We’re still a couple of weeks from the result of the most heinous beauty contest since Simon Weston versus that lad from the Goonies. But try as we might to psychokinesis John Major back into the job, Lord have mercy on us all, we know who we’re ending up with.
Yes it’s Liz Truss, the most fatuous leader of a nation since Ukraine elected an actual stand-up comedian, and that went really well as we’ve seen. Liz has been pledging and promising all the things the electorate want to hear, the electorate in this case being a couple of hundred thousand blue rinse racists and red-faced landowners who smile wistfully at the thought of Liz nuking new ‘foe’ France as the best way to stop all these filthy Albanians coming up the beach.
These are the people to whom Liz pledges that there’ll be no more solar panels in the British countryside, because conservatives have an innate hatred of things that might do good for others. Down with these sickening fields of shiny rectangles – fracking drills are the real Tory chic. She’ll also scrap what’s known as the green energy levy, less than a couple of hundred quid we all pay to help prevent the type of urban wildfires we’re currently warming our fleeing arses on.
It seems increasingly likely that the fossil fuels we’re relentlessly scraping from Earth’s every orifice are the decayed carbon remains of the previous civilisation that died out when they finally produced a peak imbecile like Liz Truss. This simpleton’s textbook defines ‘renewable energy’ as ‘woke’, as if the wind itself gives a fuck which toilet people use.
It’s that much harder to justify profiting from sun, wind and wave than that lovely black slop sucked out of the ground by men in big hats. And of course it’s profit that drives the economy, which must be why BP, Shell and the rest pop their corks at announcement after announcement of another fine year at the coal face, while people react with little more than a knowing chuckle as they queue for a three quid tin of supermarket beans.
Where’s the fury about all this? BP made a profit of £6.9bn between April and June – more than triple the amount it made in the same period last year. Yep, three months. Explain to me how profits can treble, bills can also treble, and the number of fucks Tories give is cut by a third. Centrica’s profits were five times higher than a year earlier. Shell made £9bn in the same quarter as BP were struggling with their paltry seven.
How are we not fucking livid about this, hour after hour? If ever there’s a time for civil disobedience it’s surely just prior to the kind of winter that kills thousands while energy executives warm their hands on burning fifties. It’s just been announced that the energy price ‘cap’, which goes up consistently like any good cap must, has jumped from £1,971 to £3,549. Cue reports of people wringing their hands and pitying poor people. Cue no reports, somehow, of riots.
Strikes are breaking out across various industries and it’s at least heartening to see a healthy section of society supporting them. Many more bemoan that their post won’t come today or there’s yet another train strike, even though they have two cars and haven’t been on a train since Stephenson’s Rocket. There’s a huge army of dickheads who’ll see their bills go up and wages go nowhere, but can still afford the Daily Mail and want strikes banned because all the unions really want is to overturn Brexit or something. If you told them Mick Lynch and the RMT actually supported Brexit, it’d virtually lobotomise them. At least they’d then be as clever as Liz.
It’s not just the energy companies taking the piss. With rivers full of bobbing jobbies and drought declared on a fucking island, obviously water company executives received on average £100k in bonuses this time around. And how do the people react? How dare you ban my hosepipe!
It never ends. The worst train company in Britain is Avanti, Italian for ‘on your bike’. One of their trains was so late recently that when it got to its desolate northern shanty town the station was shut. Passengers had to climb a 2-metre spiked fence to get out, which sounds like the opening scene of a low-budget British horror starring Daisy May Cooper and Derek Griffiths. And right on cue Avanti has just been paid £4m in bonuses by the government for “operational performance”, “customer experience” and “acting as a good and efficient operator”.
Here’s an announcement that P&O won’t face prosecution for firing all their staff and replacing them with swimming pool lifeguards. And here’s an announcement that P&O increased its first-half revenues by 60% to £6.6bn and profits by more than 50% to £610m. Can you tell which announcement came from the state and which from the company? I bloody can’t.
Only some profits are good, mind you. Kwasi Kwarteng, lined up to be the next Chancellor of the Exchequer as reward for a regrettable experience involving his cock in Liz Truss, allegedly, is reported to be preparing to rein in the profits of…renewable energy producers. Meanwhile, in the most recent heatwave London’s fire service had its busiest day since the second world war, as Deptford gave Death Valley a run for its money. Fire would probably push the property prices up south of the river, to be fair.
Shareholder dividends, director bonuses: these are the things that make Liz moist. In her glorious future Britain, a benevolent elite will reap enormous profits, but notice interest rates and inflation at record levels, and yet go against every instinct of the trickle-down mindset and spend their wedge rather than dump it in banks. Don’t worry, of course they’ll eschew money for nothing, and instead spend it on the highest prices since dodos roamed the Earth. Inflation at 18%, anyone? As the saying goes, that’s what 13 years of a Labour government gets you.
The rich will get richer and take care of us all, and hope will be limitless in the new Liztopia. And many of the people scraping gutters for discarded doner meat to feed their kids will reward the Tories with another five years because imagine what would happen if you let the other lot in. Do you remember Jeremy Corbyn said he wouldn’t even nuke France? Call yourself a leader!
I don’t know anything of proper poverty. I can imagine being fucking freezing though. I can imagine being hungry, and staring at my last fiver knowing I’ll be drinking it not eating it before I go headfirst off something tall. The leap I can’t make is to homelessness – being without a roof is beyond my comprehension, but I suppose I’ll learn when ten strangers are banging on my door in a few months looking to build huts out of my CD collection. What I know for sure is we’ll be as much to blame as the fucking Tories if we do no more than quietly whinge into our oat milk.
Support strikes, don’t pay your bills, stand outside Parliament with ‘Fuck the Tories’ painted across your tits if you like, though no doubt that gets you nicked these days. Or do nothing, as most of us will, trudging further down this devastated runway towards the inevitable return of Boris Johnson 18 months hence as he flies in to rescue us from the Great Depression that never would have happened if we’d let him keep spreading our cheeks.
And vote for five more years of this, because only the Tories can fix this mess. Shares will boom, profits will be epic and our benign directors will shower us all with £9.50 an hour. And the Earth will burn, and we’ll all die, and your children will curse your memory.
But at least you’ll still have your hosepipe.