All week out here in Hanoi there’s been a storm brewing. God himself tore the sky asunder, bringing his omniscient cock down to bear on the Vietnamese capital and opening up a stream of holy piss the likes of which haven’t been seen since the time of Noah. Turns out the vicar’s daughter hadn’t been prudent enough to heed the warnings of senior Tory party reptiles and there will be no ark for her when the floodwaters start rising.
And rise they shall. We’re a little more than a week on from the election, and for all the tooth and nail gibbering that took place during that sordid chunk of history, there emerged no victor.
Continue reading From Westminster to Wetherspoons
Quietly churning away like my stomach at the sight of Amber Rudd tongue-punching Theresa May’s fartbox live on TV, the wheels of democracy have lurched us to the barren cliff edge of election day.
Diane Abbott has jumped off the cliff ahead of Labour Party schedule and is now wallowing in the strange purgatorial realm of ‘illness’ – one that reeks of a sick note from your mum that gets you out of being rugby tackled by the head boy in PE. Only the head boy is now a semi-sentient, permanently concussed farmhand and yet he retains a better grasp on politics than Abbott, which is almost a shame.
The haunted stuffed owl that currently shuffles through No. 10 like a somnambulist, waking in terror at every question fired off by a reporter, somehow still lives, although not in the traditional human sense. Whatever voodoo keeps May alive clearly didn’t work for Abbott. At least she went with a whimper rather than a bang; people are on edge this week and sudden movements make everyone queasy. Continue reading Before the typhoon strikes
I’ve actually quite enjoyed this election campaign.
Don’t get me wrong, I’ve not lost my fucking mind. I haven’t been glued to leaders’ debates and party election broadcasts, desperate for a fix of election smack to see me through to the next Andrew Neil interview. I’ve quite enjoyed this one because it’s the first time in my adult life I’ve treated it with the same level of interest and respect owed to a hair-pulling girl fight at a Bolton comprehensive.
Continue reading The shifty librarian
This month sees the seven-year anniversary of the Tories’ ascension to Downing Street.
Seven is considered to be a magic number by many. Seven days of the week, seven colours in the rainbow, seven continents and seven seas on this great green-and-blue Earth. Seven Samurai, seven books in the Harry Potter series and seven fucking psychopaths.
Seven might be a magical number to some, but it certainly hasn’t proved magical for the majority of Britons over the last seven years, and it’s apparently not quite magical enough for Theresa May, who has decided to reach for five more years in the Prime Ministerial hot seat.
Continue reading Strength and stability
We all know online petitions are an utter waste of time, but I signed it. Of course I signed it.
I mean, one of the most hideous humans among us has somehow fluked himself into the highest office in western democracy, and he gets offered a state visit to the UK? To glad-hand one of history’s most famous state leaders, one of the most noteworthy women the planet has known, the world’s favourite grandmother?
I’m astounded it’s even a point of debate. Of course he should be given a state visit.
Continue reading Platforming
Blame life. Blame racism. Blame misogyny. Blame the Director of the FBI. Blame sex, lies and videotapes. Blame social media. Blame the great unwashed. Blame not only their hygiene but their appalling lack of education. Blame the 54% of white women who voted for a guy that jokes about dating his daughter and brags about casually groping complete strangers. Blame nationalism. Blame media bias. Blame the tilt of the world’s axis. Blame the callous, cunting disaster that 2016 has shown itself to be. Blame life. Just don’t blame Hillary Clinton…
…but why the fuck shouldn’t we blame Hillary?
Continue reading Trumpspotting
What do heavy metal, Rambo knives, the Evil Dead and violent computer games all have in common?
Anyone old enough to hold an opinion worth hearing might recall that they’ve all been focal points for entirely synthetic moral panics, gleefully whipped up by a bloated corporate media always keen to curry political favour and further the next virtue-signalling social agenda. In hindsight, just a little objective research or critical thinking would’ve debunked all of those patently absurd and retarded ideas before they ever gained a foothold in the public discourse – assuming anyone involved ever gave a tinker’s cuss about public discourse in the first place.
Continue reading The mushy minds of the little people
Trump got elected. It’s not hugely surprising. Poor people responded to their unhappy situation by voting in a man who plans to cut taxes for the rich. Uneducated people voted for a guy who will make it far, far harder for the average child to get decent schooling without parents who rob banks. It turns out people are stupid. Shocker.
A couple of years ago I probably would have been spitting feathers about it all. But there’s no rage for politics left in me. All that’s left now is to laugh.
This truly is the crowning glory of human achievement – the setting up of a system so confusing to the layman that they willingly truss their own hooves and leap onto the cart to the abattoir, mooing in defiance at the man with the bolt gun. If you can’t laugh at that you must be a Mrs Brown’s Boys fan.
Continue reading Mooing in defiance
You know what’s wrong with politics? You are. You, with your opinions and your Twitter and your Facebook groups. Your £3 political party non-memberships. Your hashtag games.
You are, I am, we is. All split off into our little tribes, haven’t we, especially since Brexit. One side lined up against the other. Swearing and name-calling, spitting at the ‘other’ in the street, throwing molotov cocktails through the windows of halal butchers. (This last may be more one side in particular.)
And look at the political left. I mean, look at the bloody state of it. It’s less than a month since a Labour MP got shot in the street by a man who later declared “death to traitors” and you’ve got people on Twitter saying the “only good Blairite is a dead one”; phoning up an MP’s constituency offices and threatening to kick the shit out of staff; throwing bricks through windows; hand delivering death threats to a PR agency; Paul Mason referencing traitors in context of a no-confidence vote.
Continue reading Momentum
I never thought this would happen. When it came down to it, I was convinced that the UK is a small ‘c’ conservative country and would vote to preserve the status quo. We’d vote to Remain, Nigel Farage would continue to bleat on about rigged votes and everything would carry on as normal.
But, oh, for fuck’s sake. It depresses me so much that a horrible, divisive campaign – so much like the one London comprehensively sent packing with the mayoral election – won over nearly 17.5m people. A campaign filled with outright lies, padded out with straight-up racism. A campaign that saw a woman get killed (a woman Farage seemed to forget about in his victory speech, saying his little independence movement succeeded without a single shot being fired. Oh, apart from those ones in Birstall, but never mind).
This wasn’t about Europe. This was about giving a bloody nose to them government poshos who never listen. There are Leave voters on the BBC today saying they didn’t mean it, they didn’t think Leave would win. On Facebook, there’s someone I used to hang out with – and no longer do because of bellendry like this – saying ‘oh crap, it was only a protest vote’. Yeah, well your little protest just wiped £1.5 trillion off the value of the world’s economy.
Project Fear my arse.
Continue reading The coffin of politics