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Bridport: From Mountfield to the Bunker

I WAS thinking about Bridport Town Council the other day, well, to be honest, I seldom think of anything else. Unless it’s beer.

Anyway my mind strayed from that august body and homed in, like a guided missile, on David Cameron, Adolf Hitler and Eva Braun, as it would of course.

The news, that in these straitened times, when we’ve all got to share the pain and take a bit of a knock in the pocket, the news that Big Dave has appointed his own photographer, one Andrew Parsons, who will get his bunts out of the public purse, came as a bit of a stunner to me.

Adolf Hitler, a man who has not been generally held in high regard of late, also had his own photographer, a chap named Heinrich Hoffman. It was through his smudge boy that old Adolf met his own little Eva, not the one that sang The Locomotion, of course, but the one who joined the old reprobate in the bunker.

That, unerringly, led me to wonder if any members of our assembly of buffoons in the town hall might be considering a similar move, simply to assure their rightful place in history of course.

Well there might be one. A person not exactly averse to a bit of the old publicity, who has a head jam-packed with quotes just waiting to be popped out at the opening of a notepad and sharpening of a pencil.

Now I am not for one moment suggesting the leaders of our fair town have secret plans to start burning books, holding torchlight processions in months other than August or marching on Poland. Heaven forbid – they’d never be up to any of it!

Still this desire to see one’s own image reproduced everywhere often ends in tears.

It starts with trying to get yourself in the local press and before you know it, you’re claiming that the peoples of Chideock are Bridportians at heart and then holding an anschluss. Let’s not go there councillors, the quiet life is best I always find.

2 Responses to “Bridport: From Mountfield to the Bunker”

  1. house sparrow

    Vive la revolution comrade! Come on slack bladder! Why don’t you stand and throw yourself into the public arena? Let’s storm the gates together!

  2. The Red Bladder

    Storming gates? At my time of life? That could lead to the best of times and the worst of times. No, not for me but I will certainly join you in a gentle stroll up to the gates. That could be followed by a nice sit down and a glass of something on the barricades. My burning draft cards days are over (not that I had ever draft cards) but would a bus pass do instead? I’m all for revolution but only if it’s all over before the air turns chilly and the damp gets into my bones. Just give me a bit of notice so that can get my breath back and my teeth in and I will be there. I can still remember all the words of We Shall Overcome. I could also lead the apathetic in the old chant:
    What do we want?
    When do we want it?
    In due course.

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