These guys never wing it, especially if they are after your sandwich or bag of chips.
I refuse to belong to either the right or left wings of politics or anything else. For stable flight, both wings are needed, and any aeronaut, or seagull, will tell you that.
The job of politicians is to serve all those human beings who have placed all their trust in them. It is not their job to pursue some ideological crusade vicariously. SERVICE is their one and only job.
This post is no political manifesto. It is a simple statement of the principles which must underlie all matters pertaining to the running of a community, whether that be a neighbourhood, parish, town, county, or nation.
Once upon a time, everyone was a cave-person. Life was certainly more simple then. There were no mortgages, income tax, or bills to pay. Everyday life was almost fully consumed with providing the essentials of life for the very next day, and no further. Food, water, shelter, and care for children-the vectors of the race’s future were the only priorities. Medical care was very primitive, and life expectancy was rarely beyond the age of 40. Compared with today’s modern cushy lifestyles, it was a bit grim, but it was all they had. Amazingly enough, it must have been a successful way of life, because we are all here today as a testament to our forebears in the caves.
Wrong image: not forebears, not four bears, only two bears, duh!
“So how were all these people governed?” I hear the managers and politicians of today asking, in fear for their jobs. The simple answer is that they governed one another in a dynamically changing fashion. On Tuesday the tribe were all short of food, so the jocks would set out and bring home some mammoth for the bbq. On Wednesday, everyone fell ill and the natural healers amongst the tribe would sally forth and do what they could.
By Thursday evening, everyone’s sore guts would be getting better, but then everyone became very bored and twitchy. Behold: the tribe’s jokers and artistes would come to the rescue. One stand-up cavemen may have stood up in front of the others and said something like this:
Some of my fellow tribes-people may think I am selfish and not compassionate, and very un-tribal,
–but that’s enough about them!
I can picture the tribe falling about laughing at the witticism.
In the background were the artistic sorts of cave-people who were busy besmirching the walls of the cave with natural pigments, for in those days, there was nothing unnatural, except laughter. They were trying to depict the rapidly evolving scene but probably failed to keep up. They could always manage a few still shots depicting this dramatic hunt or that, which would satisfy the jocks and everyone else.
At the end of the recreations, everyone would retire to their beds to sleep, except those who would tend the fire at the mouth of the cave which kept all the hostile beasties at bay.
And then there was evening and then there was morning, and the cycle resumed again.
Oh dear, I appear to have started another thread of thought, which must be continued eventually. Alas, in my dotage, I seem better equipped for wool-gathering than spinning and weaving. Please pray for me, Thank you.