Under A Fading Star

[poliphilo]

All the still-extant British Prime Ministers- from Major to May- were lined up yesterday, sitting in the front seats at the memorial service for someone you and I have never heard of- a civil servant, one of our secret rulers- and it was like they'd been hoiked out of storage and no-one had thought to dust them down before putting them on show.

Even Cameron is looking a little the worse for wear and as for Gordon Brown...

Question: What is all that grey stuff?

Answer: It's the ashes of burned through privilege and power.

And now I've got Eliot running through my head.

"Our dried voices, when
We whisper together
Are quiet and meaningless
As wind in dry grass
Or rats' feet over broken glass
In our dry cellar."

This is the company Johnson and Hunt are fighting to join- a freemasonry of the unfondly-remembered, seen-through, disrespected and no-longer-listened-to. Did either of them see the pictures and think, "That'll be me in a few years time."?

Comments

[poliphilo]

There was a curious synchronicity to this public exhibition of all the old waxworks occurring on the day the pretenders to their office were cut down to two.