Sometimes all you need is something to say
And whilst I may be without a thing to say, I’ve got plenty to write about.
I just need to remember.
I’d love to escape from prison; I just need a crime to be sent down for long enough for, preferably in the 1930s.
Naturally I don’t want to hurt anyone, nor take things that don’t belong to me, as I really am quite pleasant upon first impressions (just don’t meet me twice).
Or parking tickets?
Its time like this I wish I was in the USA, able to commit some devastatingly trivial infraction that would escalate to a prison sentence upon crossing state lines.
I would love to be imprisoned for smuggling, or piracy, so long as I could ensure a positive working environment with equal opportunities for the all (not just the physically impaired – who I presume are the majority on a pirate boat. I’ll be calling it a ‘boat’ rather than a ‘ship’ by the way, as I know this will irk some and I want to give a fair chance to those that don’t get to meet me twice).
I’m a Man of Kent, owing to having been born East of the Medway river in Kent, thus giving me a fair grounding in the history of my county. And it turns out Kent is a county of hop-pickers and smugglers, both historically enjoying one another just fine.
I could pick a hop, and I could pick it well, but I doubt I’d get to enjoy the thrill of being chased along the estuary, whilst the orchards are a place for high-speed fuck-alls. Orchards a are place where even hurrying takes most of the afternoon.
So smuggling it is.
No smuggling of people though, as smuggling people is immoral and dangerous, as well as a crowded market at the moment – the number of Brits looking to make a get-away buoyant on a sturdy enough inheritance of the family turd to float their way through the sewers and away to the continent; is simply silly, as well as intricately silly too.
I’ll have to smuggle something noble, like medical supplies, or knights.
Which knight of the realm would be best to smuggle to the continent?
Sir John Major deserves something nice to happen to him, providing the canoe is broad enough.
Sir Michael Caine and Sir Lenny Henry could do with a voyage to the mainland, though I have to admit I’m struggling to name knights at this point and wouldn’t want to tell these chaps they were only invited because I couldn’t think of more noble folk.
They’d still have to pay-up, of course, I’m not providing free rides here; I am a smuggler after all. But what fee for a canoe ride to Europe?
Some sort of pardon for doing it in the first place seems a worthy price for such a crime. A nice written pardon, quilled onto parchment (not one of those tacky plastic ‘get-out-of-jail-free’ cards), that absolves me of whatever you’re talking to me about. The sort of parchment you can really waggle in a coastguard’s face. I appreciate already that there is peril in this becoming soggy in my working environment, but that makes it all the more of a pleasure to waggle.
I think Sir Major and Sir Henry would keep my pardon safe, not sure about Sir Caine though, and I can imagine him getting all upset about having let me down and worried I’ll ditch him mid-Channel.
To be honest, all three of those knights seem particularly ‘overboardable’, not that to criticise them, I just picture them tipping backwards and hearing the splash – they’d all make a good one, and would be a good way to loose passenger weight for the get-away.
Each of those knights is a notable amount of weight to lose. To be able to say: “I’ve lost almost Sir John Major in weight since January” is good for your health (presuming you were massive to begin with) and good for your smuggling career (presuming you’ve been undergoing a getaway since January).
I could ditch them all, irrelevant as to their clutching of my pardon parchment, particularly considering that my main aim was to be imprisoned in the first place.
Presuming imprisonment, I’ll just need it to the 1930s so I can go about this properly in a grown up fashion.
So, naturally we’re talking about time travel (I say “naturally” as though it’s still fashionable. Isn’t it? Could one travel through time to a time when time travel was still fashionable? If so, why aren’t we all there? Could it be that time travel is simply dorky? I think…yes. Napoleon, Jimi Hendrix, and Joan of Arc in the year 3000 are all dorks.)
And frankly I’d prefer not to, so will save the 1930s prison breakout for another time.
To end, upon checking, I do have something to write about, and you’re just lucky you weren’t reading this, because I went with what I had – you had better options. ‘Moby Dick’ for one.
I’ve written about smuggling knights into Europe in reward for a pardon for that very crime, in the hope of being imprisoned anyway in the 1930s, and all the while you were distinctly not reading Moby Dick and elected to read my words instead.
Pride and Prejudice too – something else you could have read instead of this.
Sir Billy Connolly; there’s another knight.
Why stay in the EU?
By the way, I’m not campaigning; I’m pleading.
Having come back recently from Italy and noticing the ubiquity of EU flags outside commercial centres and all government institutions; it would be frightfully embarrassing to explain this to them when next I visit.
How do you not take this personally?
When the Scots threatened and nearly did leave; I took it personally with a worrying proximity to truly meaning the much repeated mantra of “Fuck the Scots”.
And let us maintain the fact that Europeans are not a bunch (a fairly accomplished bunch at that) of folk to insult. Two World Wars and a whole load many more is an indication as to whether or not Euro-Unity is a necessity.
I can picture too easily the heaving shoulders of a Belgian confused and hurt as to why I left him; and I can only say “it’s not you. It’s not me either. It’s fucking Nigel!”
I loathe, with enough depth so state the word “loath” nice and slowly like I mean it, Nigel Farage.
As of then and as of now; he took purple from us.
And I had purple intentions; and only a few of them were throbby.
Mainly revolving around immigration, though less so by fantasising hoards of ‘worringly-brown’ families walking up to me in a dark alley and stealing my job and raping my benefits and far more so about wearing a fairly funky shade of the stuff as I make my way about the planet.
And now purple denotes displeasure towards all other dark shades; particularly skin-wise.
I might feel inclined to omit Europe from my travel from hereon; owing to being English and quite ‘simply’, ‘terribly’ and ‘awfully’ (not to mention ‘ever so quite rather’) embarrassed if that’s not too imposing thank you please sorry.
Similar to when travelling around any country where incredibly dangerously English is not the first-language and you are happened upon by a regrettable local regrettably insisting on some back-and-forth tongue wagging and all you can muster (in a manner as though protecting your family) is: “I’m sorry; I’m English”. Essentially translating as “I’m sorry…I’m English…I just can’t…”
Because I’m European.
I feel you’ll be able to tell the change in my demeanour; from dainty absurdist of luxury to…now…melancholy.
Perhaps I should have written more with an aim to convince in the hope of at least 1 chap happening upon it and from then seek to Remain.
And there are things that will be missed, and things we shall surely flinch at.
An economic dip (dipped in shit); forecast to upset even Eskimos.
A decline in international influence (we were an effective and moral country and now we can accomplish less for the world).
The future of generations only young are tarnished by the moral fibre of our elders; whilst the efforts of our even-elders are admonished (how could we have betrayed that corner of those foreign fields that are for ever England?) so as to indulge cowardice and ignorance at the hands of demagogue profiteers.
In a world of in dire thirst for unity, even less than that sacrifice of our European brothers and sisters; we have betrayed ourselves and the as-one spirit that can only come from a world of noble individuality.
From here; there is one way forward.
The absolute and merciless progression of compassion for one and all.
Outstanding or nothing.
The forging of great days or bust.
Though it is odd we are doing this now, not for our children, but for our grandchildren, such are the repercussions.
Epic-up Great Britain; for we now have no option but to save the world.
Ridiculous; isn’t it?