It’s Time

Written by Prim on 26/11/2021

But It’s Gonna Be… Trippy

Spots of the planet resided in, though not primarily for their flip-flop factor, although therein lurks a conspicuous pattern, where the pace of life is notably slower than their brisker opposed climes akin to the fur-lined boots lands. Yet the speed of getting about on a casual basis can often leave those on the 50 degrees latitude (Blighty) somewhat floundering… what!?

What I’m trying to say is the instant speed dial for a quick-trip destination from say couch to shop, is generally quicker in hotter regions. Be it on the red scorched sands in Uganda’s 0 degrees latitude to the 33degrees of Africa’s bottom, while the 7 degrees on yer bike South East Asia’s form is by far the most convenient. Which reminds me of Norman Tebbit’s leather clad Martin Bormann (Hitler’s henchman) type figure, as Margaret Thatcher’s enforcer in Spitting Image when it was good, but if you’re weren’t around Britain’s workforce or lack thereof in the 80’s that whole piece of gibberish has just passed you by… as you were.

As I was saying to me ol’ mate down the rub-a-dub the other day, how popping out for a pint of milk in the heated countries is a quick shifty on the motorscooter, Hawaiian shirt and beard flowing in my wake and boom ghost-riding back in time before the tea stews. Blighty’s trip would require undergarments, boots, over garments and following the necessary traffic codes, albeit where they actually mean something. Whereby the fella suggested you don’t have to go anywhere, as like all over this ever-insular imploding globe, all and sundry is delivered these days. Delivery’s, the world over, making going to the shops and meeting humans a force of oddness only a lost tribe of market traders can recall… ‘Oi oi broccoloi, two-bob a cauli… ‘ere, are you human, can I touch your face?’

Delivery driving companies… I can do that, giss us a job