The Golden Shirk-All

The plot of the second ‘Kingsman‘ movie centres on a psycho drug dealer holed up in the jungle, who infects her product with a deadly virus and blackmails the world for in exchange for the vaccine she’s already developed.

Her gang is the self-styled ‘Golden Circle’.

All those who believe in conspiracy theories, snag a second to ponder on whether life is now imitating art. Even if you don’t swallow it, whoever does pop up clenching the magic potion will undoubtedly merit a thorough once-over. And 2020’s essential rule of confounding jiggery-pokery dictates that it will be either China or Russia. A part of me is praying that Chairman Kim will rustle up the coveted elixir with his Thomas Salter chemistry set.

But as far as Johnson is concerned, not even all the king’s horses and all the king’s men could ever put Numpty back together again. His zip has zapped. He’s shot.

As boxing pundits might say, he got a championship belt after knocking over tomato cans. Unfortunately, the Heavyweight division in politics is bereft of contenders.

But on the bug front, we might be forgiven for at least teetering at the Beachy Head of conspiracy craziness when we look around at the shimmying and slithering of the leading corona serpents. Every wheeze to crush COVID – from PPE procurement to vaccines – seems to be benefitting those with the mandate for COVID policymaking. And we are not talking about a few drinkies or even small brown envelopes at service stations. These are eye-watering sums that would necessitate more than just the one orb-calibrating roadtrip to Barnard Castle.

It’s the grift that keeps on grifting.

Excruciatingly, aside from some so-called ‘activist lawyers’ (translation: ‘adherents to the rule of law who represent people and interests’), nobody else appears to be busting a nut to take them to task.

Certainly not Her Majesty’s Opposition. Timing is everything, and The Labour Party gleefully bombed out a campaigning leader in favour of a bland and lukewarm establishment amoeba just when the establishment itself most needed a kick in the arse. Many will not want to hear this, but opposition in COVID times would be faring much better with Corbachev.

All this pretty much dovetailed with a piss-poor, acquiescent Cabinet being installed precisely when we needed strength in depth.

Now we’re left with zero ownership from a gang who shirk all responsibility.

The country now appears to be split down the middle, but it’s no longer Leave or Remain. It’s one half who rue the day they backed bent Boris, the king of organised slime, and the other half who know that cardboard Keir is cut out for nothing. He was just cut out.

As the nation is crying out for Supermen, the new internal border at Dover offers us only more clerks in Kent.

Persevering with the cinematic leitmotif, in a week in which actor Michael Lonsdale sadly shuffled off this mortal coil, the portrayal of Hugo Drax in Moonraker and the film itself have never been more relevant.

The deadly virus with its natural source, an overarching diabolical scheme, bad actors, risible villains, a scarcely credible plot line, asinine moon themes, and appalling eugenics.

And indeed, the Moonraker plot was very much the same back in 1979.

Genocidal bedlamite he might have been, but at least Drax had a plan, and it was driven by ideology and not by a lust for being pissed up on corrupt avarice. His proposed destruction of the human race on Earth was, in his warped vision, to guarantee its salvation. Even given his undoubted status as an inveterate baddie, there were facets to his personality that merited respect, even admiration.

Try affording a modicum of the same credit to Johnson, Gove, and Cummings without simultaneously attempting to rain a flurry of blows on your own face. Your subconscious mind would have little option but to turn on itself in abject despair.

Even Drax would have deemed this slug cabal abhorrent.

Take care of Mr Johnson. See some harm comes to him’.

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