Things what I wish I'd wrote

The big news story yesterday was Health Secretary Matt Hancock being caught in a romantic, nay, seedy clinch with his special adviser. We can only imagine what she’s been advising him on. Actually. No. I’d rather not imagine anything. Only so much upset my NSAID-addled tummy can take.

Not unexpectedly, loads-a funnies immediately appeared on social media and in news reports. I suppose because if we didn’t laugh we’d cry, rage, spit, and assassinate the hypocrite who ordered the rest of us to keep apart and not to embrace or he’d slap us with a disproportionate fine. Dan Wootton for the Daily Mail put it best when he said:

 “At a time when you would hope his mind was on getting the UK out of a catastrophic pandemic and brutal lockdowns, Hancock was thinking of the latter half of his last name.” 

Hypocrisy, holiday blues and home truths

There are two accusations sometimes levelled against me, no matter how politely put or well-meaning, that trigger a toy-throwing episode. One is that I’m a hypocrite; the other is that I don’t know what I’m talking about.

I do admit to lots of other character flaws, so please pick on one of those rather than those I don’t have simply because you haven’t fully understood my words / actions in various contexts. An obvious example of a flaw of mine, you might have guessed, is that I’m intolerant of criticism; more accurately, I’m intolerant of unfounded or unconstructive criticism, but I do tend to split hairs, which is another flaw.