Daily Archives: February 20, 2021

‘Thick as Thieves’…


Big-Bee re-entered his bunker and appraised the scene.

“I nearly died,” he said taking in the piles of foolscap ‘sky-scrapering’ every available surface.

“There are now many who wish you had,” said Teigue-the-Fool, from behind one of the sky-scrapers.

“Treason is still punishable by death in this country you know,” said Big-Bee.

“So’s genocide,” replied Teigue, cheerfully.

“What is all this, anyway?” said Big-Bee.

“Evidence and affidavits,” said Teigue.

“Evidence of what?” said Big-Bee.

“Government incompetence, mainly,” said Teigue.

“Good job I’m back then,” said Big-Bee, “You’d better fill me in.”

“When asked why our death rate is the highest in Europe, one of your ministers claimed it was because we collect our data differently from other countries.”

“Bugger!” said Big-Bee, “That’s practically an admission of malfeasance.”

“Or an indication we’re less dishonest than the governments of other countries.”

“More honest, yes, I like that,” said Big-Bee.

“Except, when asked the same question another one of your ministers claimed our population was older and more obese than that of other European countries,” continued Teigue.

“Dammit, blaming the people for this mess is not necessarily the best way to go.”

“Nor particularly honest, either,” shrugged Teigue, “Italy has a far older population than we do, and you yourself have recently claimed that our ‘new variant strain’ is more deadly than the original infection.”

“Yes, I did didn’t I,” said Big-Bee puffing himself up, and then noticing Teigue’s expression, “Well, what of it?”

“That’s not how viruses work, sire.”

“What do you mean?”

“They mutate to ensure survival, not annihilation.”

“Who says so?”

“The science of Charles Darwin, says so.”

“Isn’t that Old-Science?” asked Big-Bee.

“Old but still current, sire,” replied Teigue with a weak smile.

“I nearly died,” said Big-Bee.

¬†“Yes, you said, sire,” said Teigue-the-Fool, and shook his rattle.

One of the paper sky-scrapers shuddered and slid slowly from its desk-top to the floor with a gut-wrenching ‘fallollop’…







Rule of Gelid Eels…


‘You need hands

to hold a little baby…’


‘A face to express

how much you care…’


‘Space to cross

and reach out to others…’


Deep in the bowels of the Dream Factory,

there was a sound of grinding

like unfound gears,

then a metallic clunk, and eventually,

after a long, slow, wheezing descent… silence.


Big Bee crawled from his bunker,

rested a shock of blonde hair on the kerb-stone,

and opened his mouth to gulp in fresh air…


A slither of green mucus fell into the gutter.