escape from the planet of the jackanapes

The noble Heelers orders a cup of tea, receives it, and goes to a seat in the corner of an otherwise empty cafe.

There are no women to ogle, presumably because the vaccine has killed them all.

Of course a gamin young gauleiter on the staff follows me to my table.

"Are you sitting in?" she asks as I sit in.

"No, I'm just testing the law," I answer flashing my broth of a boy grin.

"May I see your.."

"It's okay. I'll sit outside."

Well she was hardly going to say mickey.

I'm still old school enough bold readers to refuse to discuss my personal health with young women or indeed anyone else.

In a non Nazi country no one would expect us to show something so arcane as a vaccine passport in order to sit in a cafe.

Later I wander into a church where there is silent adoration of the real presence of Jesus.

There too I flash my broth of a boy grin to the assembly.

One woman stirs frantically and begins touching her mouth.

I am a bit nonplussed.

She is defnitely waving to me and definitely jabbing her hand repeatedly towards her mouth.

How very odd.

Perhaps she's thirsty.

Perhaps I make her feel like throwing up.

Realisation dawns.

She's attempting to silently tell me to put on a face mask.

Well we can test the law a bit here too.

Quite deliberately I turn my back on her and sit down to linger in the real presence.

Three traveller children peer in the door and whisper characterfully to each other.

One of them is in a wheelchair.

The children are whispering but I have quite acuitive hearing and can hear every single thing they say.

They are discussing the appearance of those of us sitting in the church, our looks and style of dress and so on.

They are no respecters of foibles.

I find this absolutely hilarious.

The facemask woman stands up and walks over to them.

I'm thinking of the Lord's one liner: "Let the children come to me."

They certainly brighten up the place.

In short order, Facemask runs them.

Lack of a facemask is apparently tantamount to lack of a soul.

My meditation is now laced with a certain ruefulness.

I'm thinking: "If she's got her confidence up after her victory over the traveller children, she might now be inclined to tackle me more directly."

But she returns to her seat without looking left or right.

Another woman radiating attitude, marches to the door and wedges it open.

This seems rum behaviour because an Autumnal breeze is blowing outside with a promise of winter in it.

There's more chance of getting the Flu from that breeze, thinks I, than of getting it from me but the woman seems to want to take her chances with the breeze.

I suppose the breeze is more trustworthy because the breeze has never defied the government.

Presently I betake myself from the church to the lakes.

A little old lady walks up.

She knows me.

"I've got another copy of the Irish Light for you," she says conspiratorially.

"You know I won't have it about the place because its editor has anti Jewish material on her website," I say.

"Well I have one for you if you'll read it."

Temptation.

It would be so refreshing to read a few articles opposing the vaccines.

I accept a copy of the Irish Light.

True enough there are some articles in it which convey an important critique of the present government induced Flu hysteria.

There are some other articles which are kooky enough even by my standards, including one where an English doctor appears to be claiming that there is  no proof that viruses cause any illness.

Right at the back of the newspaper I come to an article by the editor Gemma O'Doherty herself.

It contains a personal assertion from Gemma O'Doherty that "globalists" have found a way to control the weather and are staging catastrophic weather events to terrorise the public into accepting increasing limitations on personal freedom.

Why would she say such a thing?

Could she be what we call in Ireland, a bitteen touched?

Or are there people on both sides of the discussion regarding the climate change fooboon actually trying to promote chaos in service to evil?

I fold up The Irish Light and watched by an approving group of swans and ducks, I place it respectfully in the bin.

That was issue four of the new newspaper.

There will be no issue five.

Everyone in the world is mad except me.