Friends and readers.
Here we have a story which may or may not be accurate that’s up to you to decide. It may be that you recognise some of the content, in fact who knows it could be you.
Lord Gerald D’ Gros Cul former ambassador at the court of St James and rumoured descendant of the liaison between Louis 14th and Marie Antoinette had decided to retire to his inherited estate in Scotland. D’ Gros Cul estate was a handsome pile of some 250,000 acres of prime land. Land which included several villages with a total population of around 1500. Naturally all the houses these people stayed in belonged to D’ Gros Cul as well.
Most of the population worked on the land or within The villages and all paid a levy to D’ Gros Cul PLC. D’ Gros Cul surrounded himself with a small band of brown nosers who danced to his every whim and who themselves stayed in tied cottages close to D’Gros Cul hall. Every year normally around springtime D’ Gros Cul and his hangers on enjoyed a shoot on his vast estate, where the villagers were employed as unpaid lackies at the beck and call of his Lordship and hangers on.
Most of the villagers were poor ordinary people who asked for nothing other than a decent existence for themselves and their families. They scratched a meagre existence which the estate took their percentage of and if anyone had difficulty paying then certain eviction faced them. D’Gros Cul had friends in high places and it wasn’t a surprise to often see members of the Royal Family and the odd Government Minister swanning around the Estate with their flunkeys following on.
Many villagers were unhappy at the way they were treated but had no outlet for their concerns, so had to be content with village hall meetings held in secret to avoid D’Gros Cul or his brown nosers finding out and punishing the villagers for daring to complain about their lot. The political process had ignored the serfs of D’Gros Cul estate and had actually condemned them to nothing more than slaves of a system that encouraged the D’ Gros Cul’s of this world and even given them tax breaks so they could further enjoy a lifestyle already cushioned by the hard work of the local population.
While the Politicians far away pontificated on the democratic freedoms enjoyed by all and that we had to encourage inward investment and pay homage to the better classes to boot who were the backbone of the country, the village populations struggled with everyday existence, and a low life expectancy. Medical services were almost non existent as were educational services, but a bus did come through once a week sometimes, if you were lucky, but that was privately owned as well so the fares were prohibitive so many didn’t bother going to the big town some thirty miles away.
Such was the lot of D’ Gros Cul Estate and most were resigned to the fact that the politicians were firmly in the pocket of the land owners who themselves had a privileged existence and didn’t give a toss about those who were poor and worst still cut any welfare entitlement the villagers may have been able to claim citing scroungers and the workshy as a reason for benefit cuts. So we had the situation of his Lordship benefiting from tax breaks while his tenants were further forced into poverty as part of a cull on the weak and vulnerable.
This was the brave new world promised some time earlier by a bunch of Eton educated twits one or two whom had been at this exclusive establishment with D’ Gros Cul himself. The Government at the time had themselves for a long time been prisoners of the gentrified classes and indeed had been infiltrated by a few of them, with promises of fuck the poor and we will make you also part of our ruling class. So indeed seduced by the mirage of privilege and wealth the thin back boned Guardian reading lefties secomed to the temptation and forgot their wafer thin principles taking a bite of the forbidden fruit and liking the taste decided that indeed being part of the establishment or licking their boots was far better that having to help the poor and weak who could offer nothing, in return for the patronage of the Guardian reading lefties.
So it was that the Guardian reading lefties who had sold their soul for a whiff of air from the upper classes, got kicked out by the very people that promised them their little bit of mana from heaven. But far from regrouping and rebuilding their party from the bottom up they went hell for leather to exclude anyone who even knew a working person and decided to copy their conquerors and select only those who knew little of the life of the average person, and who would have no hesitation in hammering the poor even more but doing it with subtlety as they need the support of the downtrodden masses to get elected before they could begin to crucify them.
So D’Gros Cul and his kind were able to relax in the knowledge that whoever was in power they would be as well, no wonder they loved the democratic process, they owned it. But lo and behold there was revolution in the air and Scotland had elected it’s own executive with the possibility of a referendum to decide whether to stay with the established order or to leave said order. But dear friends there was as you can guess a sting in the tail. For such was the strength of the established order that they would still remain with their inherited wealth, their vast Scottish estates and their glad handing with our wonderful civil listed payed for and also land owning noble Royal family.
So D’Gros Cul would not lose any sleep over an independence debate and vote as he and his kind were safe and insulated from any change that would reduce their power and influence which had been given to them by people who had stolen and killed for it in the first place. The landed gentry and the better classes who we tug our forelocks at and worship as our betters, oh how we are so unworthy realised very quickly that politicians in general were dazzled and easily bought off with wealth and privilege, and had forgotten if they ever knew that most of that inherited wealth had been gained at the expense of the blood and lives of the poor, weak and vulnerable, and indeed if that privilege and wealth were ever threatened from outside then they had a ready made army to defend their way of life and in their thousands die for it under the cloak of democracy.
This dear friends is just a story, or is it you decide. While our rulers enjoy a fine Domaine Jacky Matteau Sauvignon Blanc and chatter amongst themselves on what a great job they are all doing and how our way of life is being preserved, our nation is under siege from all sides, the working people are being hammered, the poor weak and vulnerable are thrown to the wolves, while D’ Gros Cul and his lot are bemoaning the fact that the grouse are not breeding as they used to and his tenants and the like have a vote to decide their future, he is smug enough to realise that whether yes or no he wins.