Welcome to Britain. Crappy little Britain. Sat out in a grey puddle on the edge of an increasingly smug, petty continent, gently shivering away in not so splendid isolation. Welcome to a country well past its best but still trying to punch above an ever decreasing weight. We’ve become such a shambles I almost feel ashamed to say I’m British, certainly so in the last 24 hours. Just for a bit of very necessary muscle flexing let’s reflect on two perfect examples of what stupidity really looks like.
1. First dibs goes to Jeremy Corbyn. Who is truly a fucking idiot. And not just for being a soft top, drippy nosed communist who can’t even muster the dignity and respect to wear a proper coat for the 100th anniversary Cenotaph service (he looked like a cross between a train spotter, a door to door bible salesman and an occupant of the sex offenders register). He’s here because yesterday he called Theresa May a “stupid woman”. Oh no he didn’t. Oh yes, he did! You see if you’re going to called someone a stupid woman and then lie about it then you’d best make sure there’s no evidence. And where could be more hidden from public view at the moment than a packed House of Commons during a Brexit debate? It’s hardly an isolated meadow or a Belfast safe house.
What plunges Jeremy Corbyn so far up the ignominious rectum of stupidity is his going away for a bit, no doubt taking some dreadful tips from his turkey twizzler advisors, and returning to say that what he had said was not in fact ‘stupid woman’ but ‘stupid people’. Through the fog of acrid smoke that now billows from his very much on-fire pants we need only focus on the hypnotic video footage. It’s there for all to see and the only way the not so honourable Mr Corbyn could have swerved this disaster would have been to explain that in between the words ‘stupid’ and ‘people’ he had suffered an enormous stroke, causing his mouth to contort and seem to say ‘woman’ instead. Either that or simply apologise and then explain in quite some detail how much of a twat he is. Bloody cheek anyway – Theresa May has a Geography degree and only very clever people get those.
Second dibs goes to Gatwick Airport. Or should it be drones? Or should it be the stupid cunts (as you know I only use that word when absolutely necessary, sorry (though this is a good case in point – Corbyn is merely a twat and a fucking idiot whereas someone deliberately bringing misery to thousands through a malicious act is a cunt – now you know the distinction))? If there are two things that are worse than waiting in an airport it’s waiting in an airport for longer than you think you will and for longer than you need too. Imagine all those hopeful little hearts staring up at the departures board last night; off to join their families for Christmas, or more likely escape them. How crushed they must feel now. Sitting. Waiting. Watching camera crews watching them, to capture the building tension.
Some say it’s good to be stoical about these things. Some say it’s what the British are good at. I wouldn’t be very stoical. I’d be pretty ticked off. For a start I’m beginning to question why we need drones in the first place. I know they’re good for wars and finding stuff and filming yet more animal action for Attenborough, but why on earth are they available commercially to every and any prat that wants one? Since most people are too thick to be trusted with most things shouldn’t we have some new law passed and just ban the bloody things? I suppose police are trying to track these little drone-happy bastards down and I would recommend they call on help. Just enlist those 10,000 deeply pissed off stranded passengers. Let them loose and when they find their stupid man (or stupid woman) tear them limb from limb and stuff that drone through one ear and pull it out of the other. Perhaps even experiment with a variety of restrictive holes; that’s a lot of Christmases they’ve just taken the merry out of.
That’s me done for today. Short but not very sweet.
G B Hewitt. 20.12.2018
Now I have a rather challenging cryptic Christmas Quiz to return to. I’m chipping away at it, MK. Thanks to Abigail Frottagepot and family for good company, laughs, wine and puzzle solving.