So, the election hoo-hah is over and I have to confess that my reaction to the whole circus is - gaaaaaaah!
I want to go and climb into bed for three weeks and not come out except to eat ice cream while staring off into the middle distance. Maybe I'll occasionally go to the toilet.
Our press and television media showed themselves to be the horrible, inept den of slimy shysters they are, trying to influence the outcome on behalf of their monstrous, unelected bosses in order to help them stuff sticky fistfuls of cash into their gobs, distending their bottom jaws like pelicans in grey suits.
Of course, the best example of this is Rebekah Brooks and James Murdoch tramping into the Independent Editor's office for suggesting that their master would attempt to influence the election.
The election coverage started out just annoyingly twee, with ridiculous comparisons of the party leaders' wives' clothing - and feet. I'm still occasionally moved to get angry at the thought of the smug comparison of the toes of people who weren't even up for election, as if having a spouse with pretty toes, toes mind you, makes someone suitable for high office. That might be an indication of how easy the press thought their boy had it - and Cameron was the press's boy. The list here on Wikipedia shows that out of 10 national daily newspapers, 7 backed the tories.
The smugness disappeared in great howls of rage after the three leaders' debates, which threw out the wild-card of Clegg. The Mail shifted to Nazi slurs and copious mentions of his 'foreign bloodline', which is just hilariously ironic. "He said we were worse than the Nazis. Damn his insufficiently pure blood."
I found myself completely unable to look at the Sun, like, at all. I avoid the paper anyway becaus of its unremitting fucking shitness, but this election campaign took the Sun to a new level of gouge your own fucking eyes out shit, shit, shittery. David Cameron as Obama? OBAMA? Jesus. I can't think what's worse, that or the 'Iron Man Cam' headline, with a picture of Cameron's fist in shot, like some crappy Guy Ritchie geezer about to engage in a bit of rough and tumble with a gypsy (sorry - "gipsy") in a shed. There are two reasons I harldy ever look at Sun stories. One is that 'the Sun Lies' and Septicisle do it better than I ever could and the other is that the paper causes me intense pain. In my very soul.
'Cam's the man' said the Sun in another oh my god, won't you just stop? Crap rhyme on the word 'Cam' (get used to them folks - we've got five years more of this), which followed David Cameron apparently 'winning' the second election debate on Sky. Helped only by cutting to audience reaction in complete defiance of the rules when Clegg talked directly to camera, YouGov starting their poll before Clegg had finished his speech, the Sun selectively reporting polls favourable to Cameron and Adam Boulton heckling Nick Clegg. Yeah, 'Cam'. You the man.
Talking of Adam Boulton, my favourite thing about the pre and post election media coverage is seeing him in complete meltdown, shouting at Alastair Campbell like some swollen, cidered up, posh teenager complaining to his mum about how unfair it is that he only gets one pony for his birthday. It's absolutely ace.
He shouts 'I love this country' at some point, making me wonder if whether now that we have a tory in Downing Street, we'll be seeing Sky in full Fox News mode. God, that's depressing. A British Glenn Beck. One can only hope that if that happens, someone kicks him in the balls at an awards ceremony. Like, with a run up and everything.
The Mail seems to have revealed its narrative for the next few years today with 'Middle classes pay price of Cameron's deal with Clegg in triple tax bombshell: NI hike to go ahead, NO inheritance tax cut and hike in Capital Gains rate' plasterd across the front page of the website. Everything bad will now be Clegg's fault. For years. Not just because he's not a tory, remember, but because of his verdammten mischlinge blut.
I don't think I can face five years of this. I even had to skip looking at the Express for the entire campaign, and I only looked at the other papers because I could scarcely avoid them. I'm going to pray on my knees to the baby Jesus that the Lib Dems manage to do something to stop the BBC getting its genitals hacked off.
This is the bit of the rollercoaster where the whole thing stops and then...nothing. You don't go down a steep fast slope, expecting your own impending death because that's actually exciting. We're all just stuck, not doing anything at all, having absolutely zero power and just watching everything get steadily more and more rubbish.
Here's Boulton making a twat of himself. Enjoy!