Day 29, evening

Short of a vehicle today.

Walking the streets has some benefits.

 

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There are capital letter Socialists, but the Giant Esses are something else again.

These are the ones who cannot admit that she must go. They voted for her, and they're diehards.
They can't bear the thought of putting this right. It would hurt.
They clam up.
They look the other way.
They pretend not to see me.

If you voted for her, you are downright obliged to sing with me!

They don't want to see me, but their mouths are still open, asking for trouble.

Shut your mouth for a change, and sing with me. You owe me this!

Some are even worse.
This kind cannot admit that National has been long term spineless regarding communist creep and is now as authoritarian streaked as Labour.
These National diehards are Gloriavalian shepherds. Their friends are the higher order cult members - the ones who get the best food and are allowed to go into town.

(A lower order Gloriavalian is what I used to be. I understand.)

These National cult artists are zms, and their wives are content enough with retail therapy.
They defo won't sing with me.
Hey team, I reckon we have more chance with the Giant Esses.

The competition is raging.
Who has the greatest sense of humour?

I'm getting better at being belligerent to Giant Esses, but I'm ashamed to say that I still feel a bit undone fronting up to Gloriavalian shepherds.

There's a line in the nation.

Divisiveness - here we come!
Glorious fun!!

Giant Esses - you know who you are.
Can't you see all the normal 'S's hopping over?
You could be left out!

 

Gloriavalian shepherds - God knows who you are. You really like that don't you. 

You'll never sing with little wee me.

I like knowing who I am for myself and I am unashamed to sing alone.