It’s here. The British government have finally come up with a solution to all the many problems facing this country. After much work, complex and taxing negotiations, and intensive effort, they have the answer to all the technical and political issues that bedevil Brexit. They have come up with the resolution to the poverty and growing chasm between the rich getting ever richer and the rest of us. They know how to deal with social injustice and inequality. They’re having another royal wedding.
Oh God. Kill me. Kill me now. I don’t know if I can cope with another six months of royal wedding preparations and Nicolas Witchellgasms on what passes for the news. It was bad enough with Willnkate. Now Meghanarry has already started, and it’s going to go on, and on, and interminably on for the next twelve months. North Korean state news is more critical about Kim Jong-un than the coverage given to royalty in the British media. It’s what Kay Burley was born for. I’m sure it’s part of a cunning plan on the part of the British establishment to stop us all from turning the news on for the next six months.
They’re going to wring every second of sycophancy out of this for as long as they possibly can, which is going to be a very long time indeed. And however long it really is it’s going to feel at least one hundred and twenty times longer due to one of the lesser remarked upon effects of Einstein’s theory of relativity, which holds that time passes more slowly for the observer the closer to the speed of light that something approaches, or the closer that the BBC, Sky News and the Daily Mail get to a royal wedding. In six months time you’ll be desperate to poke your eyes out with a Meghanarry themed place setting.
Some commentators, well I say commentators, I really mean cringe making sycophants, are talking about how much of a rebel Harry is because he’s marrying a mixed-race American divorcee. It must be admitted however that it is deeply satisfying to watch the Daily Mail have to pretend that it’s thrilled that an unemployed black immigrant is going to be the newest member of the royal family. Howver if Harry were a real rebel he’d insist that there be no media circus surrounding his nuptials and the entire squillion quid that the shindig is going to cost the taxpayer be spent on alleviating child poverty and homelessness instead. As it is it’s all a convenient distraction from the 120,000 people who’ve died because of austerity, the looming car crash that is Brexit, the impossibility of getting a secure home of your own if you’re a young person, or the fact that wages are stagnant and people in employment are forced to resort to foodbanks. Today all that Sky News wanted to talk about was getting a look at the ring and whether Harry and Meghan would kiss. There’s no real need, Sky and the BBC have spent the entire day kissing the royal ring. Just not the one on Meghan’s finger.
It’s not just those of us who are cynical independentistas who are unhappy with today’s non-news masquerading as news. Some die hard supporters of the British state aren’t best pleased either. Richard Leonard is gutted. There he was, it was his big day. He’s being inaugurated as the leader of the Labour party branch office in Scotland and being annointed by the massed ranks of the Scottish Unionist press as the next First Minister. Just like Kezia before him, and Jim Murphy before her, and Johann Lamont before him, and Iain Gray before her. And now naebody is going to notice or care. Although to be fair, naebody was going to notice or care anyway. Richard becoming leader of what’s left of the internecine warfare that is known as the Labour party in Scotland is proof positive that there is actually news which is more trivial and irrelevant than a royal engagement.
The royalweddingaggedon has only just started. All of Harry’s close family are naturally very happy. James Hewitt is thrilled. For us lesser mortals there is all sorts of sookery to look forward to. There’s going to be earnest reports from the people making the sandwiches for the wedding rehearsal, teary eyed about how a chicken and avocado bap made by their own lowly working class hands might very soon become a part of history and transit through a royal alimentary canal. Or if not a royal one, then at least one belonging to someone who once appeared in a supporting role in an American telly show about lawyers, which is now officially the next best thing. There will be endless speculation about The Dress, which will receive capital letters in an entirely unironic way. There are going to be vox-pops with those members of the public who can work up the mandatory degree of enthusiasm, even if it’s only to say that they’ve never heard of Meghan Markle and don’t know who she is but they’re sure that she’s going to be a wonderful asset to the royal family. You know, like Diana. Then there will be all those people bedecked from head to toe in union fleg suits because they’re not nationalists at all, many of whom are Conservative MSPs.
It’s a fairy tale in the making, gushes the reporter on the TV news. Who needs reality when we have the British media? There will be entire TV specials devoted to the insights about the royal wedding that can be brought to us by someone who once served the Queen oatcakes biscuits with a selection of cheeses when they were working as a waiter at a state banquet. Oh shit. I spoke too soon. Sky News is interviewing someone right now who did exactly that. He’s telling us how lucky he was to be a part of history. Kill me, just kill me now.
I’m off on holiday for the next week. Will be back on Thursday 7 December. Macart will be looking after you until then.
The Wee Ginger Dug has got a new domain name, thanks to Indy Poster Boy, Colin Dunn @Zarkwan. http://www.indyposterboy.scot/ You can now access this blog simply by typing www.weegingerdug.scot into the address bar of your browser, the old address continues to function, the new one redirects to the blog. The advantage of the new address is that it’s a lot easier to remember if you want to include a link to the blog in leaflets, posters, or simply to tell a friend about it. Many thanks to Colin.
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