The Shape Of Things To Come

Well, it is not often… but enough about that. This is not the place for personal revelations, neither is it the plaice. But enough about such instances of questionable legality and excessive amounts of seaweed in the socks.

It is time to move onto other less waterlogged questions and to sally forth to see what additional confusion we can add to whatever is the issue of the day, today. On the other hand – considering when these things are first written, the issue of the day several months ago.

Of course, we do expect our current Queen, Victoria, to lead the Great British Empire well into the next century. With such technological marvel as the steam train and Spadgecock’s Patented Wildfowl Distractor Britain should at least spend the twentieth Century as the world’s greatest nation and remain the world’s biggest empire for the foreseeable future.

Anyway, there is not much left to be invented. Our greatest scientists assure us that almost everything than can be known is already known, so there remains little for the British to do in order to continue to rule most of the world. Of course, it may need a few minor changes at the periphery, but Great Britain is the epitome of civilisation and civilised behaviour so there will not be much that needs doing.

Anyway, all that is all well and good, but in the next few months, or so, there could always be something unforeseen that happens which make this piece somewhat less up-to-date than it is now.

Although, it is hard to see exactly what that could be, unless some scientific geniuses, technical wizards and people of vision manage to construct machines that can talk to each other across the world almost instantaneously. However, that does seem at best rather fanciful. The steam power alone for such devices would be much better utilised in keeping our breakfasts warm.

After all, in the end who would be interested in the daily ramblings of other ordinary people from all over the globe? Who would wish to read or hear the musings of those not of one’s station, or not belonging to one of the recognised London Gentlemen’s clubs?

If we are not careful, one could even find oneself talking to an American, or – if such a device appears and brings about the end of civilisation as we know it – a French person.

Still, such things all belong in the poor quality novels they call scientific romances. Such things will, of course, never happen, with the scientific romances soon forgotten along with the fad for detective novels and other forms of cheap mass entertainment.

You mark my words.

Published by David Hadley

A Bloke. Occasionally points at ducks.

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