Diane Abbot.

I have to say I’m not a fan of Diane Abbot. There I’ve said it and yes it’s racial. In fact my response is as visceral as those who see skin colour as the crucial factor in determining a person’s worth. But the race I’m referring to is, ‘The Word Spacers.’ The Word Spacers are to me aliens from a strange planet that speak in pseudo poetic tongues where each new word occupies its own overly large parking space in the vein hope of assuring it importance. Their words drop like fully formed smartly dressed babies from the uterus of the queen of some animal species who, for the purposes of this metaphor has lots of babies, maybe like frogspawn in smoking jackets. Will Self is a prime example. Each..word…..has.at..least…three…..if.not…more..full stops……....between.. them. I assure you these people in their inter-word pauses are not riffling through an inner thesaurus for perfect linguistic bedfellows, nor are their perfectly elocuted syllables a sign of good breeding. They’re either slow brained or doing it for fraudulent effect. Us normal humans in contrast are gabblers as 99.9% of our verbal DNA is identical to those we eat at Christmas. Our brains churn out words far faster than our speech mechanisms can cope with, and, because we’re busy thinking while others gabble, when it’s our turn we just lower the sluices and ‘blaaah’. Question? Sorry? Well this is what I was thinking while you were talking. So for me Diane, Will and Valdemort set themselves up for a hammering, like telling a gang of punks intent on your phone, “My father is the Arch Bishop of Canterbury.” It only sounds impressive to alien ears, it doesn’t work on humans. And Valdemort? The arch villain of them all, the king of the slow precision Word Spacers sent to the Earth to repudiate God herself: Jacob Reece Mogg. Each syllable clad in a beautifully tailored three piece suit  No! Screw ‘em, screw ‘em all. Lets hear it for the Gabblers! At least it’s honest nonsense.