Long time denizens of the Wisdom Weasel may recall that back in December 2005 I pointed out that members of my family seem to constantly find themselves in suspicious proximity to all manner of disasters. At the time, I chalked this up to a Jerimiah tendency- bad luck, if you will- rather than any grand design. Following a couple of geographically specific incidents this winter, I am not so sure.
In 1973 I had the grave misfortune to be born in Ipswich, the shire town of England's vilest county, Suffolk. For most of my life I have chalked this up to an accident of birth (even though my mother went into labour mere miles from either of the family safe havens of Norfolk and northeastern Essex). Recent events have forced me to re-evaluate the apparent random nature of my birthplace being explained away by the demands of my father's job and I now instead have firm evidence that I am the antichrist.
Lets review recent portends of my demonic birthright that have taken place exclusively in Suffolk:
1) The serial murders of Ipswich prostitutes in the autumn and early winter.
2) Ipswich Town, FC.
3) the Minifest Folk Festival.
and most damningly,
4) The arrival of H5N1 bird flu in the UK via a turkey farm at Halesworth.
Now consider these omens in the light of my recent visit to the UK over Christmas. Admittedly, I did not step foot in Suffolk while there (I haven't for years on principle) but while riding the London Eye giant ferris wheel I did glance in a northeasterly direction, vaguely towards the Suffolk port of Felixstowe. I fear my satanic powers are so great that all the residents of hell needed to pour forth and potentially trigger the rapture and the apocalypse was an inadvertent peek.
If I had known I would have worn blinkers. I apologise to you all for what is about to befall you. On the bright side, its not too late to ally yourself with me, the orange-haired prince of darkness.