La France Insoumise!!!
By the time you read this, the Great Revolution of France should have taken place! And it was all hatched last night between Toby, my son, and the small, wrinkly woman with a shrill voice, called 'Katrine'... in my Conservatory!!! Katrine owns the little cafe up the road that sells Crêpes-Nutella... pancakes with chocolate-spread ....a very likely instigator of revolution... In my Conservatory... over wine and crisps... What a great honour!! They talked of restoring the rights of the Workers, and they sang along to revolutionary songs on the internet, from Cuba and Argentina... with such passion. They sneered at Capitalism, and talked of Equality among all people; houses for all, and equal shares of all wealth (Although Katrine let slip that she owns a Second Home in Dijon)
Old guillotines would have been wheeled-out in towns and villages across France; the Chief of Police, all the mayors, Civil Servants, politicians and company bosses will have been separated from their heads!
All the old factories will be opened-up again..; The great Candle factories so that The French can read at night; the factories stuffing horse-hair into mattresses; the factories making whale-bone corsets, and bows and arrows for the army, and the factories making lace-up boots for women and clogs for men... and the factories making pig's-bladder condoms, and factories making horse-drawn buses for the cities of France! What a glorious enterprise. The return of Leech-gatherers for the doctor, of blacksmiths and wheelwrights, and ladies at home spinning wool for 15 hours a day; the cobblers and clock-makers. They have already made a start in Moulins-Engilbert, where there is a prominent 'Horlogist' (clock-repairer) on the corner.
Then, we shall fortify the Trenches against the German hordes, rebuild the Maginot Line, and execute prostitute-spies! We shall be able to eat the animals of the Zoo... elephant-trunk steaks and giraffe thighs. We shall all go back to drinking wormwood absinthe (that kills in five years) and eating whales caught in the Seine. It will be a paradise. The brothels of Moulins will be reopened to give work to girls (actually, they never closed!)
I'm surprised that you are not hurrying down to join the Party... run by jean-Luc Melanchon (France Unbowed!) that promises this Worker paradise.
Meanwhile I crawled, red-eyes, into Moulins-Engilbert, to pay my taxes to the filthy, Capitalist pigs, and sat to eat a croissant and coffee in the sun, while my blood boiled with rage at the injustice done by the Idle Rich, - to the Workers all around me, with their ladders, and paints and tractors, and floury hands.
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Later
I am to go on holiday! And for a year!,
Toby tells me that he has put my name down for a one-year holiday in a North Korean Political Correctional Facility near Pong-ping-ping in the mountains! How excited am I! Apparently, I get up at four, and work till dusk, at which time I am allowed a small bowl of thin gruel, while I watch the improving video thoughts of Kim Jong Un, after which I get my daily flogging. I was a bit worried about having my fingernails pulled, but Toby says not to worry... they grow back in a year or two.
The holiday camp is at minus twenty, so I must remember to take a thick jumper, and I have been reassured that I will probably not miss cricket, and Countdown each afternoon. I do like cabbage, and so 120 hours a week picking them in the frost could be fun.
I am somewhat concerned about the electric shocks to my genitals, but I'm told it is about as offensive as a frog in my pants...so I am prepared for that. I shall be taking my English-Korean phrase book, so I can beg for mercy in their own language, and some presents for the guards...perhaps some whips and tooth-extractors, which, I am told, wear-out over time.
So there it is... a chance to lose weight, and get to know the extraordinary benefits of Communism.
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Toby tells me that he has put my name down for a one-year holiday in a North Korean Political Correctional Facility near Pong-ping-ping in the mountains! How excited am I! Apparently, I get up at four, and work till dusk, at which time I am allowed a small bowl of thin gruel, while I watch the improving video thoughts of Kim Jong Un, after which I get my daily flogging. I was a bit worried about having my fingernails pulled, but Toby says not to worry... they grow back in a year or two.
The holiday camp is at minus twenty, so I must remember to take a thick jumper, and I have been reassured that I will probably not miss cricket, and Countdown each afternoon. I do like cabbage, and so 120 hours a week picking them in the frost could be fun.
I am somewhat concerned about the electric shocks to my genitals, but I'm told it is about as offensive as a frog in my pants...so I am prepared for that. I shall be taking my English-Korean phrase book, so I can beg for mercy in their own language, and some presents for the guards...perhaps some whips and tooth-extractors, which, I am told, wear-out over time.
So there it is... a chance to lose weight, and get to know the extraordinary benefits of Communism.
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Later
I cannot tell you just how much fun I am having at Camp Desolation in Ping-Pong-Pung, North Korea!!!
First photo is of the welcoming committee playfully throwing tin-tacks upon the parade ground as three thousand of us gather bare-foot, to hear a stirring speech by the Commandant upon the joys of Communism... And to think (according to Toby) these blessings will shortly come to France! Sadly, they forgot to put porridge in our evening gruel, but I ate my scummy grey water with a spoon with lip-smacking signs of pleasure, as did all the others... And I have made my first friend... Watta- Dim-Sod, who got fifty years for forgetting to bow to the ninety-foot statue of Our Great Leader, as he passed in a blizzard carrying a hundred-weight of cabbage on his back from the fields the other night!
Second photo is of our jolly Camp Guard,Red-Eye-Loon, who fires his machine gun at us if we run to the fields of a morning without sufficient energy. What fun he is!
Third photo is of Mrs and Mr Bum-Spike, who sets out our punishment if we forget to praise our Dear Leader with sufficient sincerity. Mrs Bum-Spike has a collection of fingers, cut from all nationalities... Pleased to see such an interest in the outside world. She keeps talking of "Englis-Fingurs', whatever that is!
The fourth is the memorial, erected daily, to those who have died of hunger, thirst and over-work.
Must get some shut-eye now since I have to be up in ten minutes to imitate a morning cockerel, who might have been eaten...
Wish you were here...
George xx


