Mr Empire sits as high as a bird, and old Mr Rockefeller never says a word

Americans are mad. It's easy to say that, from a distance, watching their antics on tv. It gets brought home to you when you're sat in a bar in Hell's Kitchen at 4 in the morning, with the bar owner on some bizarre, right-wing rant concerning how he's going to vote for Bush, to keep the country safe, and his mate, an ex-hack who's taken hard-bitten cynicism to the point of being a stereotype, is giving his monologue on why all Americans are dangerous bigots, that they didn't view the 11th September murders as an attack on America (apparently they view New York as a town full of "Jews and Europeans", and not proper America at all), and that if anywhere in "Real America" were ever attacked, there would be demands for nuclear vengeance. Marvellous. But, Mr Radical Republican and your misanthropic mate, if G.W. were to get back in, it would hardly safeguard your image of what America should be. After all, these were the same people who told us that New York became more boring after Giulliani's clampdowns on petty crime, that it was safer but less interesting, and then proceeded to apologise for no longer knowing anywhere we could go for after-hours drinking. At 4 O'Clock on a Monday morning. God Bless America! These people aren't Bush supporters in their hearts, and they know it. Indeed, the more furious the insults and name calling becomes between the Republicrats and the Democans, the less difference there seems to be in their politics. Which isn't to say it isn't worth getting rid of Bush, but simply to be aware that Kerry isn't a great replacement - I think the journalist Greg Pallast said it best when he remarked that Kerry was better than Bush in the way that being punched in the face was better than being beaten around the head with a brick.
On the other hand, getting back is less fun. I made a spur-of-the-moment decision to go to see Robyn Hitchcock playing at the Purcell Rooms on the South Bank, the evening of the day I got home. He was, as usual, fantastic, but he did finish off with Airscape - my favourite song by him, but one which always gets me thinking of break-ups, and then I had to walk back along the South Bank, which I have recently been enjoying doing with a woman I mistakenly believed liked me. So I became vaguely maudlin. Which isn't what anybody wants to read, as my life is inherently dull, and there are far more important things to talk about.
Such as why Bush shouldn't be President any more (can't you Americans see - it's just wrong. Plain wrong...) Or Mr Tony's continual betrayal of this country for personal gain. And indeed, the new advert from AXA PPP, for its private health care scheme, involving a woman saying "I hate NHS queues, but I don't like paying for private health care". Here's a better one for you - "I don't like NHS queues, and I think paying for private health care is morally wrong, and that people should be treated according to the severity of their need, not according how much they can afford". To which the nice, sensible AXA PPP respondent could reply, "Well how about a properly funded NHS, then? Rather than spunking millions on wars with third world countries, tax cuts for the rich, and ridiculous anti-immigration measures." That'd be nice, wouldn't it? Hey-ho, onwards and upwards. As it were...