At the End of the Day

I’m still taking the tablet. But the Seventh Cavalry is on its way. Or Calvary, one of the two. On verra, as they say in these parts. A charming man from Skype has emailed to say I need to follow a link to ‘client’, which I’ve done, but my German tablet says it can’t open it.  I see this as further evidence of the increasingly recriminatory relations between France and Germany. He is on the case. But I do not wish to be concerned with the everyday ennuie of human existence tonight. I would prefer instead to ponder larger issues in the paradigm. Like, for example, Ricky and Dan Oakley (which translated into soap-speak is pronounced Ruckay an Dayen Owkli) who it seems were the subject of Asbo orders while mere foetuses in mum’s bits, and they’re still at it would yoooo credit it I mean wot are they fackin loike?  Or so the Daily Fail alleges. Calm down, there is a point to this. As follows. The most highly technical among us are incapable of organising, fixing, selling or explaining anything. The most highly placed among us do not grasp this, and in turn do not know wtf to do about Ruckay an Dayen. The most lowly, on the other hand, know no better than to rob their own kind or drag dogs up and down the road tied behind cars stolen for joy-riding. Clearly, whatever hierarchy we choose (as all pack animals always will) needs to be, um, better than this one.