In short, not much
government at all.
Sort of a negative space.
Something more explored
in art than geo-politics.
The Conservatives have
their knickers in a twist — do I have that precious expression right? —because
David Cameron, the genius who called the Brexit referendum, is resigning, and Boris
Johnson, his rival for leadership of the Tories, is backpedalling fast as he
can.
(Johnson, a classical
scholar, has even been heard reciting Latin verses in reverse, and some ancient
Greek, likewise.)
On the Labor side,
turns out Jeremy Corbyn, the party's leader, didn't really fight to stay in the
EU — too many worries about globalization innit — and is hemmed in by
loud-mouthed Laborite anti-Semites who can't keep their opinions muted, in
keeping with the usual conventions of English restraint.
No! Now it's all Protocols
of the Elders of Zion, whot! (Is this a correct use of "whot"? Or
would an all-purpose "innit" have done as well?)
It's kind of fun to see
Brits being unintentionally funny. The UK is being broken back not to Little
England, as C.S. Lewis might have fondly described it, or as Frodo, hero of the
little people, defended it, in the LOR sagas, but to Monty Python England,
Angle Terre the ridiculous, England the absurd.
Crackers.
"Can I to tawk to
Missus Sawtre, please."
"What, won't take
my cawl? Well bugger the French."
Not to mention the
Germans, Poles, Italians, Belgians, and whomever didn't grow up speaking the
King's.
There are some who
think the Jabberwocky —not the Jabberwocky personally given the his termination
suffered at the hand of the fiendish beamish boy — should rise up and claim
their proper place in a dissolving Angleterre.
That vorpal sword branished
by beamish boy? One idea is it goes to Brussels.
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