Tuesday 10th November – The greatest democracy in the world.

So, the most baffling election of all time is thankfully limping to a close.

Biden sort of won.

Trump sort of lost.

Who knows?

Is it even over? I don’t know. I completely lost interest on day (what felt like) two-hundred, and am mainly relying on gossip in my local shop for updates at the moment.

Admittedly, sourcing my political info-de-jour from the likes of Buys-Mainly-Beer-Billy and Meth-Mouth-Morris probably doesn’t leave me in the most factually accurate position to be commenting, but at least Bill and Morris are passionate and animated when they’re getting me all caught up on the tea, unlike the mainstream media, who lean more towards the patronizing and supercilious.

Also, Billy and Morris say rude words quite a lot which makes me giggle so, a total win-win over here.

Was there fraudulent postal fuckery afoot in the epically boring election?

Honestly, at this point in time, who cares.

Just put the entire fiasco out of its misery.

And, while we’re at it, can we also put the vicious mockery and snarky bitchiness of Donald Trump’s attempts at running a country for the last four years out of their misery as well.

In June 2016 Trump announced he was running for President.

Between June and November he campaigned ferociously and, from this side of the pond, it certainly looked like the whole circus had to be a joke?

A bit of a weird joke that nobody outside of the US really ‘got’ obviously, but a joke nonetheless.

He was openly racist, openly misogynistic, openly narcissistic, openly ignorant of global political conventions, or indeed history, and absurdly nationalistic to a level not witnessed since Franco and chums stomped their way around the planet.

His shady ‘Made in China’ business practices (Trump, not Franco) and Epstein level, revoltingly gross friends were well documented.

He paraded his wife around in a dress with her tits showing (again, Trump, not Franco) and discussed grabbing minge with reporters.

In short, he was not just a sociopath with a business card, he was also a total cluster-fuck in terms of a safe pair of hands to lead the free world (which apparently America does).

But in his defence, he never at any point hid any of this.

There was no subterfuge or attempt to deceive.

And America turned out in their droves and big, fat, old voted for him anyway.

Democracy in action right?

And to be fair to Trump, he hasn’t, as it turns out, actually fucked the cluster quite as definitively as I thought he was going to.

He didn’t press the big, red, shiny nuclear button (which must have been challenging for him).

We didn’t end up in WWIII with North Korea or China.

He apparently did do some good stuff with the economy and jobs.

He did try to put the American people’s interests first on the global stage.

I mean, come on, seriously, what did America expect from him?

He never made any secret about who he was.

He didn’t have any experience in the little things that would probably have been helpful for the Commander in Chief of the USA. You know, stuff like experience in public service, training in diplomacy or any understanding whatsoever of global geo-political history.

He had a red ‘rapper’ hat, a funny wig and a big gob that he was incapable of filtering, let alone closing.

And that’s pretty much all that was ever on offer, that’s all that was on the tin.

So give him a break because if y’all are going to drone on and on about being ‘The Greatest Democracy in the World’ – responsibility needs to be taken for how someone quite as resoundingly unqualified as Donald Trump found their way into 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue in the first place, because he didn’t gnaw his way in by accident did he?

Being the colossal narcissist that he is, he won’t take losing well and that’s to be expected.

A butterfly net and a dart gun are probably going to be needed in order to get him to vacate the premises but again, that should be expected.

And if there are issues getting rid of Donald Trump, please remember who it was that put him there in the first place.

Also, on another helpful note, there are these new inventions that might aid the ballot process in future elections.

They can count lots of numbers really, really quickly and might be a useful tool in preventing accusations of postal voting tomfoolery as democracy marches ever forward.

They’re called computers.

And truly, they’re smashing.

I know right.

Who knew?

Wednesday 30th November – 10 Rillington Place

It appears that I might have a bit of a love hate relationship with the BBC.

On one hand, the treatment of Real-Top-Gear has really toasted my Twiglets, but then, on the other hand, I switch on the tele-box last eve to discover Tim Roth perpetrating some serial-killing, dramatic, witchery before my very eyes.

Now, it’s gotta be said, I love me a good serial killer and, whilst on the surface this isn’t really all that unique because, inexplicably, as a species, humans all seem to find depraved mass murderers fascinating, in my case it’s not because I want to know ‘how they tick’ – I think it’s because, in comparison to the victim of a psychopath, my life looks pretty darned good.

screen-shot-2016-11-24-at-12-18-13Yay me!

Friend-Kate achieves the same self-satisfaction in the face of Jeremy Kyle guests.

She experiences a huge surge of gratitude for the life she has been given.

She rhapsodises about the joy of having all of her front teeth still in situ; she’ll enthuse on the many benefits she experiences from not having a snaggle-toothed, nicotine stained ‘Ma’ who is currently to be found sharing her council flat with a seventeen year old puff dealer.

DNA test not required.

Friend-Kate remembers who the father was.

Yay her!

Yep, one dose of Jeremy Kyle and Friend-Kate is swaggering around home-making coleslaw like she’s 5 ft tall for the rest of the day.

For me, it’s seeing dismembered corpses dragged out of dumpsters.

Thus far, I haven’t been found in any of those bin liners and, given the shenanigans I am habitually a party to, I’m not ashamed to tell you, I take my celebratory high-fives where I can get them.

But, I digress, back to the shenanigans of the BBC.

The set of 10 Rillington Place is a nuance laden work of art; the peeling wallpaper and dim lighting provide a visual manifestation of Christie’s internal landscape and the largely absent appearance of any actual violence, despite our all knowing what the spots of blood mean, is both subtle and powerful.

Having said that, when I announce that we all know what the blood means, it just occurred to me that maybe we all don’t know what the blood means so, if you’re still wondering if there’s a cunning plot twist and in fact it’s Mrs Christie that’s done the blag:

Spoiler alert.

Anyway, I’m enthralled.screen-shot-2016-11-24-at-12-18-13

I’m hooked.

Good job BBC.

I will be cross-legged in front of the tele-box for next Tuesday’s instalment and I might even go out on a limb here and officially declare that, the excited anticipation of episode two, might just about be enough to act as a distraction from my traditional ‘Shit-Is-It-Really-Only-A-Fortnight-Away’ Black Friday internet shopping searches.

Nobody seems to have any of those ‘Seven-Days-And-You-Die’ videos in stock anyway.