by This morning I thought, jeez, everything is turning to shit, isn’t it? I’ve got a cat that might never like me, two books that might never get off my hard drive, and parents who might never make it out of New Zealand. I plucked up the courage to call the woman from the publishers-in-name-only on WhatsApp. She was in a car, on the way to Peciu Nou she said, as if her destination was of vital importance. (I’ve been there. It’s a half-hour drive from here.) Call back this afternoon, she said. She couldn’t hear me at all. At half-four, between lessons, I called her back. Our seven-minute call, which she ended rather impolitely, was at least somewhat encouraging. I was more insistent this time. Yes, we’ll meet up again at some time yet to be determined. Yes, your book will actually happen. Now bugger off. She didn’t say the last bit but she implied it.
The German elections took place yesterday. It looks like they’ll have a Chancellor Merz. The extreme-right AfD did well. But at this point, all talk of left or right is by the by. There’s a dangerous piece of shit in the White House who is taking a sledgehammer to democracy in the US and elsewhere. It’s a real shame he wasn’t taken out last summer. If only the golf guy could have done it. The piece of orange crap, aided by the giga-turd who owns Tesla, will further empower Putin and tear Europe apart, unless we in Europe stand up to him. If Europe’s biggest economy elects someone who can do that, I couldn’t give a damn where on the political spectrum he comes from. European solidarity will be absolutely vital and we need to act fast. My fear is that Europeans won’t accept being materially poorer, which is probably what it will take. I certainly would, but I can be content with very little. (That’s one thing I loved about Covid, especially the early days of the pandemic. Consumption, and expectations, went way way down.) Oh, and of course, I’m pretty damn close to the front line where I am.
Everyone needs to stop theorising and philosophising about the orange turd. There’s nothing there. No master plan. No depth. Basically no thought. He’s just an egomaniac who enjoys hurting other people. That’s all there is. Sure, write books to your heart’s content about how modern society has enabled him to get to where he has, because that’s actually worth exploring, but don’t bother writing about him.
No more news from Mum. She’s got a scan on 11th March.
