Sold out

There I was, parked on the Northern Line with my tuna sandwich, square cut crisps and bottle of water taking a 'travelling' lunch' on the way down to Balham to pick up a cream coloured Hafele under-counter kitchen pull bin. Refurbished house, y'see. I felt good. Wrote two posts this morning. Some good work on my script. Felt like I'd cleaned out the old mental system for the day. So I glance down at the Guardian as I pop a light, salted potato snack into my mouth, and another, then three at once, glug of water.

And I saw this.

And I brought all back up again. But it was the Northern Line, so no one noticed much difference.

OK: Halliburton is going to own our nuclear energy industry. Which, with fossil fuel resources rapidly depleting means that they will own our lives. And all because Tony Blair told them, it would be OK by him. Which, even for the most cynical amongst us, is rather surprising...

It is the latest example of British willingness to sell off sensitive industries once considered vital to national strategic interests. Despite astonishment from other countries, which balk at foreign ownership of of their defence and energy complexes, the government seems relaxed about key national assets such as missile ranges and the operation of nuclear plants moving into private - and foreign - hands despite security issues in both sectors at a time of heightened concern about terrorism.

Beautiful. I'm so glad to ruled by a 'relaxed' government. Wouldn't want them all stressed about handing the keys to our future to a bunch of sociopathic robber baron Texan crony capitalist corporate criminal motherfuckers!!!!!!

Jesus Christ.

And that's not all.

Before they fuck us, Halliburton is going to fuck the futures of all its new (ex) workers -

Mike Graham, north-west secretary for the Prospect union, which represents thousands of workers at BNFL, says these sell-offs raise environmental, safety and staffing issues. Not least is the position of the huge pension fund which is currently in state hands.

Oh well, at least we have an opposition party who'll be all over this. Right?

No. There is no opposition.

I dunno. New Labour had a soul. It was little crusty and weird and fruity a bit like your vegan uncle who used to go on CND marches, but it was better than nothing. And anyway, then Robin Cook and Mo Mowlam died and the smirking twat we call our PM wouldn't even let them have a memorial at their beloved Party conference because people might show a little bit of emotion and he was too busy ordering security to bum rush OAPs inbetween taking orders from Rupert Murdoch on how to handle European policy over canapes and champagne.

Fuck.

Fuck fuck fuck.

Fucking Halliburton.

How can they? Oh, it's the free market now, global economy, get your head outta the past, be real, this is how the world works, yadda yadda yadda.

Well you know what, Tony Blair and all his little monkeys can shove Halliburton right up their arses. Let Halliburton take care of their colon. See how they like it when a bunch of $30,000 a month Texan contract workers hardwire their bowels to their lungs and they find they're breathing shit and they can't even get it fixed because now Halliburton owns all their internal organs and the only way to get treatment is to pay $100,000 on loan to a doctor who's part of a Halliburton subsidiary who prescribes them thousands of dollars worth of unregulated drugs that completely fuck up their minds and hammer them with physical side-effects all from another Halliburton subsidiary that was doing really badly ever since they got banned from selling chemical weapons to 3rd World dictators we used to support till they fell on the wrong side of geopolitical shell game and now the subsidiary has been given the contract of further fucking the bodies of all the people internally owned by Halliburton but wait! - that's not all - with all this cash you're throwing down so Halliburton can fuck you ever worse now you're so badly in hoc to your credit card company you have to declare yourself bankrupt so they'll own the entire rest of your life and that of your children and their children after them. See how they like that. See if they even crack a grimace on their branded, lobbied, focus-grouped, botoxed little gobs.

OK. Getting anxious. Time to relax. Play whalesong.

Must enter sleep pod.