Little and large

Not being a train-commuter, from time to time I get a huge reading backlog. At present it's four Spectators, two Private Eyes, a Salisbury Review and two Standpoints. Every few days the bastards inflict more excellent writing on me. I am rapidly approaching crisis point. There is only one answer. High-speed wheat-from-chaff: speed-reading.

It is not without its drawbacks.

Unaccustomed as I am to having all these damned Liberals in a Conservative government, I am stumbling over names to which I must to put an unfamiliar face. Your Cables and Huhnes present no problem because I never forget an arsehole.

Danny Alexander, though, is difficult. No fault of his own, poor sod (he seems a decent enough fellow -- for a Liberal) but I keep thinking they're talking about Douglas Alexander. Both Scots. Both actual or former political enemies. One of them, though, has seen the light and come over to our side in order to stymie the socialists and put the country back together, while the other was Dictator Brown's arse-wiper Gentleman of the Stool.

Whenever I read 'Danny Alexander', I feel icy fingers twisting my bowels. There is a moment of slight trembling. A clamminess of the forehead. I am gripped by a cold dread that the defenestration of Brown's 'government' was only a dream... aargh...

But then there is a flood of warm relief (tsk - really) as I realise, no, this is Alexander the Tall. The little Brown turd is Alexander the Short.

It's only dèja... phew.