Postcards from the Wastelands

th  Time of the Kate

World going mad alert.

Perhaps it was supposed to be this way but if that’s the case, why did we allow annihilation by Thermo Nuclear Armageddon, courtesy of X Megaton device, pass us by in the night?    It’s actually the fault of the fucking morons, that we allow to fool us into voting for them.    Our leaders.    Using the words, “our leaders,” to describe this zoo, is probably giving them too much credit and anyway, it’s presuming that they are sentient.    Now there’s a conundrum.

It seems that this week, has been deemed, “The time of The Kate,” to celebrate her return to the road, after a 35 year sleep.    It’s all fine by me, I think she’s brilliant and always have done. She just get’s better with age and should have always been a national treasure. We “executed,” Amy Winehouse by media rumour mongering and it always seems to be the case, that this country just can’t abide successful women. I reckon, that it must have something to do with the class system.   “Keep away from the sleeping tablets, Miss Bush.”

The indecent haste, that the council are using to break up Caeru, pronounced (Keera,) is moving along a pace.     The field at the back of our house, has been tidied up and is being sold off for grazing land and all the remainder of Arthur’s fields, are being parceled up for sale by auction. It’s always sad when an old farm get broken up like this but the gentle countryside, is in reality anything but.    Caeru, has bee there since The Civil War, (Roundheads and so on) and has a wonderful Dovecot, which I suppose will vanish now because nobody will want to keep up such a useless beautiful object in the present financial down turn.

I’m stuck on the Classical Music, that was inspired by The First World War. There’s no accounting for radically divergent moods.

“Just let the band play on.”

Try this one.    F.S Kelly – Elegy for strings. In memorium of Rupert Brookes.

Summer’s over and the periodic guests have mostly gone home. The sprogs are going back to school and peace has broken out in Hobbiton. Amazingly, you can, out of the blue, actually, NOT hear the hum of the tourists. Last night, we were watching something, or other on the box, when suddenly we both looked at each other and simultaneously said, “They’ve gone.”

You could feel it.

The background silence had got much thicker and smoother.    Now, at this point, you have to remember how quiet this place is, nearly all the time and that we had the T.V. on but none the less, we both tuned in to the nothingness.


Every year at this time, I start listening to a lots of Classical Music and for a short time, all the riffs and licks, take a distinct step backwards. Melancolía, shoots to the front of the class and starts tapping it’s baton on the desk, demanding attention. I just feel so utterly peaceful during this interlude between the chaos of the Summer and the ever increasing panic that Christmas instills.

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