Having just resigned as Prime Minister, David Cameron strolled back into Downing Street on Tuesday humming himself a little tune--a tune not unremarkably different to that of The West Wing. 'Good one, Dave. Thanks for taking your elected office so seriously...' thought people, everywhere, as he sang his way over the threshhold. And while we are at it, have a gold star for opening the floodgates to a torrent of xenophobic, idiotic and jingoistic bilge water, and only half heartedly trying to mop it up. No really, cheers for that.
So jubilant, seemed Dave, as he skipped back into No. 10, that you'd think this was all part of his retirement plan. After all, all things considered, things are going swimmingly for him. He's just dodged two years of frankly filthy political turmoil (soon to splatter the pristine blouse of his right honourable friend); he can still sort of sleep at night, having convinced himself that he's 'done his bit' as the exceedingly blunt spearhead of the remain campaign; and, most importantly, now he and SamCam can go to Lanzarote whenever they darn well please, without the bloody media lecturing him on his priorities.
"Right." He exclaimed decisively after his resignation, the sort of remark one might make before they tackle a particularly penetrative stain on the living room carpet, embark upon a dull and long-neglected tax return, or clean out the complex matrix of their son's hamster cage. "Right" is the prologue to getting a job done. This is not what you say before you totally abandon ship, as it hurtles relentlessly towards a monumental political iceberg. "Sorry guys, and good f**king luck." That would have been more appropriate.
I have feeling that a transcript of the last month in Whitehall would read rather frighteningly like a script of The Thick of It. However, this all becomes remarkably less funny when it is: a) real and, b) bereft of Malcolm Tucker.
'Ah, but he made a real go at it,' his ardent supporters will sigh. They may mention his impassioned support of the leave campaign, when Dave travelled around dreary old England on a bus with George, his friend from school, both of them teary eyed at the thought of a life outside of Europe.
But these folks have of course forgotten something rather crucial. Had Dave not chosen to put 'Must be Prime Minister again' bang at the top of his list of New Year's resolutions ('do what's best for the people I'm supposed to be serving' was a sorry number seven, and 'don't bank offshore' didn't feature, if you were interested), there would have been no need for a campaign of any kind. Sure, Nigel and the People's Army--which confusingly excluded most people--gathered the kindling. But it was good old Dave that lit the fire. Perhaps he was distracted by the thought of finally getting his hands on that hedge fund.
Yet all hope is not lost! We have a new Prime Minister, and a female prime minister at that, as we are sure to be reminded of at steady intervals each day. Sturdy Theresa May, serious Theresa May, experienced Theresa May--does what it says on the tin.
Sounds great, but all that stuff she mentioned about building "One Nation" conservatism--so conservatism for everyone as opposed to just big fat bankers--seems a little fishy after perusing her track record. One Nation Theresa voted against controls on rent in the private sector, against building 100,000 new affordable homes, and against reforms to banking (turns out she's rather keen on big fat bankers, and their bonuses).
In fairness, she has voted continually to raise VAT whilst vehemently combatting almost all other proposed tax hikes on the wealthy, and has been pretty reluctant to do anything to curb the rampant rise of energy prices.
Oh, Wait.
Well, at least she hasn't f**ked a pig; that's something. Isn't it?