.. Two, Zero, One, Nine…

Some things could or would benefit from being shorter. The last Arctic Monkeys album (2-3 seconds would have been the optimum length) and horrific quilt invading talent vaccum Warwick Davis after a failed parachute jump are just two examples. With this in mind this effort about 2019 won’t be to my usual epic proportions as I’m pretty certain most of us just want to move on from the fuckery of the last 12 months.

2019 was an absolute shocker of a year on nearly all levels for me. It had the lot. Death, uncertainty, worry, misery, poor music, savagely shit films, gloating Tories and a football team incapable of providing anything close to what could been deemed acceptable even if you were watching them over a park on a pitch without a net.

Brexit….of course…. Brexit with a twist of General Election chucked in….

2019 was the year that the country lost its fucking mind and decide that not only did it really really want Brexit but it would also trust a massive bunch of self serving strokers to deliver it even though it’s almost certainly undeliverable from the dream they were sold. Don’t give me that old ‘Remain parties won more votes’ bollocks because I the second largest party in the country was split hence the result. Britain became a microcosm of the Good Ole United States of America where truth was irrelevant and handing power to a fuckwit who might be a ‘bit of a laugh’ was a great idea. We have become the shouty drunk in a pub as a nation. The bloke who gets barred but won’t fuck off, Lager top drinking, all year round three quarter length trouser wearing, calf tattoo sporting, ‘Peaky Blinders’ hat wearing Ponce of a country.

The Tories swept to power and Brexit will happen. It’s what the people wanted. Democracy… The filthy stench of Democracy and the words the ‘people’s decision’ has been rammed down our throats for nearly four years and has resulted in half the nation walking around with smirky faces without really understanding what is about to happen. This might sound a bit arrogant but I am yet to find a Leaver who can actually tell me how this will work or how it will be delivered. All you usually get is ‘It’s done’ and ‘we have control back’. No detail is provided and if you push for it you get told to return to the previous answers or, more simply: ‘Just. Get. Brexit. Done’.


Alexander Boris de Pfeffel Johnson it is, the Everyman, the common Old Etonian of this perfidious Albion, working hard for the little people, a champion of democracy and loving father to Theodore Apollo, Cassia Peaches, Milo Arthur and Lara Lettice Johnson to name a few. There are other kids but Hey!! when you’ve chucked your spongle around as much as this bloke has it’s hard to recall all the names of all the webbed toed freaks you may have sired in a hotel toilet, Top hat cupboard or wine bar cloakroom.

Mental but true. The country overwhelmingly appointed a hunchbacked, mop topped, racist, compulsive liar, ‘busting with spunk’ (his own words) serial adultery to the highgest position the country has. Perfect stuff for a soon to be reborn 1950’s United Kingdom where we will wallow in self pity and xenophobia created by the hand of bitter biggotted masses living in parts of the country devoid of diversity.

The Tories didn’t even have to try too hard this time. All that was necessary was to pile on the bullshit to a bored public and goad a limp gulible Labour Party into an election thay had no chance of winning as the hordes couldn’t see themselves having a pint with the lunatic in charge of the opposition. As usual during election campaigns in this shithole the Tories circled the wagons, hid the bigger idiots like Rees-Jub and that loathsome ponce Francois and lied their way into the hearts and minds of a dissaffected nation who lapped it up. The country fancied trusting a manifesto which only promised (in the loosest sense) to restore us to our position of 2009 over a manifesto of weapons grade bollocks which no one really believed. It’s a shame because I always wanted free broadband, free parking, free travel, the brand new set of Jim Carrey phosphorescent teeth courtesy of the NHS all at the Government’s expense but this was widely rejected in favour of professional cobblers delivered by unaffected multi millionaires with smirky punchable faces.


Luckily I’m a Londoner and so over the next decade of Tory rule, because Labour will need that long to remove the Comrade who still believes he won something, I can sit back with a clear conscience with my massive wages (non London perception) drinking pints of Guinness, imported so £17.90 a pint and say ‘Told you Dimwits’ while the Northern, Eastern and Western ‘Powerhouses’ enjoy the power of the phrase being used endlessley without any promised investment being realised as no opposition exists to fight their corner. They fell for that without expecting total Tory dominance…. time to suck it up Arbuthnot because these Tories ain’t too truthful. Johnson doesn’t need you now, He don’t need the ERG, The DUP or the EDL. He has the lot in the palm of Dominic Cummings scaly reptilian hand. Let the suffering begin.

As I write this on New Years Day I note that the man leading the party I voted for remains defiantly in place and is now describing himself as ‘The Resistance’. Incredible stuff from a bloke who has not only lost two elections in a row but also presided over the biggest defeat for the people’s party in multiple decades, quite a feat really given the absolute cuntery on offer from the Tories.

The Magic Grandpa remains in place and no one really knows why. Given the scale of the defeat anyone with half a brain would have gone by now and those who remain would have reassessed the strategy without thinking they had won something or ‘won the argument’. Corbyn is a stubborn relic who hasn’t actually realised that this Country is centre-right at best and Labour’s most successful leader was really a closet Tory. This election was a catastrophic failure for Labour and so a rebuild is required and not simply a continuation with a similar unlikeable, unelectable head with limp wristed dreams of nationalisation and freebies.

It is what it is. Brexit will be delivered and we’ll just have to chow down on the shite sandwich and take it because any route to stopping it has been emphatically destroyed with a majority Government of professional destructors and a public so fucked off with talking about it that they would rather engage in national mass suicide where woodbine, powerded egg and silk stocking sellers will thrive than endure any more uncertainty.

Johnson is now indestructible. He is Thor, Captain America, Thanos and Captain Marvel in one, wrapped in inappropriate loosley fitting jogging clothes sweating, lying and fucking his way to the top. Nothing can stop him.

Sleep with a stripper with public funds and get a court injuction so no one can question it? No problem.

Hide a report of Russian interference? or course you can Son!!

Lie to the Queen? No problem (I know someone wo was genuinely convinced the Queen would personally intervene on Brexit… Imagine that..)

Go on Christmas holiday to Mustique with an entourage paid for by the public? Knock yourself out, youre in charge…who gives a fuck? No one can stop you…. Just Smirk…

Johnson, a Toff embraced by the masses because he made a Party Political broadcast where he made a cup of tea, said ‘Hi’ to a strategically placed intern from a minority group and pretended to like The Clash and a Thai Curry. Expect more thumbs up, more use of ‘folks’ and ‘Guys’ while all the while he smirks and fucks and smirks and fucks his way to a few more bob in his silk lined pocket.

Good Luck strokers this is on us ‘The People’….well, some of us. But fear not sweet Remainiacs, Johnson has offered the hand of friendship by describing us as ‘equals’ on the opening day of the new decade. ‘Equals’ eh? what a cheeky fucker. Poke it Johnson, I’m better than you….

(…got an headache now….and a slight sweat on..)

Of course all the politics was depressing and ultimately boring hence the public collapse of interest, so what was positive about this year……Hmmmm…. Tricky one..

‘Fleabag’ was truly magnificent and even though it started in 2016 I only watched it last year. It was outstanding on all levels, funny, well acted, sad, brillinatly written but strangely beyond the understanding of ‘mere men’ as I was told on more than one occasion by several women online I’ve never met. Funny is funny I’m afraid and so it transcends gender, race and religon. If a noise comes flying out of the hole under my nose I’m happy. ‘Fleabag’ is 12 of the most perfect episodes of anything I’ve ever watched and if you haven’t seen it you should.

The only other great comedy of the year was the return of Alan Partridge. It wasn’t to the previous levels overall but when Coogan portrayed an Irishman lookalike being interviewed by Partridge it amplified the genius of Coogan to God-like levels. It will become a legendary comedy moment viewed for years to come.

While I’m on the subject of the Irish there was ‘The Irishman’ with almost everyone who has ever played a gangster playing a gangster. An epic tale by Scorsese but a bit long and wordy for the popcorn eating ‘Superhero’ generation, not enough cities flattened or explosions. I’m into acting rather than whether the story is realistic or whether De Niro isn’t irish enough to be the titular character. He was superb as were all the heavyweight cast. For the uninitiated De Niro has played an Irish Mafia enforcer before in ‘Goodfellas’ when he was Jimmy Conway… No one cared then and no one should care now. He’s also partially Irish in real life on his Dad’s side. There was no need for Liam Neeson to be cast in that role as he can ‘do action and is Irish’ as was suggested to me on one occasion.

Great acting was also evident in ‘Joker’ where Joachim Phoenix appeared in every scene and must be a shoe-ing for the Oscar. A dark , disturbing film with real meaning but I’d imagine some studio will fuck it up in the future by adding a flying car or some moody geezer in a cape. These were the two best films I entertained this year so not a great year for celluloid in my view.

Disapointing seems to be the key word of the year. Very little impressed during this 12 months although that may really have only have been for me and my expectations.

My biggest dissapointment may have been the complete downfall of the Arsenal. This absolute fucking car crash started in May when we decided not to turn up for a cup final where the stakes were even greater than the trophy you could win on the night. I was almost embarrased to support the club I first saw in 1975 that night. No fight, no guts, no talent, nothing.

The cardinal rule of most sport and inparticular football is that you should never set up scared of the other side. Let them worry about you. Unfortunately we were led by a bloke so cautious he could do nothing else, and with the start of the new season he continued to dismantle any fear anyone had of us. On the final occasion I saw Brighton bully as at home to laughing from the home support. This resulted in him rightly being sacked and we now find ourselves in a limbo season where the only interesting thing is the rebuild taking place. Top value as ever and at least we had the Cricket to fall back on…

As bad as it seems for us Gooners it’s even worse across North London where Spurs sullied any respect I ever had for them by employing serial prick and money Hoover Jose Mourinho who is a manager who has acheived the impossible of being hated everywhere he’s been even though he’s successful. This could only be panic by Spurs but my God, what panic it was. It was the most angry I’ve been all year which says a lot for my dislike of this punchable little tosser. For the first month of his tenure a club as historic as Spurs was referred to as ‘Jose Mourinho’s Spurs’ by national radio…. the fucking embarrassment of that eh? Bigger than the organisation, Blimey Charlie…

Anyway he’s had a bit of an effect for the Spurs and I’d imagine he’ll win them something in the 18 months he’s there before he fancies somewhere else, slags off the chairman, picks on the players and sulks his way out the building with a large sweaty wad of cash. Remember my spurs friends, his name is forever on the board showing manager’s of your club but to be fair they have a history of grubbiness towards their own support as it’s not the first time they’ve employed a manager who used to slag them off when in charge of their rivals….shoddy business indeed but if he was good elsewhere it’s certain to work right? right?…

Clearly I don’t feel too much love for 2019. In fact I feel as much love for it as I have for all the years since 2011 which only get mid range ratings interspersed with moments of greatness and mass tragedy. Don’t get me wrong, I don’t expect grief free years but this has been a run of proper grot and given the state of the planet it’s hard to see any real end.

Anyway ignore me, I’m just whining in a post Christmas gloom as I’ve just taken down all the fairy lights and there is now no sparkle until the Spring Springs. Luckily the post Christmas booze audit reveals 13 White, 15 Red and 5 Sparkling so I can at least spend my weekends locked in the airing cupboard with a bottle opener, a straw and a torch. Fear not regular reader the only Dry January I’m likely to experience will be under an umbrella.

All is good on my Tribe’s front. I am now no longer the tallest in the cave. The Boy has shot up and continues to grump his way through the teenage years while B keeps it real with the funny…. joy and fun are her weapons. They are both great kids who cause us no problems at present so I’ll merely be proud. Jen has now assumed total control of this house following the now infamous Bose Soundlink incident and I am now a simple ‘smasher of stuff’ and a ‘maker of tea’… I know my place and so will now only attend work, make a fool of myself and wait for the moment I can retire.

Ahhh…. retire… I can but dream but as this is my head I will…

Having broken the half century barrier this year thoughts now turn to the moment I can bin the day to day and slow down. I’m now entering the final phase of my working life and I can almost see the door to greater stuff (in about a decade). Great. But even at the low number of 50 I find it harder to get up in the morning and easier to fall asleep in front of the TV. Of course some of this is due to the annual Guinness Apocalypse I subject myself to in the name friendship and the birth of our Lord Jeebus Cripes, but the feet hurt and the joints creak and the madness has started to kick in.

The other day while at home on my own making a Spaghetti Bolognese ( I can make any Mince dish you like to an outstanding level) I was opening a tin of chopped tomatoes and said aloud, to myself ‘God this is a good tin opener’. After I said it I realised I was alone. I’m finished…..it’s wet pants and the whiff of digestives, lavender and stale piss for me…..

A new decade it is. 2020, the year of clarity, the year of ‘prosperity’, the year of Brexit and the start of many years of the Johnson and his ‘Cunts Banquet’ guffawing and smirking their way to more wealth while destroying the country. The London ‘bubble’ (9 million people is a fucking big bubble) lost to a series of bubbles in the collective national bath of well used water because we were arrogant enough to think that people couldn’t possibly fall for it…. Boomshanka!!!… they did.

Some don’t understand it, some don’t care, some changed their mind after it, some fucked over their own kids for their immediate satisfaction….whatever was done is done and it’s about time we got ready for the painful outcome because there is no opposition to this, there is just a stubborn old bloke or a cast or bland unelectables with no chance of power for a minimum of 5 years calling themselves ‘The Resistance’… It’s like a bad Star Wars saga with no ‘YEEEEHAAHHH!!!” from the most unlikely spaceship in the galaxy…

I’ll leave you with this Tweet which I stole from a mate who posted it on his Facebook… You may have seen it but it is the perfect analogy for what is to come:

“Brexit will be like when that 50 year old bloke thinks leaving his wife will open up a new world of shagging 20 year olds but instead finds himself washing his pants alone in a bedsit sink”

Now if you don’t mind I need to get back to forftifying my house with barbed wire and sharpened staves before fishing a dead dog out of a puddle that I’ve been marinating it in so I can skin it, mince it and make a Lasagne, Shepherds/Cottage pie, Chilli Con Carne, Spaghetti Bolognase or any other fucking minced meat dish you like prior to watching us close the doors on sanity as we allow Johnson ultimate control of a once respected Country.

Until the next time we meet on fully paid for private broadband….. so long as we still have power….


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