Kinda withdrawn into a period of reflection lately. My free ride-cum-squat in the erstwhile’s pad will end as soon as they’re next allowed out with a bobble hat, rosette, and rattle, though whether The Emirates will bother re-opening must remain, at this stage, moot. Some habits have changed forever during Covey, and if we haven’t learned that watching Arsenal can only be enjoyed when there is an off-button close to hand, I for one don’t understand what the point of a global pandemic is.
I still have the hundred grand I won on The Chase, and for once in my life I have a decent regular income plus occasional other well paid one-off assignments. Normally, that would be good, but in this new version of the old normal, it all coincides with an exponential upturn in the housing market; it was only a few months ago that they were saying that Covey had broken everything for ever and that there’d be no jobs and no money left after it had been dealt with. The worst of it is, if I’d lived a proper life ‘til now, I would have a provincial property to sell to the London émigrés; instead, my best option is to buy one of the overpriced shoe-boxes they’ve left behind. warning, long sentence coming up. It got me to thinking, and I can’t honestly claim it’s not that I haven’t been influenced by re-reading Huckleberry Finn, whether I should capitalise on the hard won experience gained by living in the parent’s shed and the village hall, to go fully native until everyone realises that the economy’s not coming back; that doing your job from anywhere means that anyone can do your job; and that a hike in interest rates to hold in check the hyperinflation created by the trillion dollar bailouts on the back of a decade of quantitative easing, means that before long only Prime Ministers and their special advisers will be able to afford a mortgage. As the summer comes on, what is wrong with stretching out naked on a homemade raft and bobbing up and down the Thames, making camps and living off things borrowed from other people? There’s an island on the Thames – at Acton. I’ve seen it, it’s got a sort of forest on it, and I am pretty sure that Rolf Harris’s garden backs on to the river upstream somewhere – though I might put my strides back on if I ever slip out starb’d to go out scrumping in his potager; despite all, I still maintain a boyish air when viewed from the rear. If there’s no correction in the housing market by autumn, at least I’ll have hardened myself off to something more feral to see me through the winter months.
Anyway, the purdah led me to ponder many things and brought forth a slew of new ideas, the best of which I am giving to my re-written for the modern age, re: re: Phineas re:Redux. He’s getting the abolition of littering, together with a fascinating mutation of that policy aimed at raising taxes and keeping big companies to their societal obligations through their own branding; he’s also getting dog licensing – all of which more about another time. A couple of lesser ‘free enterprise’ ideas I’m giving over to Fipp’s mate to take to the market for me. I haven’t met him, but I see him in a smock with a straw hat, herding a thousand geese to Smithfield from Lincoln – Mickey Drover by the way.
Well, wouldn’t all this cogitating lead me to come up with a sort of rival theory to the Big Bang and religion? If it has legs, I don’t know which course to take next: whether I should write a sort of bible with pretend witnesses and all that, which I will leave in time capsules all over the place, like Sutton Hoo and the tip of the Cerne Giant’s petisse; or to work it up into a research pamphlet and seek backing from Big Pharma to turn it into a way of exploiting everyone else in the human race, bar the few of us who hold the patent. Either way has a good few hundred years of value and a right few quid in it.
So, … buckle up, and tune in to the fourth way.
Imagine our sun to be the nucleus of an atom. The planets including ours are electrons circling the nucleus. All that stuff going on inside the sun, the nuclear reactions and everything, are all that quark and Higgs Bosun and God-particle business that they can’t understand properly. Everything we know as the solar system is but a single atom inside a single much larger organism – another body, or a tree or a plant; and that body, or tree, whatever, is living inside a solar system, and is but a miniscule aspect of it, and yet that solar system is but an atom in another living organism in another solar system. Our body is made up of countless solar systems. Kinda make a body feel small, don’t it Huck?
The beauty of this theory is that it not only explains how God and science mix together, but also why the scientists will never get to the bottom of anything, because what they’re essentially doing is looking into an eternity of vanishing mirrors which will never reach zero.
Well? Are you in?
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