But Fruit Flies Like A Banana

Normally, around this time of the evening, I notice the light levels are dropping and contemplate the fact that, soon, it will reach the stage whereby I think to myself

“I don’t really want to turn the light on now … it’s not really that dark yet … and it’s not good for my electricity bill … or the environment … and I can probably wait a bit longer … but, on the other hand, it’s not good for my eyesight either … and I’ll probably live longer than I’m anticipating because … although I’ve lived my life like I were immortal and invulnerable and, so, didn’t worry about getting old … because I figured I wasn’t going to live that long because my hubris would result in a tragically avoidable death at an early age … I turned out to be more resilient than even I anticipated and … despite my best efforts and a few close calls … I somehow haven’t managed to kill myself … and I should maybe start thinking about this kind of thing now … because what’s more important, a few pence on my electricity bill or my eyesight?”

And shortly after that, it’s time to … grudgingly … turn the light on because, ironically, whilst I can’t see the keyboard I’m typing on, the neighbours can see my face illuminated by the glow of the monitor — and neither of us wants that.

Or, rather, normally about an hour ago.

Because, overnight, the clocks went forward, didn’t they?

But I didn’t know that, did I?

Because I don’t watch T.V.

Or listen to the radio.

It’s just ̶r̶e̶p̶e̶a̶t̶s̶ ‘another chance to see’ and inane prattle that drives me to distraction.

And none of my so-called family or friends thought to call or message me either.

So I got caught out, didn’t I?

I looked at the light levels, thought about how I’d soon have to think about turning the light on, even though I didn’t really want to, because, you know, the environment … but, you know, my eyes … looked at the clock and thought

“It’s very light for this time of the evening … the nights must be getting shorter … erm … hang on … what time is it again?”

And then I looked at the clock that isn’t connected to the Information Super Drainage Conduit and hadn’t automatically adjusted itself and realised that … really … it’s not now at all but an hour ago and some b@$tard has stolen an hour of my life!

And why have I lost an hour of my life?

Who has stolen it from me?

Farmers … that’s who.

I hate farmers.

We pay … sorry, subsidise … them for not growing stuff.

I’m not quite sure how the protection racket works exactly …

“Pay me off or I’ll grow so much stuff I have to lower my prices in order to offset the cost of storing it!”

Doesn’t seem much of a threat to me.

And I thought the whole point of a free market, in which competition drives down prices to the benefit of the so-called consumer, was the ideal for which we are all supposed to strive anyway.

Perhaps it’s that other farmers will start burning their fields and/or poisoning their livestock if one of them starts offering their produce at lower prices.

Perhaps they’re all in it together …

“Pay us off or we’ll all burn all our produce/livestock.”

I dunno, but, given that we can’t live without food, they seem to have us over a barrel, since we pay them for what they produce … and for what they don’t.

Never mind Jewish, Bolshevik Banking conspiracies … the Illuminati … the New World Order … or any other half-witted nonsense spouted by credulous simpletons …

Farmers … that’s the secret cabal pulling the World’s strings!


Possibly, anyway.

Well, okay, probably not … but that doesn’t mean they aren’t — just that I can’t prove there isn’t a Worldwide conspiracy of cider drinking, tractor driving landowners ¹.

Either way around, in the autumn they steal an hour of our daylight.

To make up for it though, in the spring they steal an hour of our sleep!

Farmers … the b@$tards are up to something!

¹ Which just goes to show how closely entwined it is into the power structures … how deeply embedded — it’s so secret that nobody learns about it and lives to tell the tale! ²

² If you don’t hear from me again, you’ll know I’ve been fed to the pigs — literally fed to pigs … not the Police.



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Where Angels Fear

Where Angels Fear


There he goes. One of God's own prototypes. A high-powered mutant of some kind never even considered for mass production. Too weird to live and too rare to die.