Said it before, but I’ll say it again – how on earth those hardy souls who write a blog EVERY day do it, I just don’t know. And those phoneaholics who wander about the place with the instrument superglued to an ear or grasped between flickering, texting, tweeting fingers. How come they have SO much to say? I’m not sure they do. Not unlike radio phone-ins. People do it because they can. “OK – over now to Roy in Castle Bromwich. Roy, what’s YOUR take on hedge funds?
Long pause. “Hello? Hello?”
“Yes – go on Roy – your feelings about hedge funds…”
“Oh yes, well – can you hear me?”
“Loud and clear Roy”
“Oh, well, yes, erm, it all began in 1978 when my sister tripped over a rhinoceros…”
But I’m not a total communications luddite. I can see that in terms of intercontinental goings-on, instant contact is a Good Thing. Far better than lighting bonfires of different colours or having riders thrash horses across country to rendezvous with a Royal Navy frigate which, given fair winds, will arrive in Blighty with the months-old news that the Australians have still got the Ashes.
And here I must admit that I DO tweet. Well its not actually me. It’s the young man with the wire in his ear. But its sort of got my name stuck on it. I DID try to do it myself under his instruction but after speaking to a nervous lady in Rickmansworth twice and inadvertently buying a Swingers’ Holiday in Amsterdam, I thought it wise to let him be my amanuensis.
There was a distressing news item today, concerning a livestock lorry crashed on the M6. Its contents - 4000 chickens - escaped. Surprisingly, most were rounded up. They were probably on their way to a disgusting battery farm. By far the best outcome of that incident would have been for ALL the chickens to escape into the countryside and establish a whole new era of British Wild Chickens. They are, after all, very resourceful birds. They’d find food. Most would find safe roosts. Some would be taken by foxes. Idiot humans with guns (like the sad fool who shot the rhea recently) would account for more, but most would manage very well. Of course, the other ideal outcome would be for the battery farm owner to go bankrupt and have to take a job cleaning up chicken pooh on a humane, free range chicken farm.
You might, dear reader think that I, as Head of the Anglican Church ought not to have these vengeful thoughts. And you would be quite right. But we all have our Dark Side. So I pray for guidance. What would Jesus have done?
Indeed, what would Jesus do about the utterly dreadful man in charge of Boko Haram? Would he forgive this monster? Or would he arrange a visit from some very persuasive WOMEN with big guns who would take Boko Boss to a cosy corner and have an intimate chat with him? Oh, save me from my Dark Side!
Yours, in anguish,
PS Have I spelt Boko Haram correctly? Don’t care. It doesn’t deserve grammatical niceties.