tartan bunker

As Number 10 and Number 11 appear to encourage others to declare them saviours of the world’s current financial mess (yes, that same mess they got us into, having been in power, obviously blindfolded, for the past decade), I feel it’s important to make it absolutely clear that I, MacCavity, played no part in creating the world in six days. 

If necessary, MacMog will testify to this.

PS If you enjoy adventures of mayhem and madness be aware that Green Fire is published later this year by Garret Books.  

Oh, and a goode new year to you all, wi’ plenty of good health and happiness.

This week a young talented man I know lost his job and was almost in tears and an elderly lady who’s worked hard all her life, who feels the cold, has said she’ll not be using the electric fire because of the cost. It’s happening nation and worldwide, and will get worse. Stand up those responsible (if they’re not too full of free champagne, air miles, and bullshit): politicians and financiers*). Are they crying, fretting about how to pay a bill or feed a hungry mouth. Are they freezing to death?

 Why aren’t these people on trial? For years they’ve known full well what was going on with our economies (and if they didn’t, let’s remind ourselves, and them, that ignorance is no defence in the eyes of UK law). Shouldn’t they be forced to return money they’ve ‘taken’ from us? And while Mr Brown and The UnDarling of Neverneverland borrow huge sums of money, on whose broken backs does this burden of debt rest?

 If you or I go a tad over the speed limit or are a few minutes overdue paying a tax bill, we’re fined or imprisoned. But it appears when you reach a level of power and/or influence, you’re given a ‘getaway wi’ it’, a Santa, clause. And what about some of these culprits taking responsibility for those who’ll lose their life because of what’s happened? Am I barkin’ mad to think that their actions amount to manslaughter?  

 Come the revolution. Or Dekaydence . . . See Black Light and in 2009, Green Fire. 

* I exclude the good ’uns who do exist but appear far too few in number.

Took some wee ones to the pantomime (Brian Blessed-cotton-socks in Peter Pan), and came up wi’ a new plan for democracy. (Oh, yes I did!).  Get those politicians to stand on a stage and tell us what they want to do. The populous then shout back: “Oh yes, get on wi’ it!” or “Oh no, you don’t, you mad, bad etc…!” (Excluding our own hero MPs, why do I expect this to be the popular vote?).

Post panto, I’ve also refined ma’ long-held idea for an independent auditor to assess weekly/monthly/annually/hourly (take your pick) the performance of each MP. I reckon poor results get “The crocodile’s behind you!” which means they’re taken immediately to the Tower. Oh, and there’s no tea or pension for them. 

I do hear Dekaydence has its own plans for MPs. Much tougher and greener than mine. See Green Fire out in 2009.

Suddenly, we’re awash with ‘experts’ pronouncing when we’ll be through the recession and giving us solutions so it’ll never happen again. Apart from the fact that these wiseries come from some of the very people who got us into this mess, I wonder, where were these ‘experts’ before the lights went out? I’d have appreciated their input then but not now. Seemingly, the only people who knew what was what were Vince Cable, my mathematical friend John, and ma young friend’s old mum who’s been Cassandra-ing for years that over-borrowing and lending would lead us only down this almighty dreadful path.

Stick with Dekaydence. We do have solutions.   

Apologies for going awol. Been in an arm-wrestling contest with surgeon. Which I lost, and won, so to speak. Great surgeon. And a rematch follows. Had to wear great bright blue foam sling - the size of small goat, and still people determine to barge into you. I am not that small, or that short on mouth. Where have manners gone? Why do people feel it cool to be impolite?  

Oh well, bring on the music. Listen to a gent on the guitar. Francis Rossi (of Status Quo) on our website - www.dekaydence.com - singing our anthem! There’s some woman screaming. Take no notice. 

I am not a scientist though some of the boss’s good friends etc… but I am concerned about Cern. I understand the odd sentence of explanation about what’s going on but join them all up and I don’t. So if the Big Bang is being replicated within the next few months, I fail to understand how sheets of metal and a few magnets can contain such a force.  I’m going to celebrate Xmas early, in October. 

They’re back. The missing decorators. Unwitting tormentors of MacMog. And me, too. No time to think. An entire day clearing out rooms, and the lad’s on spitting terms. And if I didnae suffer already with a back, I would by now. Dekaydence R&D are working on virtual home makeovers. I cannae wait: missing decorators returning only for a wee dram instead of chaos and MacMog gets to live his eight lives in purrfect peace. 

The number of cobblers in our lives is rocketing. And I’m not talking of the skilled repairers of boots and shoes, now in decline thanks to cheap footware made by enslaved infants for less than a pittance. No, these cobblers are of an official ilk, and include in their number a health and safety inspector who visited the school where a friend teaches. All went well - maybe too well for statistical purposes- until this Official Cobbler espied two boxes on top of a cupboard. “They’re a safety hazard,” said the OC. “They’re there in case we have to return the computer and the printer. And they’re empty,” said Friend. “But should the cupboard topple …” said the OC. “The cupboard is fixed securely to the wall with strong brackets and has been for more than the 30 years I’ve been at the school. Never once has it never fallen over or shown any inclination to so do, “ said Friend. “I’ll take down the boxes so you can tick your box. When you’ve left, I’ll put them back up again.” At least the OC had the decency to smile and nod sympathetically.  But in a few years, with more droned OCs . . .  

Imagine everyone involved in the production of food (excepting grains) was dying and couldn’t be replaced. The consequence? A global bare larder within a few years. A plug for the latest Dekaydence horror movie? No, ma friends, this is no fairytale, this is our world now: our food producers, the humble pollinating bees, are facing extinction – for varied, some unknown, reasons but which could include a virus and the intensive farming of bees. So, not because ma wee lavender bush attracted 27 bees last year, and this year, three alone; nor because Einstein may/or not have said that if bees go the planet’s got four years: The bottom line appears to be that the extinction of the humble bee could cause a global tsunami of food loss. I’d say it’s time for intensive investment in intensive research. Maybe also an intensive rethink on how we co-exist with nature. So, bee active: campaign now. Dekaydence is.

Thoughtlessness in society today involves chemical and germ warfare. Last week, my goddaughter, playing tennis with friends on an indoor court, had to change ends simply to avoid breathing in the pungent fumes from an over-scented moron, obviously of the same mind-set as the women who attend the gym in perfume and full make-up. At the weekend, the same goddaughter was at a bbq. Here, in a tight scrum against the rain, a smiley, fey mother - the type which brings me out in a rash - held a wilting youngster who she’d “never seen so poorly as she was last night.”  I’m not attempting to join up the dots for legal proceedings but it is a fact that the goddaughter is now laid low with a chest infection, affecting work, play, and her own disability. Don’t fret about weapons of mass destruction, only the increasing army of the thoughtless.