Matron simply loves a well hung Parliament

All the President’s blogs....

When I awake, crusty eyed, breath reeking like 3 day old road kill that’s been kept in the greenhouse, eyes moving independently of each other like a goggle eyed lizard, what I crave is routine, order and clarity. In the morning I lack the apparatus to cope with surprises, uncertainty and the last of the milk smelling a bit ripe. Once I get up, after a quick rum and coke, I’m usually going to spend the next half an hour or so trying to resurrect the sensation in the left side of my face by weakly prodding it with my finger and pouring half of Columbia’s export quota of coffee into my gullet at Norris McWhirter bothering speed.

This morning I woke seeking comfort and assurances from my telly box that we had a clear winner, with a mandate, a will and a giant shit-eating grin on his mush, ready to get on with driving this country into the ground. Oh. Wait... What’s all these graphs? What’s going on? Why’s HE still in there???? Nothing like clarity to start the day.

The news outlets political correspondents probably spent the night leaping from buttock to buttock in moist excitement at the prospect of the election coverage rumbling on during the melee of a hung Parliament and the amusing prospect of covering Brown as he takes up a squat in Downing Street. However, this excitement began to recede in the cold light of day as everyone conceded that they hadn’t the faintest idea what was going on, who was in charge and what the bloody hell we were going to do about it. Journalist and commentator alike were rounded up like cattle and shovelled in front of the cameras to give us incisive reporting, such as “the prevailing mood is confusion”. Mostly this confusion seemed to be happening between the reporters themselves, whilst the population at large produced a collective shrug of the shoulders (probably large enough to be seen from space) got off their arses and went to work.

So with parliament hanging like a piñata waiting for a college student with bleary vision to take a ruddy great stick to it, I frankly have had just about enough of it all. While Gord spends the morning checking his lease at number 10 to see if he can get planning permission to bring a hoard of gypsy caravans onto Downing Street to blockade himself in, leaving Cameron outside the gates trying to rouse a posse and holding up placards reading “Not In My Back Yard”, the rest of us wonder what the bloody point of it all was.

The media seemed to be telling us we were surplus to the requirements of the political process after the expenses scandal by dabbling in self-fulfilling prophecy reporting, running stories telling us that nobody was interested in voting, leading to people to watch these reports, and tell each other they weren’t interested in voting. Despite this, and perhaps helped by the grandstanding, Clegg-over, love in of the live debates people turned out in veritable droves to either see off old misery guts or keep out Eaton-y Blair, only to be locked out of the polling stations or find their wasn’t enough ballot papers to begin with. To be fair to them, I hear that the current head of the Electoral Commission was only doing this job because incompetence forced them out of their previous position as Head of Ad-hoc Refreshment at the Carlsberg factory, but this is only a rumour.

So, a nation told that ‘their vote counts’ and implored to ‘engage’ find that it’s pointless and worthless turning up at all. Good work all round then. Of course, it seems the Lib Dem voters didn’t bother anyway, finding it all a bit tough going when it came to the crunch and having to lie under a duvet and hoping it all went away. Either that or their liberal nature meant that they let more bombastic Tory’s jump the queue, only to find that once inside they locked the door behind them and blew raspberries through the window.

So all in all, it’s an unmitigated success to rank right up there with the Millennium Tent-o-tron, Iraq-tung Baby and Gordon Brown’s entire life. We have no leader, no ruling party, no new opposition, no competence, no engagement and no no, no no no no, no no no no, no no, there’s no limit. I miss it already. Can’t wait for the next one.

Gotapictureofyoubesidemeyourlipstickmarkstillonmycoffeecup xx