THE FIRST ENGLISH MINISTERS I KNEW. ENGLAND MADE ME BUT I DON'T UNDERSTAND HIS RUSSOPHOBIA

 LIZ TRUSS NEW PREMIERE

 

Tuesday, September 06, 2022

 

I sit on the plinths of the Valdevilla bridge, which is the bridge of memory, and I wonder who will have paid for the alfada of my redemption. I thank god that I survived. I was in love with Great Britain where I met love and I carry with me a song of porte that I recite when I am afflicted and I feel like throwing myself over the Roman bridge of Valdevilla:

Segovia my venture

england my adventure

Russia my palestra

Spain my serious in parte dextra

A rather ugly lady they call Doña Truss with a crooked and difficult mouth whom Lavrov put to parsley broth has been chosen to command the government of the English. I remember and review the tenants of Downing Street that sounded throughout my existence. I didn't know Attlee. He was a boy. But I attended the funeral of Winston Churchill in 1965. The whole of England took to the streets brandishing the Union Jack. English patriotism is like a formidable pincer. They never give out. It resembles the Russian, although the Russian is less delusional. Harold MacMillan ushered in a triumphant new era that of the Beatles and pop music. “We never had it so good” we never had it better. His name is associated with the cups of tea I drank, the cheap Woodbine and Number Six cigarettes I smoked, the pints of milk in the window or on the sill with a youth song No milk today my love is far away and the pints of beer that I tasted in those paradisiacal pubs of Old Merry England.

Even the meadows and the oaks spoke to me of love in the language of Shakespeare, and I prepared myself to live the experience of a verse from the Canterbury Tales. The memory of him is associated with the lips of the women I kissed. And there was only great beautiful great and free Suzanne Marie of Hornchurch in the county of Essex.

Love (I am a bird of a single nest) only passes through our door once in a lifetime and I did not understand it, fool of me. Suzanne's eyes, however, accompany me to the tomb, reproaching me for my foolishness and misfortune. What did you do with your life, Ton? I am unfortunate.

 Then there would be Sir Alec Douglas Hume whom I had the honor of interviewing, but the two prime ministers of my time were Harold Wilson who taught me to smoke a pipe, to be honest, austere and to live a labor life with no frills. Callaghan with his avuncular gesture insinuated me ways of life and to be an unrepentant reader of the cheap editions of the Penguin. The sixties and seventies were happy years of my life that will never come back.

That brave new world ended with the Iron Lady. The mines were closed, the workers unemployed. The triumph of great capitalism. The threat of poverty and the memory of the marches on Jarrow hung over the Islands.

 England, as they always do, then brought out their warrior spirit, something that instills a lot of respect, it's a little scary when you live in England. They don't give up. Thatcher sent the squadron to the Malvinas, a strict order to sink the Belgrano, the flagship of the Argentine navy, with nuclear ammunition. Triumph trumpets again in Trafalgar Square. Great stop; Or Britannia rule the waves... then the Grantham shopkeeper retired after losing the election. She took to gin and died an alcoholic.

The next Mrs. May with the aristocratic nose I hardly knew her and Boris Johnson with the tousled hair who looked as if he had just stuck his fingers in the socket England returned to the balance of power where he used to be and became angry and brave. I don't understand her rupophobia.

 I believe that England and Russia look alike and have identical zodiac signs. Of course I learned journalism in Fleet Street and one of the rules was objectivity when narrating a story with its ups and downs, its intercadences, but now the English press, when it refers to the Russians, wears the bustier of aggressiveness and tantrums.

They have opted for the Ukraine and Zelensky is a lousy loser or so it seems to me that I am a Russophile and an Anglophile simultaneously without diminishing my love for Spain. I would not want Russian missiles to hit any city in perfidious Albion. Because there live people who carry my blood