Monday, September 7, 2009

Examiner Leader: One, Two, Three, Four...

Progress is but the deification of our own faults--Roger Scruton.

The Staff at the Examiner editorial office are not generally in favour of protests.

We consider manifestations of opinion from the Great Unwashed to be generally pointless, and often irritating.

Dr. Swift has been known to cross union picket lines (on one memorable occasion wielding a walking cane to excellent effect), and, shielded by the useful buffer of Mr. Bickerstaff, Genteely Ignores The Mob--except when they come for charity, of course.

Unlike many of his modern clerical brethren, Dr. Swift does not consider it a duty to support every pink and red tinged cause on offer, preferring to preach the same Duties of quietness and Godliness in vogue at the time of his death. This would explain, of course, why he is a sprite condemn-ned to wander the earth, and they are climbing the greasy ecclesiastical pole--but His Reverence is unmoved.

For every rule there is an exception. In this case, The Examiner is in entire sympathy with the Protests, the Rumblings of Present Discontent, the Noble (if possibly Doomed) Attempt to Save the Post Office.

We were slightly put off by the appearance of the Lady Protester in the accompanying photograph, but we are willing to entertain the possibility that beneath fluorescing and large exterior beats a heart of genuine Concern for the Poor.

She would have looked better in a hat (as would so many of the Earnest Suffragettes of Activist Temper we trip over nowadays) but we are convinced her cause is Just.

Communities are incarnated in actual things: Churches, Schools, Post Offices, and Banks, War Memorials, Libraries, Parks and Corner Shops.

They say "We exist. We are here. This is Our Place"

That is something which should not be forced to prostrate itself before the Great God Efficiency.

All together now, lads. In tune--we shall not do this often.

One, Two, Three, Four!

Throw Efficiency Out The Door!

Five, Six, Seven, Eight!

Save the Post Office--It's Not Too Late!

Not remarkable for euphony or depth, we admit.

Strike, Ye Lyres of Hippydom! Guitars and Marracas, Tie-dyed caftans and beads, Sound Ye Together, Ye Shrieking, Harpeous Infinities! (DLS Love....)


Bearhunter said...

In the immortal words of Mistress Weatherwax, progress is just letting bad things happen faster. A belated welcome back to you, foul shade.

Swift said...

Ah, Nimrod!

Dia 's Mhuire 's Padraig duit.

(I had to unearth my phrase book for that, I hope you're happy)

Bearhunter said...

Ta an-athas orm, a chara agus failte romhat ar ais aris.

Swift said...

Now that isn't fair, I had to Google that one in sections.

But you're welcome. And thanks--it's very nice to be back.

(That is, if I got that right, which I am far from sure about. I must take proper lessons one of these days).

Bearhunter said...

Basically it means "I'm very happy, welcome back". So well done. Lord ths is veering towards civil. Do something!