That was the year that was
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2004. Gone but not forgotten.

While we in the fat and faithless West were pushing rattly and rebellious trolleys through mobs in megastores, roaring waves of water from the depths of nowhere suddenly devoured thousands of astonished innocents in the East, reminding us that bugs will inherit the Earth.

Unable to cope with the end of 2004 let's look at the state of civilisation on our odd shaped island during the rest of a weird year which seemed to elongate as if months were rubber bands pulled out to twanging point.

The ancient and declining culture among inhabitants herein was supervised, disorganised and continually muddled and meddled with by the following authorities on life and its eternal purpose:
1. Anthony Blair, known as Tony, in an effort to prove that he's really a homely democrat, instead of an arrogant accident who wants to control everything and everybody according to his interior blueprint, was once a being with a great loseamop of hair which has vanished like paint off a toilet.
He wanged wildly on a guitar while warbling faintly as a member of a sort of a band kind of thing. He has now become, somehow or other, our prime Minister, and therefore in all circumstances righteous and right as well as being deeply sympathetic and utterly sincere, particularly when contradicting himself.

This important personage has a mode of operation as follows: When a problem arises, which problems always do, he scribbles the solution (right, righteous and sincere,) on the back of an envelope and passes it to some ministerial nobody to implement immediately and at once. Since the policy usually proves so ill-conceived and impractical as to be utterly unimplementabobble it is either pushed into a metaphorical cupboard to molder unobserved or T Blair reverses rapidly into a lamp-post.. Unless of course some preposterous outrage has been ordered by a lost Bush in Texas which T Blair must commit sincerely and with immense and unlikely righteousness whilst crying "look!" and "y'know" 'till the chickens come home to roost.

2. There is, or was, a bristly blanket who wishes to computerise everybody so that he can the more easily identify them as soon as they fall into an unpopular category. There are a great many of these.

Some Blunk policies are exquisitely subtle, such as keeping pubs open night and day so that people can become flabbily, boisterously or aggressively drunk at all times and tumble about in the street fighting furiously about no-one knows what. They can then be locked up for unsociable behavior.

He also wished, and probably still wishes, to fine children £40 each for hanging about the place and being inconveniently visible. Since they won't have £40, he will have to lock up their parents but can't because the prisons are already overflowing like beer from a bucket. All this is known as Forward Planning.

He also thinks, or thought, that juries are often a bad idea because they might let people off, but at the same time quarrels with judges, who have to replace juries, for being too lenient. This, too, is Forward Planning.

The bristly Blunket resigned for having too many children who may or may not... He will soon be back, because T Blair is sincere and always right.

3. A Mr J Straw, who was once a dashing student rebel, but is now known as Foreign Secretary which may grammatically mean "secretary to some foreigner" or "secretary who is a foreigner" or "secretary destined to wander the world shaking hands with the wrong people in the dark", most of these people being totally ignorant of who he is and why. The why is in fact to function as propagator of the doctrines inscribed on the back of T Blair's numerous envelopes.

4. A Mr Brown who is lugubrious as well as having masses of our money which he promises to spend on extremely complicated schemes, while being unable to spend anything on more simple and obvious plans which would cause rejoicing among the bemused and merriment among the dreary. As a result of not having the money of which he has masses he has lugubrously to borrow enormous sums from jolly bankers who rub their merry hands in pompous clubs, crying "Good old Brown!" or "Many happy returns!".

It is impossible or at least unadvisable to go on with all this, so we will draw our remarks to close, as Quaker elders used to say at meeting for worship when inspired loonies rambled on into the small hours. We will not confuse the issue, whatever that might have bee, any further, but leave the rest of whatever it is to the imaginations of innocent children (if any).

Commendations are due to: Estelle Morris, who resigned because of modesty; to Kate Hoey, ex minister who is admirably rude about her government; and to Boris Johnson who remains Boris Johnson instead of a responsible Tory. It is a pity he cow-towed to the oily Howard and shambled about apologising to outraged Liverpudlians for being editor of the Spectator.
Oh, and merry greetings to all those who haven't got weapons of mass destruction.

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© Winamop 2004