This feels like I’m writing an emergency view from the pavement. Well, not an emergency, but what the newspapers would call News Extra! I’ve been sat with Him Indoors most of the last week watching the mad events in Westminster, as the Prime Minister Bonkers Johnson got smashed down by a load of his so-called friends.
I’ve touched before on this whole Brexit thing. Over three years I’ve had Him Indoors go on at me explaining one side or the other. I have a feeling he’s quite rare in that he is genuine in actually not caring one way or the other about who wins.
I may have reported his view to you before (if I have, I apologise if I bore you) but he has told me regularly about the period in his career that he had to work with the EU. He basically decided they were a bunch of thieves and gangsters who hated the Brits and regularly did everything they could to rob and annoy us. Not a fan is how he puts it.
At the same time he has regaled me with his love of Europe, of his love affair with La Belle France and their people. He firmly believes that if we had followed European culture we would be a much better country than we have become following American “culture”.
This whole week has been a poor example to the world of how we govern ourselves. I have been lay on top of the settee having to endure Him Indoors laughing, shouting, abusing, throwing things and generally not being very happy whilst watching the tv. I don’t really know why he keeps watching if it upsets him so much. I have trouble understanding why he always laughs when either Johnson or Corbyn come on the screen. I mean, aren’t they supposed to be “leaders”?
My greatest relief has been that it seems to have kept Mr Trump off screen until today. I was going to give my pavement view of America but I’ll save that for another time. The one thing that crossed my mind when we were out walking in a strong wind the other day was how awful it must be when real strong winds like a hurricane hit a place. I bet not many dogs survived over in the Bahamas!
Brexit has carried on over the weekend as we hear Ms Rudd has left the cabinet, joining Bonking Boris’s brother in taking the slow walk from Downing Street. I glanced over The Bosses shoulder on Sunday as he was reading the Sunday Times. That didn’t help me either. A big map of Britain, various colours all over it and the headline “What the fuck do we do now” or am I imagining it read something like that!
I need to know why all these toadies don’t talk to each other instead of shouting all the time. He put Question Time on, watched it for 15 minutes and then that was when he threw his slipper at the telly and turned on YouTube. Everybody shouting at everybody. It appears his least favourite people are that woman Thornberry and almost anybody with a Scottish accent supporting the SNP, but especially some rather rotund chap called Blackford.
You must all be bored with it anyway I expect, like we are in Rumpy Pumpy Court. Our Parliament , whatever view you take on Brexit, is a shambles of individuals created by a quite awful electoral system . First past the post is a bad joke & simply encourages confrontation.
The Boss has been in recovery from his “bad hips” and had to visit a physiotherapist, where he was told his hips are “better than the average for your age”. That’s the good news. The bad news? Lower back in deep trouble and he needs to be doing specific exercises. That made me woof with laughter. Him Indoors and exercise in the same sentence. We’ll see how he does, shall we?
He brought some friends back after his music gig last week, which he told me was wonderful. The band were called BWP (Bennett Wilson Poole) so you had all better check them out on Spotify. Blimey, we were all up to almost dawn! I was completely knackered, and Himself was like a zombie on the Saturday. Mr & Mrs Clarke certainly know how to enjoy themselves, lovely folks. The dreaded Bridges was poorly so we haven’t seen him in last few daysbut no doubt the pair of them will be up to some mischief – bad back or not – before too long.
I leave you with the thought that as it only takes 45 seconds to walk to the Brewery from our back door it is not hard to predict where the mischief will happen!
Woof! Woof!
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