Hallo Readers,

So last week you got the WTF Christmas Turkey Poll 2021 and there’s still time to vote all over the Christmas period. But you didn’t get the rant because WTF was ailing and didn’t even have the energy to rant, which shows just how ailing she was. So here it is. Extra long….

2021 is nearly over and you can’t say you’re going to miss it because it’s been shocking – in fact it was even worse than 2020. In 2020 nobody knew what was going on and everybody was terrified that they might die or that their loved ones might die, everyone, that is, except the ones who decided it was no worse than the flu. A lot of people died last year and it wasn’t quite clear how we would cope. But then we were told that the vaccines would stop us dying. They were developed and they were administered and they did stop us dying but they didn’t stop us getting ill which meant the people who hadn’t taken them in the first place had even less reason to take them now and all that promise seemed to fade away. Here we are at our second Covid Christmas  and we cannot say that we won’t have to go through a whole year more of this and maybe another one after that. 

We do know something though. Our government has motored past ineptitude in a giant clown car and is currently heading full speed towards embarrassment. The Prime Minister is so hopelessly out of his depth that he needs one of those inflatable rings that you put on kiddies to stop them drowning, and he has floated so far out to sea that there is nowhere for him to hide. He told us that he had got Brexit done, except of course that it isn’t done, not even at all. The oven ready deal turned out to be rancid and unworkable, leaving its architect Lord Frost to bluster that he only signed it because the nasty foreigners made him by putting so much pressure on him. He has now buggered off, leaving it to someone else to brush off the ordure and to reconstitute it into something workable. Johnson’s management of Covid has been pursued in much the same way, which is that he says what he needs to say at the time, safe in the knowledge that he can change his mind at any point when what he said earlier turns out to be wrong. Meanwhile, last year’s shenanigans at Downing St, which appeared to have had more lockdown parties than Freshers Week on Steroids, has come back to haunt him. It is all very well denying that something happened. It is rather harder to deny something happened when photographs show that it did happen, even though you said that it didn’t happen, which nobody believed anyway because they all know you’re a liar. It is also difficult to give the impression that you’re taking the investigation seriously into the parties that never were when the man you appoint to investigate the parties that never were turns out himself to have given a party that never was. And let us not forget his enthusiastic attempts to excuse Owen Paterson from blatant lobbying in breach of parliamentary rules and compelling his backbenchers to support him in this unseemly enterprise, only to change his mind the following day and chuck Paterson onto the dung heap of previous employers, wives, mistresses, colleagues and friends who unwisely thought that he had their back. In The Importance of being Earnest Algernon Moncrieff kills off his mythical friend Mr Bunbury by telling his aunt, Lady Bracknell, that  he was “quite exploded”. She replies “Exploded! Was he the victim of a revolutionary outrage? I was not aware that Mr. Bunbury was interested in social legislation. If so, he is well punished for his morbidity”. Well  Readers, Boris Johnson is quite exploded. No one believes a word he says. No one thinks he is any good or that he  knows what he is doing. The British like a laugh as well as the next person, if not more, but even they can see, albeit somewhat belatedly, that being a laugh is not of itself the principal qualification to be Prime Minister. Not that the potential replacements are anything much to write home about but anybody would be better than this lazy mendacious oaf; and as we head into 2022, we can at least be assured that he may not be around much longer.

Over in the United States the situation is even more serious, not just because vast swathes of the population are determinedly unvaccinated but because the Republican Party has abandoned even the pretence of any belief in democracy and decency. Trump once boasted that he could shoot someone on 5th Ave in broad daylight and he would not  lose a single vote. This may be one of the few recorded instances in which he was actually telling the truth. No matter how vile his conduct, the Republican leadership embraces it, whether it is organising the insurrection that was January 6th or blatantly lying that he had won the election or continuing to behave like the poisonous brat he always has been. It does not matter what the January 6th committee finds his role to have been- the GOP will excuse it in the light of the stolen election and still work tirelessly to re-elect him in 2024, when he can add advanced dementia to his previous qualities of ignorance, narcissism and greed.

So whether it will be a better new year is hard to say. But WTF can promise you that she will be back in 2022 with the same mordant determination to point out what is going on, coupled with the light relief of some very bad fashion and your own superb nominations for It’s Got to Go. Happy Christmas and whether we are locked in for New Year’s Eve or dancing outdoors waving our knickers in the air, have a Happy New Year. See you on the other side….

This week’s It’s Got to Go comes from WTF aficionado Sarah from Lancaster who has firm views about the appointment of a trans person Monica Sully as head of Girl Guiding in Nottingham.

 

 Sarah feels that Monica is certainly not the person to be in charge of girl guides and cites this picture in support of that claim. As far as she is concerned,  It’s Got to Go.

OK Readers, that’s your lot for this week. Send in your suggestions for It’s Got To Go, not to mention your very top comments. Let us meet again on 7 January 2022. Be good x.