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Dearest Gentle Reader,
This Author confesses to having sat down at her escritoire this Saturday morning with the distinct sensation that the world had elected to be maximally eventful all at once. The ballots are barely dry in North Britain, two hundred thousand souls have crossed the Channel, and the American Colonies have opened a filing cabinet on the subject of beings from other worlds. One barely knows where to direct one’s raised eyebrow first.
To North Britain we go, where First Minister Swinney has secured a fifth consecutive victory for the Scottish National Party in the Scottish Assembly – a feat so emphatic that the man himself declared it won “hands down.” This Author notes that “hands down” is a curious phrase for a politician who still requires other parties’ cooperation to govern, but let us not quibble with a man who has saltire-waving admirers serenading him with Flower of Scotland across the parliamentary pond. First Minister Swinney has declared he will work with almost any party – barring the Reform Society, whose values he finds incompatible with his own. A sentiment, one suspects, shared by a considerable portion of the Kingdom.
And speaking of the Reform Society – for one must – the party’s home affairs spokesman saw fit to appear on the Broadcasting Society’s Morning Programme this Saturday to declare that his party will “never take voters for granted.” This is, of course, precisely what every party says immediately after taking a great many voters very much for granted, but This Author shall be generous. The Reform Society has gained more than 1,400 councillors across Southern Kingdom, swept aside the Conservatives in Essex and Suffolk, and finished joint second with Labour in North Britain. Viscount Farage‘s admirers are pronouncing it a “truly historic shift in British politics,” which is the sort of language one uses when one wishes to make one’s rivals weep into their morning porridge.
From the hustings to the high seas – or rather, the very low and perilous straits of the English Channel, where a rather grim milestone has been reached. More than 200,000 migrants have now crossed in small boats since records began in 2018. That number stood at 200,013 as of Friday, when seventy souls arrived on a single vessel, calm weather having provided the crossing’s only mercy. Lord Sunak pledged to “stop the boats.” Lord Starmer pledged to “smash the gangs.” The boats, unmoved by political oratory, have continued arriving. One begins to wonder whether the Channel itself has simply decided to ignore the corridors of power entirely – a response, one notes, with which This Author has some sympathy.
Across the Atlantic, Lord Trump has performed what can only be described as the most theatrical filing exercise in recorded history. The Department of War has released 162 documents pertaining to unidentified anomalous phenomena – or, as sensible persons call them, flying objects nobody can explain – accompanied by Lord Trump‘s personal annotation on Truth Social: “WHAT THE HELL IS GOING ON? Have Fun and Enjoy!” Reader, if the leader of the American Colonies does not himself know what is going on, This Author confesses to feeling somewhat less than reassured. The files contain images and details, but crucially no conclusions – the government admitting the phenomena remain “unresolved cases.” In other words: here are the mysteries, good luck, farewell.
Finally, to a story that combines viral pestilence, Antarctic adventure, and the singular British capacity for understatement. The MV Hondius, a Dutch cruise vessel, has been beset by hantavirus, with five confirmed cases and three passengers having died during the voyage. Twenty-two Britons aboard are expected to dock in Tenerife this Sunday before being flown home on a charter flight – first tested by Spanish officials, then dispatched to self-isolate for forty-five days. Mr Anstee, a 56-year-old retired police officer and expedition guide evacuated to the Netherlands, reported from his hospital bed that he was “fine” – which is, This Author submits, the most magnificently British response to contracting a rare and dangerous virus one has ever encountered. One trusts the remaining passengers arrive home safely, and perhaps reconsider next season’s holiday itinerary.
I am, as ever, your most devoted observer – Lady Whistledown.