Mud sticks, shit stinks

 I’ve woken up with this phrase in my head: mud sticks, shit stinks.

My brain can’t trace it. Usually these little aphorisms came from my dad or, more often, his mum, Big Nan. However, this time I can’t place its root. It is the kind of thing he would say when cautioning me not to blame other people. In his opinion, people who blamed others did so because they had skin in the game. Those people who had nothing to do with a situation that had gone wrong had no need to do anything except sit back and watch the mud-slinging with wide-mouthed interest. I’m not sure I agreed with him because there are just some people who love a fight, whether it affects them or not.

This phrase is how I feel about what is going on at the moment over the wonderful Post Office drama that has, miraculously changed laws and policies overnight. The politicians are jumping up and down with excitement hoping to score points over each other by slinging the mud that has fallen around this issue. But it’s not mud, is it? It’s shit. A cesspool of poor decisions, incompetence and a justice system that was always designed to protect the rich. It has been going on for so long now that almost every living politician, post office executive, lawyer, computer company has defecated in the dung pile that they are now slinging at each other.

I’m pleased for the Post Office workers but it’s not enough and they know it isn’t. So politicians will, like captive monkeys in a cage, keep flinging their shit at each other in the hope that they’ll make us like the least smelly one the most.

I wish they wouldn’t. 

Banksy might have been right