Revolution! often involves long periods of clandestine activity, subterfuge and furtive behaviour.

So I must totally give the background to my dead necessary blogging break from!!!

Back in the summer, Bob and I had been chilling out at our latest bijou east London (Stephnbob country!!!) pad, staring at our newly affixed posters of the Iranian and Cuban 2008 Olympic teams (the one to the left of the sofa, not the one to the right, or above, or any of the others in the lounge).

Bob had been busy over the summer confounding the stereotype of PE teachers by reading voraciously, and was giving a going over to his latest whipping boy, Paul Kennedy.

“Paul bleedin’ Kennedy! What a muggy mental midget, sis! ‘Ow he couldn’t have seen the imminent fall of the Soviet Union in The Rise of Fall of the Great Powers, I don’t know! It’d be like someone who reckoned he was a top banana boxing pundit not being able to see that Amir Khan was a bit on the chinny side!”

Bob was like an Olympian of good points at that time. A fleeting thought crossed my mind that maybe I wasn’t the brains of the family and it was time to pass the torch on. But I quickly squelched this minor internal revolt.

“ Very good Bob! I’d take your historiographical contentions more seriously if you wouldn’t insist on wearing your “I love Dicks!” t-shirt in public!”

“Sis! Why do you have to see homoerotic connotations everywhere! I’m a bleedin’ PE teacher – what more heterosexual a profession is there, apart from wrestlers! The t-shirt’s a reference to Julian Dicks. West Ham. Oh, I’m an ‘appy ‘ammer, forever blowing bubbles!”.

There he went again with the unconscious homoerotic references.

“Maybe so, Bob”, I replied”, but you wouldn’t want to run into Brian Paddick on a dark night in the jungle while wearing that particular t-shirt, would you?”

This shut my brother up for a few seconds, which gave me enough time to ponder the true predicators to a great power’s decline.

It occurred to me that Kennedy’s greatest omission had been not considering the performance of the great nations during the Olympic games. Imperial overstretch is one thing, but when your performance in the medals table is dependent on totally Islamophobic sports such as swimming (how is a devout Islamic woman ever going to compete in the pool!) then surely this is the true sign of the fall of a Great Power!

The 2008 Beijing Olympics could only mean one thing.

The impending ultimate downfall of the US of A!

This insight overwhelmed me, and my oh so hot body felt like it did in the pre-chronic fatigue days. I shuffled to my room and changed into my Iranian Olympic tracksuit, grabbed a slipper rest to use as a soapbox, booked a minicab to take me to Speaker’s Corner at Hyde Park, and was fully determined to rouse the masses for Revolution! and the overthrow of Capitalism!

Speaker’s Corner was not what I expected it to be. Rather than a series of devilishly good looking moustachioed men boldly proclaiming Revolution!, I saw a serious of dishevelled oddities in white t-shirts making too much eye, ear and odour contact.

And carrying megaphones.

But being a totally hot bona fida lawyer wearing an Ahmedinijad-designed tracksuit meant I was sure to win in the charisma, if not volume, stakes. And in addition to this, I had one of the greatest insights ever to reveal to the masses.

I started speaking, but had barely got a couple of paragraphs into my inspired linking of Islamophobic sports, Olympic medal tables and impending US collapse when someone interrupted me.

This was an experience I was unprepared for. Normally, whenever I post something on my blog everyone agrees with me, so it was unusual to hear someone offer a dissenting opinion.

My anxiety levels skyrocketed. All the doubts and gastrointestinal sensations that led to me taking a career break from my legal practice returned.

It dawned on me that...

Maybe my ideas have no support outside my family and blog friends.

Maybe the masses just want to watch Strictly Come Dancing on their flat screen TVs.

Maybe I’ll no longer get 100+ comments on any of my blog posts again.

Could the Bloscar have been worthless?

And was Bob actually a homosexual?

I felt nauseous.

If all this was true, maybe the cause of Revolution! was lost!

I instantly felt dizzy, lost my balance and slipped off my soapbox.

Before I passed out I managed to shout “Booooooooob”, hoping to activate the voice tag for my brother on my cell phone.

However, this didn’t appear to work, and when I came around I found myself in bed in a psychiatric ward.

The official police section 136 report (the totally fascist section of the Mental Health Act which enables the police to remove someone from a public place and take them to a "place of safety" if a person in a public place appears to have a mental disorder and to be in "immediate need of care or control", and it is in the interests of the person or for the protection of others) recorded the following information on my admission to the psychiatric ward:

“Woman looking like Pat Sharp in turgid coloured tracksuit seen getting wooden step out of backpack. Aforementioned woman climbed onto step and overheard ranting incoherently about Islam, Islamophobic sports, devout Muslim women and wet t-shirts. Then shouted ‘boob!’ and fell over.”

This is exactly the kind of smearing and illegal detention of dissidents that took place in the dark decades of the Soviet Union!!!

Bob got me released straight away (well 72 hours later after the section lapsed and they said my bed was needed), and due to his membership of the Fourth International of Physical Educators (socialist PE teachers union!) had me treated in Cuba for the past few months.

Part of my recovery plan meant avoiding stress-arousing material, so world affairs and blogging were strictly off limits.

Until now!!!

Luckily, the Priory Cuba staff discharged me in time for the Impending Collapse of Global Capitalism. I felt energised on hearing this, and told Dr Castro that I felt strong enough to blog at least once or twice a month during this transitional phase to Anarchy!.

So I’m at home, staring at the picture of the Cuban doctors who treated me at the Priory Cuba (the one to the left of the sofa, not the one to the right, or above, or any of the other ones in the lounge).

Bob is on the sofa next to me wearing his “Real men do it in lycra” t-shirt. He’s sulking after I confiscated the Cuban cigars Dr Castro gave me to bring back. I’m sorry, but he looked far too content having something that phallic in his mouth to suck on.

Anomie is on a shoplifting mission to Woolies, after hearing a rumour that the security guards were the first people to get laid off by the bourgeoisie’s financial firing squads.

And me?

I’m wearing my “Chronic fatigue: it’s all about ME!” t-shirt!!!

Capitalism may be falling, but is still standing!!!

Accept no imitations!

Viva la Priory Cuba!

Viva la Impending Collapse of Global Capitalism!

Viva Revolution!

Viva Steph's blog!!!