Tribes

Not sure if it’s because I was forgetting to take my Vitamin D or what, but I’ve been feeling a bit low.  Suddenly it’s 2.30pm and your tea’s gone cold, type of low.  I unfollowed Chalice Well on Facebook.  Some of the comments were just lunacy.  That particular victim-martyr kind of lunacy that drains good energy like a black hole.  I’m sure there were always people like that in the world, they just didn’t’ have social media, so only their families and unfortunates stuck behind them in a queue at the butcher’s shop had to thole them.  I disagree with what happened, but those bleating, soggy souls are most definitely not my tribe.

This morning, in the mail, I received a leaflet from some politician, didn’t read it, recycled before you could say ‘waste of money’.  An enveloped letter from The Rt Hon. the Baroness Davidson of Lundin Links herself, and a second enveloped letter from that little squint (my opinion), Douglas Ross (aka three jobs).  School prefects have more gravitas. 

Both letters scare-mongering about the SNP ‘getting in’.  Which is likely, given Ross’ jiggery-pokery aiming to cuckoo himself into the current incumbent’s seat in the House, while said incumbent is in hospital. 

Which tribe?  They are all savages. 

Am no longer wondering why I was feeling low, and imagine quite a lot of the country is feeling the same. 

Looking back through my life, I seem to have mostly chosen ‘no tribe’.  Wouldn’t be surprised if I ended up in a cottage in the woods like Baba Yaga.  I don’t’ fancy a cottage that has chicken legs though.  My cottage will have Sean Connery legs, circa1962, paddling, on white sands, in ‘Dr No’. 

And a doorbell chime of him singing ‘Underneath the Mango Tree’.

Am feeling quite cheered up.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ancLNt7mUQE

Credit: ‘Dr No’ 1962 Dir T. Young