2019: I couldn’t have written it better myself. The art of satire is dying not through a PC world, but by life exceeding art. In 2019, Patisserie Valerie collapsed, the Woke Lords tightened their grip, oh, and there was some politics too.
Celebrate the New Year, and do not mourn it!
In the meantime, if all serious journalists have written a review of the year, it behoves the rest of us to do so too.
January: ScotRail whacked up its prices: the biggest thing to hit local pockets since the last time the SNP did anything. Greggs used the boost in its sales from the Christmas Number 1 to launch vegetarian sausage rolls, which got their names in the press and boosted sales of the real thing. (Clever, lads, clever.)
Then in Parliament (the real one, not the playtime parliament in Edinburgh) a Grievous soul started a new rebellion, that ended in 230 against the government, in which all the anti-Brexit MPs voted for a no-deal Brexit. No, I don’t know either. (Howsoever smug that soul may have been in January, he was exorcised from Beaconsfield in December.)
Patisserie Valerie went down, alas for us all! Where the money went I might say, but for libel lawyers. It took months for the viennoiserie to be saved, by which time, hadn’t the mille feuilles in the window gone off?
A retired cop from Yorkshire was questioned by the police for noting that men are indeed men. No one found an actual crime, but expecting the police to limit themselves to crimes is old-fashioned thinking.
Alex Salmond was arrested for multiple attempted rape allegations, presumably by women with broken ribs – it couldn’t have happened to a more deserving chap, Alex, and Fiona Onasanya was sent down for being an idiot, although how the rest of the House of Commons survive on that criterion is incomprehensible.
February: The month started with heavy snows, ice, closed schools and roads and what the Met Office called exceptional weather conditions – and what we call “winter” in the north.
There came another defeat for Theresa May, who thus became officially entitled to the title “The Hapless”. It happened again later in the month.
On 18 February 7 Labour MPs left to form “the Independent Group” as a sort of “sane Labour”. Then two days later they killed their own group by admitting three Tories.
March: More defeats for The Hapless Theresa May, leading up to 29 March 2019: the day Brexit should have happened, for which preparation had been made for two years but which still seemed to come as a surprise. This was officially “the day where it all went wrong for Theresa May“. Conservative poll ratings crashed to below 20% – quite an achievement: you go girl! (Actually, do go.)
A tax consultant was dismissed for saying that a man is a man and a woman is a woman. Usually when you hear someone say that he is making a pass. No one thought of sacking the complainant for harassing a fellow employee. Later in the year a tribunal judge agreed that there is no justice in the world, as if there were then there would be no need for tribunal judges. A diversity officer was seen sharpening a blade behind the arras.
L K Bennett collapsed too, in embarrassment after wearing the wrong heels.
April: Edinburgh Waverley finally stopped charging to use its loos. Surely that is the most significant event of the year?
Extinction Rebellion burst out in London, claiming it was to do with climate change, but we all know the real reason, don’t we?
I expect there were more defeats for The Hapless Theresa May, but there were so many I lose track. There was a breach in security too, concerning discussions about the Huawei, which forced Gavin W and his venomous spider out of office. Be fair to the leakers though: they had to get the news out before it reached the Chinese government that afternoon.
In Australia, where men are men, Barry Humphries had his name stripped from an award for suggesting just that. Presumably the judges think that Dame Edna Everage is actually a woman.
May: The end of May at the end of May. Before then, the birth of a new Prince. Oh and a vanity election, won by the Nigel Farage Party.
The political and philosophical worlds were shaken in May, when the thomashobbes blog was founded.
June: ChangeUK (or whatever they were called that week) burst apart and various MPs went in various directions (we lose track of where Heidi hid and Sarah Something sloped off after Chuka chucked it in).
July: Bored with politics now. Have been since about mid-January. Still, a stand-up comedian got into the news this month as he was seen walking into Downing Street unchallenged. It later turned out that he was the Prime Minister.
At the same time Jo Swinson was chosen as brief leader of the Lib Dems. No, I’m not interested either. Even Milngavie wasn’t interested.
James Brokenshire finally crawled in humble apology to the world’s greatest living philosopher (no, not Adrian Hilton – Sir Roger Scruton). Having removed Sir Roger, whom he had somehow never heard of, in a Twitterstorm last year, Brokenshire made this one last repentance before he was promptly thrown out of his office.
Elsewhere, the police informant ‘Nick’ was banged up for perverting the course of justice while being perverted himself. The Met took advice on breaking him out, as he remains the only source of information they really trust. Later they considered exhuming Titus Oates to testify.
August: By this time the year had been going on far too long.
The Met Office said that temperatures were high. It’s what we call “Summer”.
September: Parliament was prorogued and all opposition parties, the Leader of the Opposition now being Dominc Grieve, it seems, proclaimed that a coup was taking place. Foreign observers excitedly waited for tanks to roll into Parliament Square and for dissidents to be shot en masse, but had to be disappointed. Turkish army officers mocked Boris Johnson for not understanding how to do a coup properly.
Attention at last turned away from Parliament to the courts, but still on Brexit, where the Court of Session threw out a challenge by Jolyon Maugham (the one who wears women’s clothes to hunt foxes), then changed its mind on appeal. The Supreme Court joined in the fun. Millions of pounds were spent arguing over four lost sitting days.
In all this, Ruthie left us. Where are ye, lassie? But a bairn on your knee is a joyful burden. No word of the father, but rumours say it is not Boris Johnson.
Police failed to make any arrests in Operation Casement after losing their main source of information, Nick.
Scientists discussed whether the Loch Ness Monster could be a monstrous Sturgeon.
October: Six years after the Clutha helicopter crash, finally the Sheriff Principal made a finding. Oh, and there was more politicking. And Parliament was prorogued, again, and this time Jolyon and Gina did not try to stop it.
Jeremy Corbyn had to tell an audience that his preferred pronoun is “he”. Aye pal: the beard and barely concealed aggression are a bit of a clue.
The Met Office reported to a shocked world that leaves were falling from trees across the length and breadth of the country. Extinction Rebellion came out onto the streets again to protest.
November: Are we not there yet? Finally, a dissolution of Parliament! The nation speaks, and says “Just get on with it”.
Even Brenda from Bristol was begging for an election.
December: Oh thank goodness – an election. A stonking majority and a proud Johnson up front.
The voice of Scotland in the election spoke strongly, to say ‘Where is Ruth when we need her?’
The Met Office declared a crisis of global cooling after measurements showed the whole Northern Hemisphere to be suffering much lower temperatures than when measurements were taken in August.
And sausage rolls again reached number one.
Now can we have Christmas?
A New Year wish: a quiet year please, and Brexit at last.
