| 17th June 1979 [12:01 AM] |
[17 Jun 2008|04:14am] |
You know, there’s something to be said for safe zones. For the entire conception of them, really. And for the fact that some people among us hold to the notion that we need them. Optional or not, their creation still speaks volumes about today’s cultural environment. And social and political and environmental. Britannia is absolutely losing herself in the environmental environment – it’s rather like one of my grandfather’s old stories.
So, he and my great-uncle were off on one of their man holidays in Eyemouth, and, as they often did when they went to Cornwall, they rented a little boat to go off and go fishing. So, they rented it, and they shipped out, and they got out into good fishing water, and they cast lines, and they wound up sitting there, doing nothing, for quite a while, which is apparently just what fishing is, but that’s not the point. So, they’re just sitting there, for ages like, and they get this design to throw things, only they don’t have anything they can legitimately throw and get away with it because it’s all necessary stuff for fishing, though, personally, I don’t have any idea what would really be necessary for just sitting around on a boat in the middle of nowhere, but – so, at any rate, they want to throw things, but there’s nothing to throw, so there’s some long, convoluted series of events that all amounts to not a lot happening, they both sort of end up in the water and bickering, and then…
It’s funnier when he tells it. And more relevant.
But, at any rate, the point got all lost in there, but it’s all about the fact that, ideally, we really shouldn’t have to have safe zones in place at all. Because, ideally, our government should not need to increase its level of prying, protection, whatever you want to call it, because they should be able to do their collective job without any necessary augmentations made to procedure. The fact that they have to do this, though – and the fact that anyone who volunteers to take part in the whole messy business are volunteering to exchange their privacy for security when they shouldn’t have to sacrifice either? What sort of institution …
I suspect Lillythens. They’re rather much like vampires, only minus the vampires’ good nature and charming senses of humour. The Trimble family has many suspect links to Lillythens that I, personally, would call into question. Our Minister’s own father not only did business with them in his youth, but retains very close, personal contacts – some of which are pillars of Lillythen society and otherwise look highly suspicious. It doesn’t seem like it should be too strange, of course not, and the Minister can keep whatever contacts he desires, but Lillythens, like their vampiric cousins, are quite well known for their fondness for human blood. And, with such strong ties to Ministry higher-ups, it would be no gigantic task for them to get these special Portkeys and, in so getting, obtain access to the scared and vulnerable citizenry of Wizarding Britain.
You say ‘safe zone’; I say ‘feeding pen.’ Think about it.
On another, better note: 13 is secretly luckier than some people believe. It's a little known fact that it was the favoured number of Lathan the Lucky, the infamous Welsh gambler. His luck only ran out on the last day of his life, when he bet more than he had on a match between the Harpies and the Arrows in an attempt to win enough money to pay back his father-in-law for the money he borrowed to build his and his missus's dream home, which was only two-thirds completed at the time. He bet everything on the Harpies, lost more than everything on the Harpies, and, once the match was over, was promptly beaten to death by several very understandably upset people to whom he owed great sums of money.
He only lived to 26, regrettably. I rather doubt it's an ill omen of anything, but there is a good moral to be had, and it happens to be such: don't bet on the Harpies when number 13 is out with pneumonia.
Also that 13 is actually a highly lucky number, and that 26, being twice 13, is twice as lucky. QED.
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