I see you exploding across the television, positively apoplectic, the sputtering Catherine wheel with the voice of a town crier howling into the end of a night of fireworks. They’ve been saving you up, haven’t they? You’re the fire and brimstone this clusterfuck has been desperate for, barking your indignation down the bow of your wagging finger like the lead in an am-dram panto having a meltdown at the staff do. What are the Supreme Court angry at you for, Geoffrey Cox? Eating a meal? A succulent Chinese meal?
Turns out “this is just a standard prorogation, honest Ma’am” was a colossal whopper. In terms of utter bullshit poor old Liz has had to curl her stiff upper lip in response to swallowing recently it was right up there with “I’m not a colossal nonce, honest Mu’um.” In a disgusting spectacle that would have sent any other specimen to the dole queue with his tail hanging between his legs the Supreme Court completely rejected the argument Boris didn’t even bother making in his defence, laying bare the utter lie that his decision to prorogue had nothing to do with Brexit. He couldn’t be bothered defending himself and they weren’t having it, deciding that in the face of an absolutely unprecedented abuse of power they’d rather not let him set a dangerous legal standard.
Let’s not let the argument shift in any other direction. If you think every single one of the 11 old stupendously rich white people on the Supreme Court are secret hippy saboteurs who’d rather sit in a drum circle and drop acid than allow Brexit you’re as hoodwinked as you are complicit in the bullshit narrative Dominic Cummings is determined to spin out of this farce. It was a simple question of law. You tried to play chicken with our checks and balances, Geoffrey Cox, and it turned out that finer legal minds than you had the common sense to not let you get away with it. They were uncharted waters, sure, and I bet Boris was ecstatic when you tried to persuade him down them. Unfortunately Lady Hale has now stabbed her cartographer’s brooch through both sides of your loophole and stitched it shut tighter than the bumhole of a sneezing nun.
The debut screening of Parliament 2: Parliament Harder was as grotesque as it was unedifying. A Tory party in complete tailspin has thrown off the few mouldy grains of principle it had left. What remains is nothing but the chaff of talentless sycophants who have nothing left to hide their incompetence but their undying tributes of blind loyalty to a panicking idiot thrashing spitefully on the sand he’s beached himself on. Pathetic lickspittles like Hancock and Cleverly now have to tie themselves in knots in an attempt to justify Johnson’s increasingly hamfisted attempts to stir up vitriol, while the rest of the Tory backbenchers suffer the uncomfortable sensation of the horror they’ve unleashed chafing against the few thin fibres of their conscience.
He can try and spin it all he likes, but surrender is the last thing Boris is actually facing. What he’s got instead is an ever-building series of concrete barriers hemming him in, while from above he’s constantly squeezed by the furious disaster capitalists who face losing their millions when he fails to deliver the bonfire of EU oversight he promised. It turns out Cummings might be nowhere near as clever as he’s managed to convince Boris he is.
And should those barriers fail, Geoffrey Cox, and the future turns out to be your vision of it instead? It’ll just be you and the noise and dust.
I hear the riots roaring around you, the white noise of furious voices rising like bubbles from a tar pit all over the exposed ribs of the city’s burning carcass. I see your suit ripped around your shoulders, grime and soot streaking the indignant puce of your froth-spittled face. I see you try to run, the sea of masked faces pushing you along, the scent of burning rubber in the air, trails of tear gas arcing in the sky.
I see them tug at you, Geoffrey Cox, ripping the cufflinks out of your collars, pulling the Rolex off your wrist. I see you turn and bellow at the policeman on his horse. I see him look at you and shrug.
He’d love to help, Geoffrey Cox. He still believes in the rule of law after all.
Turns out the rioters strongly disagree, though. Not much he can do, guv. We now live in a world of zero shame and accountability, so that’s the end of that.
I see you, Geoffrey Cox. I fucking see you.
