Justin here. What a week it has been! And ‘tis only Tuesday, as my dear mother was wont to say, sometimes when it was in fact, Monday. Oh my! The young man with the wire in his ear has just pointed out that I said exactly that in my last Thought to you.
I do apologise. But as I say, I am terribly, terribly busy and today will be a blur of religious duties starting with the Christening of that nice young couples’ baby. Barring accidents – child dropped into font, child throwing up etc., etc., that shouldn’t take long although there will be a certain amount of walking about in a regal fashion and much photography afterwards.
Then I’m off to chair a meeting at No 10 – yes, you’ve got it – No 10 – all about these dreadful Facebook people who have decided that its alright for them to show acts of depraved violence, for all to see. I am indeed honoured that Mr Cameron has entrusted this responsibility to me, although the young man with the wire in his ear is of the opinion that the PM has passed the buck and that when the shit hits the fan, I’ll be the one covered in it. His words, not mine. But let us not shy away from contemporary parlance, for it often paints an honest picture. And the shit may verily hit the fan. Impressionable youngsters, seeing adults beheading each other on Facebook may well take it upon themselves to wander the streets at night decapitating their chums. And why? Why would they do this? The young man with the wire in his ear suggests that it is because they are “bleedin’ dickheads”, but I suspect that there’s more to it than that.
Incidentally, Mr Cameron also asked me if I could come up with a few ideas about how to put a more Christian gloss on his administration. Of course, bringing immediately to mind what Jesus would have said, I recommended the immediate ditching of that silly high-speed train, a U turn on the bedroom tax, sacking that odious Gove fellow, increasing income tax on the very rich which would include most of his cabinet, and vaccinating badgers instead of employing myopic marksmen. Well, the effect was immediate, and our Prime Minister had to be helped to his car in tears of uncontrollable laughter.
|'What d'you want to do? Go down the bus shelter and drink cider, or watch a few blokes|
having their heads hacked off?'