Boris Johnson has just collected the keys for 10 Downing Street and the British weather has reached record-breaking temperatures. At a time when many feel like losing hope, NINA DE AYALA PARKER says she still feels confident about the future.
Politics is heating up. Heating up into burnt toast, and no, it can’t be saved by scraping off the burnt bit, the whole thing has to be thrown in the bin.
The UK was not built for this heat. And most of us do not have the privilege to bathe in a pool somewhere on a roof top in West London, Fro-sé in hand and Instagram snaps popping off left, right and centre. And yes, I did mean Fro-zé – as in ‘frozen rose’, the Instagramable gold.
So, instead, if you’re like me, you’ve either spent the day working from home in your underwear in front of a fan, sweating like a walrus…. without water to roll in. Or you have been in an office somewhere, pretending you’re enjoying the fact that you’ve got aircon above your head, when we all know deep down you’re wishing you were bathing in that rooftop pool in West London or better yet, spread eagle, oiled up on an inflatable flamingo in Barbados.
Sadly, the hardboiled reality is, we’re here in boiling, dystopian Brexit Britain. On the hottest day of the year. So why can’t we sadistically turn up the heat eh? And not in a sexy way, but in the least sexy way possible. Ladies and gentlemen I hate to say it again, but Boris Bullingdon boy is now our prime minister. Michael Gove is the no-deal reaper, appointed to bludger ‘no deal’ with ‘no ifs, no buts’. Dominic Raab (the feminist hater who only a few months ago, realised the connection between Dover and Calais) is foreign secretary. Priti (pro-hostile environment) Patel is home secretary. And to turn up the heat just a few degrees more, so we’re no longer sweating walruses, but physically on fire, about to spontaneously combust walruses, he has appointed a f**king fracking supporter as environmental secretary.
Switch on Love Island and throw away the remote. When reality is this dark, all I want to do is crawl inside my laptop into the reality television shows I find twisted but happy peace, and live in there blissfully unaware until these dementor politicians are no longer leading our country towards Mordor.
Unfortunately, we’ll have to wait till 2030 (at least) to crawl into a laptop to experience augmented reality. So, until then, let’s grab an ice-cream, suck on an ice cube, stick your head in a Tesco fridge, do whatever cools you down, and then prepare to rise up again like the snowflakes we proudly are, against all the elements. Let’s channel Ilhan Omar. Because when they go low we go high.
We must not let hate win, because there is hope. A lot of it.
We mustn’t lose track of the fact we can remove this nightmare government in a general election and better yet this whole nightmare could be switched back into a fro-sé dream with a People’s Vote and a Remain win.
I don’t know about you, but I’ll be fighting for both so that this pathetic excuse for a prime minister and his motley crew are stacked to the bottom of the history books, to be taken out only when the school teachers have a lesson planned on ‘how NOT to run a country’.
BoJo, you and your views belong in the bin.