by Angus Wolfe Murray
Take a breath. Take another. A day passes. Another outrage. Another killing. A week passes. Panic fades. Rumours of Armageddon have been exaggerated. Brexit slips into the vocabulary of ordinary life. The lady has a style that adds a negative to nonsense. Cameron and Osborn have the taste of yesterday’s fish and chips.
In the left corner Corbyn does what he loves, lecturing to the committed. His message has the ring of dust. He’s not a politician. He’s a protest marcher. He’s Bernie Sanders in disguise. He’s the second coming. He’s the last coming, his MPs predict because he doesn’t play by the rules. He’s an outsider on the inside. It’s the new wave, a deadly tsunami. Even a Welshman who looks like a bank clerk cannot put his finger into this dyke.
Elsewhere the March of The Donald continues. People make the mistake of damning him as a fool, an idiot, a danger to the civilised world, wherever that may be. The jury is out to lunch. Those who know and write what they think they know in the last remaining newspapers that pander to their last remaining readers say that women, Hispanics, Mexicans, Muslims, African-Anythings and the gay lobby will not vote for him which leaves who? White men who can’t find work? Tea party evangelists and Christian fundamentalists? Farmers in the mid-West? There are not enough of these people, which means Hail Mrs President!
“Wait one,” the Trumpeters cry. “This is goin’ to be the Daddy and the Mommy of a fight.” And one thing The D is good at it insulting his opponents. It won’t be pretty.
Europe hangs. By a thread. She talks brave and yet feels the pain. Italy’s banks are bust. Greece needs another injection. Spain’s unemployment hurts. France and Denmark are afraid of copy cats referendums. The ice is thin in Brussels and the Germans are beginning to realise that taking in so many refugees might have been a mistake.
The new terrorist is a lone wolf and that goes against nature. Wolves run in packs.