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This end of summer, at least in my deepest neck of the wood, is “Show Time”.  All across my rural holdout communities pull together, and hold their local agricultural shows.  And I and the wife attend these out of interest, and to support our local beekeepers stall (my other passion after American Politics).

And it was wandering about in the “Industrial Tent” after my stint on the stall I was taking in the standard fare of home-made kitch-ware, the usual wealth of knitted baby clothes, the ubiquitous novelty woollen fitrit, the local artist’s daub of a scorrie on a rock; two scorries on a rock; a scorrie in flight, when my eye fell on the above lurking in the baked goods section.

Satire?  International satire in a local agricultural show tent?  Now that has to be the acme of a politician’s reach.  Even beyond the naming of the warship, the university block, the street-name or even a pub must be one’s image being rendered as a humourous cake on a stand in an agricultural show.  But there it was, reassuringly, vividly, orange, piggy eyed and stunningly ugly, all E numbers and sacarrine just like the real thing.

Perfection.

Copyright David Macadam 2017

 

 

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