‘ere, ‘ave a modest dose of sweetness to take the bitter taste away, be it only for a short while.

Space Invaders. I rest my case. 2026 will be anything but happy. Ask the Venezuelans if you have any doubts. Or the poor Greenlanders. Or Mexico, or Colombia or… Andorra? Who can tell what’s on the mentally retarded mind of this ageing infant? The only bright spark I can think of in the midsts of this latest repulsive Grand Guignol is (and that’s only pure schadenfreude, which is not nice…) is the massive snub from said baby-psycho to that half-wit Nobel Peace Prize recipient who, obviously not content with this unrestricted public humiliation is now, in a prodigious display of masochistic cocksuckery, offering to share said chaffy piece of paper with him. Ah, well…
Keep biting, my friends, keep biting. Love and fangs.

PrimaevalRed. Por mucho pan… and all that. ere, ‘ave a slightly more optimistic version. And remember this:
There is, in fact, no way of dealing with these persons; they are the world’s masters, laying the ponderous weight of their foolish and heavy minds upon all subtleties, delicacies and discriminations to flatten them, talking very loudly, firmly and fatuously the while through their hats, and through their mouthpiece, the press. There is no dealing with them; it is they who make England, and indeed the world, what it is.
Rose Macaulay. Told by an Idiot

NewYear26. As usual, the chances that it will be a good, let alone a happy one are practically nil. Still, we resist, we bite, we make of ourselves the greatest possible nuisance and we keep Becketting on regardless and with an incandescent will.
Love, ferrets and a cute quote!
Al cabo de unos años o unos meses el viejo problema revienta los remiendos, provoca una crisis y el partido a la sazón relegado sustituye al que le sustituyó. Y por la misma causa. No sé de un solo gobierno que haya resuelto un problema serio: siempre caen, pero no les preocupa porque sus sucesores también caerán.
(After a few years or a few months the old problem ruptures the patches, causes a crisis and the party formerly relegated replaces the one who replaced it. And for the same reason. I don’t know of a single government that has solved a serious problem: they always fall, but they don’t mind because their successors will fall too.)
Eduardo Mendoza.

Optimism of the Will. Solstice soon come. Have a spiffing one and go along with the Rugose Imp who thinks that a Solstice is as good as a Summer. I’m in no mood to argue the toss with It. At the moment I can do with a wee dose of optimism, no matter how misguided.

Dancing Girls2. To paraphrase, probably misquote and possibly misconstrue Adorno’s quote on laughter, here’s what the Swineherd of Tindalos (plus attendant piggies) has to say to the two dancing black thingummybobs:
Because there’s noting to dance about…dance, dance, dance!
The two dancing black thingummybobs have given up on their erstwhile plan to re-designate themselves as a single white male accountant as a really daft idea. Bully for them.

Remember Remember. For them and for every other “unworthy” victims of the insanity that seems to rule the world, with no end in sight.

Savvy Lizards. There is a witty and chillingly accurate saying doing the rounds at the moment (but no enough and not widely undisputed, worse luck) about the so-called ceasefire: You cease, we fire. Indeed.
Quote for the day.
A policy should never be based on the extermination of the adversary; not only because -and this is a lot to say- it is morally an abomination, but because it is materially unfeasible. And the blood unjustly spilled by the hatred that seeks to exterminate will be reborn, sprouting and giving accursed fruits; a curse that will not be restricted, unfortunately, to those who spiled the blood, but which will be over the very country which -to compound its misfortune- absorbed it.
Manuel Azaña

Reflections2. My advice: be wary of allowing your mirror to talk to strange itinerant mirrors. Things can get truly disorienting, not to say irritating.

Odd Cagnolito. The story so far. A young mutant Cagnolito (formerly of Tindalos Prime) crossing a dicey forest in the Vacillating Shift is suddenly accosted by one of the local talents, the Mafioso Wooden Poppet, with verbose promises of protection from nebulous perils and other equally vague extra-curricular risks. Matilda, on a break from minding Bonny Brown Bunny and doubling here as a spirit guide and paranormal cicerone to the adventurous canine, is counselling the youngster to ignore the overtures of the woody chappie, in part because said offers and threats are mostly hot air and in part because the ligneous laddie is so scatterbrained that he may start trying for intimidation and then switch, for no reason at all, to advice on the best inns, youth hostels, cocktail bars, discos, free swimming pools, restaurants, tapas bars and beauty parlours in the region. Well, that’s the Vacillating Shift for you, innit. Consistency is a word that even if It looked it up in the dictionary it still wouldn’t make sense to It, poor dear. By the way, if you ever find yourself travelling in this most perplexing of districts, I can recommend the Inn of the Seventeen Boons. It’s cheap, cheerful, the sheets are spotless, the food scrumptious and the landlady’s a good friend of mine, so a bit of name-dropping will get you a few free drinks as well.