The revolutioary Miliband brothers and me

I take my cues directly from God. On a Sunday, apart from reading the papers and watching highlights of the football, I don’t do anything. There’s no shame in this, unless you’re unemployed and part of the feckless poor in which case every day is Sunday and, according to Cameronian conventional wisdom, you should be led to the stocks and pilloried with the left-over fruit of the rich man’s banquet. Some are born great. Some achieve greatness. And some have greatness thrust upon them. Methinks of an ill wind and the latter for the Thatcher clones. I find to my great delight that Miliband’s pater held revolutionary Marxist doctrines that poor people that great engine that fed the industrial revolution (indeed any revolution) should be not be shredded like discarded cardboard packaging, but helped to find a suitable role in a just society. This is a revolution too far. That great bull-horn the Mail that is owned by a trust that is owned by another trust that is owned by another trust that we can surely trust because they reside in a little known part of our once great empire called Bermuda which understands, quite rightly, that rich people should pay no tax, because that is what God created poor people for, shouts loudest that Miiband senior is a traitor to our glorious empire. The sins of the father, of course, fall on the sons. Both support that revolutionary party called Labour, whose dire threats of more of the same has the rich 1% who own just about everything and everyone, including that semaphore of righteousness the Mail,  threatening to leave and invade another small country and bankrupt them too. We repent Sir on bended knee! We repent. We repent.