Just like the commenters at Guido Fawkes’, I’m sure we’re all looking forward to a lovely, relaxed holiday weekend.
NOT.
2:59 PM, March 20, 2008 woman on a raft said…
Is the world ending this weekend? The supermarket is heaving with people scowling and filling up on anything they can get their hands on. They aren’t smiling as if they expect a festival of renewal – they look like they are laying in for a siege.
The weather is miserable and the TV news is rubbing its paws in anticipation of gridlock this afternoon, predicting 16m cars all trying to get to the DIY shed for some charcoal briquettes at the same time. Anybody who can has already left for somewhere warmer – much like the landlord of this pub – and the council tax bills came last week.
The trollies heaving with jumbo packs of budget toilet paper are optimistic signs in a way; people obviously mean to survive but are scaling back on the glitter. Jumbo blocks of chocolate are much better value than easter eggs which are all cardboard and plastic. Spam, eggs, (tinned tuna for the vegetarians – that’s right innit?) – a couple of crates of beer – should see us through to next Tuesday for the resumption of whatever counts as normal service.
Newsrooms grow nervous; there is only so many times you can run the footage of podgy housewives dressed as bunnies, singeing their bunny ears whilst cooking outdoor pancakes and going hypothermic whilst supervising toddlers’ easter egg hunts. There’s having fun regardless of the weather, and being a complete lunatic and putting extra strain on the emergency services. The ambulance comes for mum, the fire engine comes to put out next door’s garage which has caught fire due to a barbeque accident when the charcoal catches the gazebo alight, then the wind gets under the awning and blows the lot in to the cherry tree and rosa rugosa ornamental hedging. Mr Next Door’s homebrew and illegal still blows up when the garage burns. The police eventually turn up to cordon off the road to ask whether Al Quaida has anything to do with this, or is the devastation all our own work? The Neighbourhood Unit Terrorism Antis (NUTAs) arrive drink the last of the beer as a precaution.
None of this is strictly speaking, the PM’s fault, but so what? Last summer the weather was awful, but it was Tony’s weather. What we want to know is: what are YOU going to do about it, Gordon, eh? Eh?
We already know the answer to that: sweet FA, as usual.
