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Campaign To Humiliate Administration Members In Public Threatens Nice Expense Lunches

Campaign To Humiliate Administration Members In Public Threatens Nice Expense Lunches

Letter from Llanaber

Global politics seen through life in this strange tiny village in West Wales...

It was a terrible start to the day today. I was in the bathroom taking care of ‘some business’ when the whistle went on my ‘speaking tube.’ 

Llanaber has very few telephones and as yet the only person in the village with a cell phone is the boss of the parish council, Mrs. Dorothy ‘Binky’ Trim. It’s of no use to her here as there is no cell phone service in the village, but Gwynedd council has promised coverage before the end of 2038. 

So, it’s obligatory that every member of the council has a ‘speaking tube’ fitted in various rooms in their home. The speaking tubes link all the council members’ homes and offices together, so we can converse confidentially without interfering busybodies like old Mrs. Winfrey, the official village gossip, listening in. In all honesty, it’s an antiquated system we rarely use. The user has to blow into the tube and a whistle is sounded in the home of the person you want to speak to. Usually its main use is as an escape route for the village mice when ‘Scratchy Jack’ does his annual disinfestation after the leek harvest.

I digress.

The speaking tube whistle alerted me to the fact that someone wanted to speak to me. I knew it must be important as it was only six thirty in the morning, too early for anything other than trouble. It was, but at the time I had no idea of how much. I would find that out soon enough.
The call was from old Thomas the gravedigger (honorary). He had had a bad experience that morning and wanted to tell me about it. When he had recounted his tale I was lost for words. This is what had happened to him.

Old Thomas lives on his own in a cottage at the edge of the village. The cottage is over 200 years old and has no gas, electricity or running water. It doesn’t even have a bathroom. Old Thomas, being weak in the bladder, has to get out of bed and shuffle up to the public conveniences in the high street every time he needs to answer ‘a call of nature.’ This he may have to do up to ten times a night. It’s a hazardous enterprise for two reasons, one being the enormous sink hole filled with garbage in the middle of the high street which Thomas, only being half awake, has fallen into several times, and the other being the law. Thomas doesn’t have time to get dressed so he pops to the public loo in just his onesie. It’s a frequent occurrence that his ‘John Thomas’ has been spotted peeping out to see the sun rise, and several of the village maidens have complained. Our village cop, Robert ‘Robbie the Bobbie’ Muller has put old Thomas on his last warning, i.e. if it happens again he’ll be on a community service order to clean daily for three months the very facility he uses up to ten times a night.

The perpetual fog had lifted last night and there was TV signal. Old Thomas had stayed up late watching the Russian world cup and (foolishly) enjoying a couple of beers. The consequences were obvious. He was up and down all night like the proverbial whore’s undergarments. All his trips had passed without incident except for the one at six. He was shuffling his way around the rim of the sink hole when he bumped into ‘Dai the Milk,’ the village dairyman, on his morning round of deliveries. Dai is an easy oasy person and normally the most convivial of chaps. 
Not so this morning. The moment Dai spotted old Thomas creeping gingerly round the rim of the sink hole in his onesie clutching his privates, he started berating him. It was right there in the street in full view of the public.


He pointed his finger at old Thomas and bellowed, “You’re not welcome – anymore, anywhere – we’ve got to get the children connected to their parents, the children are suffering.”

Can you imagine the shock?

Right there in the street, at six o’clock in the morning, the aged parish councillor was being ‘called out’ by the village milkman. It was too much for old Thomas’ bladder and he had to run all the way home in his pee-sodden onesie. I could hear his voice quivering when the old chap told me his tale down the speaking tube. I offered my commiserations and hung up by putting the whistle back in the tube.
I was flummoxed! 

I had no idea why the village dairyman would have behaved like this. The most aggressive I’ve ever seen Dai the Milk previously was when his cousin, Dai the Sheep restricted his supply of ewe’s milk in a failed attempt to manipulate the ewe’s milk market to force the price up. Even then all he said was, “You wouldn’t think the old git was my cousin.”

Later, while I was cycling to work pondering on old Thomas’ story, a similar, very unsettling thing happened to me. As I was parking my bicycle in the parish bike rack, old Mrs. Winfrey waddled over towards me. She held her arm out and pointed an aggressive index finger at me and shouted for the entire world to hear, and I quote her words verbatim:

 “You’re not welcome – anymore, anywhere – we’ve got to get the children connected to their parents, the children are suffering.”
They were the exact same words Dai the Milk had spat out at poor old Thomas!

What was going on?

I was once again flummoxed. 

I backed away from the bulky gossip and made a bolt for the sanctuary of the parish council office building entrance. But before I reached its safety my path was blocked by none other than the man that owns the amusement arcade on the seafront, the ‘beast from the east,’ Putin Lotzadosh. He held his arm out towards me, pointed an accusing finger and yelled at the top of his voice;

 “You’re not welcome – anymore, anywhere – we’ve got to get the children connected to their parents, the children are suffering.”


I barged past the ‘baldy Balkan’ and ran inside the building, slamming the door behind me. I made my way straight to the news feed ticker tape room. Mrs. Trim was already there. She said nothing. She just held out her arm towards me. I cringed. Was she too going to berate me with this bizarre phrase that seemed to be on everyone’s lips? 


Instead, in her hand was a string of news ticker tape. I took it from her and read it slowly. The article’s headline was as follows:

‘Congresswoman Maxine Waters calls for attacks on Trump administration.’

It went on to quote what the Congresswoman had said at a recent rally:

"If you see anybody from that (Trump’s) cabinet in a restaurant, in a department store, at a gasoline station, you get out and you cause a crowd, and you push back on them, and you tell them they’re not welcome – anymore, anywhere – we’ve got to get the children connected to their parents, the children are suffering."

The perpetual fog in my head lifted. I understood. There had been TV signal last night. News of what Congresswoman Waters had said must have reached the village. Some smart Alec had started a campaign to humiliate all Mrs. T’s councillors for what she had done in her recent campaign of zero tolerance, especially the cruel and unjustifiable separation of kids from their parents and bunging them in cages.

Campaigns such as this (the humiliation of councillors, not the zero tolerance one – that seems sensible to me) are typical ill-informed populist show boating, headline grabbing, leftie, pinko claptrap perpetrated by the thumb sucking wets out to cause trouble. 

As far as Llanaber is concerned the perpetrators are woefully ill-informed. The only ones affected by Mrs. Trim’s recent ‘ripping kids from their folks’ zero tolerance debacle was old Thomas and his family! He was the only one she had thrown into the hastily assembled cage behind the swings in the village school. His parents were the only ones dragged from their ‘out of datecoders’ retirement home in Bogbourne.


Haven’t they suffered enough?

This blatant persecution of the members of the administration both in Llanaber and the US - put there by God himself, if ‘sideways glancer’ and complete lunatic Jeff Sessions is to be believed - must be stopped, and must be stopped NOW before it gains momentum.

Why? (I hear you ask).

Is it as per Ronna McDaniel, the chair of the US Republican National Committee’s recent rally remarks that ‘all dissent must be crushed’? 

No it is not! 

Then is it that it’s undemocratic, cheap populism and persecuting ‘those in power’ that have to make difficult decisions for the greater benefit of society?

No, quite the contrary. I wish the best of luck to anyone trying to oust the mad old bat we have as our parish leader.

Then what is it? (I hear you ask again).

I get a free go at the ‘all you can eat’ Spaghetti buffet (it’s just spaghetti) at Trevor the Trots’ Trattoria this lunchtime. I don’t want any old hobbledehoy coming over yelling at me in the café and spoiling my lunch.

That’s it for now.



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