I’m sure most of us think about emigrating at least once in our lives. These days the idea pops into my head about once a week. Let me give you some of the latest reasons why.

The new Tesco down the road from us is, I hear, doing very well…but not well enough. Big T’s management have already decided that, based on the first four months, they got the location wrong. I could’ve told them this before they started. Meanwhile, the more reasonably sized Co-op in the town is dying on its feet, three more retailers have closed, and the rest are losing money. We have lost a community and gained a white elephant – one in fact which was in the room all along, but is now sitting where our leisure centre was.

If you have incompetent managers, bent local councillors, bent local planners, and a bent Minister of Culture, then this is what will happen under a neocon system of endemic corruption.

Talking of Jeremy Hunt, his hero Rupert Murdoch is about to complete his life’s mission, wiping the United Kingdon off the map of the World. He’s doing this in the short term, however, so he can be free of the Rule of Law under Alex Salmond’s Tartan Titsup Troika of whisky, wool and wind.

Murdoch the sad little nihilistic f**k has achieved his goals thanks to gullible non-execs at The Times, bent coppers, bent hacks, fame-obsessed celebs, the Mad Handbag, the serial warmonger and constitutional woodworm Tony Blair, Uphill Gardener and all-round turd Lord Fondlebum, the Scottish Midloathisome Obscenity, David Cameron the Equestrian Statue, and Jeremy Hunt the widely misused typing error.

While a Spanish bloke none of us had heard about until two months ago seems quite happy to stick a truculent finger up Geli Merkel’s nose, Camerlot continues to insist that our future is inextricably etc etc insert spineless bollocks here. Somehow – despite the Fuhrerine having decreed that everyone has signed up to FiskalNacht (and there are still very few people who get that joke) – Senor Rajoy has managed to tell the Merkeschauble juggernaut to take its treadmill elsewhere. But the Prime Minister of the EU’s third biggest economy seems not to be up to it.

Britain is in this undead, bloated neo-fascist superstate because those who followed the much reviled Edward Heath after he took us in have not, as such, ever managed to have their cojones drop in order to take us out of it and back to an export policy based on the future rather than the past. Old Sailor Ted the toilet malingerer was a bit of a grumpy closet oboe player, but at least the old Queen did it because he believed in it.

Meanwhile, there is Her Majesty’s Opposition. Its main supporter in the ‘quality’ press Polly Toynbee says she wants to save jobs by boycotting auto-checkouts in the supermarkets. This makes my communitarian attack on Tesco look like a Friedmanite assault on the Kremlin. If there isn’t one there already, may I nominate Ms Toynbee as the next waxwork exhibit to go on show at the Tolpuddle Museum? I think that would be entirely fitting.

If you have self-protective Guilds allowed to bankroll political Parties and choose claymation puppets as leader, then you will offer no realistic alternative to braindead Coalitions hoisted into power by malignant cryogenic Aussies. Indeed, what you will wind up with is either (a) lunatic neocons bankrolled by the Big Brothers of Sark, or (b) a terrifying cacophony of Islamist peacenik feminists. We either take the money out of politics, or accept that these terminally damaged gargoyles will take it out on us.

The desire to emigrate comes from this truly enervating feeling that, at 64, I am far too old to take part in either ejecting this festering cornucopia of deadbeats from our elite cadres, or educating the X-factor generation about the difference between Amanda Holden’s childbirth experiences and The Nature of Liberty. The whole endeavour feels too much like hard work and zero fulfilment.

It’s enough to make you want to write a letter to the Daily Mail.

Still…there are always dogs to keep us entertained. Our young puppy Coco has taken to not just chewing firewood, but also eating it. While this is going to save us a fortune on organic wellbeing natural clinically alternative free-range premium puppy food as ordered by Mrs Slog, I live in constant fear of her extruding MDF out the other end. (Coco, not Mrs Slog).