A story that illustrates how you are told you live in a free country, but you don’t really, and you realise you are pretty glad about this.

This morning when I awoke, I was still feeling a little tired, and the kids were acting a little wired. To take the edge off, I sprinkled a little hash on top of their Weetabix and I snorted a line of cocaine.

Once breakfast was complete, with the kids chilled out and me pumped up and ready to go, we got to work. The 6 year old got to work cleaning the gun cupboard while I paid the pimp and said goodbye to the whores who had entertained myself and the husband so pleasurably last night.

Jobs complete, we dressed and headed out to the shops. Cars sped down our narrow streets at 90 mph so I kept the kids as far away from the road as I could. Although it was hard to keep them in a straight line, what with them being stoned and my being off my face.

We passed a group of naked teenagers, chatting about whether or not they were going to choose to turn up to their exams. Big decisions for 14 year olds but it was up to them, ultimately.

When we got to the shops there was not much in – some big blokes had got there before me and taken as much as they could carry, without spending a penny. I found a tin of beans and chided myself for not getting their sooner.

We took our cold beans and sat by the water, watching the boats come in. We waved to the immigrants who came and went as they chose across the free boarders of our free country, to jobs which may pay well or may not – it was all down to luck really.

The houses by the water overspilled with people crammed in, 10 to a room with poor sanitation. The landlord round here chose profit over compassion, as was his right. I told a couple about the nicer landlord 20 miles from here. They contemplated my advice. Sure their elderly relatives lived around here and depended upon them for care, but why should that stop them?

A woman wandered up to me and punched me in the face. She was just having a bad day I guess and we all know what that feels like.

A bigger, stronger woman was fortunately walking past at the same time. She sent my assailant on her way. A lucky day for Abby Boid! What if she hadn’t been there? Survival of the fittest, I guess. Really, it would be my own fault for not getting down the gym more often.

A local election was coming up. I’d heard of a radical new party who wanted to put a few rules in place, rules that would perhaps limit us a little in what we were allowed to do, but that might make all us a little less fearful and feel a little more empowered in this society.

I pondered how with some agreed restrictions on the actions on the stronger, we could all of us, paradoxically, be a little less constrained.

But on balance, I’m not sure I’d vote for a party like that

As the papers say, it is a free country after all. And what is more important than that?

3 thoughts on “A story that illustrates how you are told you live in a free country, but you don’t really, and you realise you are pretty glad about this.

    • Abby Boid says:

      Hi Clare. How are you? I reckon a bit of both – a bit of push. A bit of shove. A bit of force. A bit of kindness. Is that too on the fence? Perhaps I should vote lib dem!

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  1. authorbengarrido says:

    This is a fun exercise. Thanks.

    I wonder if you agree with the following crack-pottery:

    Any freedom from implies the contravention of an opposing freedom to. Any freedom to implies the contravention of a freedom from.

    For example, my freedom from being murdered means that somebody else loses the freedom to murder. My freedom to worship as I please contravenes somebody else’s freedom from the presence of worshipers.

    This is why I tend to get such a strong whiff of B.S. when people talk about freedom without specifying. It’s like saying you stand for “goodness.” Nice, but meaningless.

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