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Our Crack Little Crack
I'm Talking Royalists, Brexit Voters, Boris Lovers...
Before the current spate of lockdowns came into effect, I had cause to meet up with members of my family. I hadn’t seen most of them all year and I’d forgotten how disagreeable they all are. I’m talking royalists (many of them don’t have any forelocks left to tug), Brexit voters, Boris lovers – you name it. Needless to say, they’d all stood on their doorsteps and clapped themselves inside out for the NHS when that was a thing (despite voting for the party who want to dismantle it). And they LOVED that spitfire that has been emblazoned with the words “Thank U NHS” (because nothing pays tribute to a hospital more than a machine designed to kill). Their most fulsome praise, however, was saved for that bloke who walked around his garden to raise money: Captain Tom Moore. That’s when I cracked. I couldn’t take their hypocritical clap-trap any longer. I told everyone I hated him and wished he had fallen over and couldn’t back up. Now I’m an outcast, which, deep down, is probably the result I was looking for. (Note: I don’t really hate Captain Tom and am really looking forward to the mooted film about him, especially if it’s an avant-garde piece, consisting of 27 hours of him just walking around his garden.)