Rapid Response

  A tired idea, that the personal’s political And as every overworked drab of a phrase Will note, when they gather, for tea And a sympathetic hearing they say We’re a tired idea, but has anyone Ever asked   us? Kicking back, relaxing Sighing, melting into their seats Smiling tightly at each other Dreaming of a rest A little time off, some R&R And even the dullest, workaday truism Could come back sparkling, imagine Thinking yes, the personal Is political and then it follows That this is, in part, on you Think what could happen then When everyone realises They’re part of the world Pity the stock answers, sent shuffling Out time after time, to fall limply and miserably From whoever’ s fallen foul Of the news cycle this time, or Whichever poor sod answered his phone Imagine if let me be clear Meant let me be clear Imagine if learning lessons Meant learning lessons Imagine the world then

It's threat level three! It's threat level three! Hang out the flags It's threat level three! And now, as this isle of wonder unfurls itself before us we can do so much more than we could before, at threat level four when all was grimness and woe for at threat level three, well, we're as good as scot-free. So visit opticians, paint your plane blue buy a new bird-bath smile behind perspex start a small business sell soup to the needy pave over your garden get a divorce it's a world of possibility, at threat level three, your oyster or bivalve of your choice, yes, it's all about choice at threat level three for, you see, it's time to shop, if I may be serious. It's quite important that you do, and recognise the great job we've done and ignore, if you please the pile of corpses that relic of threat levels five, and four before, well, we'll let that lie there'll be no more at threat level three yo...

So how many questions do you need? we’ve asked the same ones for year after year and when new answers present themselves we retreat to the old ones, and lock the doors Colston was a new answer, ripped from history, consigned to mud and no-one could say he didn’t deserve it – but they tried The crush of the barricades, the wall of kettled reddening flesh, the arms thrown up stiffly plastic fascists, an identity for a day that’s an old answer, a stock answer the comfort of riots the condolences of despair the joy of deploring Grievance is different to grief a chance to be someone for a passing moment, the visceral instant, something in the blood grief is a constant, it’s part of who you are, it’s a thousand daily reminders the thing with notifications the call and response of diminishing returns the future shutting down for a lack of will to let it open up

What I'm really craving right now is a fish finger sandwich. I'm answering a question from that prick from the Guardian , but it's not what's at the forefront of my mind. I am saying Of course, we'll look carefully at this  but I'm thinking ketchup...and maybe a packet of crisps. There's a trick to this. We call it our Jedi Mind Trick, it's one of the first things you get sent to learn when you make Cabinet. Who's this now? Oh, Beth sodding Rigby well of course Beth you understand that with the R rate at varying levels ..no, it's true, there's a house just outside Witney, rather grand, and you're packed off there to learn the Jedi Mind Trick; the way to survive press conferences when you're truly in the shit, it's all gone completely tits up and yet you have to project the image that all is for the best in this best of all possible worlds, is she still talking?  perhaps this is one for you to answer Jenny. You  rock up there a...