The Heart of Westminster

A couple of weeks ago I applied for the post of Production Assistant at a well known English Shakespearian theatre company.

Not Production Manager, just a mere assistant.

There were 220 applicants.

220!

Feeling up a gumtree I browsed some online general job sites and was flabbergasted to see that while the number of posts on offer totaled just 1900, the number of people looking were 33,000.

33,000, and on just one site!

What jobs where they, you may wonder?

Gofer mostly, paying minimum wage which in London won't cover rent in a shared hovel.

Full employment, it will never ever happen again.

Instead of dealing with this head on successive governments have head spent their time putting their fingers in their ears and their heads up their bottoms.

Why?

This week some bright spark took it upon themselves to check the Houses of Parliament toilets for cocaine traces.

9 proved positive.

9!

So, people with the power to literally decide who lives and who dies by what legislation they devise and pass into law are doing so coked up.

“I’ve got an idea, bedroom tax!”

“Brilliant!” (hoovers up line the size of arm and leg)

Let’s be clear about this, politicians may be wily, but they are far from smart.

Not having our best interests at heart their decisions are questionable at the best of times.

Under the influence of cocaine they are mad I tell you, mad.

There is something very wrong in the heart of Westminster.

It’s a private club, its members peeing on us from a great stoned height, clutching bags of our cash as they sell off what’s left of the family silver.

Britain’s not working.

Oh sure, wander around vast swathes of London chock full of restaurants stuffed with diners pigging out on overpriced offal and you’ll think recession, what recession?

But try and find somewhere to live as a homeless single person over the age of 40 and reality will hit you like a steam train driven by a blond buffoon.

What will you do when your boss texts you in the morning to say you’ve been fired, and with no explanation or recompense?

Ragged Trousered Philanthropist anyone?

One thing we don’t have to worry about right now is being blasted back into the Stone Age by North Korea as we seem to be dismantling all we’ve held dear since the formation of the Welfare State quite nicely on our own thank you.

Do we really want to go back to soup kitchens, work houses, rickets, back street abortions, plague and pestilence?

A bunch of immoral chancers backed by barely elected tosspots gambled our history away in a casino, then stole all our savings, climbed up their towers, kicked away the ladders, laughing like drains, and they are laughing still.

We have spent so long looking up the backsides of people who deserve not a jiffy of our time that we’ve gone blind.

Well it really is time to squeegee our eyes and wake the hell up from this infant state before, as Flaubert memorably warned us, the edge of the crapper on which we stand crumbles and we plummet headlong into a century of shit.

Julia Brightly

July 20, 2013