Perseverance

“They’re back!”

“Sorry – what do you mean?  Who’s ‘back’?”

“They are.  The Zog people!”

“Oh, them!  I thought you had some fresh news, Tybalt dear.  One of their little mixed-meta things is crawling all over my ancestor-in-law’s left promontory even as we communicate.  They are a bit of a nuisance, I agree.  My relative complains of the blessed thing drilling little needles into his upper crust.  Most uncomfortable!”

“A bit of a nuisance?  A BIT?  Remember the last time, Penna.  Noise, pollution,  litter everywhere, and the digging – oh, the digging!  They’ve already started leaving their junk all over the place…”

“Well, to be fair we did sort of create that for ourselves.  I told Kovic to bat them back, but he just let the things crash.  They don’t work, or anything.  They’re harmless enough.”

“And now there’s another one coming.  Penna, this one’s going to land right on top of our heads!.  Do you know what they’re calling my head?  A  lake bed.  A lake bed, I ask you?”

“It might crash?”

“It might not.  Who knows what horrors I have in store if it lands successfully.”

“They’re looking for signs of life, Tybalt.”

“Well – suppose they find what they’re looking for?”

“They didn’t the first time.  All the way from Zog, and they stayed here for ten million years without suspecting a thing.  Unless they’re ready to accept silicone life forms and fluid consciousness they won’t find anything now.  Perhaps they’ll just go away.”

“They won’t.   They never go away.  They just breed like Martian rabbits and rip our crusts off to build their revolting little hutches… why can’ they take the hint?”

“Look, we shan’t let it get so far, this time, Okay?  If that starts to happen again we’ll get rid of them, like before.”

“The swapping orbits thing?”

“It worked last time, didn’t it?  I don’t care if you do come from Zog, if you can’t breathe on a planet, you get off.”

“Yes, but they no longer know they’re from Zog…”

“Some of them still think they are…”

“And as Earth people, they might be a bit less easy to deceive…”

“No, believe me.  They are, as you say, Earth people now.  They enjoy being deceived.  Our mistake last time was  making the Henges as markers for them to land their transporters in.  No such clues this time, if the worst comes to the worst.”

“Another orbit swap, more epochs of oceans, swamps, and getting hot and stuff.  Why can’t we simply send them an asteroid?”

“All right, if it gives you peace, Tybalt.  We’ll send them an asteroid.  Now, I feel as though I haven’t slept for a millennium.  Do you mind?”  

Picture Credit: Header picture – CharlVera from Pixabay

My Diary…

I don’t often try ‘journal’ type blogs.

What’s the matter with me – too proud?

No, it’s simply for lack of material.   My average day is comprised of

Get up

Feed dog

Feed me

Write

Feed me

Wri…  well, you get the picture.

This week, not so.  This week, things happened.

This week, out in the world, Myanmar fell back into the clutches of a military dictatorship as evil as any in the modern world.  They have corrupt fingers in their country’s coffers, they imprison and probably murder anyone who stands up to them, and they persecute Muslims.  Usually it is possible to make some excuses for strict or violent regimes, but not in this case.  They are an abomination.

Bernie Sanders kept turning up – on park benches, in TV sitcoms, sitting alone in vast marble halls…

This week – February 2nd – was Candlemass.   The day that the child Christ was presented at the Temple, apparently, although I don’t go for that stuff so much;  more importantly it was Groundhog Day!

Yes!

If Punxsutawney Phil had been dragged out of his box in my town he’d have borne witness to four inches of snow – how many shadows that qualifies for I don’t know, but I think another 40 days of winter is kind of optimistic, as it goes.

More importantly still…

This was the day of my first Coronavirus inoculation!

It proved a very professional process that took no more than fifteen minutes, didn’t hurt and has had no negative effects, either physically or mentally.  As a member of a vulnerable group, I  numbered among the first 10 million UK citizens to be done, and I got a suss-tiffy-cate and ever’thing!   My wife does not receive hers until Saturday, which must mean, for future reference, she’s less vulnerable than me (I pointed that out).

A week or two ago I underwent a ‘procedure’ (I love that word!) at our local hospital and I have to say this:  whenever I’m fed third-party accounts of hospital preparedness, staff shortages and treatments they always seem to dwell upon negatives.  They vie completely with my personal experience, which, for the most part, has been extremely courteous, well-intentioned and informed.  In these troubled days medical staff display a great deal of forbearance, valor even, in handling the load of diverse work we pile on them.

And, of course, treatment under the National Health Service is FREE!

There we are; a journal post.  I’m beginning to wish I hadn’t done it now, but I’ve written it so I’ll put it up before I change my mind.

A Bientot!

By Force of Arms

I’m a geriatic.  I know the meaning of the word.  So when I see a neo-octogenarian being sworn in as the ‘Leader of the Free World’ you’ll forgive me for feeling a little concerned, especially when the process requires the protection of an entire army.

In many less ‘free’ countries that would be considered a coup.

Joe Biden (78 – and I presume we have more than just his word for that?) now has his finger on the nuclear button.  I hope he manages to stay awake through the special briefing from the military that accompanies that privilege, because it is quite critical,  isn’t it?  He seems to have trouble finding his way to the podium sometimes, and equal difficulty remembering what he came to say when he gets there.  I can totally empathise.  

Simple decisions, like what to have for breakfast, and little memory issues around the last encounter with the car keys become major concerns as our years advance.   More attention needs to be given to plotting the geography of our working days, with particular reference to the availability of armchairs and bathrooms.  Medical assistance needs to be…well, within reach, shall we say?

Should we ever meet, Joe and I, I would be pleased to swop experiences of our comparative medication programmes, because I feel certain there are a number of pitfalls there.  Bisoprolol and Statins are deleterious to concentration, I’ve found.  And one should never be afraid of taking a short nap in the afternoon. Or a long one…

Not that President Trump is much less scrawny an example of spring chickendom; and something other than heroic, in many respects; he cuts an unlikely Che Guevara figure as a potential revolutionary, yet the system has almost certainly reinvented him as such.  There was always the fear that if politicians got their talons into the Internet they would use it to create a monster and that has certainly been a product of the last four years.  The question is, if this is what they can achieve in one term, what will they spawn in the next?  

For me, as an outsider, the politics themselves are of less concern than the collateral damage:  ‘Democracy’ (and god, the futility with which we cling to that word) hinges upon the will of the majority being not just established, but accepted.   Have we seen the last election process in which that can happen?    If opinion can be shaped by fake news, and majorities won by fake counts, if fake issues can generate extreme solutions, what have we left?

Young opinion is shaped by young science, but in all that is new young opinion should be guided by, and not used by, those older and hopefully wiser in the ways of the world. The Media Freeway is a certain friend to those for whom the cynical exploitation of idealistic youth paves a road to success.  Where have the wise heads gone?  If they still exist, why are they too afraid to speak? 

This leaves those of us who still care with some odious decisions on a personal level.  It won’t rock the world if I close my Twitter account, though I may regret it because Twitter was fun, once.  But can I go on contributing, in however small a way, to an organisation that exerts censorship and pursues policies of ‘no platforming’?  Can I ever go to a polling booth again and vote, not wondering how my tiny ‘x’ will be cast?  Is there any source of information, be it news, archive material or simple learned opinion I can still trust?   

In a socialist autocracy, only the red message thrives.   If we must persist in chasing the illusion of ‘Freedom’, we are faced with an ever-steeper climb.  For those of us in the rest of the world, Joe Biden’s inauguration by force of arms is a sad occasion.