The STEIGENBERGER!! of Leek

He got a mean-assed moustache and a moose pelt,

It’s fight murderer naturalist Teddy “They’re named after me ’cause I didn’t shoot a specific one of ’em” Roosevelt

That’s a real picture by the way. Kinda puts Barack HUSSEIN (I’m very political) Obama’s record of long pauses in speeches and flipping the most on-switches of murderous robots into perspective. I’m sure he’s great and all, but let’s ask ourselves, is he riding-a-moose great?

Okay, so it’s round and I dropped it. It’s the ball. The past few weeks got out of hand schedule-wise and I ended up adopting radio (bloggio?) silence for over a week. Entirely my bad but when I tell you my schedule, I think you’ll cut me slack.

After my last post I went straight to Brussels, to rock it out in the European Parliament. It really is a wild place. Tuesday is jelly day in the canteen. Lemon AND lime? Those motherfuckers just don’t quit. And if you like airport lobby style architecture from 1992, fogeddaboutit! Highlights included watching Nigel Farage wander about murmuring racial ephitets into his Chinese-made phone (he really was on his phone a lot), desperately wondering how the name you’ve heard is spelt (clue: more j’s than is at all reasonable) and trying to wash the label-glue from a wok in the bathroom so it could be filled with seal meat. I don’t have a normal job.

Our new fashion campaign. I wore the same brown trousers for 5 years. It’s not a normal job.

The following week I was off to the Frankfurt Airport Hotel STEIGENBERGER!! for the annual big fur thing. I’m not totally sure how it’s spelled, but all caps was definitely how I was saying it. Things the staff of the STEIGENBERGER!! like are allowing you to set you watch by their exactly once hourly chance of ordering a coffee, making sure there is a precise 5mm gap between the shower door and the wall to properly irrigate the hotel room carpets and showering the local population with endless (and peerless) slabs of veal. The annual big fur thing itself went well and without major problems. I chaired an international meeting of conservationists without any sprained ankles or similar booboos, learned of the secret power of the Estonian frat-boy and got another tantalising glance of the good life in the BA lounges. Bacon rolls and whiskey. No flight is worth leaving that room. I might still be there. You wouldn’t know.

After two mid-weeks on the road, I was all set for a relaxing weekend, rebalancing my chi, uncoloring my pee and washing my… knee. I didn’t have a third thing.

Instead it was dinner in London town with the folks, Indian to infinite. Quail kebabs, minced goat on brioche and something spicy that happened to a boar. Then onto Cardiff for the shouting-at-rugby festival!

The Irish team were rather up for it

All of this exertion left me in an exhausted and apparently weakened state as I have contracted a cold for the first time in 4 years. It is a certified bollocks. Coughing like Palestinian rock throwers under fire from IDF smoke bombs (I’m very political), a voice like a Barry White in bee form and my trademark roar-sneeze. It’s very dignified stuff.

Despite all of the events and travel, all of it went rather well, so I’m a bit short on moaner news. With that admitted to, I move my attention to a feeling I’ve had lately while glancing at American politics. To summarise, it’s a shamey feeling.

Let me explain. I am fighting a natural urge at this stage to take a large and cylindrically-formed TrumpDump. Did I just birth a hashtag? Entirely possible. A (#)TrumpDump is when someone goes on an anti-Trump rant. It’s pretty safe territory as almost everything he says is pure, reactor-grade bonkers.

But my guilt comes from looking directly at the auburn, malodourous solar eclipse of ego-shadowing democracy that he is. He is a dreadfulness, not the dreadfulness that America wants (likely a mix of crystal meth dyed with blue food colouring, thank you very much Vince Gilligan, and large mugs of carbonated sugar) but the dreadfulness it deserves. I’m a big fan of America in many regards. It’s kind of hard to poopoo a nation of 318 million and not be at least partially wrong. But at the vanguard of democracy they are given maximum opportunity to throw up on their “We’re #1” t-shirt. And that’s not even mentioning the vast platters of ribs.

America is just some bunch of jerks, no more or less so than I am a singular jerklet. They share an optimism (and coming from Ireland I can say, yes the U.S. is still an optimistic place) in their ability to transcend, but by allowing human brains to self-indulge by looking at the shiny thing they (and we) derelict on a duty to the societies (I prefer the term jerk-hives) in which we live. Paying attention to Trump is like racism. You know it’s dumb. You know it’s wrong. But the human brain is a real deadbeat and likes to take any shortcut it can, including and beyond generalising on the basis of what people look like.

So take your #TrumpDumps now, but be aware that paying attention to something so poisonous, irrelevant and crashing head-first into its own sell by date is like letting your brain do all that stuff you stop it from doing on the day to day because you know it’s real bad for you.

In my case it’s singing this every moment of the day

In other news, Meg and I are currently cutting a pathetic figure, eating half-meals and making daily trips to the pharmacy, accruing enough assorted pills and medicines to fix whatever the hell is going on with Randy Quaid. On Saturday… I’m going to Namibia and briefly Johannesburg in South Africa. Again, this is not a normal job. I will be updating on Sunday/Monday whatever the hell is happening with that.

The STEIGENBERGER!! of Leek

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