2016: The State of the Nation.
It’s Bonfire Night Eve as I write this at home in Pontypridd. The South Wales one. Fireworks explode softly up the hill, and across the valley showers of crackling red and green tears. Cried for Brexit, by people who gained the most from European funding here in poor valley Wales, but still voted to leave. It’s hard to understand.
Today I read a tweet from someone called Jane, probably a student to judge from the student number in her Twitter Handle, (joined June 2016 ) saying that Owen Smith was ‘missing the point of Brexit by suggesting that:
‘A sovereign Parliament and an independent Judiciary were surely two of the Great British institutions that Brexit was supposed to protect?’
Of course the numbers don’t add up either.
But they were probably not added up by that fool Gove’s experts. I’ve always thought it much better to have something really complex being done by people who don’t have a clue. Wait, that’s the Tory Government then. Farage obviously. I still blame Nick Clegg, whoever he is. It was all his fault in the first place.
Don’t get me started on that old fool, you know, that guy, Old Father Corbyn. He does magic you know. Not just rabbits out of hats either, although he wouldn’t do that because the rabbit’s aren’t unionised, and health and safety might be breached, and I think the rabbits were always white…he wouldn’t like that.
When he strokes his beard and mumbles, at PM’s questions, he is actually making a wizardly incantation, pleading for the world to end before the next election.
And now, mid December back in ’52, the time has come, for maudlin end of year round ups, platitudes, and people singing My Way, their way, but not the Sid Vicious Way. So I thought, well why not chuck my hat in the ring, and dance about it a bit while Rome burns, which it may well be doing later next year. Along with London, Berlin, Paris, Munich, everybody’s doing pop music and forming their own people’s party, their own axe to grind, sharpening their tongues and their blades.
So another year over, and what have we done. Well, as some of my teenage friends back in Nottingham might have said in answer to that question, ‘fuck all’, and probably that’s about right.