the brilliantly leaping gazelle

Earlier on today, I was faced with a dilemma, namely to smash the radio I was listening to to smithereens, or to simply turn it off. Whilst the option I chose was undoubtedly quieter and less messy, it was also much less satisfying. I was listening to ‘The World at One’, and the main item they were discussing was the language used in parliament yesterday. You can guess the angle they took, a rather censoriously superior tone, the kind Radio Four does so well, so much so that sometimes you’d be forgiven for thinking the Guardian had taken the airwaves.

At no point did anyone think that after sustained hectoring and personal attacks on his motives and character, the Prime Minister might crack. By all accounts, he was subjected to this for nearly three hours and he is human. If I’d’ve been subjected to that level of vitriolic abuse, I’d’ve used much more earthy language, much more often and much sooner. Anyone who has listened to the recent exchanges about Brexit in Parliament knows they can get heated, it’s not the Oxford debating chamber. It’s Brexit, and Brexit arouses strong passions. In fact, if anything, I thought the Prime Mister was remarkably restrained. ‘Well done him’, I though yesterday, as I listened to the ill-tempered cacophany on yesterdays ‘Today in Parliament’.

Anyway today hasn’t been a good day for me, not that any day is good per se, but more that some days are less worse than others, and that today is one that is far worse than in quite a while. It’s a day when I really question the point of getting up, and then I have to make a conscious effort to stop that train of though before it derails. Perhaps that’s why I’ve got no time for perceived slights, manufactured outrage and hyperbolic bolics.

Or perhaps not.