I don’t really want to talk about the Election, he said, talking about the Election, but it was all a bit dire, wasn’t it ? All the doubts quite a lot of people had about Ed Miliband turned out to be sort of true and even Labour bulldogs like Ed Balls were well and truly neutered.

And now we brace ourselves for Osborne’s upcoming budget, doubtlessly containing stuff the Tories didn’t want made public before the Election.

Presently, Dave is zooming around Europe trying to persuade Europeans that they can’t do without the UK. I agree with him. They can’t – any more than the UK can do without Europe. There’s a deluded fringe in the English bit of the UK which wants nothing to do with Europe, or for that matter, the U.S. It’s a sort of throwback group of folk who’d like a return to the days when there was a British Empire and you solved foreign problems by sending gunboats up rivers. Soon, there’s to be a referendum [another] and you can bet your bottom Euro that these deluded types will be out voting like mad – to leave Europe. Could they tip the balance ? Yes they could if the rest of us don’t bother voting. I don’t like referenda. Too much like the Eurovision Song Contest. As a breed, the public’s incredibly fickle – vis-à-vis Mr Ball’s demise or the bacon sandwich effect.

Enough of that.

I’ve nearly finished the drawings for a couple of 2017 calendars – all 18 of them – well 19 if you count the cover, and its been something of a slog. And I still haven’t come up with a cover design.

Meanwhile, in Hen City, all three girls look terrific. They’re laying so well, I’m giving eggs away. I have a slight concern about Bluebell, the oldest hen. She’s less nimble these days, choosing to fall down the steps from their sleeping quarters in the morning instead of picking her way carefully to the ground.

Anyway, now its back to the future and calendar covers.

Soon, the Election will be over. Sighs of relief all round ? No, not really because

modern politicking involves having access to the electorate at all times through telly, radio, phones and the media generally.  The only way to avoid it would be to spend a couple of weeks on Rockall. So, what will happen in the next few days is that somebody will win and media post mortems will examine WHY they won, or, on the other side of the mirror, examine why the losers lost.

Mind you, gurus tell us that no one party will actually win and that word “coalition” will continue to be writ large across Westminster. Interestingly, when the last coalition was formed, sweetness and light sparkled between the Tories and the LibDems. Handshakes, walks in gardens. That sort of thing. Not so now. They’re slagging each other off something rotten. And circling like sharks are the likes of Nigel Farage, who talks about “half”-black people and the Scots Sturgeon lady pops up all over the place being  shrill and scary.

There was a time, when I was a kid, when there was only one TV channel, when radio presented The Archers ,the Shipping Forecast, “a programme of gramophone records” and not a lot else – a time when politicians didn’t really get much of a look in and interviewers were deferential to a fault. Interviewer, meeting P.M. off train. “Excuse me, Prime Minister, but could you say a few words about the balance of payments, please.?”

P.M. “Yes, my government and I are working very hard to address this question. But really, you know, you’ve never had it so good.Thank you.” Hurries off. Freedom of information these days is a good thing. But can there ever be too much information ? Possibly. Maybe the constant drip-feed of political intention at the best of times and a positive deluge of it election time is why people are so fed up with politicians.

Speaking of too much information, I went off to my local hospital last week for an MIR scan – an unpleasant experience wherein you lie flat out in a plastic tunnel whilst an incredibly noisy machine passes up and down above you. Anyway, I got lost in the maze of hospital corridors trying to find “Imaging”. I did, eventually, but as I was sitting in my cubicle,dressed in the usual fetching backless gown, the cubicle curtains slightly open, I realized I’d got lost because of the plethora of information on hospital walls. There are proper plastic signs saying “Orthopaedics” or whatever, but above, below and on all sides are other notices, Blu-tacked in place usually by people who have never heard of “level”. Through the two- inch gap in my cubicle curtain, I counted ONE official, proper notice and 37 Blu-tacked jobs.

Meanwhile, Mother Earth, caring not a jot for human ambition, shrugs her shoulders, kills thousands and wrecks Nepal.

Huh, late with the Blog again. And what’s the excuse this time I hear all three of you sigh. Well, this one’s rock-solid. I’ve got something called stenosis of the spine, whereby vertebrae very slowly become mis-aligned until they start pressing on nerves. And it really hurts. Swearing helps, as does shuffling about the place, and I’ve got some Cloud 9 painkillers which allow you to watch daytime telly without sneering or eating bits of carpet.

So a spine operation’s in the offing soon. My brother had the same operation years ago – very successfully. Actually, medics don’t say “operation”. They say “procedure”. Because its cooler, probably.

In the meantime, a very young airline pilot showed us what can happen when the human mind comes to pieces The word “unbelievable” fits the bill.

And in Leicester, thousands of people queued round the block to file past a big lump of Yorkshire stone under which lie the earthly remains of Richard III. ”An explanation, an explanation – my Kingdom for an explanation !” I really don’t understand it. Mind you, Richard had a naff spine too. So he can’t have been all bad.

The election is upon us. I’m a political simpleton. I think its wrong that a country should be governed by [mainly] men who all went to the same posh schools and colleges – and who just all happen to be independently wealthy. Of course they’ll want a Tory victory. Looking after their own. Me, I’ll be voting for the much maligned Ed. Miliband. Just because he copped for a disobedient bacon sandwich doesn’t mean that he doesn’t understand the plight of the worse off, or what “average” means.

But the thing which is really irritating me is McToad of Toad Hall’s popping up again – aiming at bringing Scots influence to bear in Westminster. Do English MPs vote in the Scots or Welsh parliaments ? No. Ergo……..

Time to do the gag of the month………………………..

Hello to all three of you ! My blog’s due and I’m up to my ears in stuff. However, my good friend The Archbishop of Canterbury has volunteered to write it for me…………………….

Hullo, Justin here,

                            I write as the sounds of police sirens retreat from local high street stores towards the end of what is mysteriously dubbed “Black Friday”. A far better name would be “Greedy Friday “. As I grow older, there are lots of things I simply do not “get”. Facebook, Twitter, Strictly Come Dancing [in parts] Nigel Farage[in his entirety], food progammes, and ISIS, all of these plus certain humans’ reactions to signs proclaiming a SALE. It would seem that thousands of  usually reasonable people besiege stores well before opening times with the clear intention of seriously injuring anyone who comes between them and a 48” plasma television set [REDUCED BY A WHOPPING 30% ! !] Or indeed a pop-up stainless-steel cruet set.

                             I have discussed this U.S. Black Friday import extensively with my lady wife and the young man with the wire in his ear. Both gazed at our mysteriously larger television receiver and agreed that the heaving, grasping, violent crowds were, in the words of the young man with the wire in his ear, “a bunch of losers”. Indeed, a substantial young woman interviewed fleetingly outside our local Debeneham’s store whilst clutching one half of a paisley-patterned armchair, “Well, its not what I come in for, but maybe I’ll get the other half next year. “

                             Of course, all of this set me thinking.These people are indeed “losers”. But what have they lost ? Pride, decency, politeness, humility ? I know not. Perhaps their behaviour is inherited. Is it in our genes ? Does it hark back to our primitive days when the strongest and meanest got the best bits of the brontosaurus ? Is winning more important than the prize ?

                           One thing is certain. The theme for next Sunday’s sermon has chosen itself and I will deliver it from a rather splendid stainless steel and smoked glass lectern I seem lately to have acquired.

Pip, pip,

Justin

The four people and one exceptionally intelligent Labrador in Dunstable who read this blog will be relieved to learn that a suspected outbreak of hen mites here did not materialize. In fact, the birds are moulting. Why hens do this just as the weather turns colder, I know not. The first to begin this process, a large Orpington called Phoebe has now regained her former glory, but the oldest hen, a big bird of the Bluebell breed looks like she’s had a close encounter with a scatter gun. I’m sure they didn’t do this last year.

Meanwhile, still on things avian, I note that pheasant breeders – who raise pheasants for rich idiots to kill – are getting their tweed knickers in a twist about the activities of one of our rarest birds, the hen harrier, which kills pheasants- not many because there are only two breeding pairs in the whole country. Of course, like everything else, it all comes down to money. Pheasant breeders get paid by rich idiots so that rich idiots can blow pheasants to bits with guns. Hen harriers don’t have any money.

Speaking of money, I see that Dave is again at odds with the Faceless Ones in Europe whilst trying to cope with a projected £8billion black hole in the National Health budget. And all the time he has the myopic Hounds of Farage snapping at his heels. I now how he could save at least £50 billion. Scrap HS2. Seeemples.

And the Scots – well, some Scots –  are at it again, this time with a Labour lady saying that the Scots Labour Party is not treated with the respect and deference it deserves. First, its LABOUR Party, not SCOTS Labour Party, and second, I’m sick to the back teeth of regionalism. Scots, Welsh, even[or especially] Cornish independence are all silly. Billy Connolly once observed that those singing about being back in Scotland or Wales or wherever and how wonderful those places are, probably don’t live there.

Who said men can’t multi – task ? On the eve of the Tories’ conference, one of them confessed that not only could he represent his constituents, but could also send inappropriate pics of himself to an under-cover reporter posing as something else entirely. Would he have done that without social media ? Probably not. He’d’ve had to have take pics of himself in a mirror, get the film processed at Boots [providing it wasn’t TOO rude], bunged the prints in an envelope, found a stamp and trusted Royal Mail. No need for all that palaver these days. Now, you can get yourself into a whole world of trouble simply by pressing a few buttons.

We all multi- task. Always have done. Most of it happens in our heads. We know what needs to be done. We have mental lists. We even make real lists. We get a sense of achievement from making the real list. It shows that we’re on top of our game. At the end of the week, do all the items have a “done” tick? No, because in the interim, other stuff has happened, so we make another list. Presently, I’m about three years behind and I’ve got lots of lists.

There’s an exciting item on this week’s list. For my birthday, Sheila bought me a ride on the footplate of a real steam locomotive. I really like steam locos. I wish I’d taken more notice of them when I was a kid. I’m full of admiration for the dedicated people who resurrect railway lines and old engines. Anyway, one of the conditions of the hour long trip is that you have to wear overalls and steel toe capped boots . So I bought some. The result is…………well, “pillock” comes to mind. But I don’t care.

A bit more daunting is the fact that I’m now Chairperson of the Professional Cartoonists’ Organisation, which is a bit like saying, I am the leader of this large group of free-thinking cats. PCO cartoonists are all clever, funny, out-of-the-box thinkers. They have to be. Anyway, there’s a Committee meeting down in London at the end of October. Its bound to be enjoyable and funny, but whether we tick all the items on our list as “Done” remains to be seen.