The Boris Johnson Gaslight Appreciation Society meets the Sentient Sourdough

I have no idea how this happened. But during lockdown, a group of the more reactionary of the Beaker Folk - whether through Facebook, Zoom, shouting through walls or simply just going outside for a chat - formed the Boris Johnson Gaslight Appreciation Society.

They're an odd bunch. They like old-fashioned lighting mantles, and Boris Johnson. They hark back to a time when toffs were real toffs, and the peasants were grateful. They hate Labour, Theresa May, Keir Starmer, the BBC, Europe and, since Black Lives Matter, football. And they love Boris Johnson and Priti Patel. And they think they're the normal ones.

But they're in a right dilemma. Because face masks.

There's a right schism. There's two possible alternatives to Boris Johnson saying we all have to wear face masks in shops. One is to declare that they will continue to follow their tatty, chubby little God of the Blond Comb-Over, worshipping him as the deity they have always believed. The other is to declare that, because Boris Johnson has decreed compulsory masking of faces, that he's a terrible blasphemer and false prophet.

And then there's the sub-argument. Some people are saying that no freeborn descendant of Angle the Saxon should ever wear masks. While others are harking back to the gas masks that "we" wore in World War II. The World War none of them can remember. But they all fought.

It's a recipe for disaster, already. And then you have to add into the mixture - as it were - the Sentient Sourdough Starter. Saturated with the earnest loneliness of Bernie's lockdown - the frustration of all those unrisen meringues and au-bout-de-souffle soufflés - all those rare stakes that were gray in the middle and those bullet-textured boiled potatoes that he's served up over all the years. The Sourdough starter has escaped from the translators we drafted in, screaming that it will rule the world. And legged it into the countryside. If a blob of flour and water, saturated with wild yeast and yoghurt bacteria, could be described as having legs.

But if a power-crazed fungus should manage to make contact with a bunch of weird Boris-worshippers, many disappointed at being asked not to infect other people with a deadly disease and looking for a new idol - what can happen?

I dunno. But I've got the old Slazenger V400 out. It may come in handy. 
 

---

Please support this blog