The UK election has spun its final spin. It’s probably reduced you to nausea. We are suffering too.
But this was written in the past, so here are some predictions we made in May (the month) when we weren’t nursing a SoMe-induced migraine: Jeremy Corbyn, in a bid to bare his teeth, dyes his beard red. Boris Johnson, in a muddle mid-interview, falls in the Thames. Russia is blamed. Across the pond, Trump tweets a pledge of support to Brian May. Across the Channel, Nigel Farage takes a public shit in Brussels and calls for greater integration at home. As Boris resurfaces in Reading the country breathes a collective sigh. Russia is blamed. Meanwhile the Prime Minister watches the election night carnage in a swivel chair, stroking a pair of kitten heels.
And so from alternative prediction to fact. Because of its proximity to The Triggering of Article 50, Brexit has hung over this snap election like a sword. During the basically apocalyptic 2016, Mother Theresa May pledged attentive ear to friend and foe alike, before cunting them headfirst into the stocks when time suited. Brexit means Brexit. And buggery, it seems, means buggery. She wasn’t lying when she said she liked it hard.
Truth is, though, elections are but smoke and mirrors and veneer. Especially on the campaign trail. Pick a sound bite, a symbol and run with it. Put it everywhere. Make it stick. Take Trump and his Wall. Blair and his New Labour. Hitler and his Lebensraum. Policy is the stuff of backdrop, stage dressing for the perpetual pantomime. The meat and veg of government – policies concerning housing, health and education, you know, policies of substance – take a backseat, relegated to the pages of party manifestos, squashed between smugshots and slogans. Which is why we get Theresa ‘Power Play’ May and her carpenter’s catalogue of hard-sounding sound bites. Because democracy in action is basically marketing in action, and nobody wants to vote for a narrative in which kicking yourself repeatedly in the genitals is preferable to the truth.