In the wake of a dead *uck
Could it get any worse? With Theresa May’s departure now inevitable the fate of the country will shortly be in the hands of 100,000 or so blue rinses and shooting stick retards who will choose her successor, and that person as we are told repeatedly is likely to be the incompetent and vain Boris Johnson, a man whose failings are so manifold he is seen as, ridiculously, some kind of antidote to our malaise. His likely election as leader of the Tories will mean a no deal Brexit, and that, so far as it goes will be his manifesto. He will have until 2022 to do his wrecking, and whatever happens then it may be too late to remedy the damage. I can’t see him wanting to test his popularity sooner. His hubris will prevent it. So what happens then? How will we fare under this incapable man? Maybe (always looking for the bright side) he will finally and merely demonstrate that the UK is up the swannee without a paddle, and he will be thrown overboard when he faces the wrath of a serially dejected electorate. Then it is possible that Labour will be left to make good the mess. But as history shows, there’s no reward for doing what is necessary to make good your predecessor's mess.
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