On the drive to my penance this morning, I clocked a big container lorry with Zagreb, Croatia on the side. The consideration to stow away and become an “economic migrant” swelled up inside of me. It was a brief moment of clarity before I just headed on down the road to heck as usual. Two weeks from today, this country will go to the polls and elect a new government. Probably quite an important activity but nobody gives a flying one. The Nation couldn’t be more resigned to what appears to be its fate supposing our collective existence depended on it. It’s a bad sign when the Sean Connery voicetrack for the pathetic SNP infomercial sounds like a Connery impersonator but is indeed the man himself.
What its gonna take to rattle cages and instill some real useful change within society is anybody’s guess. I have no answers but harbour a deep urge for something, anything to happen that will buck people up. This country that I reside in is a total joke, both the UK as a (w)hole and Scotland’s mythical status as the land of hot and cold running haggis. There’s supposed to be a “czar” for music being appointed up here in Kiltland. Cue scratching of heads…
