Johnson v. Hunt

JOHNSON V.HUNT

I was a member of the Young Conservatives in Royston which shared a place with the Freemasons but also had a billiard table. I played guitar in the Evergreens a kind of jazz dance band that would play smokey working mens’ clubs in places like bearby Stotfold and Baldock. Labour had no place in my life but then again the rather arrogant, disconnected braying of the over-privileged didn’t either. For a while the Liberals seemed attractive but were somehow nowhere to be found. Now though looking at the total cock-up of British politics as well as similar shambles unfolding all over the world it is hard to believe these two bozos really are the best options to lead our country. Then the biggest testiculating bozo of all comes out on top. This was a reflection on this photo taken just before or during their final debate. Hardly inspiring.

The Elizabeth Tower Topples, Big Ben clanks in despair, Two hopeless, hapless bozos Poised to take the chair And lead a once-great nation From God knows what to where?

The toe rag and the toady Not quite the rank and file But rank enough and lody To coax and thus beguile Those who’ll soon be voting For harebrained or hairstyle

What is it with the many So abandoned by the few Democracy seems wanting An unpalatable stew Of haves who keep on having While the have-nots pay their dues

Is this the New World Order? The fabled ‘conspiracy’ Smash and grab or hit and run A true plutocrazy Mad ducks and broody hens No place for you or me

Arms once meant to welcome Now just arms for bearing down Red buttons primed and ready For the fingers of the clowns No memory nor mercy Their cover still not blown

Jazza then or Boris What does the future hold? In or out of Europe? Elections in the Fall? And does it really matter? Does it matter much at all?

With so many bigger problems The climate, rising seas The warming of the oceans The dirty air we breath The statelessness, the poverty The sickly stench of death.

From where I stand in Mexico I guess I shouldn’t care What happens on the Sceptred Isle Because I don’t live there But still the ground beneath me shakes With all the crap I hear.

In France, churches are burning In China mosques come down Another active shooter In some American town An African village erased again The colour, the creed, hate sown

Take your seat then ‘B.J.’ Or assume it ‘Carey’ Hunt In this Social Mediocracy Go on then take a punt Pull the wool across our eyes With a few more lies and stunts

When will we demand better? It can’t just be profit and loss The Telly and obfuscation Leave us drowning in profligate dross Take your place then Prime Minister We expect little from this coin toss

Surprise us!

And then you have this rather inspiring choice for prime minister in Pakistan although I have many doubts as to who should be in politics - but certainly anyone rather than corrupt, career politicians.