I gave you my heart, but the very next day…

You had a massive, drink-fueled party for 55 people gyrating masklessly inside Number 10, with uninhibited shouting, rubbing, groping, the usual works party hi-jinks, as ‘Livin’ on a Prayer’ boomed in the background… and the rest of the nation sat in lonely solitude, darkness and silence, as per your specific, legally-enforced instructions.

…I can’t believe, what a fool I’ve been…

Boris hasn’t denied the party happened. Even though we were in ‘lockdown’ with groups of more than 1 banned. Or some such draconian bollocks we all reluctantly endured at the time. He can’t deny it. Nor that he is, if nothing else, a fool. A tosser, by any other name. Though he wasn’t personally at the… ‘not-a-party’, as he is calling it. Just a ‘small gathering where all covid advice was strictly adhered to’. Wasn’t there but KNOWS with all certainty that everyone wore masks, kept 6 metres apart, in the garden, groups of 3, with no singing, shouting or any other emission or exchange of bodily fluids. The karaoke is a bit an issue so we’ll say that never happened.

This is otherwise known as ‘digging a hole’. Because just as the fake press conference has suddenly materialised, there will inevitably, eventually, appear videos of the night. Drunken number tenners pissing on Maggie Thatcher’s portrait. The under-secretary’s 3rd assistant in a clinch with the cabinet minister’s rather ample portfolio. Naughty things. Bad things. Not covidy things at all. And then Boris will seem even more out of control and hopeless than he already is.

So stop digging and move on. To the next in the continuing line of governmental disasters, fuck-ups and catastrophes. Quite frankly, they’re all that’s keeping the nation going at the moment.

Happy Wednesday

A xxxx