So Long, Boris, Part the Second

 Six years ago we witnessed as neat an act of political assassination as we might have wished to see. Michael "the Slithy Tove" Gove wielding the stiletto into the disbelieving back of our local MP and arch-opportunist B Johnson. The Tove's disavowal of his old chum forced Johnson to back off from his attempt to win the leadership of the Conservative Party.

That was a long time ago (politically speaking) but Johnson bided his time, bringing Gove back into government when he pushed out the hapless Theresa May. 

Yesterday the two antagonists had a grand showdown. Johnson's government has spectacularly exploded in the last two days, following the resignations of his Chancellor and Health Secretary, and then more than 50 other ministers and political appointees. Last night a delegation of them went to Downing Street to tell the incumbent to start packing his bags. Johnson resisted. Gove, who was one of the rebels but who had not resigned, was then sacked. Astonishingly, the newly appointed Chancellor has also expressed no confidence in his Prime Minister but remains in post. More astonishing still, this morning on the radio the Attorney General not only said he should go but that she was putting herself forward to succeed him. Oh, and she remains in post.

Even as I write these words, the news media are reporting that Johnson (who yesterday was going to fight on because he had a "mandate") will stand down but remain until the autumn. Or something.

It is impossible not to gloat over the downfall. The lies about Brexit and the cynicism  about the Northern Ireland protocol are shameful enough but the colossal waste of public money during the covid pandemic, the "partygate" scandal and the cover-up, the knee-jerk defence of any corrupt behaviour by a fellow Tory and the final straw - trying to defend the appointment of a drunken groper as a deputy whip and the the constant  whining "We've apologised so now let's all forget about it and move on"- these add up to an unanswerable indictment.

I believe that Johnson has seriously jeopardised the future of Britain. The SNP are now pushing for a second independence referendum and are much more likely to win it this time. The tensions in Ireland might undermine the Good Friday agreement. Putin's horrific invasion of Ukraine that began in February may, in part, have been launched because he saw the continuing divisions in the West as working in his favour. Britain, once a beacon for freedom, is now a country where migrants, who have made the long and extremely hazardous journey to reach our shores, may be deported to Rwanda.

Johnson did at least prevent the election of Jeremy Corbyn as prime minister, a man whose worship of anyone who wears a balaclava and brandishes a gun was genuinely terrifying. What else of his legacy will be regarded as worthwhile remains to be seen.

Patronising Tweet of the Day

 This little gem appeared on my Twitter feed the other day

How awfully kind of those nice chaps and lady chaps at Mastercard (an organisation with which I currently do no business whatsoever). Let us examine the two elements of this, thankfully short, exhortation.

 However you spend each day with Debit Mastercard - what a delightfully laissez-faire, mellow and friendly attitude. We don't care what you do with our card, they seem to be saying, you can stuff it in your pocket or use it to sculpt pottery¹. Perhaps grip it tightly between two knuckles to add extra bite to your forehand jab when street-fighting, or try flicking it sideways and see if you can decapitate a pigeon, Oddjob-style.   It's entirely up to you. 

Note the intrusion of the word "day". I mean, I have credit cards and use them now and then but I don't exactly spend the day with them. I have my life to lead and doubtless they do their own, plastic², thing, perhaps being condescending to my loyalty cards whilst having a mutually respectful relationship with my driving licence. I don't wake up and think "It's a lovely day, how shall I make best of it?, I know, I'll go out with the cards, it'll be such fun". If I need a credit or debit card, I extract it grudgingly from my wallet, plonk it on the reader and then put it away before it starts having ideas about the two of us going for a drink and having a really deep and stimulating conversation.

Anyway, the "however" makes the first phrase somewhat otiose anyway, because clearly it doesn't matter what I and the cards actually get up to. So onto the meat of the gist.

"Spend it doing what matters most to you".  Yes. Sure. I wasn't going to. I thought I would do a few things that really are utterly repugnant, then some irrelevant stuff and finally maybe ask around on social media for ideas about what matters most to others. But Mastercard have cut clear through the fog and put a glaring searchlight on the crux. I should do what matters to me.

I really don't know what the people³ who compose these homilies do all day. They obviously don't inhabit the world that you and I do. They must actually think that, unless they give some instruction in how to live, we would make a hash of it. I have news for them. I shall do what matters most to me and and I shall do it whether they tell me or not. Not only that, I shall do it without spending a single instant of my day with my Debit Mastercard, because I don't have one and I am certainly not going to apply for one, because then I would be doing something that doesn't matter most to me.

The end result of this tweet has been to irritate me and to antagonise me against the brand of Mastercard. Well done, guys. You only had one job and you blew it.

 -&-&-&-&-&-&-

 Footnotes

1. This is a real thing, I went on a pottery course years ago and cards were highly recommended for moulding wet clay.

2. I so wanted to use the word "plasticky" here but it doesn't seem to exist.

3. I assume our old friend Taz has got himself another summer internship

The One-Day Heatwave

 A plume of Saharan air brought temperatures of 32c in the south-east yesterday and left us with a fairly stifling night. Normally one might expect several days of heat but today a thick band of cloud kept it cool all day and as I write, at 7:00pm, it is actually below 13c. 

The desert air left its mark on my car, sadly. We had some thin rain this afternoon and now it is covered in dust. I'm not happy. I took it to the car wash a couple of weeks ago (actually included as part of my annual car service because the garage seems to have contracted out its traditional valeting) and it looks like I shall have to get the old bucket and sponge out.

The Met Comes Good

 Here's something not seen that often. The RMT union has called a strike today and most of the stations in central London are shut. Every one of the traditional tube lines has either no service or a "special" service (meaning very long gaps between trains). Except one. The good old Met appears to be running normally. Which, given that I need to travel on it fairly shortly between beautiful Ruislip and Finchley Road, is rather nice.

Tube status at 11:00am

Back To The Crush

 I had to attend the funeral of a friend today. The ceremony was in West Norwood, a delightful cemetery amidst lushly planted grounds but of course there was the little problem of getting there. I hate driving into London and naturally chose to go by public transport, using the tube to reach Victoria and then the novelty of a trip on Southern railways.

Southern was splendid. The train was clean and comfortable, with sensible announcements (including saying which carriage one was in, useful info for the short-length stations where some carriages do not open their doors), it left on time and arrived on time.

The journey on the tube was less convivial. Though I began my journey shortly before 10:00 from beautiful Ruislip, the Met was fairly busy when it arrived and damn near full by Harrow. Being too close to people in confined spaces still makes me nervous - the country has become used to the covid pandemic but I still want to minimise any chance of catching it. I did not expect the train to be so well-used at that sort of time.

The plan was to transfer to the Jubbly at Finchley Road. We arrived to find an empty one waiting for us. I should have realised... as I and many others swiftly crossed the platform in search of a seat, we were told that due to a person under a train at Green Park, the train was going nowhere. So about-face and back to the still-waiting Met only now my seat had been taken. 

Oh well, I stood in the crowded carriage to Baker Street and transferred to the Bakerloo. Though it was now well after ten, still the platforms were thick with people and it was a push just to get into the train. At Oxford Circus I made the easy crossing to the Victoria Line and blow me, that was also jam-packed, though at least quite a few left at Green Park.

Coming back, around 16:30, was fairly similar, although the Jubbly was now running again but it was still standing room on the Viccy, the Jubbly and the Met (until Wembley Park.)

The Elizabeth Line (aka Crossrail) finally opened for business last week. It was built to relieve the enormous pressure on the Central Line for east-west travel. Seems like a new one rotated at 90° would be handy as well.