Why I’m v(b)o(a)ting G r e e n

Hello Kitty, cappuccino, walk in the park. 

I understand that Facebook has tweaked its algorithms to suppress p o l iti c a l content but I have something to say about the UK’s g e n e r a l e l e c t i o n, 2024. I am therefore inserting lots of algorithm-friendly words in this post

— cats, pooches, satin hats —

and mangling the proscribed words such as v o t ing, to fool those Zucker-bots into allowing these thoughts. 

The v-word will be rendered as ‘boat’ because when I was a wee kid and my primary school was closed for a day to become a p011ing station, I misunderstood the term ‘v o ti ng day’ as ‘boating day’. I had this image of masses of adults spending the day paddling aimlessly in row boats on the pond in the park to crucial but inscrutable ends. Just one of those eccentric things adults did. I was perhaps right for the wrong reasons.

Toast. With fig jam. Yum. 

I don’t need to explain why I will not be boating for the C o ns e r  va tiv es. They will, of course, be missed. Like the pomegranate-faced gentleman at community events who arrives pissed, stuffs the pockets of this tweeds with cakes from the buffet, and starts touching the children. 

Christmas!

I will not be boating for The Other Lot. I am thoroughly done with The Other Lot. I have given The Other Lot more chances than I have given something that I have given an irrational number of chances. 

A selection of fine cheeses. Bouncing puppies. 

Call me old fashioned, but I would like The Other Lot to behave like An Other Lot. After fourteen years of plunder and rapacity and incompetence (or 45 years if you start the clock with the Wicked Witch in 1979 and TB as her happy munchkin), I would like The Other Lot to have an actual vision. I would like The Other Lot to stand for something. I would like The Other Lot to have a clue. 

Instead of vision we get invisibility; you look directly at Star m er’s Other Lot and you can see right through them to Tor y H Q. 

Tinsel. The sky at night. Ice cream.

So frightened of being seen as an alternative to the T o r ies, The Other Lot have abandoned any policies or thoughts that might distinguish them. Their main campaigning thrust at the moment seems to be that none of them actually placed a dodgy bet on the date of the election. 

And then there’s the ‘pledge card’. What is it with that ‘pledge card’ with its list of ‘first steps’? First steps are for toddlers; ‘pledge cards’ are for fusty, earnestly dimwitted headteachers of primary schools. Are you convinced by this funky, first-steppin’ pledge card?  Whoa! The man has a plan! It’s pledged on a wedge of cardboard! This guy must be serious! Don’t mess with this card man or he’ll send his bovver boys round to your place to READ IT TO YOU!

Breakfast. Lunch. Dinner. Church bells.

Oh, yes. And Gaz a. Sir Keef Starbucks has endorsed the ongoing genocide. No one that validates k i l l ing kids gets my X.

Sausages! Bananas! Extravagant cakes at every road junction!

This is an extraordinary moment in history. Unfettered cap i tali sm is laying waste to the planet and people’s lives. Flag waving, knuckle dragging, anus breathing morons are on the march. The orange blob is heading back to the White House, wiping his feet on the inert body of the current incumbent. And we get the little rich kid on one hand, and the pledge-card carrying nonentity on the other. 

Cappuccino, fried chicken, spectacular sunset.

The Greens are the only party that’s alert to the moment. Proper policies for the climate. Restoration of the NHS. Separation of state and Big Money … No tolerance for mass murder … don’t take my word for it. See for yourself:

https://greenparty.org.uk/about/our-manifesto/

According to the pundits The Other Lot are headed for a supermajority. It’ll be a supermajority minus one, minus the only one that really counts, minus the one that makes all the difference. But I’m confident that Sir Keith Starburst will read this note and, chastened, will rush to my door to find out what he really needs to do. 

Bunny rabbits, Taylor Swift,  nice cup of tea.

If it isn’t screamingly obvious, this rant was first posted on Facebook.