He's not the Messiah

Amusing article on the Guardian site (now there's a rare statement) regarding Raj Patel, an academic and author who has unexpectedly found himself regarded as the saviour (or, for our American readers, "savior") of the world.


Apparently Mr Patel is an emanation of the Maritreya, a representative of the Space Brothers of Venus.
Leaving aside the possibility that the Space Brothers are just the latest manifestation of a long line of fraudulent Messiahs, which include the Kray Twins, the Chemical Brothers, Steptoe & Son, Sister Sledge and the Lighthouse Family, I just want to suggest this.


If the Space Brothers are so keen to save our earth wouldn't it be responsible of them to get their own house in order first?  After all, Venus is hardly the type of place we would look if we wanted to know how to deal with runaway climate change, is it?  Why beholdest thou the CO2 in thy Space Brother's eye, but considerest not the gaseous sulphuric acid in thine own eye?


Or perhaps - given that the Space Brothers clearly switched too many lights on when Venus Day came round, perhaps they've got the wrong saviour?  Maybe he that is least among cartoonists will be greatest in the Kingdom of Venus?

Weather Warning

As we move from Equinox towards Solstice, the warnings of the season's first gales are upon us.  A shame, as the planned tea-light float is probably off.  And Hnaef's latest attempt to tight-rope walk over the Orchard.  And the balloon flight.  And the outdoor badminton tournament.  And the "who can stand on the Trilithon the longest" competition that Young Keith's organised.  Although I always had my doubts about that one.  I just don't think pelting the person on the Trilithon with wet sponges to knock them off showed true reverence for a holy artefact.

Yet it left me pondering on - on what?  A dichotomy?  A paradox?  An ambiguity?  Or something else indicating a sense of one thing, and yet a slightly different thing.  The way that the gentle trickle of a stream can  rise to something that floods a town the size of Waterbeach (although let's be honest, if you move to Waterbeach without wondering why it's got that name you're not really Mrs Lateral Thinker, are you).  The way that the flames that gently warm the hearts of beast and Beaker Person, can burn the Moot House down.  The way that a gentle breeze can cool and refresh, yet a howling gale can bring a chimney down on your conservatory.  And the way that a dove's gentle cooing brings comfort, nostalgia and gladness to the human soul.  Yet park your car under a tree and your windscreen suffers.

Truly the spirit moves as it wills, and we are in turns heartened and left to run screaming for cover.  I feel the need for a lime tisane.