End of the world approaches – short paragraph foot of page seventeen.
Charles Dickens, where are you when we really need you?
The world is staring into the abyss, again; the cash dispensers and their multitudinous seas incarnadine are about to run dry. It is all in the newspapers, but fourth or fifth down the list of news stories. We are all tired of stuffing our trillions down the insatiable maws of the likes of Mr Bob Diamond, those overgrown infants of the financial classes who forever demand the attentions and gifts of their sleep-deprived parents in the small hours of the financial night, with the Lagardes and Trichets, those international financial Spocks, telling us how to raise our unruly off-spring.
It is time to leave them to their own devices. No doubt it will be extremely unpleasant for us all for a while, but life cannot go on like this indefinitely.
It is time to end the absurd litany of a system that so hypocritically prides and preens itself of having lifted half the world out of poverty, and out of every concept of dignity and culture. Time for a bonfire of the Candy-ed, Salmond-farmed Trumperies of grotesquely misnamed Qatari sovereign wealth, and the prostitution of be-Fostered ‘starchitects’ littering the face of the planet with one Ozymandias tower after another, the Gherkins, the Bananas and the whole naturally ventilated green-grocery of vanity. Time to end the Jobs-worth progression of oh-so-purely-designed electronic frippery, 4 succeeded by 5, 5 by 6, to the Seventh Seal of cadaverous consumer approval. So that the worm infested apple of our consumer knowledge leads us beckoningly out of Eden, hand in hand with faltering steps and slow.
