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Vanity and vexation of spirit
Went to mail my tax rebate forms, heading towards the box on Christie when I think, Hey, you're going to Loblaws and walking right past that semi-postal outlet, go there instead. So I do, and wait five minutes outside because it's only one person at a time. Walk in, waving my envelope and heading for the mail slot, only to be told they don't take *mail* now. Guys, you gonna be Fedex only, call yourselves a Fedex outlet, and don't have flipping mail slots.
Whatever. Go to pharmacy in Loblaws with a ziplock bag of old meds to be disposed of, only to be told you have to take the labels off the prescription ones. Since when, guy? Why do they keep changing the rules on me?
Get a copy of the surgeon's report to my doctor. *He* says discharge the day after surgery to a rehab place. OK, fine, whatever. We play this one by ear. All things being equal, I probably don't want to be in a hospital any longer than necessary, especially as they now do co-ed rooms for space reasons. But yes I need a 'co-pilot' to assist with my transfers, including filling prescriptions at the in-hospital drugstore with its 'expect an hour's wait.'
Insult to injury, the assistant's report begins "Ms. Johnson is a very pleasant 71-year-old lady..." Oh bunny, bunny. Know you not that I am a Boomer? Boomers are never ladies. And though I know intellectually that I'm 71, I hold it not honesty to have it thus set down in stark black and white. My generation invented that river in Egypt, after all.
Was googling about for the text of Kipling's Our Fathers of Old, which I am ear-wormed with, if one can be ear-wormed by a poem. Amongst the google results was a blog entry from ten years ago. Blogger quotes the poem someone sent her anent a previous blog entry, which I click to, and discover a threnody to Louis XVI, martyred on this day by the barbarous French who still celebrate the bloody uprising that led to the fall of the Bastille and the rape and rampage that followed, and never think of commemorating the murder of so gracious a sovereign as Louis blah blah blah. And as I'm thinking, 'Bunny, do you remember who set the precedent for chopping royal heads off?', I finally register that this isn't a blog, it's a Daily Mail opinion piece. At which I felt an overwhelming need for a shower. It really is a vile demented rag. I knew that, again intellectally, but had never seen the nastiness this close to.
Whatever. Go to pharmacy in Loblaws with a ziplock bag of old meds to be disposed of, only to be told you have to take the labels off the prescription ones. Since when, guy? Why do they keep changing the rules on me?
Get a copy of the surgeon's report to my doctor. *He* says discharge the day after surgery to a rehab place. OK, fine, whatever. We play this one by ear. All things being equal, I probably don't want to be in a hospital any longer than necessary, especially as they now do co-ed rooms for space reasons. But yes I need a 'co-pilot' to assist with my transfers, including filling prescriptions at the in-hospital drugstore with its 'expect an hour's wait.'
Insult to injury, the assistant's report begins "Ms. Johnson is a very pleasant 71-year-old lady..." Oh bunny, bunny. Know you not that I am a Boomer? Boomers are never ladies. And though I know intellectually that I'm 71, I hold it not honesty to have it thus set down in stark black and white. My generation invented that river in Egypt, after all.
Was googling about for the text of Kipling's Our Fathers of Old, which I am ear-wormed with, if one can be ear-wormed by a poem. Amongst the google results was a blog entry from ten years ago. Blogger quotes the poem someone sent her anent a previous blog entry, which I click to, and discover a threnody to Louis XVI, martyred on this day by the barbarous French who still celebrate the bloody uprising that led to the fall of the Bastille and the rape and rampage that followed, and never think of commemorating the murder of so gracious a sovereign as Louis blah blah blah. And as I'm thinking, 'Bunny, do you remember who set the precedent for chopping royal heads off?', I finally register that this isn't a blog, it's a Daily Mail opinion piece. At which I felt an overwhelming need for a shower. It really is a vile demented rag. I knew that, again intellectally, but had never seen the nastiness this close to.
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I'd be amazed that anyone could take the Daily Fail seriously- it belongs with News of the World in my experience, supposing NotW is still around- but then I read the comments section of you name it, even here, and dear god yes. Bigots ye have always with you.
A la lanterne! But no. Your politicians- certain of your politicians-- the most deplorable of your politicians- seem to be teflon coated.
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The Telegraph (or Torygraph, as some call it) is the polite version of the Daily Mail and the NotW, only in larger format and with more elegant writing. Still the same poison behind it.
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There's already been inconveniences at your end. Evidently they haven't been deep enough or long enough or widespread enough to affect the Tories, especially in this 'the devil you know' pandemic. Maybe if they get worse...
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I'm sure some friend of Boris's or Priti's will come through with test tubes, for a proper consideration.