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| Feeling blue about May’s disaster? Reasons to be cheerful if you’re Tory | Feeling blue about May’s disaster? Reasons to be cheerful if you’re Tory |
| (7 months later) | |
| Fri 9 Jun 2017 12.57 BST | |
| Last modified on Sun 25 Jun 2017 19.46 BST | |
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| It’s Friday morning on 9 June 2017 and Theresa May cannot get an outright majority. For an election she called. To get a bigger majority. The Conservatives alone cannot form a government. | It’s Friday morning on 9 June 2017 and Theresa May cannot get an outright majority. For an election she called. To get a bigger majority. The Conservatives alone cannot form a government. |
| I know you know this. But read it again. Just let the words wash over you like a waterfall in a Timotei ad. Run your hands through the letters like you’re a naughty vicar’s daughter running through a field of wheat. Let the syllables accidentally fondle you like you’re Emily Thornberry receiving a Jeremy Corbyn high-five. Read it again. I’ll wait. You deserve it. | I know you know this. But read it again. Just let the words wash over you like a waterfall in a Timotei ad. Run your hands through the letters like you’re a naughty vicar’s daughter running through a field of wheat. Let the syllables accidentally fondle you like you’re Emily Thornberry receiving a Jeremy Corbyn high-five. Read it again. I’ll wait. You deserve it. |
| But at this glorious, delirious, sleep-deprived, “eyes so tired the letters are jumping about like adorable Mackems counting votes” time, spare a thought for the other guys. The guys who wanted to tear apart the exit polls with their teeth like they were a live fox. The ones who woke up this morning and immediately dropped their monocle into their bowl of Quaker Oats. The ones who saw the news and immediately smashed the framed photo of Theresa May that they keep on the mantelpiece, while screaming, “NO! WHY, MUMMY?! WHY?! BAD MUMMY! BAD!” We know you’re out there, and you’re hurting. Here, just for you, is a balm. Well, not a balm, more a temporary fix to make you feel better for a bit, but in Jeremy Hunt’s NHS that’s basically the same thing. It’s a list of reasons for you guys to be happy, and show you why this might be a Good Thing. Well, “Good” might be stretching it. Let’s say, a “Not Terrible Thing”. Is that still too strong? OK, “Not Literally the End of the World”. Fine, “At Least a Tiny Bit Better Than Getting Your Foot Caught in a Bear Trap and Then Have All the Bears in the Forest Come Out and Laugh at/Eat You”. There, is that the right tone for you guys? | But at this glorious, delirious, sleep-deprived, “eyes so tired the letters are jumping about like adorable Mackems counting votes” time, spare a thought for the other guys. The guys who wanted to tear apart the exit polls with their teeth like they were a live fox. The ones who woke up this morning and immediately dropped their monocle into their bowl of Quaker Oats. The ones who saw the news and immediately smashed the framed photo of Theresa May that they keep on the mantelpiece, while screaming, “NO! WHY, MUMMY?! WHY?! BAD MUMMY! BAD!” We know you’re out there, and you’re hurting. Here, just for you, is a balm. Well, not a balm, more a temporary fix to make you feel better for a bit, but in Jeremy Hunt’s NHS that’s basically the same thing. It’s a list of reasons for you guys to be happy, and show you why this might be a Good Thing. Well, “Good” might be stretching it. Let’s say, a “Not Terrible Thing”. Is that still too strong? OK, “Not Literally the End of the World”. Fine, “At Least a Tiny Bit Better Than Getting Your Foot Caught in a Bear Trap and Then Have All the Bears in the Forest Come Out and Laugh at/Eat You”. There, is that the right tone for you guys? |
| 1. Theresa May is officially the funniest person in politics | 1. Theresa May is officially the funniest person in politics |
| That’s right! Funnier than Corbyn, funnier than Sadiq Khan, funnier than ventriloquist-dummy-come-to-life-and-forced-to-attend-a-boarding-school-for-47-years Jacob Rees-Mogg. I admit, at first I couldn’t see it – she delivered PMQs zingers like someone who had memorised cracker jokes because she heard it was a good way to make friends in prison, and she generally had the stage presence of someone with a fear of flying who has just discovered that, technically, the entire Earth is a giant aeroplane, hurtling through space. But I see what it was now. This whole premiership was a masterful satire. Theresa May is an Andy Kaufman-esque character – awkward, weird, purposefully alienating. At her core, though, she is a glorious and grotesque parody of David Cameron. Why else would she do exactly what he did – call a poll she had no guarantee she would win to solve an internal party problem, less than a year after he did it? She has transcended jokes, she has transcended gestures, she has transcended farce itself, to the point where she herself is the joke. It’s almost performance art. It’s only a matter of time before Have I Got News For You will call, which is great for her as she’ll probably have the time to fill. | That’s right! Funnier than Corbyn, funnier than Sadiq Khan, funnier than ventriloquist-dummy-come-to-life-and-forced-to-attend-a-boarding-school-for-47-years Jacob Rees-Mogg. I admit, at first I couldn’t see it – she delivered PMQs zingers like someone who had memorised cracker jokes because she heard it was a good way to make friends in prison, and she generally had the stage presence of someone with a fear of flying who has just discovered that, technically, the entire Earth is a giant aeroplane, hurtling through space. But I see what it was now. This whole premiership was a masterful satire. Theresa May is an Andy Kaufman-esque character – awkward, weird, purposefully alienating. At her core, though, she is a glorious and grotesque parody of David Cameron. Why else would she do exactly what he did – call a poll she had no guarantee she would win to solve an internal party problem, less than a year after he did it? She has transcended jokes, she has transcended gestures, she has transcended farce itself, to the point where she herself is the joke. It’s almost performance art. It’s only a matter of time before Have I Got News For You will call, which is great for her as she’ll probably have the time to fill. |
| 2. You can all say other words now | 2. You can all say other words now |
| I assume you all got given a set of xenophobia-themed fridge poetry magnets or something at the start of the campaign, which mean you’ve only been allowed to say “strong”, “stable”, “magical money tree” and “coalition of chaos”, on a loop to yourself and to anyone who has asked you about your politics. But good news! It’s over now! Think of all the exciting new words you can say. “Plush”. “Tautology”. “Raspberry”. “Butts”. Doesn’t that feel good? I know it can be disconcerting at first – if you need to work up to it, maybe try using the Stock Tory Words in conjunction with these new exciting bad boys: “Strong and stable butts”, or “magical raspberry tree”. While you’re at it, there are some new phrases you might need to learn: “minority government” and “coalition of chaos”. | I assume you all got given a set of xenophobia-themed fridge poetry magnets or something at the start of the campaign, which mean you’ve only been allowed to say “strong”, “stable”, “magical money tree” and “coalition of chaos”, on a loop to yourself and to anyone who has asked you about your politics. But good news! It’s over now! Think of all the exciting new words you can say. “Plush”. “Tautology”. “Raspberry”. “Butts”. Doesn’t that feel good? I know it can be disconcerting at first – if you need to work up to it, maybe try using the Stock Tory Words in conjunction with these new exciting bad boys: “Strong and stable butts”, or “magical raspberry tree”. While you’re at it, there are some new phrases you might need to learn: “minority government” and “coalition of chaos”. |
| 3. You get to experience Northern Ireland first hand | 3. You get to experience Northern Ireland first hand |
| Exciting, right? I know that to most of you, Northern Ireland is just where Jeremy Corbyn’s terrorist friends come from – but it turns out it’s also a country now! Who knew? Not you guys, certainly, given that under the Conservatives power-sharing collapsed last year and you did sweet strong and stable butts about it, but now it’s suddenly become incredibly important with your new, slightly scary bestie Arlene Foster! And that means you’ll be going over there to see the sights: Titanic Belfast, the Giant’s Causeway, the populace that voted over 60% remain and is becoming increasingly concerned about the prospect of a hard border post-Brexit, and Victoria Square! It’s fancy, it’s got a House of Fraser and everything! Sure, you may have to a deal with some slightly unsavoury members of the DUP, many of whom have some pretty retro ideas about things such as same-sex marriage and abortion, but think of it more like making new friends. Who you have to get along with, and make concessions to, otherwise they’ll fire you from your job. Fun! | Exciting, right? I know that to most of you, Northern Ireland is just where Jeremy Corbyn’s terrorist friends come from – but it turns out it’s also a country now! Who knew? Not you guys, certainly, given that under the Conservatives power-sharing collapsed last year and you did sweet strong and stable butts about it, but now it’s suddenly become incredibly important with your new, slightly scary bestie Arlene Foster! And that means you’ll be going over there to see the sights: Titanic Belfast, the Giant’s Causeway, the populace that voted over 60% remain and is becoming increasingly concerned about the prospect of a hard border post-Brexit, and Victoria Square! It’s fancy, it’s got a House of Fraser and everything! Sure, you may have to a deal with some slightly unsavoury members of the DUP, many of whom have some pretty retro ideas about things such as same-sex marriage and abortion, but think of it more like making new friends. Who you have to get along with, and make concessions to, otherwise they’ll fire you from your job. Fun! |
| 4. You get to feel this pain for a bit | 4. You get to feel this pain for a bit |
| I realised this morning that I associate the BBC Election graphics, combined with bright, disconcerting sunlight, with pure abject horror. When that BBC Election music plays, when David Dimbleby looks up, grumpy and exhausted, from his pieces of paper in aggressive daylight, or when he’s shuffled off the set by a sombre Huw Edwards, I have to come to terms with the post-election morning. The sense of dread. Of confusion. Of feeling like I don’t belong in this country. Of stupid, impotent anger, that the majority don’t share my values, or fears. I had it in 2010, in 2015, in 2016 – each time a sense of loneliness, compounded on the last. That’s you, this time. | I realised this morning that I associate the BBC Election graphics, combined with bright, disconcerting sunlight, with pure abject horror. When that BBC Election music plays, when David Dimbleby looks up, grumpy and exhausted, from his pieces of paper in aggressive daylight, or when he’s shuffled off the set by a sombre Huw Edwards, I have to come to terms with the post-election morning. The sense of dread. Of confusion. Of feeling like I don’t belong in this country. Of stupid, impotent anger, that the majority don’t share my values, or fears. I had it in 2010, in 2015, in 2016 – each time a sense of loneliness, compounded on the last. That’s you, this time. |
| And it might sound like I’m gloating. And, let’s be honest, it’s hard to stop that feeling of jubilation and that sense of schadenfreude giving you a cosy glow. Re-read the top of this article, it’s pretty insufferable from the other side. But, in a way, you need this pain. You need this feeling of being on the wrong side, even just once or twice, to know what your true values are. To question what went wrong, what you hold dear, to work out if you’re out of step with history, or if history is out of step with you. Mope for a bit. Scream and shout, if you need to. I spent a lot of time on 24 June 2016, after the referendum, laughing furiously into a pillow. It felt great. I’m a well-rounded and happy person. | And it might sound like I’m gloating. And, let’s be honest, it’s hard to stop that feeling of jubilation and that sense of schadenfreude giving you a cosy glow. Re-read the top of this article, it’s pretty insufferable from the other side. But, in a way, you need this pain. You need this feeling of being on the wrong side, even just once or twice, to know what your true values are. To question what went wrong, what you hold dear, to work out if you’re out of step with history, or if history is out of step with you. Mope for a bit. Scream and shout, if you need to. I spent a lot of time on 24 June 2016, after the referendum, laughing furiously into a pillow. It felt great. I’m a well-rounded and happy person. |
| What you shouldn’t do is ignore it. Grow from it. Defeats make us stronger than victories. I mean, I say this as a man who has been beaten in politics almost constantly for his entire adult life, and I have absolutely no muscle definition, so I might not know what I’m talking about. I do know that politics has been missing a bit of compassion for a few years, on both sides. And maybe the way to get that back is to feel a bit of pain. | What you shouldn’t do is ignore it. Grow from it. Defeats make us stronger than victories. I mean, I say this as a man who has been beaten in politics almost constantly for his entire adult life, and I have absolutely no muscle definition, so I might not know what I’m talking about. I do know that politics has been missing a bit of compassion for a few years, on both sides. And maybe the way to get that back is to feel a bit of pain. |
| Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to laugh into a pillow. But happily this time. | Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to laugh into a pillow. But happily this time. |
| General election 2017 | |
| Opinion | |
| Conservatives | |
| Labour | |
| Theresa May | |
| Jeremy Corbyn | |
| Northern Irish politics | |
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