Her Majesty’s Government is cavorting
like the plot of a Gilbert and Sullivan
operetta, but without the witty words
and tunes; cavorting like Fred Karno’s army,
but without the deadpan genius
of Charlie Chaplin or Stan Laurel.
It as if those diagrams of the ascent
of man – from amoebae through dinosaurs
and whales to primates each less simian
than its predecessor – were to end
not in an upright homo sapiens
walking steadfastly into the future
to take his place before the wicket
or through the barbed wire towards the foe,
acting with honour, or, at least, aspiring,
but in homo mendax a shambling, dishevelled
creature, a cad, a bounder, a blackguard,
given to orotund clichés, and the
encouragement of corruption, the shameless
exploitation of the UK’s unwritten
constitution, the gentlemen’s agreement
that has obtained since Queen Victoria
was a lass – whose uncle, her predecessor,
was the last UK head of state to have
the power to dismiss a government.
‘We shall rule, your Majesty, but appear
to kowtow like proper subjects. We shall act
discreetly, justly, maintaining the forces
of law and order, and the Army,
and the Navy, in order to preserve
your status quo – keeping the Irish, the Scots,
and the Welsh in their place or, preferably,
packing them off to foreign lands. Your Majesty shall have –
and, indeed, we shall help you fund – your houses
and your horses, your titles and your corgis,
and the occasional jubilee.’
By David Selzer