Oh Happy Day!

Oh glory of glories! Oh joy of joys! Oh how sweet to wander into a newsagency at 3:30 this morning, merry on whiskey and post-Bloodhound Gang DEEP LOVE (see here for my review, first one I've writ in a year), and see The Sun's distraught "TRAITORS!" headline! The Telegraph's black, mocking visage! The Independent's matter of fact "The Moment Tony Blair Lost His Authority". 322 for! 291 against! They dragged Brown back from licking Arial Sharon's murdering, terrorist ass, Jack Straw Putin's putrid crevice, and STILL NO DICE! We are not having this, said the men and women of the parties! Fuck your 90 day gulag bullshit! Hope is a beautiful thing, but it can be dangerous. But now, we have more than hope. We have actual, viable, Fascist crushing action happening, and nothing but bullets and rat poison can stop it now. Blair's segregationist, dystopian school massacre? Fucked! The rape of the NHS? Avoidable! Charles Clarke's ears? Forlorn!

Simultaneously, Schwarzenegger failed to push through any of his draconian nastiness in California, Democrat Tim Caine kicked the Bush-backed Republican's ass and became Governor of Virginia. Bush slipped to an all time low approval rating of 36 points, which is as pathetic is it is funny. I hear he's taken to swearing at lower-level staff members on Capitol Hill, and White House insiders whisper darkly about slips of consciousness "worse than when Reagan got Alzheimer's". They say he's back on the booze. "The worry," said one embattled White House insider, "is how long it is before he lapses into one of his foul mouthed diatribes in public."

I cackled out loud all the way home on my merry night bus, and missed my stop. I lifted my head only to berate the children in front of me, talking excitedly about Pete Doherty. A blonde girl, all of seventeen, spoke in squalkish, admiring tones of a man called Niles who is, I quote, "the nicest crackhead I ever met... seriously, he's a lovely guy. He's so generous. One time I met him, it was so funny, he said, hey you can stay in my bed! He was so lovely. The amount of drugs that man can get through. Amazing."

"Amazing indeed!" I agreed. "But surely it is more amazing that they can't lock you up for 90 days without trial or legal representation or nuffink!?" They looked at me like I was mad. I beamed, beamishly, and returned to my cackling.

Today Stoke Newington was awash with Summery happiness, despite the grey blanket that loomed above. The rasta lollipop man joined myself and my local cornershop's staff, some old ladies, a tiny boy called Samuel, a boyish lesbrarian and some passing cyclists in a riotous celebration of the the newspaper's frontpages and we all got free Ribena. The busstop was all smiles. Life is sweet, sometimes. Lethal B thinks the world is ending, but I think it is only just beginning.