The Devil You Know

According to The New Yorker, viewing British politics from the respectful distance of the other side of the pond, that was what we chose as a nation yesterday. Appropriate then, perhaps, that a full moon coincided with the early hours of a Friday the 13th for the choice to crystallise, even though the exit poll had more or less accurately predicted the result within minutes of the voting booths closing at 10pm. 

Rather like a seriously ill person finally getting a diagnosis, I feel calm today even though the news is crap. There are some minor silver linings to the clouds. Firstly the big majority means that Boris the Tosser will not have to kowtow to the DUP or the ERG and certainly not to the odious Farage, who has now lost all leverage. This may mean a softer Brexit - certainly that is the view of most observers. And secondly he is desperate to be popular and therefore will not take the draconian course of Thatcher and will certainly not attack the sacred cow that it is the NHS. 

But the fact is, we have elected a man who everyone knows is a liar, a racist and a self-publicist. That says some very damning things about our national character just as America electing Trump showed a collective bad judgement for the people of the United States. We are now viewed abroad with scorn just as the USA is.

I am glad to be going abroad for a few days from Tuesday. Leaving the country, even briefly, seems a sensible and sane response to the election of 2019. And in a couple of weeks we move into a new decade: the roaring twenties. Let’s hope that the next five years aren’t as bad as our worst nightmares might indicate ...