Then let us be merry...

Because after all,ours is a comical land.

I am not sad anymore. I was angry when our new PM seemed to vindicate the least honest of men by giving him the job of foreign secretary, but as it gives him time to make good on a promise he wants to forget, at least it's funny. And Gove is gone and Davis is in. Davis was never pro-Europe but from what I know of him,he is an able decent man, and such people are, I think, are too rare to let slip away. If the world is going to laugh, at least they have a suitably risible clown in Bojo. Their mistake and ours would be to dismiss him as a fool. He is not wise but very intelligent and ambitious, and with characteristic narcissism, seeks to model himself on Churchill; these would be his wilderness years. He will be ready for a shot at the top spot soon enough. Of course, Churchill needed a war to make him a success; let's hope Bojo doesn't take his parallels too seriously.


Work has been going well enough, though I am a little tired.The politics of the land has been a considerable depressant, bringing back old sad memories of long ago attitudes during my childhood. One friend has asked,  'Why do you talk about politics so much more than paganism these days?' And I guess it is because politics is a communal thing, whereas for me,my spiritual beliefs become more and more private, less tangible.  I do not believe in community itself as a worthy thing, unless it strengthens and supports the individual. Tribe for tribe's sake is boring and dangerous. This puts me at odds with a dear friend to whom community is the very heartbeat of paganism. I respect her, but don't quite subscribe to that belief. Whereas there is no question about politics; it lacks the numinous, it is robust and definable. It lends itself to the laughter of the many, and the moment we can laugh at something, we cannot be enslaved to it.


'Lord what fools these mortals be!' - Puck, A Midsummer Night's Dream (Act III scene II)

No Daughter of Mine

Washing my hair
with vinegar water
To make it shine.
Combing it straight,
 twisting it up in
a towel on my head

When he came home saying;
No daughter of mine
will count pennies or know
what it is to be poor.

Then I would dip
my feet in the bucket
step in and wash
with coal tar soap.
The electric fire was on,
for all it was dangerous.

When he came home  saying;
No daughter of mine
will count pennies or know
what it is to be poor.

Mum bathed my brother
in that same water.
I never did learn
why the bucket was different
to hotel rooms reached
 by my father's jag.

When he came home saying;
No daughter of mine
will count pennies or know
what it is to be poor.