Everyone can bear in mind the place they had been when, on Monday of final week, they heard that Pete Waterman, of Eighties pop-production duo Stockhausen and Waterman, had died. I used to be on a storage forecourt on the A1 close to Melton Mowbray consuming a bag of rooster Fridge Raiders within the rain subsequent to a damaged outdoors rest room. And because the jolly earworm of I Should Be So Lucky burrowed into my brainpan, it had by no means appeared much less applicable.
Sadly, Pete Waterman didn’t reside to see the timeless and dignified pageantry of Tuesday’s Queen’s speech to parliament. The costliest hat on the planet was pushed, in its personal luxurious automobile, to an inappropriate occasion that, in opposition to the backdrop of impending hunger and Brexit-bonus financial catastrophe, now appeared cruelly tasteless. Prince Charles, just like the mythic prisoner of a hypnotic cabal, listlessly intoned a draconian bonfire of residents’ rights, whacked out of his gourd on natural wine. The jewel-hat sat subsequent to him by itself velvet cushion, like an oligarch’s cat. If it had been offered, it may most likely fill each meals financial institution in Britain for ever.
Idea for screenplay – The Queen II. Tony Blair (Michael Sheen with all wrinkles drawn on him) comes out of exile to advise the royal household as soon as extra on how, given gasoline poverty and the general public temper, now may not be one of the best time, your majesty, to drive the most costly hat on the planet round London in its personal luxurious automobile. The cautious moderniser Prince Charles (Alex Jennings) agrees Blair might have a degree, whereas sucking on a Cornish leek. The Queen (Brian Blessed I’m afraid, as Helen Mirren is now too costly) sees a lifeless pig hanging the wrong way up within the Buckingham Palace abattoir, is reminded of that good David Cameron and desires he was nonetheless in cost. He ought to be so fortunate!
However, Pete Waterman ought to be so fortunate as effectively, because it turned out he wasn’t lifeless in any case. The Rick Astley hitmaker was merely the misplaced topic of a usually bewildered Monday morning mis-tweet by the horse-warming schooling secretary Nadhim Zahawi. “RIP Pete. A great actor. Grew up watching Minder.” Zahawi presumably meant Dennis Waterman, who had died, fairly than Pete Waterman, who had not. The minister was displaying a fluency with arts and tradition to rival Nadine Dorries. I felt the seeds of this week’s column beginning to take root. Soon the Tories would benefit from the sting of my satire!
The Conservatives and their slave journalists within the rightwing press, or the press as additionally it is recognized, had spent greater than two weeks now stirring the bullshit barrel of the Beergate non-story. But since Starmer’s kamikaze resignation promise, the Tories’ effervescent Beergate cauldron was boiling over, threatening to take down Big Dog with it and spattering the shiny faces of his fourth-estate facilitators with filth.
Dan Hodges of the Daily Mail runs dwelling to settle down by dancing to his favorite report, the Wurzels’ I Want to Be an Eddie Stobart Driver. Carrie Johnson’s ex-boyfriend, Harry Cole of the Sun, an eldritch dying god manifesting as a baked potato, dabs dung from his apple cheeks unenthusiastically. And Alex Deane, from Twitter (and typically the TV at night time), seems to have fallen into the precise cauldron, the festering filth fusing naturally together with his human type at a subatomic stage, the Swamp Thing of consumer journalism.
Sensing that Beergate could be about to blow, a Fukushima of falsehoods, the panicked Conservative assault machine immediately determined it didn’t assume Starmer ought to resign in any case. Would they, I questioned, flip to different strategies to steer the headlines, so they may proceed to asset-strip the nation, like a troop of Longleat monkeys systematically dismantling the outside fixtures of a Nineteen Seventies household automobile whereas additionally masturbating?
Zahawi would, as ever, be the proper distracto-patsy, the Prometheus of the morning press spherical, his liver pecked out day by day by Kay Burley. Zahawi grits his tooth as Burley whips him like a scorching mare, considering of the comfort of the warmed stallions ready for him at dwelling. I imagined a state of affairs the place CCHQ’s dead-cat plan for the week was to make use of Zahawi as a plausibly silly mouthpiece for a drip feed of ludicrous bulletins, primed to distract from the Tories’ ongoing corruption and incompetence.
On Tuesday, Zahawi may take to Twitter to announce: “Sad to hear Gérard Depardieu has put his head into a bee nest to get honey, like a fat bear. Has been stang so much with bee juice he is now half a bee, like Timothy West in that thing.” On Wednesday, CCHQ assault strategists would possibly command Zahawi to inform his 86.8k followers: “Sad. Eels have gone in Hilary Mantel’s computer & laid eggs in electricity where new book on the Polish playwright Stanisława Przybyszewska kept.” On Thursday, Zahawi would announce: “Adult film star Rocco Siffredi’s penis gone black and fallen off into Rome’s Torre Argentina square. Stray cat has run off with it before it could be winched to safety. Condolences Rocco!”
But my fantasy of Zahawi fabricating a world of fictions to save lots of his authorities from scrutiny evaporated minutes earlier than my deadline. Apparently, a innocent Zahawi had merely been repeating an inaccurate tweet about Pete Waterman from his nemesis Kay Burley. Had Burley ensnared Zahawi in a honeytrap of lies? Whatever, my concept for a humorous column was strangled at beginning. The greatest laid plans of mice and Nadhim Zahawi typically go awry.
Boris Johnson’s flank uncovered, would consumer journalists re-stoke the shit volcano of Beergate? Poor Dan Hodges of the Daily Mail was exhausted. Hadn’t he achieved sufficient? Mad with fatigue, he took to Twitter and pressed ship. “People are assuming that if Starmer gets away with not breaking the law he’s in the clear.” It’s relentless.