In prevailing times, I can’t help but conclude COVID, along with the distasteful US presidential race shenanigans, have shifted an already dysfunctional world into even greater depths of dystopia.

And, I’d like it on record, I don’t use the word dystopia freely in either polemic or essay; or indeed ever.

That being the case, it’s nice to meet you the word dystopia – Welcome to your inaugural use in my narratives. Feel free to kick off your shoes, perch your posterior on my sofa and put Netflix on…….Incidentally, the latter offer only applies if you wanna binge watch the same show(s) as me.

GJ Strachan ain’t watching tat like ‘Chipmunks Say The Funniest Things’, Dysey (can I call you Dysey?). That being said, yours truly didn’t have my specs on when scouring the streaming channel’s listings. Consequently, suspecting the word chipmunks was probably children. Irrespective, though, my indifference towards watching the broadcast would still apply.

Actually, the more I think of it, if Netflix streamed seasons of a programme titled ‘Chipmunks Say The Funniest Things’, I’d watch the whole lot on repeat for a week…… A show with whimsical talking chipmunks would be utterly brilliant.

Well, unless they conversed in the same high pitched squeak as Alvin & The Chipmunks. In which case I’d not touch such baloney with the very longest of bargepoles.

Anyhow, back to my welcoming party for the word dystopia……

Despite your stark meaning, Dysey, all locutions are welcome into my literary domain…. With the possible exception of the word flange, which made a right mess of the place last time it tarried these hallowed pages.

I make no pre-judgement of your character. My words for you the exact welcome given by a benevolent bishop of Digne to recently paroled Jean Valjean, in the musical Les Miserables:-

“Come in sir for you are weary 
And the night is cold out here 
Though our lives are very humble 
What we have, we have to share 
There is wine here to revive you
There is bread to make you strong
There’s a bed to rest ’till morning
Rest from pain and rest from wrong.”

Beware, though, Dysey. If you take flight during the night with my silver, mirroring Valjean’s ungrateful behaviour, I’ll not be buying your soul for god, like the elderly clergyman did for prisoner 24601….. No, I’ll be shoving the sole of my right shoe up your ass.

The bishop of Digne’s forgiveness teaching us (his flock) a valuable behavioural lesson. Highlighting that, if you must stoop to thieving you’ve a darned sight more chance of getting away with it if the victim is a man of the cloth……. They’re a right bunch of saps!!

Of course, not all men of the cloth are so easy to manipulate. I reckon if Jean Valjean had carried out a similar felony on Cluedo’s Reverend Green, old Greenie would’ve made sure 24601’s final resting place was the conservatory with the silver candlestick buried in his skull.

Ok then, it appears my sweeping generalisation of all clergymen being saps, who’d turn a blind eye to theft, is wide of the mark. I’m unsure which mark it’s wide of, but the crux of the matter is parameters of forgiveness will vary from cleric to cleric…… My bad!

Anyhow, I’m off now to find another word I’ve never previously utilised in prose to shoehorn into tomorrows monologue.