Finally one of them, whose hands were on the Father of Teeth's inexcusable feet, said: "The elephant is much calloused and greatly knobbled, and exudes a most poisonous miasma."
"True," said the second, whose fingers were feeling the Father of Teeth's horrible hand; "I detect little miasma, but the epidermal endowments are indubitable."
"Indeed," said the third, who was exploring the Father of Teeth's disreputable breeches. "The creature has a most unrefined hide, with wrinkles which attain a near-cosmic depth of hideousness."
"I can only agree, fellow scholars," said the fourth, whose palms were flat against the Father of Teeth's impossible back, or as flat as the circumstances allowed. "I also find a rough and disreputable texture, besides knobbles in plenty, arrayed in a teetering tower of vague and wavering verticality."
"Quite right, esteemed colleagues," said the fifth, a little indistinctly as he was sucking his fingertips, which were somewhat abraded thanks to an encounter with the Father of Teeth's unintelligent designer stubble. "I can confirm that the elephant is a creature with formidable natural defences, including a thick skin and some sharp protrusions in the facial area."
"It is a fact," said the last, whose fingers had found their way to the formidably elongated precautionary dentition which the Father of Teeth customarily utilised during his more deliberate periods of unconsciousness. "There are formidable tusks on this creature, that is for certain."

Finally wearied from their pontificatory pokings, the Father of Teeth protruded his tongue. This expelled the intrusive fingers of the sixth scholar, who was greatly astonished but nevertheless continued her observations. "How interesting," she said. "Though uncouth in form, the elephant is clearly a mild-tempered creature. Rather than deterring me with its terrible tusks, it used a sort of flexible muscular appendage, very dry and furry, which came between the tusks to push me gently away."
"Enough of this," said the Father of Teeth. "Noble and perceptive scholars: though your minds be acute and your observations accurate, your conclusions are nevertheless in error, for you have been exploring a fake elephant."
"A fake elephant!" they said. "But how can this be? We heard that an elephant was present in the district, and made inquiries as to where we might find it; and we were guided to these parts of yours by a most reputable person, esteemed by all as a servant of the Creator and the truth."
"You have been deceived," said the Father of Teeth, "but rest assured that I shall deal with this pachydermic prankster. Now go in peace, and if you will take my advice, concern yourselves less with admiring the gaudy circus of Creation. Rather contemplate the One who made you blind and prone to error, and how you may best offend Him."

The scholars bowed solemnly and went their way, while the Father of Teeth went in search of the reputable person who had lied to them. He was not hard to find, as he had set himself up in the largest house in the village, from which he gave orders to all and sundry on account of his great humility. Having gained an audience and thoroughly inserted three blunt brown fingernails beneath the reputable person's ribs, the Father of Teeth inquired as to the justification for his elephantine falsehoods.
"I did no harm," said the reputable person, and the Father of Teeth wagged his forefinger in reproach. "Ouch," said the reputable person. "I meant no harm, I tell you. I intended only to provide an object-lesson in the imperfections of worldly perception. Ouch," he said again, for the Father of Teeth had pushed his fingers deeper. "Would you kindly moderate the thoroughness of your thoracic intrusions," said the reputable person. "I could hardly help noticing the disposition of your digits before you stuck them in, and as a vocal servant of the Creator my pleural cavity is nothing less than a spiritual asset."
"A rather imperfect and partial judgement," said the Father of Teeth, pushing his fingers a little further and groping about inside. "You see how inconvenient it can be," he said, "when all one has to go on is the touch of a hand?"
"He who has eyes to see, let him see," coughed the reputable person; so the Father of Teeth closed his fist tight and yanked it out, extracting several rather messy biological facts.