Having spent the past five days in a sunny field in Suffolk,
soaking up the hotbed of leftfield culture and cliché middle class moments (to
paraphrase Stewart Lee, the halloumi sleeps soundly on the grills of Stoke Newington
tonight) that is Latitude festival – I have
been mercifully insulated from the ongoing cavalcade of horrendous events which
have apparently taken place in my absence from the wonderful world of twenty
four hour rolling news coverage.
In fact, the only current global phenomenon I have returned
with more knowledge of than when I left is the inevitable culmination of recent
millennial trends (resurrecting things that were popular in the 90s, social media,
and augmented reality) that is Pokémon Go.
I spotted many a festival goer/wannabe pokémasters capturing Rattata rather
than engaging in the various delights the festival had to offer – including the
wonderfully named Double Pussy Clit Fuck whose performance I am reliably informed
involved live cunnilingus accompanied by a crowd karaoke rendition of Love Will
Tear Us Apart.
However, I shall resist the temptation to dedicate the rest
of this piece to discussing the intricacies of nabbing a Snorlax, and instead
turn my attention to another 20th century throwback, namely the
seemingly imminent split of the Labour party. Owen Smith has now thrown his oar
into what he must surely realise is a sinking ship, a man with about as much
charisma as a Magikarp, who has already managed to ‘do a Leadsom’ by suggesting
his being a family man gives him an edge over his fellow establishment rival
for the throne – which would be bad enough, if she weren’t also one of the
first openly gay MPs to represent the party.
Meanwhile, Westminster has voted overwhelmingly in favour of
spending more money than we’ve sent to Brussels in living memory to renew an obsolete
fleet of white elephants (or perhaps white whales?) which will continue to pointlessly
patrol the Atlantic Ocean. Join the CND or
better yet, The Labour Party and fight
for the nuclear disarmament of our newly independent country – these weapons
are merely a clitoris extension for our Thatcher-lite new PM, and her cabinet
of Conservative throwbacks.
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