Eton Mess

Of all the British public schools—which of course are anything but public—Eton is the best known, and the one that most defines the English upper class. There is a clear track from Eton to Oxbridge—another nice British term (excuse the pun) that contracts Oxford and Cambridge as Britain’s only elite universities.

The British upper class is readily identified by its accent and often by an assortment of speech impediments—the range of impedimenta includes a lisped s, a fake stammer, and rhotacism—if you suffer from the latter you will of course pwonounce it wotacism. Wordpwess flags that as a gwamatical ewwor so it’s obviously not a vewy upper-class-fwiendly platform.

Mess is a good classifier for the Muppet show offered up by the British Government over the last week.

Since the vote of (no) confidence served up on June 6th by the 1922 Committee, where Johnson was clearly damned with faint praise, the road downhill has been sinuous and slippery.

Jeremy Hunt immediately threw down the gauntlet, writing ‘Today’s decision will be change or lose. I will be voting for change.’ Not everyone has good memories of Hunt’s stint as health secretary—at one point two doctors appeared with a placard that read, ‘I’m not a gynaecologist but I know a Hunt when I see one.’

Nadine Dorris—never the sharpest of tools—tweeted ‘Your pandemic preparation during six years as health secretary was found wanting and inadequate. Your duplicity right now in destabilising the party and country to serve your own personal ambition, more so.

Hunt’s duplicity has clearly been found both wanting and inadequate—must try harder, as they used to write in my public school report.

Over the last weekend of June, Britain basked in glory as Paul McCartney headlined Glastonbury on the pyramid stage, bringing on Springsteen to sing Glory Days. Then mid-week, an MP called Pincher was suspended for allegedly groping two men in a private members club (you couldn’t make it up).

Britain’s upper class also has form when it comes to er… unconventional behavior, so the fact that Pincher of the alleged member groping fracas was also deputy chief whip at the time conjures up all sorts of imagery.

In the grand scheme of things, such a non-event would be a fait divers, but in this case Johnson accumulated one cock-up (sorry) too many. Boris’s nemesis, Dominic Cummings, alleged that the prime minister had quipped ‘Pincher by name, pincher by nature’, adding fuel to an already satisfying blaze.

What followed over the past week can best be described as an Eton mess, as cabinet members resigned, half-resigned, were reassigned, accepted, resigned, and finally consigned their prime minister to the position of ex-prime minister.

It was an astonishing week in politics, and one that made Britain the comedic capital of the free world.

The reality soap opera continues, with the Conservative party now debating how long Johnson should stay in an office—the PM has appointed a new cabinet in the meantime.

The only way to assuredly throw him out is to change the 1922 committee rules and carry through a vote of no confidence, or to ‘go to the country’, a euphemism for a general election—the Conservative Party certainly has no appetite for that option, given the current national shit show—featuring an imminent recession, the euro-chaos in Northern Ireland, and rampant inflation.

And never, ever, ever, do British politicians of any stripe mention the ‘B’ word. Britain’s woes can be blamed on anything except Brexit.

The current farce has been further enhanced by the prospect of a Chequers wedding bash for Boris and spouse, which has been given as a reason for the lame duck PM to hang on for a few weeks—press reports currently suggest a change in venue, but invitations are already out.

Over the last two years, I regularly watched cabinet ministers on the Sunday circuit extolling Johnson’s virtues and excusing whatever his current mess might be—no longer, there’s not one voice singing his praises now.

Well, at least he has a dog.

As they say on Wall Street, if you want a friend, buy a dog

Not to worry. If the Chequers bash does materialize, I’m sure they’ll serve up a nice Eton Mess.

The India Road, Atmos Fear, Clear Eyes, and Folk Tales For Future Dreamers. QR links for smartphones and tablets.

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