the ecstasy of michael gove


Oh, shush.

Look, the thing is, there are only twenty-four hours in the day – yet another thing for which we must blame the Ancient Babylonians, I believe, along with brazen promiscuity and hanging baskets – and everything I’ve written lately has ended up on my other blog, Beware of the Trees, because… well, although that blog is ostensibly about life in SE10, I’ve always thought that each piece contains within it a deeper metaphorical truth pertinent to all our lives, not just those of us who live in Deptford or Greenwich, and if that’s the case then… what’s the point in also posting here?

But then I’ve also always thought that dogs who wear coats should, by law, also be made to wear hats, so… what do I know?

And last week’s big political story has made me stop and re-assess my stance: maybe, after all, not everything is best viewed from an SE10 perspective; maybe some things, like Eric Pickles opening a school fete, need a wider platform; maybe, to put it bluntly, and with more than a hint of self-delusion, I need to relaunch this blog.

By “big political story” I don’t, I should maybe explain, mean the terrifying news that Michael Gove doesn’t “have a perfect recall” of all his girlfriends at Oxford, horrific though that thought is – not to mention somewhat ironic, given that all of Michael Gove’s girlfriends at Oxford have a vivid image of the Education Secretary’s face contorted by the first spasms of sexual ecstasy indelibly burned into their retinas (other than a nice girl from Guildford called Fiona Musgrove who chose to gouge her own eyeballs out). No, I refer to the fact that, yet again, the selfish suburbs and the idiots who’d prefer to vote for someone who makes them laugh rather than someone who makes their lives better have lumbered us Londoners with Boris Johnson for another four years.

Although, of course, that’s not true. Londoners have been lumbered with Boris – whose own election material here in Labour-voting SE10 was so vacuous that it didn’t include a single policy statement, just attacks on Livingstone – by the 62% of people who chose not to walk to the polling station on the facile and imbecilic grounds that politicians are all the same.

When plainly they’re not. The Lib-Dems are pathetic, the BNP are racist, and UKIP, according to their own literature, are utterly incensed by public sculpture. That’s three differences straight off – neither Ken or Boris are, when push comes to shoving each other about in a lift, sad, bad or mad. I’ve no idea where Ken and Boris stand on public sculpture – usually, you’re not allowed to – but I do know that Ken wanted to reduce fares on the tube, whereas Boris, unless I’m deliberately misunderstanding, wants to remove the drivers from tube trains and re-employ them as totally unnecessary conductors on equally unnecessary and hugely expensive new buses.

Politics is still the most important thing in the world, and just sitting around doing nothing is inexcusable. And, by “doing nothing”, I don’t just mean the act of not voting. What I mean is that I could have stood for election with a list full of promises, or I could have stood outside Elephant & Castle station with a fistful of leaflets – though possibly Bromley South would’ve made more sense – or I could, at the very least, have written something on this blog.

But I didn’t do any of those things, and now look what’s happened…


Those that care about such things might like to know that that Smoke: A London Peculiar has just been relaunched as a multi-platform web and paper whatnot. To find out more, click on the words “Smoke: A London Peculiar” in the previous sentence.

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