Day of Days

Sometimes days blur into one another. My work sometimes creates this phenomena. A few weeks ago when there was a death in the company we all pulled together to ensure we attributed the issue to the deceased. Last week was his funeral, his body was returned from New Zealand a week prior and had to go through HMRC to make sure there were no Kalashnikovs, Semtax or Walthers hidden in the coffin.

I wish HMRC were more vigilant with Tory millionaire unpaid taxes, we wouldn’t have a national debt if they all paid up, there would be no austerity and Cameron wouldn’t have such a condescending, smug look on his scrubbed choirboy face.

Then my Dad has a problem, the same day as the funeral, set off we think by an infection. I’ve since spent several hours travelling to, staying in and traveling back from hospitals with my wife, who has been the rock I really needed at this time.

I missed the rugby, I’ve seen a couple of second halves and last night ate a whole 74% chocolate bar and drank almost a whole bottle of white Loire wine. Astrid had a glass.

Everything is calm now, we are home, my dad is having the appropriate treatment from the angels of the NHS, both which you will lose of you vote Tory, UKIP or LibDem. Or even Green if you want to know the truth. Their policies are unsustainable unless taxes go up 15% and seeing as only working and poor people pay tax the working and poor people will still be funding the lifestyles of the millionaires, who won’t be paying any tax. So vote Labour.

And of you don’t like Labour, ask yourself why not? Is it because you judge how someone looks above what they say? Is it because you think you are above voting Labour? Think again. Is it because of the unions? What unions?
And ask yourself if you would like life as a pensioner without:
free prescriptions
free TV licences
free bus passes
and being forced to pay bedroom tax. All you’ve ever worked for will go on health insurance, drugs to keep you alive and a tax on a spare bedroom because the house you worked your fingers to the bone to make nice has a bedroom that some shiny arse in Govt. has decided you don’t need. Unless you move to a smaller rented house, you will need to pay a tax on a tiny room to keep your suitcase in or spare bed in case your son/daughter has to stay the night when you’re ill.
As for UKIP, ha ha, what a joke. Farage has told his PPCs (Prospective Parliamentary Candidates) not to make comments on social media. This is because many of them have made racist comments, so obviously they want to keep the fact that most of their candidates are racists under their hats in case they will, at which time it will obviously be okay to call black people names.

Please think before you vote because your kids will have to pick up YOUR tab if you screw it up.




  1. As always…Excelllent post, Mick! Hope your dad is soon fully restored to good health. Let’s hope the Electorate start ‘Thinking’….We dare not become more deprived than we are now….:roll:


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