In the last week, I've only slept about two hours a night, so my brain is being more entertaining than usual. More entertaining than TV, at least.
Some things I've been wondering about:
Is/are the Cotswolds still a nice place to live? or is it just a Y.B.of Olde Englandie Theame Parke?
Do we think there's still time to live a bit of ordinary life before the Parousia? How much time are we talking about? I mean, is it time to start buying yellow bananas at the grocers or can we make a few longer-term plans? You know: is there a point to joining a choir or taking a weekend course in custom bookbinding or rose-growing? I'm sort of disappointed actually; Ratzinger was elected pope, the Red Sox won a World Series, and I've kept the same job for more than three years. Hell actually does appear to be freezing over and...still NO TRUMP! What's taking Him?
Fight or flight? Which is better, escape to some remote corner of Wales or Montana, raise ducks and let the Muslims blow up the inner cities? Or to take a stand and try to oust them? or convert them? ...or get blown up trying?
And to what are we supposed to convert them? Have any those people saying that Muslims have to integrate into modern British/Canuckistan/US/French society for things to work out, really thought about what they are proposing? I mean, I read Mark Steyn the other day going on about how we have to do something to get them to be more like us, but I couldn't figure out what that really meant. Did he think they ought to become crass materialistic quarter-educated secularized nincompoops like most of the westerners? "To what shall we convert them, Mark?" I wanted to ask him. I notice it's a question he is rather reluctant to address in his book or column.
Will I now get excommunicated from the Church of the Great Steyn for having asked such an impertinent question?
Are there any remote corners of Wales left?
Are conservatives really just mean?
What's the real story with the bees? Are we facing a worldwide agriculture crisis or is it an urban legend or what?
Why do Philipina ladies seem unable to sit still at Mass and not fiddle with their crackly plastic shopping bags? Is it a cultural thing? Is it some kind of genetic problem that is linked to them like sickle cell anemia or hemophilia? And just what the heck is in those bags that the ABSOLUTELY MUST dive into them and start crackling away right at the Consecration? What could anyone possibly need out of a crackly shopping bag at that particular moment at Mass?
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2 comments:
Well, the Cotswolds are a beautiful place still, but because of their relative proximity to London they are pretty expensive too. There are a few postcard villages which are a bit of a theme park, but its not too bad. There used to be the biggest duck farm in Europe near Bouton-on-the-Water, but sadly the good old farmer retired to the Isle of Skye and the new owners have now sold all the ducks, and I think are having the 100 or so acres developed... NOT very nice.
Bigger problem with the Costwolds, and in fact anywhere any distance from a city in UK is the Mass question.
Wales is cheaper, very beautiful countryside, but the villages not so pretty and the Catholic question perhaps even worse.
Ah yes. But a bigger problem for me with the whole going to Ynglonde exercise is how to get away from all the humans. The entire country is going to seem rather cramped I suspect. Cheek-by-jowl no doubt. What's a misanthrope to do?
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