In which a confused pond turns to the bromancer and wombat Boris for entertainment ...

It seemed so clear cut, and only a short time ago ...

There was prattling Polonius, the Bolter and all the rest of the reptiles explaining how useless, inept, woeful, incompetent and silly the greenies were ...

And there was the pond recalling, with some sadness, how - not ever having any intention of standing for parliament - it was disappointed to learn that it had missed out by a generation on the chance to score an EU passport ...

But in these post-Trumpian relativist days, things can change ever so quickly, as the cawing Crowe hastened to explain this day ...

So much for the Bolter, so much for Polonius, so much for righteous certainty, so much for doing the ethical thing. Yah boo, sucked in again ...

The pond was reminded of that Eliot poem ...

And indeed there will be time 
For the yellow smoke that slides along the street, 
Rubbing its back upon the window-panes; 
There will be time, there will be time 
To prepare a face to meet the faces that you meet; 
There will be time to murder and create, 
And time for all the works and days of hands 
That lift and drop a question on your plate; 
Time for you and time for me, 
To berate mother and the dog about the homework,
And time yet for a hundred indecisions 
And for a hundred visions and revisions 
Before the taking of a toast and tea. (in full here).

And so to a word of explanation about the order of the day.

Usually on a Thursday the pond would forget the Kenny competition and spend quality time with the savvy Savva, whereby the pond would be reminded once again that the onion muncher was a naughty boy (hiss boo) and Malware was heroically struggling to right the ship of state (huzzah).

Imagine the pond's shock that this day a new Savva is not to be seen. Talk about shifting sands swirling underfoot ...

Oh sure, there were compensations. The urbane Urban was busy as usual tracking the war on Xians...

Now it's important not to take the urbane Urban literally. 

The pond has it on reliable authority that Jesus hasn't yet returned and wasn't evicted from a Queensland school yard and that the second coming is not yet at hand ... 

Should Christ actually return, it's possible he would be welcome in school yards around the land ... though not if he carries on with all that greenie socialist goody shoes claptrap about refugees, the meek, the rich and their camels and needles, and all the rest of the pinko pervert nonsense about tolerance, love and caring.

Meanwhile, pending his return to school yards, it's always wise to take precautions, as the Bible reminded all Queensland schoolchildren ...

Look, he is coming with the clouds, and every Queensland schoolchild eye will see him, even those who pierced him ... "Behold, I come like a thief! Blessed are the Queensland schoolchildren in the school yard who stay awake and keep their clothes with them, so that they may not go naked and be shamefully exposed when the rapture calls ...

Or some such thing ...

Meanwhile, the pond had to turn to the old world coming down under for its entertainment for the day ...

A storm? That's what they're calling a light drizzle these days?

Now the pond understands that the bromancer channeling the Boris is third rate entertainment at best, and the pond must take its ironies where it finds them, lo, even with the reptile advertising ...

The pond can recall the glory days when a visit from a Pom dignitary would send the likes of Ming the Merciless into a frenzy of supine devotion.

These days it's the bromancer who shows he remembers the glory days, and recalls the way to fawn and tug the forelock...

After all, Boris does resemble a wombat, so we must all hail the visiting wombat chief ...

It's splendid fun to read these words from the great flip-flopper, the scoundrel who cared so little for Brexit that he could swing both ways in the breeze like a prat on a zip wire ...

Sadly, the days when the pond lined up for Fleetways magazines, and books from Blackwell's are long gone ...

More data here, but if the pond was looking to doing a trade deal, and with a rising economic force, as opposed to a backward-looking stagnant island pond about to lose its power as Europe's financial base, it'd be looking to the likes of India ... rather than to a bunch of foolish Poms striking out on their own and imagining they could reconstruct the old empire of fellow travellers to bail them out ...

But it's great that the bromancer can be relied on to fawn and tug the forelock when a carpet bagger comes to town ... promising much, but in a position to deliver very little ...

Well yes, entertaining, it's certainly entertaining to watch the bromancer do an elegant bear hug with the wombat Boris, but it's equally true that the best British exports these days involve the trade in Boris cartoons. 

Those wanting to check out the trade can go to the home of manufacture, at the Graudian here, with these as an example of the sort of work still to be found in the old country ...