Yanny Mac - Bungled

  I often feel a wee bit finitude after weekends such as the one that has passed. For me it’s the end of tormented Lent and the beginning of a long period of self-absorption. But the finish-line is in sight for those indentured in Ramadan. And for neo-pagans it’s the start of a bacchanalian feast. A time of fecundity and fertility, way beyond my current pay-grade; ribald excesses now more a disquieting fear, than an inalienable right. The collective outpouring of unease over the self-appointed monarchy’s ill-health seems to galvanise our free presses, whilst our less fortunate friends & relatives suffer silently, albeit within the same ‘fight’. The papal paschal rallying cries, and the surefire yet demure sermons of ecclesia anglicana lead us through this period of self-indulgence and added-daylight. We are prone to rejoicing when fuel bills go down, all the while that water bills and bed & board continue their great ascent. And regardless of our efforts, ultimate power ...