For those of you puzzled by today’s title, a paragraph or three of explanation will arrive in due course with all the speed of an Amish buggy – slow but reliable.
But first, a word from our sponsor and an addendum from His ain folk:
The world belongs unto the Lord and all that it contains –
Except for the North West Highlands, which belong unto MacBraynes.
For those of you not familiar with this part of the world – or at least the bit that lies scattered like discarded orange peel north of my Atlantic domain, the reference is to the Caledonian MacBrayne ferry company which provides all the services from the Scottish mainland to the Hebrides. CalMac are the lifeline to places such as Islay, Jura, Barra, Lewis and a score of other scraps which the Creator turned out of the pockets of his jeans – but only after he’d emptied the celestial washing machine for yea, He was An Man, and men are made to do these things, yanno.
Now the above wee verse is a vairy guid reminder till ye all (must stop this mock Hieland tongue nonsense) that earthly powers are transitory, as fleeting as those blessed dawn moments before the Wagnerian chorus of delivery vans, avian racketeers and the well-intentioned roofers next door with their tile cutter at 6.30 a m. Bless them.
And they came to mind the other day when I heard the latest in a litany of so-called professionals warn the new British government that any cuts in “their” budgets would result in varying forms of the apocalypse. To wit: lack of policemen on the beat (that caused many a wry laugh in Engerland, I can tell you, where coppers on the hoof are as rare as wildebeest in the Arctic); uneducated children (so wot’s new?) and, best of all, prioritised medical services.
Followed, no doubt, by plagues of frogs, locusts and witless contestants from any country that is foolish enough to imagine that it has a talent for anything but utterly vapid game shows.
But the highlight of the morning was the comment from some “high heidyin” in the British Medical Association (in other words, a qualified Druid) that doctors “were now consulting intensively with their local health authorities and even with their patients.”
“Even with their patients”. Oh God, how the powerful have fallen. “Look on my docs, ye mighty, and despair.” That the once great and august institution which cares for the medical profession in this sceptred isle should be reduced to actually listening to its ultimate fundraisers and long-suffering clientele, for whom the medical practitioners have sacrificed so many years of education (like none of the rest of us actually graduated, y’understand) and for whom they work such long hours for so little reward (average General Practitioner salary 2009 approx. £100,000 minimum). ‘Twould make a grown man weep.
To which I say in all sympathy: Ya muppets.
And I say it with equal sincerity – with almost as much heart and passion as the great and good Mr Albert Gore – to all the fellow publicly-funded bleaters whose spokespeople have so enriched our airwaves since the former Labour Chief Secretary of the Treasury left his successor a jocular billet doux, which read: “Sorry there’s no money left. We spent it all.”
For the benefit of the aforesaid heart-wrenchingly impassioned spokesmen, I have a simple message, so eloquently expressed in another Scots ballad of former times. As the line from ‘The Ballad of Sir Patrick Spens’ has it”:
“Ye lie, ye lie, ye liars loud/Fu’ loud I hear ye lie.”
And herein lies the title of this piece. For the grim reaper of fiscal austerity is sweeping the land like the Black Death and those who seek to impute that a spell of minding the pennies might be the end of civilisation are having to face the wrath of those who have been fed half-truths for way, way too long.
Time for an end of the “essential” conferences and congresses which so enliven many a “profession” – as in “the world’s oldest”, y’unnerstan. Time to quit the grasping at all the latest conveniences which make administration so expensive. How many schools have you visited where the office has every latest p c and gizmo and the classrooms have chalk and blackboards? In how many hospitals have you languished in A&E for hours or days while the “management” issue yet more directives in the manner of the late, unlamented Kommisariat?
Visited any local, regional or national assemblies, congresses or parliaments where the pols worked for the minimum wage? Thought not.
Methinks the time has come – as various would-be government censors are discovering to their cost – that us peasants have maybe had enough of self-serving “professionals”. I’m not for Wat Tyler nor Robespierre – nor even the Tea Parties – but I think that the day may have arrived when those who can justify neither the style nor the alleged substance of their so-called professions may be looking very nervously over their shoulders.
The peasants are not revolting – yet – but they are well educated, literate and in touch with one another in a way which should make the Ancien Regime afraid for their diaphanous “authority.”
Very afraid.
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