What a voice. The rich, booming baritone of Attorney General Geoffrey Cox resonated in every crumbling crevice of the Commons this week, conveying the kind of old-school aural authority our ears have rarely been massaged by since it was rendered unfashionable. At one time, a voice like that would have read the news headlines on Radio 4 or at the very least delivered the football results with sonorous sonic expertise. Quite a contrast with the fingernails-on-a-blackboard croak of Our Glorious Leader; even before she lost it, Theresa May’s voice was always a reedy, hectoring whine of a sort that conveys no authority at all – which is pretty fitting because she has none.

The members of her Cabinet piss all over the naughty step on a daily basis; they’re like kids running riot in some grotty family featured on a Channel 4 documentary probably called ‘Unruly Britain’ or something of that nature. And like children with a weak, compliant parent incapable of administering any form of discipline, they know they can get away with murder. They can vote against their own government or publicly abstain from voting at all, despite the neutered entreaties of the whips. It must be great being a member of the Cabinet at the moment. Mind you, you don’t need to be in the Cabinet to take the piss out of the PM to her face.

When the Maybot tried to serve up her already-rejected motorway service-station meal to Parliament for a second time, adding a sprig of Irish parsley fooled nobody and she received another chorus-line of moonies for her efforts. Undeterred, she’ll probably emerge from the kitchen with the same dish next week and plonk it back on the table. It may give her diners indigestion, but she’ll remind them it’s better than no dinner at all, which is the only other option available to them.

Delaying D-Day may have been voted for this week, but apparently this typical tactic of a Parliament overwhelmingly opposed to the Referendum result is still dependent on the approval of all EU colonies – sorry, member states – so actual Brexit remains the default outcome on March 29. It would seem, however, that the PM will snatch a sorry victory from the jaws of defeat with such a sword hanging over Westminster. A rotten deal twice rejected by massive majorities could well pass third time round because May has consistently stuck her fingers in her ears when anyone has suggested anything else. She has ground down dissenting voices by refusing to budge as the minutes have continued to tick away.

In some respects, it’s a remarkable achievement on her part, though hardly one worthy of celebration. She’ll finally persuade all the knockers within her shambles of a party to vote her way even though they know her offer is shit; but the persistent propaganda of Project Fear has scared so many that they’ll no doubt fall into line in the end; and she’ll genuinely believe she’s led the nation out of the dark. It’s like settling for a loveless marriage because it’s preferable to being a sad singleton. Promoters of the so-called ‘People’s Vote’ have advocated a similar absence of choice with the proposed Second Referendum options of a) Remain or b) May’s deal, AKA a) Remain or b) Diet Remain.

As the PM offers a fresh pair of Brussels handcuffs rather than the key to the ones we’re already wearing, one of her more notorious predecessors cosies up with Macron behind closed doors, and the Remain righteousness of the media mafia mirrors the smug smile of a Guardian columnist’s profile picture; social media sneering and jeering at a pro-Leave protest march setting off on the long road from Sunderland to Westminster sums up a kind of despondent capitulation to the way we were and will always be. Everything appears to have changed, but when the dust eventually settles, maybe nothing will have after all.

Two and-a-half years ago, I guess I was one of them, but it still amazes me how many smart, intelligent people who rarely suffer fools gladly are content to defend a privileged coalition whose policies were responsible for the 2008 crash and who have imposed a decade of austerity upon everyone outside of their cosseted bubble whilst either outsourcing or effectively abolishing public services the majority depend on. But when the alternative is portrayed as some post-apocalyptic far-right racist state run by Old Etonians and policed by gammons, I suppose it’s no wonder, really. And those whose laurels must stink due to being sat on for so long continue to pedal the favoured narrative as long as they’re listened to; I don’t imagine comfortable comedians whose last funny joke was laughed at sometime in the mid-90s are that concerned with towns in the North East or Midlands that mean no more to them than obscure names on a pools coupon.

There are probably still a few out there who would like to see Mr Blair tried as a war criminal; but if any former PM deserves a public flogging, it’s that absentee ex-resident of No.10 who plunged us into this bloody mess, Mr Cameron. I heard his swift resignation described as ‘honourable’ this week, in the context of his successor’s refusal to fall on her sword; but heading for his caravan barely a year after winning a General Election and leaving the nation to fend for itself like an abandoned puppy seems pretty criminal to me. Maybe he sees us as leftover volunteers for his Big Society project and figured we all had unused brooms knocking about.

Gallows humour, satire and sarcasm serve as a way of enduring this daily grind. I used to be an optimistic romantic, whereas now I’m a hard, cynical c*** without an iota of love left in me, so I need to employ some coping mechanism. I always thought I was a man out of time, but it would appear I’m very much a man of my time. Life is full of surprises, but it could be a hell of a lot worse; we realised that on Friday. Back for more next week, no doubt.

© The Editor

6 thoughts on “EXTENDED PLAY

  1. “I always thought I was a man out of time..”

    You know, similarly, I thought that for a long time about myself…and I kind of just grew out of it. I can’t put my finger on when or why. I wonder, and this is off the top of my head, if listening to a lot of pop music, particularly of the melancholic sort, encourages one to think that one is born out of one’s time? Whereas those who spent their youth on the rugger pitch – the jocks of this world, as the Americans would call them – are more inclined to live in the here-and-now? A propos of nothing in particular, I go to AA meetings, and while some of the stories told resonate with me, I don’t identify with those who claim that ALL of their boozing life was a living hell. The fact is, while I wouldn’t necessarily apply the famous Churchill quote to myself personally, alcohol did certain things for me. I enjoyed myself too bloody much, was/is the problem. The nineties for me, particularly the middle and latter party, was a bit of a party which I stubbornly insisted on continuing for nigh-on another two decades.

    Liked by 1 person

    1. I often think my ‘time’ is around 200 years ago, but I suppose in this day and age I could say I identify as a Regency nobleman and get away with it. As for alcohol, yes, I get what you mean. I’ve always found the euphoria that comes in the first phase wonderful; it’s just the upset of the second phase and the anger of the third that ruins the experience for me. Which is why I recently decided to get a grip on it while I still can. Hope your own steps are working for you.


  2. We can safely say that the population at Westminster is hardly setting a good example to the population at large – the days when anyone looked to them as models of either competence or leadership are now firmly dead and buried, as Mrs May’s premiership will also surely be before Easter.

    After this farcical fiasco we all need coping mechanisms – I’ve managed to avoid ‘the bottle’ so far but it’s starting to get tempting. And this is only Phase 1, after that we’ve got the real tussle of trade deals, a leadership election (or two) and an almost inevitable general election: and they’re only the predictable bits.

    Pass me that bottle-opener . . . .

    Liked by 1 person

  3. Just to clarify something. True alcoholics, at least ones of my sort, don’t need an excuse to drink. Brexit is a mess…have a drink. Brexit is miraculously sorted….great, have a drink. Blazing sunny day outside…celebrate with a cider. Lashing rain…cheer yourself up, have a drinkie. Christ, I used to sometimes have a drink when studying for exams. Then of course a piss-up when celebrating end-of-exams, or results day (the second and third are probably normal at least in our part of the world, but not the first). I’m amazed, literally amazed, that my liver blood tests came back relatively normal. Still had to stop, mind.

    Liked by 1 person

  4. I totally agree. These people are lamentable – and are taking the UK to a dark place; we get to pay billions upon billions to become a vassal state – with no seat at the table. FUBAR. I find it very difficult to decide who is or was the worst PM of all time – Chamberlain, Heath, Cameron or May. It’s like a turd judging contest. Which stinks the most? Which will be the most likely to be the annoying liitle shit that just floats there and won’t flush away. I think you can make a case for Cameron though, if only because of his mind boggling sense of entitlement and disdain – a sense of detachment from the lives of ordinartry people.
    In they are all c***s.
    Oliver Cromwell was not a nice man; I don’t think it is likely we would have been friends, or gone for a few down the Dog and Duck before a splendidly inappropriate visit to the Lady Jane Health Studio (it’s just down the road). But on this, I share his sentiment, as he robustly shut down the Long Parliament with his iron hard troopers marching into the Commons.

    “It is high time for me to put an end to your sitting in this place, which you have dishonored by your contempt of all virtue, and defiled by your practice of every vice; ye are a factious crew, and enemies to all good government; ye are a pack of mercenary wretches, and would like Esau sell your country for a mess of pottage, and like Judas betray your God for a few pieces of money.

    Is there a single virtue now remaining amongst you? Is there one vice you do not possess? Ye have no more religion than my horse; gold is your God; which of you have not barter’d your conscience for bribes? Is there a man amongst you that has the least care for the good of the Commonwealth?

    Ye sordid prostitutes have you not defil’d this sacred place, and turn’d the Lord’s temple into a den of thieves, by your immoral principles and wicked practices? Ye are grown intolerably odious to the whole nation; you were deputed here by the people to get grievances redress’d, are yourselves gone! So! Take away that shining bauble there, and lock up the doors”. \\

    Liked by 1 person

    1. Funny how Cromwell’s speech could be directed at today’s rabble and would be just as relevant. Nothing, it would seem, ever changes in Westminster. Must be something in the water.


Comments are closed.