And so the year came to its sorry end. And OG's capitulation in the face of facts finally came to pass. In November Boris Johnson vainly tried to orchestrate the forgiving of a back-bench MP who had behaved execrably. He was found to be shedding support like an ageing stripper but with rather less dignity. The impression was of a man totally out of touch with common decency. Just like the abject Cameron before him we had the demeaning spectacle of a clever man just too bloody lazy to do the job properly. Events would soon reveal the revolting, shabby thruth - Boris had even fewer redeeming features than the Boy Cameron. Eton College must be so proud of itself.
In December we had the start of partygate. Proof positive that Boris and his cronies, the braying sub-culture who inhabit Downing Street, simply don't believe that the laws they have made should apply to them. The stench of entitlement is rank. Still the wretched man hangs on, now embarked on a scorched-earth policy that seems to involve the ditching of everybody who was in the vicinity bar the leader himself. As George Washington didn't quite say - I cannot tell a lie Father, it was the cat.
I care not a jot that the laws Downing Street were ignoring were assinine - they were laws and it ill behoves our governing class to stick two fingers up at them. In the name of God man, go. Now.
But there is worse. By the end of December and with barely a whimper of defiance our cricketers had lost to Australia. Pitiful. Ill-prepared, the nation's cricketing pride sacrificed at the altar of the Hundred - a competition invented for those who cannot even be arsed to sit through a full game of Twenty20 pub cricket. I don't give a shit about the commerciality of the 'product' - some things are too precious to be messed with and test cricket is one such. But what do I know.
My new year resolution? Not to be so grumpy. It's going to be difficult.
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