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Chatty does Glasto


OUR Man in Westminster, Sir Charles ‘Chatty’ Chatterton MP, has written a warning to his constituents following his recent attendance at the Glastonbury Festival. In recognition of its commitment to truth, transparency and decency, he is happy for TCW Defending Freedom to publish his correspondence. Sir Charles has represented the people of Greater Tittleham since entering Parliament in 1966. He is an Assistant Under Secretary at the Department for Transport.

My Dear Friends 

It is my sincerest hope that you do not feel tempted to associate the recent misdeeds of some of my colleagues with my continuing efforts on your behalf to act as your pilot as I attempt to guide you unswervingly though the rapids and whirlpools from which we are currently assailed in the tempestuous sea of life.

As your representative during these past decades there have been many occasions where, on your behalf, I have exceeded what might be regarded as my duty to save you from having to endure the misery and degradation associated with certain places and events. I recall the horror of a parliamentary fact-finding trip to the alcohol-free glass and concrete wasteland that is Qatar; I recoil at memories of ego-inflated buffoons warning about climate change and poverty as they gorged themselves on champagne and received plastic trophies at the BAFTAs; I am tempted into the arms of Morpheus when I remember sitting through interminable grunt-filled rallies at Wimbledon.

However, none of that compares with the gruesome spectacle I have recently endured. I was present at a festival in a field near Glastonbury.

It was my misfortune to be given a couple of VIP tickets to the event by the Culture Minister, Mad Nad, as some of us call her. For reasons I now understand she did not wish to attend. Naturally, it occurred to me that the festival would have a religious theme being the location of the Grail, wisely brought to these shores for safekeeping by Joseph of Arimathea.

Sadly my preconceptions proved to be wildly off kilter. The first sign of the impending disappointment was the crowds of advertising executives, social workers and privately educated wastrels, all pretending to be hippies, trudging towards the heavily guarded gates. My chauffeur, Clarke, had some difficulty weaving the Bentley through the throng.

Once in the VIP tent I found myself in the company of an assortment of musicians of various provenance, many of whom had made good use of the well-equipped bar. It was with not a little difficulty that I was able to order G & Ts for myself and my secretary Catherine, who had kindly agreed to accompany me to make notes.

Fortunately, the VIP area became something of a sanctuary and allowed us not to have to immerse ourselves amongst the great unwashed. It also gave us access to the complimentary refreshments, comfortable seating and half-decent toilet facilities. Unfortunately, it contained a giant television screen on which we were shocked to witness the dreadful sight of the ubiquitous puppet Zelensky pleading for yet more money for his financial laundromat. The pretend hippies, who must have forgotten their ‘Peace and Love’ mantra, gave him a rousing reception.

Just when I thought things couldn’t get any worse, the following day up popped Greta the Doom Goblin promoting her latest book. I thought the eco-loons had grown tired of her now that she’s moved through puberty, but no, she’s like the nasty gout that returns just when you thought you had got rid.

Some musicians seemed more interested in spouting their opinions than singing. The United States contingent were particularly upset that their Supreme Court wished to defend the American Constitution.

The grand finale was a show by Paul McCartney. At least I had heard of him. Catherine remarked that he was 80, and it pains me to say that his vegan diet seems to have preserved him better than my cravings for bacon, bread and beer. However, any lingering respect dissipated when he too joined in the Ukraine fundraising by waving their flag during his performance.

All in all the experience brought to mind the conclusions of Gibbon who described the five signs and symptoms of the decaying Roman culture:

Concern with displaying affluence instead of building wealth;
Obsession with sex and perversions of sex;
Art becoming freakish and sensationalistic instead of creative and original;
Widening disparity between very rich and very poor;
Increased demand to live off the state.

I require no gratitude for attending this virtue-signalling ritual, for such was my duty. However, I sincerely hope that my report will resonate with any of you who might have been harbouring ambitions to visit this squalid arena. 

On a brighter note, Lady Veronica is recovering well from her accident with the grater whilst obtaining the zest for her lemon drizzle cake. She thanks all who have sent cards and good wishes and hopes she will be out of hospital in time to officiate at the wife-carrying contest at this year’s Tittleham Summer Fair.

Your Servant 

Sir Charles Chatterton 

Tittleham Hall
Middle Tittleham

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John Ellwood
John Ellwood
John is the father of four beautiful girls. He is, thankfully, not knowingly related to Tobias Ellwood. ‘My Dear Friends . . . ’ a compilation of many of John’s contributions to TCW Defending Freedom is available in paperback and on Kindle.

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