After a lovely long weekend (and, in fact, a full week away from my computer for the first time in years) it’s time to get back to the grind.
Yesterday I managed to get rid of all the unread emails in my inbox, although, on another entirely unrelated topic, if you sent me an email and you’re currently awaiting a reply then I’d perhaps readjust your expectations slightly regarding that.
Anyway I have a LOT of work to do, so rather than that, I thought I’d share some of my thoughts from the week.
Boris the unflushable turd
Right now it’s now a lovely sunny Tuesday afternoon, marred only by the memory of yesterday evening when Boris won his vote of no confidence. What an anti-climax that was.
Don’t get me wrong, it wasn’t a surprise at all, but as much as I never truly believed he would lose the vote (sadly there are way too many idiots scared for their jobs – who else would put Liz “Look at me! In a hat! I’m wearing a hat!” Truss or Nadine “so dim she wouldn’t even be mood lighting” Dorries in a position where they’d have more responsibility than making tea?), I was thinking that maybe it would be a good excuse for the neighbours to reuse all that tacky union flag bunting to celebrate something truly worthwhile*.
But, for now, the fecund clown stays. Ho hum.
His win isn’t a huge victory by any means, he’s seriously clinging on by his fingernails here in the way that anyone with a modicum of morality or self respect just wouldn’t do.
He may have won by 211 to 148 votes, but it’s important to remember that this is his own party we’re talking about; the people that found him charming and quirky enough to think ‘Yes, him! The one who brushes his hair with a balloon and can’t answer the most straightforward of questions. He’s the guy for me” in the first place.
Imagine asking ten of your friends if they liked you, and four of them admit you’re an incompetent bellend – and one’s on the fence – even though they have to have a friend and you pick up the bar tab and let them get away with pretty much anything. It makes him officially less popular than Theresa May. I hate to admit it, but I now look back with a certain fondness on her wheat-field frolicking, half-human, half-pterodactyl ways.
Anyway, if he manages to stay in the job despite the shame of knowing that almost 150 of his Tory MPs think he’s shit at it, my hope is that he carries on acting like the arrogant bastard he is and loses the next election so badly that you’ll hear Carrie laughing from Zac Goldsmith’s yacht.
Is it ‘Platty Joobs’ or ‘Platty Jubes’? I need this tattoo to be right…
*The Platinum Jubilee is something that pretty much passed me by. I imagine it won’t surprise you to learn that I am no royalist. I’m not staunchly anti-monarchy either but I’m… apathetic. Essentially I did enjoy the extra bank holiday pub time, without feeling the need to watch the relentless footage which took over every newspaper and social media channel for four solid days.
The bits I actually enjoyed were, in ascending order:
3. Louis being a little shitbag, in the way that every and all four year olds who aren’t dumb as a box of rocks tend to be.
2. Noncey prince Andrew ‘getting COVID’ and missing the party, in an entirely unpredictable and shocking sequence of events.
1. Boris being booed by the same flag-waving patriots that presumably put him in power.
Oh, and our Nads rushing to his defence, forgetting that us peasants also have ears.
I also loved the ‘fuck this’ energy from the Queen herself. To be absolutely fair to her, if someone threatened me with Rod Stewart, I wouldn’t go along to my own party either. I do wish she’d just step down and hand the reins over though – I’m well aware that I’m going to get shot down for saying this but she is older than time itself at this point and the light went off behind her eyes ages ago. That Paddington sketch was a harrowing watch.
Anyway, it gave the neighbours a chance to get pissed in the street, and what more could you want from a bank holiday weekend?
A right royal pain in the neck
On a personal note, on Friday morning I was lying in bed and suddenly my neck went NO and BAM – that was me in agony and sobbing for the next 24 hours. I even went to A&E to get it checked out – my first visit in a decade or more, as it goes – and then spent the rest of the weekend on strong painkillers, wincing every time I moved. It was reminiscent of the time I did my back in.
It was a lovely reminder that I’m definitely getting old.
I managed swimming today, so I’m definitely on the mend, but I certainly don’t recommend it as a way to spend a bank holiday.
Anyway, that was an hour or so wasted, so time to crack on with my Father’s Day gift guide.
In doing research for this, I happened (I was going to say came, but…) across the following**.
I have some questions:
Who the merry fuck is buying this on Amazon Subscribe and Save? Is there someone out there with a cupboard bursting full of silicone replicas of their conquest’s erect members? How do you bring that one up in conversation? And perhaps most importantly, WHY DO YOU NOT ACTUALLY SAVE ANY MONEY by choosing the subscribe and save option?
**I hope it goes without saying, please don’t buy this for your dad.
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