When pigs fly

Jun 15th, 2020

When pigs fly

I never intended this to be a political blog, in fact I wanted it to be about walking, cookery and animals and I tried to keep it off politics. I pretty much liked Scotland as a place to live until six months ago. But now the UK has been destroyed and the health fascists and politically correct youths are running the show. They have attacked my Mum and Dad, ruined my business, and vandalized monuments which are dear to me and most other people. Now I hear that as well as Churchill they have come after Gandhi.

This is one of my favourite poems by Yeats

Turning and turning in the widening gyre
The falcon cannot hear the falconer;
Things fall apart; the centre cannot hold;
Mere anarchy is loosed upon the world,
The blood-dimmed tide is loosed, and everywhere
The ceremony of innocence is drowned;
The best lack all conviction, while the worst
Are full of passionate intensity.

Surely some revelation is at hand;
Surely the Second Coming is at hand.
The Second Coming! Hardly are those words out
When a vast image out of Spiritus Mundi
Troubles my sight: somewhere in sands of the desert
A shape with lion body and the head of a man,
A gaze blank and pitiless as the sun,
Is moving its slow thighs, while all about it
Reel shadows of the indignant desert birds.
The darkness drops again; but now I know
That twenty centuries of stony sleep
Were vexed to nightmare by a rocking cradle,
And what rough beast, its hour come round at last,
Slouches towards Bethlehem to be born?

I have become so incensed with how these arseholes are running things that I have felt obliged to comment. I can tell anyone who reads this that they can come and take me away to Cornton Vale any time they like, but the day I wear a face mask is the day pigs fly past the window.