Today I was in the office watching the ongoing omnibouroch that is the Westminster cesspit. Boy, that was tough to witness. And it’s important that we don’t become numb to this and that we remember that we’re seeing unheralded levels of sleaze and corruption by people who are supposed to represent us. And they are not good people, which we knew long before reports surfaced of the author of the enquiry being invited to kick what they knew was going to be a deeply shaming report into the long grass.
I’m trying to imagine a set of circumstances where a manager presides over and takes an active part in regular workplace parties at the height of a pandemic where people get pissed, spill wine on the walls and then verbally abuse the cleaning staff, mock a security guard for telling them they’re breaking the rules that they’ve set for everyone else (but not themselves), get into fights and then leave at four in the morning by a back door in case they get seen (that’s the worst bit – they knew, and did it anyway) – and keeps his job.
But that is where we are. And the only people worse that Johnson are his silent colleagues and, worse, the ones who continue to defend his indefensible behaviour.
All of which should make us angry.
But what saddens me more than anything is Scotland’s continuing presence in this appalling charade of a proper democracy. We must leave immediately. Our complicity shames us.
They say the secret of a good party is knowing when to leave. We should have called for a taxi ages ago, gone home, and never returned.
Keep the faith people. I’ll meet you further on up the road.
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