THE LYING KING : Who really runs the UK? Who governs it? It’s an enduring mystery that many believe they know the answer to.
It’s clearly not the Queen. It can’t be. Johnson and his cabal lied to her face and she allowed them to carry on being the “government”. We can cross the sovereign off the list at the start. A postage stamp is all that head of state is now. A powerful way to move a letter from one location to another. Some would say more’s the pity, given the last few years of misrule.
It’s clearly not the British people. A cursory glance at our democratic institutions and Westminster’s electoral system proves that. The people have been lied to on a massive scale and they don’t care. Enough of them don’t, not yet, but getting there. Other powers are ruling them for they are not exercising self-rule.
Maybe it’s the Russians? They’ve certainly a hand on the wheel. All that dark money sloshing about the UK political scene. The governing Conservative Party so up to its eyeballs in hock to the Kremlin they don’t even want to look at how bad it is. We’ll give them a measure of power, but the influence is only bought so long as the bought are in position.
Maybe it’s the Americans? The Mercers, Bannon, Koch and all the rest? Bit like the gang above. Biden could order Cummings fired, out the front door with a box just like in an American TV show, and wait for Cummings’ unquestioned sociopathy to seek payback on the boss. Which we are now witnessing. So another piece of the power pie to the US.
Which lands us on the shifting soil where we consider the power of the press. It’s a powerful press. The majority of its owners are offshored tax shy billionaires. Not exactly a recipe for democratic longevity.
They shape opinions so completely (especially thanks to the riddling with Tory woodworm of the old barque HMS BBC) that the country can be convinced to self-immolate. Once you add in social media, oh yes, add those billionaires too.
But upon taking power who does each PM rush to see first for decades now? Right after the ceremony with her Maj.
A grumpy old Aussie who decided to become an American. Some bloody Pom cheesed him off so seriously when he was young he decided to destroy the mother country. He can’t rest till it’s done. He’s almost succeeded. Gnarled old claws scraping at the last of our skin.
Let’s give old Rupert the lion’s share of the pie. I can make you and I can break you, is probably what he says? And we see one of his many earthly incarnations, Gove, slithering close to the throne. The sibilant hiss in the ear of the stumbling Falstaff called Boris.
“It’s time….” the hiss reveals… “it’s time to replace me with me…”