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YES/NO PRIME MINISTER

As she sits down to weigh up likelihoods and alternatives - bacon (cured/ uncured) in classic tandem with eggs (scrambled /unscrambled) toast (wholemeal/ white trash) not to mention coffee and tea options in attendance - the PM partly regrets a decision brazenly taken early in the morning chez Number 10: to kick start the day with a brace of coddled eggs and a pair of rough, yet sturdy and dependable oat cakes on which to place them, before snapping a jpeg of the arrangement in order to compare and contrast them with those in the illustration on the back of the box - or is it the side? - How is breakfast PM?
The PM has expended a goodly few minutes out of her precious mind in an attempt to resemble as far as feasible the studio photograph on the packet. She rues her choice of lexis. Surely goodly is incorrect in this context. Neither is she convinced that a coriander leaf does a passable impression of a sprig of parsley. Ho hum.
- How is breakfast PM? 
The question fails to jolt the head …
Recent posts

ROBOSHRINK

I'm feeling depressed, Dr Robert. I'm sorry that you feel depressed. Tell me more. Tell me more. Like does he have a car? Men are all alike, he says I'm depressed. What else did he say, girlfriend? He said, Of all the toxins I have put into my mind and body, you're the only one that's in my soul. How romantic? Where's your boyfriend now? He's on Facebook like everyone else, where'd you think he is?
What do you think; do you think you're depressed? I guess I'm not that happy. But what is happy anyway? Happy is an adjective. Use happy in a sentence. Sorry? Happy is the stupid empty brown eye of a contented cow chewing the cud, regurgitating germinae. A happy herd feign pleasure as they pose for yet another selfie. Excuse me? Another example of happy is someone who wins the lottery. Happy defined. Can I help you further?I know what happiness is. I've been happy. I'm not a robot! I've experienced joy. It's the come down that nails yo…

Cardboard Mummy GO LA LA in PoundLand!

First, get Cardboard Mummy
outta there. Just doesn't sit right. After the diagnosis. There are market forces at play with the kids on the estate.  The writing's been on the wall for sometime.
NO BALL GAMES ALLOWED. 
The sign makes a good goalpost.
It got weird when she took Cardboard Mummy to school 

for Show 'n' Tell.
A fraud. A deception. 

Economics is a magic trick.
Having gone to Eton gave him carte blanche,

a la carte and cordon bleu.
Bloody immigrants! Coming over ‘ere 

with the Normans.
No wonder my sister-in-law

can’t get a council house.
I just love your British accent. R U Skarrish?

The arm and the dead dog in the cesspit under
the garage were too gruesome to be included in the final edition. 
Everyone loved Boris, the dog, not the toff.

The box represented motherhood.
Trapped. Contained. Medicated.
Cardboard Mummy came second
to a rocking horse with pubic hair 

made from scouring pads. 
Conceptual domestic economics. 
Social care under low wage slavery.

Is it my job to kno…

INAPPROPRIATE MATERIALS

A TALL TALE OF TOWER BLOCS
Eyes, red from last night’s exertions, are nevertheless focused on the scrawled mess on the back of a ripped open white A4 window envelope – an arrears letter from the council’s arms-length management QUANGO demanding she start to reduce the £2,ooo plus debt if she is to avoid further action.  Action? That meant what exactly? Another new Acting Manager, who she’s never heard of, and who’ll be out the door again before six months is over, like the last, and the one before, that has charged a £50.00 management fee for the privilege of informing her by letter of an increase in her arrears of, oh! I don’t know, £50.00.  The blank space on the back has been well recycled. Her internal Dot Cotton kicks in. It cushions her against life's little travails, not to mention long waits for council lifts:
I told him I did. I said, You can stick your £50 quid where the sun don’t shine sunshine, not now, not now that they’ve been and gone and put all that bloody scaffoldi…