Johnsonwocky

'Twas Brexit and the slithy Gove
Did gyre and gimble in the wabes,
All mimsy were the Boris groves
And the mome Raab outgrabes.

'Beware the Johnsonhulk my girl,
The jaws that lie, the claws that catch.
Beware the Javid bird
And shun the frumious Leadsom-snatch.'

Gina took her vorpal sword in hand;
Longtime the manxome foe she sought -
So rested she by the Lady Hale tree
And stood a while in thought.

And, as in uffish thought she stood
The Johnsonhulk, with eyes inane
Came whiffling through the tulgey wood
And burbled as it came!

One, two! One, two! And through and through
The vorpal blade went snicker - snack.
She left it dead and with its head
She went galumphing back.

'And has thou slain the Johnsonhulk?
Come to my arms, my beamish girl!
Oh frabjous day! Callooh! Callay!'
He chortled in his mirth.

'Twas Brexit and the slithy Gove
Did gyre and gimble in the wabes,
All mimsy were the Boris groves
And the mome Raab outgrabes.

Crime and Punishment 2

When I agreed to take the role of Queen for the Day, I had assumed that it would be for one day.  I felt that I could do enough to deal with our present major issue, namely Bugger Lugs Johnson.  Sadly, the state of the LA is dire.  Like Hamelin Town, there are rats everywhere and one day is simply not enough.  So, I have agreed to do a few more days.

One of the many dreadful things about Brexshit it that it has wrenched attention away from the day to day suffering of our people.  Last week, I went to support one of our citizens, Citizen Poorly with his Universal Discredit review and this morning Mr Iain Duncan Smith was before My Majesty.  I was in no mood to brook any of his crapulence.  ‘Citizen D Smith,’ I said in my sternest voice, ‘I am going to present you with my evidence, which is indisputable.  I was there.  If you disagree with me, you will be calling me a liar … and that will have severe and uncomfortable consequences for you. Do you understand?’  I smiled encouragingly and he nodded.  ‘Speak up Citizen D Smith, for the record.’

‘Yes.’

‘Yes who Iain?  Look where I’m sitting and where you are standing?’

‘Yes Ma’am.’

‘Thank you.  And now Iain I am going to tell you a true story and you are to listen very carefully.

‘One morning, three years ago, my friend Citizen Poorly heard the post man and there on his doormat was a brown envelope.  Oh, he wondered, what’s this? as he studied the envelope from the Department of Work and Pensions.  He opened the letter and found it was an appointment for an assessment for the new Universal Credit.  Such a lovely ending to the letter … ‘failure to attend will result in loss of benefits.’  Well, I’ve got to go, he panicked.  ‘Don’t panic,’ said I, ‘all you’re doing is moving from one system to another.  This assessment will just be to make sure that they have all the correct details for you.’

‘Citizen Poorly was right to panic.  He lost his benefits and he was consumed with fear.  In fact terror is not too strong a word, when your whole life has just crashed down … and you’re not well, which is why you’re on benefits … and a Health Assessor has deemed that you are well.

‘Following the loss of his benefits, Citizen Poorly appealed and an independent judge and doctor overturned the assessment and his benefits were re-instated.

‘That should have been that for two years, but one year later another brown envelope arrived. ‘You must attend for a health assessment.  Failure to do so will result in loss of benefits.’  Citizen Poorly had another ‘turn’ as my granny would say.  His heart pounded, he couldn’t sleep, couldn’t eat, couldn’t think and he went to the doctor who prescribed stronger medication for his dreadful anxiety.

‘I rang the Universal Credit Hotline, hoping that there had been a mix up.  I rang three different numbers. I was put through to the office in Hull.  They didn’t know and gave me another number.  I rang that, it was in York.  We were just getting somewhere when the fire alarm went off and the office was evacuated, along with my phone call.  ‘Ring me back on this number in half an hour – I must go now.’ said the helpful person and hung up.  I rang back, but this time I was connected to Newark or Doncaster and I had to explain the whole rigmarole again.   The helpful person could see that the appointment was out of sync. but nobody knew why.  The advice was that we must go.

‘So we went on the due date, at the appointed hour to York twenty miles away.  We reported to the office.  ‘I’m very sorry,’ said the clerk behind the desk, ‘but we’ve just heard that the Doctor will not be in today and your appointment has been cancelled.’  Citizen Poorly was on the verge of collapse with anxiety and I was furious.  However, as My Majesty, I must refrain from cursing and swearing and instead I fixed her with a withering gaze, ‘I know this is not your fault, but this is very distressing.’

 ‘I understand,’ she replied, ‘I am sorry. Would you like a complaints form?’   So Citizen Poorly had to wait for another brown envelope, which in due course arrived and not surprisingly, Citizen Poorly's mental health grew worse.’

I paused for a moment to look at Citizen D Smith. ‘I hope you’re listening carefully Citizen D Smith, because I will be questioning you on the facts during cross-examination. Do you understand?’

‘Yes Ma’am.’ He mumbled.

‘Marvellous!  I will continue.  We went again to York and I had the horrible experience of watching my friend succumb to anxiety.  He shook, he went white, and he couldn’t speak or think.  I have never wanted to get out of a place faster!  We weren’t interviewed for long, which was good.  Then we had the 6 week wait for the decision, which was thankfully and rightly that Citizen Poorly’s benefits would continue.  Finally, Citizen Poorly could stop worrying.  That is until 3 months ago, when the whole cycle began again and Citizen Poorly felt ill again.’

‘Now then Citizen D Smith, have you any questions regarding my facts, given that they are true?’

‘No Ma’am.’

‘Well done, that was the right answer.  Next question, as an experience D Smith, how would you rate it?  One being wonderful and something you would like to do again and ten being dreadful and something you would never want to do again?’

He thought for a moment.  ‘Well, it wasn’t so bad – I mean it was a pity about the doctor doing a no show – just bad luck – and nobody died, so I think I’d give it a 6.’

‘Thank you for that Citizen D Smith.  I will take that into account when sentencing.

'Finally, D Smith, in the face overwhelming evidence that your Universal Discredit system has inflicted pain, suffering and even death on our citizens, do you take responsibility for this draconian system?’

‘No Ma’am, I don’t.’

‘And why is that?’

‘Well, it was well intentioned – it was meant to help people back into work – encourage them.’

‘And did it?'

‘I - I’m not sure.’

‘Well. Citizen D Smith, let us review my evidence.  Was Citizen Poorly better for your interventions?’

‘Well it depends how you define better.  You see –‘

‘Stop right there,’ I commanded.  ‘Don’t wriggle with me, you slippery lump.  Look at the evidence!  Citizen Poorly had to go to the doctors and was given even stronger tranquilisers.  Is that better or worse?  Speak up!’

‘Worse,’ he mumbled.

‘And did you manage to get him back to work?’

‘No.’

‘So you tormented and persecuted Citizen Poorly for no result?’

‘Well I wouldn’t say no results.  It is unfortunate that Citizen Poorly had such a bad experience, but it’s not the norm.’

‘And how do you know this D Smith?’  I asked in icy tones.

‘Well, I’m sure that my department –‘

‘Sure?  And how do you know this for sure?  I’m sorry D Smith, but I will not allow you to go any further with this bullshit.  You have been told anecdotally and informed statistically that this Unhinged Credit is not working and you have steadfastly refused to listen.  I am saddened that even when you have been presented with hard facts that you are still unable to distinguish wishful thinking from reality.  You are a pompous, puffed-up, stout lump and as yet you still do not seem to grasp what you have done. So I will move to sentencing.  You may sit down as I feel you may be distressed.

‘Firstly, all your assets will be seized for a duration of time dependent on your rehabilitation, but for a minimum of ten years.  You will be placed on Universal Credit for two years and during this time you will take up jogging.  This is because you are you are overweight and it's fashionable in political circles.  You will jog to every Job Centre in the LA and spend the day outside wearing a sandwich board saying, ‘My name is Duncan Smith, how can I help?’ And you will keep a record of the suggestions.  At weekends you will read and make notes on the statistics provided by the National Office for Statistics and you will produce a plan for improvement.  At the end of two years you will be reassessed for Universal Credit.  If you fail, you have various options open to you.  You may take out a Quick Quid or Sunny loan at 4000 per cent APR, or you can become homeless immediately and beg for a living.  According to one of my local Conservative councillors, this can earn you up to £300 per day.  You may not accept directorships or speaking tours.  You will be limited to minimum wage, zero hour contract work.  I look forward to hearing about your forthcoming experiences and how they have improved your chances for work and your physical and mental wellbeing.  You will begin your sentence immediately.  Take him away.’

Citizen D Smith shuffled out and I had a well-earned cup of tea.  I look forward to hearing about his  future plans for improving UC. Perhaps, as he will be a user for a while, they will be kinder.  I am confident he will lose weight.

Let's face the music and dance

Will someone explain to me how we’ve ended up in this mess?  Ten years ago, I returned from a two year stay in Bangkok to the LA, when it was still the UK.  Much as I had loved my time in Thailand I couldn’t wait to get home; I wanted to kiss the tarmac on landing.  My wonderful country!  My home!  A place I understood, where I knew what to do if there was a problem, who to see, our fabulous NHS and welfare system that aimed at supporting people out of trouble, rather than punishing them for getting into it.

How things have changed and how the poison that has been relentlessly dripped from the right wing press has contributed to the development and maintenance of this climate of anger, fear and intolerance under which we now live.  It has cynically tapped into and used the genuine fears and frustrations of the many ruined industrial communities of people who, for decades, have been compelled to exist in a fractured society of poverty, powerlessness, hopelessness and anger.

I don’t recognise my home any more.  I am sick of listening to the Goves and Johnsons talking about, ‘serving my country’.  I’m not sure what they mean by their country.  Is it some great bank in the sky?  Some amorphous thing that’s only accessible to the rich and privileged?  For me, it’s very simple: I LIVE HERE! It’s my home; where I should feel safe and secure; where I belong.  I don’t feel as if I belong anymore and I am terrified for my/ our futures.

Right wing fascists, (and let’s call them what they are – populist sounds rather nice doesn’t it?  Popular, likeable, friendly even), have become our mainstream politicians.  They’re no longer nutters and eccentrics on the fringes, they’re in power!   God help us.  The likes of Johnson, his chum Cummings, along with the chameleon Gove and the evolutionary throw-back Reesium Moggimus (not to mention his poisonous sister Euthanasia of the Brexshit Party), have achieved what I have never believed possible. My father will be turning in his grave. ‘Gillian,’ he used to say, ‘the British people don’t like extremists.’  Well, apparently we do now.

I will be taking up my role as Queen for the Day again shortly.  At the moment my prison is full of offenders waiting for trial. (I hear from my Minister for Brexshit that Gove is up before the judge next, but he’s so slippery, he might have turned Queen’s evidence for a lighter sentence.)  I’ll keep you posted.  Meanwhile, as an antidote to our current dire situation, I like to listen to Nat King Cole, singing, ‘Let’s Play the Music and Dance' and watch the fabulous Rogers and Astaire do it.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=TjJHnKw7YNA

there may be trouble ahead,

but while there’s moonlight and music and love and romance,
let's face the music and dance.

before the fiddlers have fled,
before they ask us to pay the bill,
and while we still have the chance,
let's face the music and dance.

soon, we'll be without the moon,
humming a different toon,
and then, there may be tear drops to shed.
so while there’s moonlight and music and love and romance,

let's face the music and dance.

Coping with lunacy

I mentioned creating another collage ... Below is my first collage made during the run up to our first non-leaving of the EU on 29th March.  From what you have read so far, you may think I'm a political animal, but I'm not by nature.  For the first time in my life, I have been so dismayed and distressed by the sinister turn in our national politics that turning to Art and humour has been a way of coping with the hideous situation that my country and therefore I am now in.  I didn't ask for any of this!  

At least, while I'm cutting and sticking or writing I can express something and push the lurking terror of a crash-out into the background.  I can't believe what's happening.  I can't believe that a peace time government is making provision for stockpiling food, medicines, rationing and rioting in the event of crashing out.  What the bloody hell is going on?  It is a very dangerous place that we are in and what makes it so horrible is that it is a few of us doing it to all of us.

That's where 'Queen for the Day' came from.  In my head, I can escape my lack of effect and impact.  I am a nobody, I count for nothing and I have been bullied and shoved towards the precipice and told by Bugger-Lugs Johnson that he has the moral authority to do it!  What???  There's 60 odd million live in the LA and most of us, if indeed any of us, did not vote for this current, frightening state of affairs - even if we voted to leave.

The cartoonists and satirists of Private Eye, the Guardian and the New Statesmen have kept me sane.

Crime and Punishment

As for Brexshit, I need to tell you that I have moved from the UK - it is now beyond question that I live in the LA (lunatic asylum), run by a narcissistic, duplicitous, personality disordered, lazy, posh twerp who has finally managed to grab the top job.  My great delight is that he now has to drink the chalice that he has spent his life poisoning and he will choke on it, which will be wonderful.  The downside is that he will vomit over all of us in his death throws.  This arrogant git is going to break up the UK - Scotland are already being very difficult and polls indicate the Independence Party are leading the polls, combined with a majority pro-Europe.  Wales has completely changed its mind and having voted to leave, now wants to remain.  Northern Ireland and Southern Ireland as we know, present an impossible puzzle of how not to have a border that is a border. 

I am fantasising about being Queen for the day and what I would do to Boris - after he has been tried and found guilty of deceit and incompetence - perhaps even treason?

Firstly, I would hoist him up that crane again and leave him there until he cries and asks to come down - which I doubt would be long (this will show the grit and endurance of the man).  Then I will present him with the bill for all the money he has wasted (conservatively this is running at £23 million for garden bridge project, £100,000 for water cannon and a few more million for the Boris airport non-event. We will need some kind of formula to work out the cost of his failed promises re £350 million a week to the NHS, the £800 million that Brexit has cost so far and the £2 billion for crash out planning).  He will have to pay it within 30 days and all his assets will be seized as a down payment.  Then he will have to take a minimum wage job for a minimum of 10 years and live in a high rise block with dangerous cladding a la Grenfell Tower.  He will be tagged and not allowed to go out at night.  His children will have to attend state school and not have lunch because there are no free school meals any more.  Boris will have to stand outside Westminster tube station from 5-7 pm every day parliament is in session and recite , 'Forgive me for I have been a selfish twerp.  I have hurt a lot of people.  I must be punished.  Please throw a rotten fish at me.  I deserve it.'  How about that?

You see what I mean about living in the LA - I'm going luny trying to cope with it ... I'm starting another collage ... I dreamed about Boris last night!  I never ever dream about politicians!  This was one of those horrible dream loops that keep coming back.  It was Boris climbing a spindly, twisted tree trunk of barbed wire and he got stuck in it - about 12 feet off the ground.  He was not happy, but I couldn't get close enough to see clearly  .... bonkers or what?