Anyone who’s been paying attention knows that This Sceptred Isle ™ is in deep, deep doo-doo, and it’s easy to blame social media, or jingoism, or the endless stupidity of The Great British Public, or Aaron Banks and his odious “Bad Boys of Brexit”, or the Tories, or Corbyn, or whatever. And I’m sure that all of those things have played their part in our spectacular downfall, but I don’t think they’re the root of the problem. I think it’s this:
The people in charge are just like me.
Now, I’m a reasonably “successful” person; partner in a law firm, big old house, two kids in private school etc etc etc. And the thing is: I still don’t know what the hell I am doing, I do not have a handle on life or on my responsibilities or on the world or my place in it. Not at all. I am just making it up as I go along, winging it and somehow or other I seem to have got away with it so far.
And the government – the proverbial “them” – ministers, MPs, civil servants, senior officials of one stripe or another – they’re all, all of them, doing exactly the same thing. There is no secret cabal of calm, well-spoken chaps (because let’s be honest, they’re all chaps, right?) in good suits with their hands on the tiller, who will somehow make it alright. There are no adults in the room. There’s just a bunch of people like me. And they’re all terrified, and not one of them has the slightest idea what he or she is doing, any more than I do. They too are just winging it, telling people what they want to hear, and hoping for the best.
God help us.
I was going to write a great long screed about how Godawful this man is and how dreadful it is that a handful of complacent parochial Boden-clad shitsacks from Tunbridge Wells, who can’t describe someone as “black” without whispering the word and who secretly think we should bring back hanging, are going to make him our Prime Minister and there is absolutely nothing that I or anyone else can do to stop it.
But really, it boils down to this: Boris Johnson is basically a slightly more rubbish version of Donald Trump. If that doesn’t make your blood run cold, then I don’t know what will.
Although, he does have slightly better hair.
UPDATE: Please don’t make this ludicrous mendacious vacuous tit Prime Minister. Please:
34% of the vote for a far right populist party with no policies beyond some half-arsed notion of sticking-it-to-Johnny-Foreigner-because-we’re-British-dammit, led by a sort of cartoon mashup of Roderick Spode and Alan B’stard. Seriously?
I am truly, truly disgusted by my countrymen.
When I say “my countrymen”, I am talking specifically about the English. I suspect there will now be an even stronger resurgence of the Scottish independence movement, and who can blame them? They’re handcuffed to a lunatic.
Meanwhile, those of us in England who have not entirely taken leave (and indeed Leave) of our senses can only look on in resigned horror as the swivel-eyed demagogues, talentless chancers and spivs of the far right revel in their victory before gleefully marching the country off into the cold, and the dark, and the unknown.
I love my country dearly, but right now I despair of it. Winter is coming, as they say.
Is it just me or has Eurovision got really dull in recent years? It always used to be a bastion of tongue-in-cheek camp, but over the last few years it’s become more and more po-faced and earnest.
Take last night, for instance: a cluster of tired four-on-the-floor Europud, wholesome kitsch, bloated balladry and sub-Gloria Gaynor me-against-the-world humourless bleh. Absolutely no fun anywhere, not a single drumming granny to be seen, and to top it all off we were subjected to the heartbreaking spectacle of Madonna grimly murdering Like A Prayer despite it being very obvious that a) her range has dropped over the years to the point where she actually can’t consistently hit those notes and b) she was painfully aware of that fact but felt duty bound to give it the good old college try anyway.
Losing the high notes happens to all singers, of course – it’s a fundamental unfairness of being a vocalist rather than an instrumentalist that you don’t get better with age, no matter how much you practice – and to be fair to Madonna she sounded fine on the new material that followed, presumably because she wrote it for her vocal range as it is now, rather than as it was 30 years ago. I think she should have stuck with the newer stuff to be honest; her voice may not be what it once was but she is a skilled and clever songwriter, and her newer songs are strong enough not to need bolstering with old hits that she can’t reliably perform any more.
Oh well. I don’t think I’ll bother with Eurovision next year. Another bright spot in the world reduced to dullness.
… as long as it’s the bloody Tories, that is.
I just got back from voting in the local council elections and I am absolutely sodding furious.
I duly handed over my polling card, was issued with my ballot paper and went over to the booth. I looked down at the ballot paper and read it. Then I read it again. Then I turned it over in case there was some mistake. Then I read it again.
The only party with candidates on the ballot was the Conservative Party. Other than a couple of crackpot independents, my choice was between Tory A, Tory B and Tory C (all of whom as it happens were standing outside the polling station trying not to look smug, and failing).
Nobody from Labour, nor the Lib Dems, nor the Greens. Not even a token swivel-eyed Kipper.
Now, I know I live in a safe Tory seat, but this is ridiculous. Why, in a year when the Tories have never been more unpopular or more assailable, why did no other party field any candidates? Why?
Christ our politics is broken.