As I may have mentioned, on Kellyworld the British Empire endures, and indeed stretches into the farthest reaches of space, ruled over by Nigella Lawson as a stern but benevolent Queen-Empress.
It is to satisfy her slightest hunger-pang that we journey to the ends of the universe, seeking out rare foodstuffs and subduing strange races that she might eat them in her lovely but never-ending voracity.
There, America is a backwater dukedom ruled over by the descendants of Benedict Arnold, and I daresay a happier place for it.
When I do notice the real world, it is not my policy to feel any pity for rich and fairly successful politicians. And I would not pretend to know or care enough about domestic US politics, or indeed regard them as any of my business; and obviously mistakes have been made in the international arena for which the outgoing president must bear responsibility.
Still.
People terrorized, tyrannized, beheaded, bombed, pushed walls on homosexuals and stoned women; and this man who fought them was somehow the great monster of our times.
It is odd.
He was no Churchill. But he was not, thank God, a Chamberlain. In healthier times, I think, he might have been regarded as, at the least, some sort of George VI figure - an unprepared, ineloquent but essentially decent and well-meaning figure thrust into the limelight, winning affection and respect by a dogged adherence to duty.
Perhaps now the left will stop fantasizing about political assassination*, fantasizing we live in an evil parallel universe, fantasizing he was to blame for terrorist atrocities**, and claiming that Hitler should have been left in peace to conquer Europe because eventually he would have got bored of it or something. That would be nice. That would be super, actually.
Anyway. The gates are opened and the great scapegoat departs. There is a brand new president now. Are you happy yet?
===
*This is hypocritical of me, not only do I do this myself, it is almost my only source of entertainment.
**The Blame Bush song, theme tune of the past seven years:
(to the tune of Mungojerrie and Rumpleteazer from Cats)
If the drawers are pulled out from bedroom chests
And you can't find one of your winter vests
If something upsets a vase of flowers
If planes are crashed into the tallest towers
When a bomb or two goes off on a train
When all the money disappears down the drain
They say it was Mongo Georgie
Or Condoleeza
And most of the time they leave it at that!
ps
Hitch
Jan 19th 09
Afterthoughts, 2 days later
i. Where do I get off? My hatred of Blair was the only thing that kept me warm at night for many years.
ii. It's healthy to hate your leaders, within certain limits. Certainly healthier than shrieking in adoration like a bunch of knicker-pissing 13-year-olds confronted with a pop star. I can only feel an unbearable protective tenderness towards anyone who gets excited by a politician.
iii. Just all shut up and stop boring me.