2019. It’s been a hoot. Or if not that – for hoots suggest fun, and/or owls – then at least fascinating to rubberneck, the political story arc driving itself off its hubris cliff in an idiot carriage fashioned from Battenburg cake and duck vomit, time after time after time. Curled up on the sofa with … Continue reading Dos Dedos Mis Amigos: Autopsy of an Election
Last weekend I watched as some local Dickensian urchins senselessly vandalised the front garden of a harmless, little old man. They were stomping on pot plants, urinating in the ornamental pond, ripping up the herbaceous border, and I chased them away but only with the implicit threat of a minority Labour administration propped up by … Continue reading Written in the Prophecies. Or on Scratchcards: Thoughts on an Election #6
How many children does the prime minister have? No-one seems to know. Not even the prime minister. All the womens, they want a go on BoJo’s upstanding member. Little Lord FauntleFuck, his tickle stick primed and ready. Does he tour the country in a Luton van, a stained mattress in the back? He pulls to … Continue reading Boris Johnson’s Offspring Numberwang: Thoughts on an Election #5
Midway through pretty much every election campaign, once the ratings have slumped and the writing team responsible for the whole sorry mess start to struggle under the weight of all those narcotics they’ve ingested, there’s usually a point where a special guest star is introduced, forcing the story in a new and kinky direction. The … Continue reading Spirit, Can You Hear Us? Thoughts on an Election #4
This is the third week that I’ve been writing about Brexit, and the election we have to have because we can’t have Brexit, and the gaping void at the heart of everything but especially the election, and Brexit, and I heard, as it were the noise of thunder, one of the four beasts saying, ‘Come … Continue reading Calling All Exorcists: Thoughts on an Election #3
On election day in 2010, Nigel Farage had his plane crash. It was funny and also rubbish – two things that a plane crash shouldn’t be. In the February of 2019, Ross Thompson, the former Conservative member for Aberdeen South, got drunk in a House of Commons bar and started grabbing men’s genitals. Which ran … Continue reading Nothing Can Divide Us (apart from the Heptagonal Shrapnel in our Bloody Foreheads): Thoughts on an Election #2
The other day, on the pedestrianised bit of the High Street, an elderly, constipated gentleman whom I did not know dropped his trousers, and there, amidst the shoppers and the vape stores and the hordes of canvassing Evangelical Christians, he began to squat. With a grimace on his face and perspiration on his brow the … Continue reading All the Pretty Things are Going to Hell: Thoughts on Brexit, and the Election.