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Dearest Gentle Reader,
What a week this Author has endured on your behalf. Seven days, seven dispatches, and a single unifying theme threading through the whole gaudy pageant like a ribbon through a bonnet – namely, that the great and the powerful of this nation are, to a one, making rather a terrible mess of things, and trusting that nobody shall notice.
It began, as these things so often do, with money. Brexit, Bankrupted Rooftops, and a Blue Citadel in the Dock opened Monday’s proceedings with a thirty-five billion pound abyss and a rooftop swindle so fashionable one wonders whether it shall appear in next season’s pattern books. By Tuesday, in Prisoners Walk Free, Brexit Walks Back, and Poundland Wobbles, the same Brexit had been resurrected from its grave, Poundland was tottering, and a celebrated songstress was at war with mechanical impostors. One barely had time to recover before Wednesday’s Deleted Records, a Deleted Postman, and a Third Runway Nobody Will Commit To furnished us with a Prime Minister whose memory proves, shall we say, selectively incomplete.
Thursday, bless it, offered a brief respite. Frogs, Duchesses, and Bad Apples saw fifteen creatures the size of pencil tips outshine the entirety of Parliament – a low bar, this Author concedes, but a bar nonetheless. Friday’s Crowns, Criminals, and the Crown Jewels confirmed that Viscount Farage’s Reform Society continues to cultivate bad apples with a dedication no legitimate orchardist could match. Saturday brought a Chancellor opining on runways from Bangkok, while a nurse of remarkable enterprise made off with three-quarters of a million pounds and a campervan, all documented in Stars, Runways, and a Nurse Most Enterprising.
And Sunday – dear, dramatic Sunday – produced Corridor Beds, Rebel Greens, and a Gunshot Before Sunrise, complete with a rose garden rendered sinister and a party leader imprisoned by his own rulebook until 2028. The pattern, Gentle Reader, is plain: the Ton governs itself with all the competence of a debutante attempting the quadrille in borrowed shoes. This Author watches. This Author notes everything. And this Author shall return.