In today’s wide-ranging extract, our resident eclectic sexual commentator and geological expert traces the role of salt-water in the development of the British Empire, the mediocrity of the Eurovision Song Contest, and his decision to Vote Leave.
Not a day goes by where I don’t fall to my arthritic knees and thank God for the vast geological forces of the last Ice Age that gave us here in Blighty the brine of the English Channel separating us forever from Continental Europe.
It’s very interesting to try and work out why our omnipresent God decided to give us the Ice Age. He obviously decided to go about things in his highly unusual and difficult to comprehend roundabout way. Rather than just give us the Channel which would have been more convenient to everyone, he went about it in a highly unusual way. He decided to tilt the planet by a full degree, turned the Earths thermostat down to around minus fifty, and then over a hundred thousand years of time and pressure, slowly but surely, so that no hunter gatherer would notice he quietly went about carving out a huge chasm beneath the ice field.
Indeed if any of our species who were knocking about back then noticed that they were on Course to get the Channel, I doubt very much any of them would say, ‘Just the job. The English Channel in forty thousand years. That’s something to look forward to.The very thing we all need’. Then, once God decided the chasm was deep enough and capable of drowning us all he then decided to warm us all up, melt the ice and present us with the English Channel. Somehow or other God must have known that Britain needed to be detached.
It’s the same with all the precious metals, jewels, gas, and oil. God knew that at some stage of our evolution and journey toward modernity, we’d all begin showing an unhealthy interest in digging holes to see what was down there. He could so easily have scattered these commodities in great piles so that we could barrow them away whenever we fancied acquiring them and avoid all the digging. And yet, in his wisdom he decided we had to dig great holes and discover his unusually deep hiding places so they weren’t visible to the naked eye.
And that’s God for you. He does everything for a reason. That said, quite why he popped the seed in stoome twat’s head and subliminally demanded that we have a Eurovision Song Contest is more difficult to understand.
I hate the Eurovision Song Contest. If I were forced to watch and listen to their three chord dirge of noise that somehow or other our Continental cousins like to call songs, I’d take a soft leaded pencil and repeatedly stab myself in the eye. And more often than not each song tells the same story of some club footed hare-lipped travelling minstrel who emerges beneath the dewy mountain mist with a herd of lactating goats. Then to the irritating sound of cow bells and a glockenspiel, he and his goats tip up at a tiny hamlet where the villagers greet him and feast on the teats of his beasts until their belly’s are full. Then, keen to avoid the village traditions of bestiality thrice daily and breach his covenant with God that demands you never make romance inside a goat, the minstrel picks out a blonde buxom wench who’s had more pricks than a second hand dartboard and off they go with the goats up the mountain never to be seen again.
That’s why I voted Leave.
Like Nobby, a majority of British voters opted to leave the EU in 2016. Did we really get what we wanted in the end? The Slog provides a balanced analysis.