The celebrity massacre that was 2016 felt a lot like the way that the prison system was re-shuffled in the same year. Old, established and for the most part, competent if admittedly well paid figures were disposed of in favour of a cheaper, less experienced and ultimately inferior replacement. We are now stuck with the new. Terry Wogan will no longer be making the two most boring television marathons on UK TV remotely interesting, instead a plethora of dickheads with no idea how to be funny will try and fail to make us laugh while simultaneously depressing us with sordid clips of starving africans and estonian pop singers respectively. Bowie has been replaced with Honey G as Britain’s most important musician, George Michael’s brief tenure as being the most depraved “Michael” in the public consciousness is over and we’re all pretty much just waiting for someone, somewhere to remember that Michael Barrymore exists, and then he, too, shall wear the crown once donned by Michael Jackson and Mick Hucknall before him, although that was just for being ginger.
We’re stuck with shit politicians we didn’t elect, shit TV personalities we didn’t want to watch, and shit music we don’t want to listen to. We’ve got a political shit in our mouths, and another is about to be served up to us. Surely nobody in the UK is dumb enough to think that we have enough power to negotiate deals that benefit us. Sure, in the past, we had this thing called a gang to back us up as we stomped around like the Cat from Red Dwarf, assuming ownership of everything that our gazes fell upon, but now we’re like the one guy who’s been pushing everyone around for ages just because our dad is rich, but now that he’s in prison for a ponzi scheme, we’re going to get the fuck kicked out of us for being such spoilt little brats, as we watch our power and influence wain and eventually crumble into dust.
Boris is harking on about how it wouldn’t be proper for us to take a beating, but that just sounds like a posh boy begging for mercy, as if to say that attacking us won’t make them look any better, so why not go pick on someone stronger, but actually, that’s entirely the point that he’s missed. We’ve turned the tables on ourselves and the rest of the world is licking its lips, thinking about how lucky they are about finally getting a free pop at someone who’s been oppressing them for years. The Eton generation has sold us down the river, and if we’re getting to the point where our representatives are saying “Golly gosh, please don’t hurt us as that wouldn’t be terribly British of you, now would it, old chap?” rather than taking proactive steps to try to negotiate the best deal they can, it speaks volumes for our future. We will not have access to the single market. That’s what we wanted, apparently, and that’s what we’ll get.
Except that when they sold us the idea, they told us we’d be getting £350M a week more to invest into the NHS. They told us that we’d have more money and more freedom. What they didn’t quite point out was that they meant we’d have the freedom to no longer have to conform to crazy European laws. Laws that stop us from working for peanuts in unsafe conditions for more hours a day than anyone else. Those laws. The laws that we helped write and create as part of the European Constitution. We created our bed of roses, then realised just as we were jumping into it that actually we’ve used all the thorny stems rather than the delicate soft petals because we thought we were getting ourselves a better deal.
So now, we’re stuck with leaders we don’t want leading us somewhere we don’t want to go. This train is being driven full pelt into a brick wall that may or may not have been built on a foundation of highly volatile TNT. Perhaps the only way to look at this positively is to think that at least, the next time we get to choose who is in charge and what we want out of it, we might actually think, do some research and learn from our mistakes. Assuming we get that choice again, who knows, by then, Theresa May might have outlawed elections and have implemented some kind of Brave New World scenario. Maybe she already has and we just don’t know it. For now, just sit back, relax and watch old clips of Eurovision with good old Terry Wogan as before long, Europe, Eurovision and Sir Terry will be nothing but a distant memory for us all.