Did you hear about the 3 wells?
Well, well, well.
I do apologise, that is objectively the worst joke in my otherwise exceptional collection, if not indeed the English speaking world. Thank you Granny Moustache, it was one of her two favourites. But it is apposite for objectively the worst and most pish boiling week of Westminster fuckery for quite some time. Like the joke, it went into and then quite some way past, so bad it’s actually good to oh no, you’ve taken that way too far, that’s horrific. Now that the dust has settled, calm has been restored and the Commons insanity of last Wednesday [21st Feb 2024] has been fully sorted out, we can all collect ourselves and reflect objectively on…. Ha ha ha has it fuck. Indeed I have just had a “mixed” weekend of sporting and other distractions and as I am doing one last read through I just saw a clip of Chris Bryant, confessing to the aforementioned repeatedly denied fuckery, then laughing. Bastard.
The shitstorm has rolled on and on and I am still furious, launching barrages of hyperpartisan ultra-snark on twatter. Mainly at the horribly disingenuous concern trolling and Labour approved pet hack hagiography. Much of mine is aimed at the otherwise reasonable UK pundits pontificating endless shite about the SNP playing games and many of the former remainery/lefty good guys. Whose content now resembles the gushy idiotic contributions featured in the letters page of a glossy Starmer fanzine for teenage girls. And they aren’t taking their richly deserved tellings well. I tell you what, walking the line of adequately expressing ones considerable ire, at folk who you quite like, whose opinion you value and respect (not as much now thought obvs) without getting blocked is pretty hard. Frankly, people across the political spectrum are a bit fucking tetchy and it’s apparently the fault of the SNP for trying to make Labour say “war crimes are bad.”
At least you only get banned from the X-Birdsite for objecting to the political murder, at the second attempt, of your son with a binary nerve agent these days. Thank you Space Karen.
Undoubtedly the UK remains deeply ill at ease with itself, the rhetorical temperature is being cranked to a level that would melt steel every single day and it is demonstrably true that people, including MPs, minorities, journalists and so on are at an increased risk because of it.
Most folk know. Most people can see this stuff just form part of the final, desperate, typically unspeakably cunty grand mal seizures of a dying government that hates itself. Almost but not quite, as much as we do. It will, and already has, plumbed new and exciting depths of disgrace while spasming out its desperate and futile staccato of hate, persecution and epic, epic fuckwittery. The grim reality and lived experience of this now seemingly routine abandonment of any decency in what passes for UK politics is it will cause real world, actual fucking harm.To actual fucking people.
Considering the glaring failure to tackle, or put up a reasonable impression of giving a single toss about this stuff, beyond the time between an MPs murder and their funeral. I can’t say I’m exactly confident anything will be done.
What I am confident about though is swiping one of the very few chances the SNP have to influence or meaningfully participate in UK democracy has precisely fuck all to do with MPs safety. It’s beyond absurd to suggest there is any kind of even convoluted, twice removed, byzantine link between the safety of MPs and the rules around opposition days. I say rules, when of course there are no rules, are there?
We’ve had days and reams of faux-po-faced drivel, despite nobody being able to explain why Labour bending over the speaker and screwing the SNP has anything to do with violence or threats against members. But in countless, wittering pieces by otherwise sensible, credible adults, as well as the usual fluffers, it’s being presented as gospel.
The Gospel of Saint Lindsay. A stirring tale of man who shambled back into the commons like he’d been smashing lines and absinthe with Govesy and Wes while the place he is supposed to run, descended into record breaking levels of arseholery. Upon finally returning to the scene of his crime, initially the visibly upset or possibly buckled Hoyle expressed contrition and apologised. Promising to meet with leaders and whips to sort this out. The next day however he was prowling the tea rooms to the hubristic cheers of Labour MPs, unaware or uncaring that they were giving the game away a bit there lads. Then in the afternoon the ghoul dragged the bodies of two murdered MPs into the chamber and tried to hide the craven, pathetic and partisan thing he had done behind the corpses of two MPs, who were of a calibre, regardless of your politics, Hoyle will never achieve, or even come within lightyears of approaching..
But this is the story. This is the new truth. People I genuinely like, whose output I respect, are parroting this heinous guff about SNP game playing and keeping MPs safe. As well as the never ending series of twunts whose links you could not pay me to click, on sneering innuendo of the utterly contemptible “First Minister of Gaza” genre.
If the UK wasn’t a nonsense country, both Hoyle and Starmer would have been clearing out their desks and handing in their laptops at 8am on Thursday with HR looking on. But it demonstrably fucking is. Labour won’t be moving against a speaker that has so willingly swapped debasing himself and disgracing his office for the conservatives, to doing it for them. As long as at least one of the BritPol Old Firm are getting what they want, the UK is fine. All is well.
As one Tory MP put it: (In an excellent and so far uniquely for UK journalism, not fucking nonsense Speaker Profile by Freddie Hayward in the New Statesman)
“That the Conservative Party is going to give the Speaker’s head to the SNP – the Speaker of the UK parliament to the SNP, which wants to break up the United Kingdom – is just beyond imaginable.”
Unimaginable. That the Chair would have to go for fucking over the ScozNatz? When what is the Mother of Parliaments for if not that?
Have you heard about the three deers?
Dear, de….
