Afternoon comrades. Here is the dilemma. Shared by millions around the planet. The inability to travel and visit family. Everyone stuck somewhere. How long can we go on for? My case is the UK. At the moment it looks like a petri dish. An experiment with the public health. Especially young people and children. From here it looks like the British government is going to open up everything, leave it to the public to decide if they want to wear a mask and perhaps 'let it rip through' or 'take it on the chin' and wait and see how thousands of people cope when they catch the virus. Many won't even know they have it. Others will be ill and who knows how many will go on to suffer from the sequelas, the after effects, AKA Long Covid. So what then? You must go people say. Of course I must go. If I don't go this summer when? I have had both vaccines. I downloaded the Covid passport app on my phone. You know, the European one. I thought that this would be OK as it is valid throughout the EU but so far not the UK. This means I will have to get three PCRs each, for me and my husband and then quarantine for five days I believe. Brits coming back from Spain from their holidays won't have to but we will. I guess those pounds need to keep kerchinging into the pockets and accounts of the pigs with their snouts in the trough. Curse them all. They are going straight to hell and will probably enjoy it. Lost causes. It is not up to me to save them from selling the souls they are unaware they have.  Behind the scenes, the scenes that are the reality for so many, there is a campaign and right now Grant Schnapps, the secretary of State for Transport is getting it in the neck from voters of all political persuasions. Ben Bradshaw the Labour Shadow Secretary of State for Media, Culture and Sport is on to this as well. Yet it seems for now I will have to agree with the actor Ray Winstone on all this testing lark. As he said, "I liked to get kissed while I am being fucked"

Lord John Kilclooney, former MEP, Crossbench life peer from Northern Ireland, who has been sitting on his fat arse in the House of Lords since 2001, tweeted that the Spanish football team didn't sing the lyrics to the Spanish national anthem, failing to realise that there are no lyrics to the Marcha Real. Lord Kilclooney has a face that ought to be on my list of Rate My Plate. Men, usually British who have a porcine look about them. Anyway, it's a little known fact but I was asked to write the lyrics to the Spanish national anthem. They went like this, " que no, que no, que no, que no, que no, que no, que no, que no, que no, que no, que no.....(pause)....que no, que no...(again in the same way, for ever)

https://www.thelondoneconomic.com/politics/there-are-no-words-former-mep-blasts-spanish-for-not-singing-national-anthem-280209/?utm_medium=social&utm_source=facebook&utm_campaign=sfeu&fbclid=IwAR3sRtnY4pXTNDXC98zqxzqsCgEY0gwloENHyLXXWqp5DUf-HA9wnE4pD0M

I'D RATHER BE "WOKE" THAN "THE JOKE".

Priti Patel. Who? You know, politician. Self identifies as Nurse Ratched and Tommy Robinson. Criticised the England football team for taking the knee. She said it was, "gesture politics". When asked if England fans had the right to boo the players when they took the knee she said, "that's a choice for them quite frankly." The usual disingenuous reply politicians are the masters of. Now she tweets, "What a performance! What a team! #It'sComingHome! Well, actually she wrote #ItsComingHome but let's not get all pedantic over the grammar in case she accuses us all of being intolerant bastards. Meanwhile Johnson stands on the Saint George cross flag probably to wipe his feet on just before he enters number 10. It's fascinating watching them pretend they have feelings and abilities that others have. Bunch of phonies. Difficult to warm to them. 

#youprobablythinkIvoteLabour

I'm listening to Spanish Radio, Radio 3 to be precise and there's a programme on called Circulos Excentricos. Tonight it's all about Post Brexit groups in the UK, and titled, ''A new wave of Post Punk?'' About the birth of so many groups rebelling against the recent political events in the UK, particularly Brexit, described as a mirroring of what happened in the 80s, under Thatcher etc. The DJ says the young people in the UK realise there is now a regression at all levels. He says it is too early to label these bands or if it is a movement but that he promises the bands the listeners are about to hear are all ''spectacular'', and I can't argue with that. 

Squid, Idles, Fat White Family, Porridge Radio, Shame, Goat Girl, Black Midi, Black Country, New Road. 

My conclusion as to why so many great bands came out of the UK and still do, I think it is because there is always some kind of fight against the c#nts in power, plus no one is ever happy. 

Spain calling. Everyone's favourite defector here. Well, things have calmed down since the hate mail accusing me of disrespecting the Queen has stopped. You know, all that stuff about Prince Phillip what was it a month ago? Nine months! I feel enough time has passed to continue the story. Where were we? Oh yes, that time in the line up. The Duchess Theatre, Covent Garden. Or was it the Drury Lane? Cats was still on... Anyway, the bit I'm getting at is I was there waiting to get shot or knighted. One of the two. Prince Phillip was there, remember. I asked, ''what do you do?'' and he said, ''what do I do? I'm a Prince''. So I said, and you can believe me or not, ''we know what you are, your Royal Highness, but what do you do?'' There was a silence. He looked to the left, eyes staring at the carpet as if to wait instructions and I heard someone say 'move on'', or it might even have been, ''move him on''. God knows where this voice came from, maybe his ear piece ( would that be possible?) or maybe I am just ultra sensitive to these things. He started to move along the line but I can assure you he did it reluctantly. It was if he wanted to come back and resume the conversation. There was a point when he smiled and wagged his finger in my direction. Not in a threatening way. I almost expected him to say, ''lunch tomorrow.... 2 o'clock. Rules Restaurant''. 

Across the road from us is a substantial piece of land that used to house the old military barracks and pharmacy. It could have been converted and rented to artists, clothes designers or anyone who needed a workshop but that would have been a great idea so instead the council pulled the whole lot down to make space for flats that in someone's head someone else might build one day. It's been a plot for several years and has become a haven for butterflies and insects and there is always a feeding frenzy above our heads in summer with the swallows, swifts and bee eaters tucking in. Throughout the year you can see the changing of the seasons as the trees come to life and die back again in winter. The downside has to be the summer when the sun is beaming away right on our front window for about twelve hours in an attempt to recreate Lord knows what but is the equivalent of sticking your head in the oven while it is on. Meanwhile every few years there will be an article in the local rag about how the authorities have permitted so and so to come and have a look, do some tests and what not. You think that at last they will build some flats and get on with things in your lifetime but end up no longer holding your breath. After some time I began to hope they would never build the flats as there must be an argument for leaving some urban areas to help with pollination and so on. Well, the other day someone from one of the far left parties put up some posters demanding the flats be built with lots of explanation marks. "Good for them!" I thought, but with some reservation as the realisation that the last thing I need is for building works to contribute to the endless noise we have here. Then the next day someone put up some sort of long, makeshift poster across the side of the aluminium wall put up around the plot. On it they had written, "Enough of your promises already Mr Soro!!!"  My immediate thoughts were, ''What the hell has any of this got to do with George Soros? They can't even spell his name correctly. Feckin' far left. Didn't take them long to blame the Jews. Always trying to shoehorn something unrelated just to scapegoat. Just as bad as the far right. Shitehawks the lot of them". All week I have had to walk past it, bit by bit tearing strips off, literally and metaphorically speaking, as I go along. Mr van de Ven had to talk me out of going down late at night before the curfew to scrawl, "learn to feckin spell ya shitehawking c#nts", in both languages. "Don't bother" he said. " These people are not worth it. Remember what your dad used to say? ''Don't get involved!" Good job I didn't, as it isn't George Soros they are complaining about at all, but a Mr Soro, The Minister of Structure, Territory, Mobility and Housing although part of me thinks I should have done. Anything to add to the present day madness. This is the minister when talking about the promised construction, asserted that everything was, "ready to begin this year" and in the next breath acknowledged that the work, ''could start next year''. That's the trouble with this country. People say opposing things in the same breath all the time. I used to think they were doing it to wind me up but they are prepared to do it to one another all the time. It's a kind of paradox. There is always some kind of unacceptable conclusion. And that ladies and gentlemen is why I live here. I fit right in!

Well that was fun. Just woke from a dream that a bunch of us heard a guy announce in Jimmy Cagney tones, ''look out for the sky rocket!'', and there it was. Just a dot in the sky. The Chinese piece of space shit falling to earth. Nothing to get excited about but we all watched as it then came in closer at speed. Suddenly no longer falling but careering out of control. In the background I could hear people laughing thinking it looked funny up there veering from left to right. All I could think about was, ''oh well, this is it I guess. Glad I never paid back that student loan''. The End.