Angry Bird


Our resident ranter, Michelle Harris is suffering from EPF (Extreme Political Fatigue). And don’t get her started on Russell Brand

What a bloody horrific bloody week, election-wise. Hands up if you didn’t get your way. Hands up if you’re a smug Tory (hands in pockets and averted gaze if you’re a shy one). Hands up if your social media feeds have led to at least three awkward moments as people you thought you liked were doing things politically that you wish you didn’t know about because you still like them but now you judge them. Hands up if you are so effing bored of the election and its backlash that you would at this moment happily vote against there ever being one again because whatever happens we’re all a little bit screwed for the foreseeable future and you don’t know if it will ever be safe to get sick or old or gay or a foreign accent ever again so what’s the point?

You’re waving, aren’t you? Me too, and that is more than a smidgen sad, because I asked the questions.

I know I shouldn’t be bored. I know it’s important. I know that the lives of many people, myself included, will be affected by the decisions decided by democracy (appreciate the alliteration, amigos) at the end of last week. I do know. But I am just so tired of it all. Tired of reading, watching, over-hearing, wondering, worrying, judging and moaning. I have post-election fatigue. It’s a bit like baby-related sleep-deprivation except with twice as much shit and a distinct lack of cuddles.

What happened, happened. Democracy won. We may not like it. We may be disgusted by it. That’s valid. But it is interesting to note that the general public now bemoaning the way the voting is done and seats are allocated and blah-de-blah (bow down beeatches to my political jargon) were quite happy with non-proportional representation when they thought their team had it in the bag.

The referendum on that subject was about as well attended as a Dean Gaffney Appreciation Society AGM, because we all thought we were on the winning team, we all thought our party would exploit the flaws in the system. Until they didn’t. Then it was a big deal. If we had voted for proportional representation, chances are we’d be looking at a Tory-UKIP coalition right now, and the thought of that makes me sick in my mouth because Farage is a revolting and despicable shithead. Cameron is not on my Christmas card list either, but come on.

You know who didn’t help? Russell bloody Brand. The scruffy-haired ball-bag-displaying wally told people not to vote, and loads of people forgot he was a no-mark Big Brother spin-off and thought he was a politician, and didn’t register. Too late, he got into bed with Labour, and Ed, the willing whore, was dropping his aitches and down-with-the-common-manning all over the place. It was arse-clenchingly cringable in its desperation, but in a converse way, endearing too, if you were pinning your hopes on a Labour win.

But what evs. It didn’t work. And rather than stand by his man, Brand totally u-turned, slut-shaming Milliband in the worst possible way, showing him the door without so much as a backward glance or a goodbye bacon sandwich. Suddenly, he fawned on his own unintelligence – what does he know, he’s just a comedian? Really? I thought he was an anarchist, a revolutionary and a fucking oracle. I must be mistaken. He must just be an overblown tosspiece in skinny jeans, courting attention regardless of the outcome. Our bad, UK, our bad.

Don’t get me started on Hopkins, or Church, or whoever the f*ck else drove in going “I’m a celebrity and here’s what I think about stuff I don’t care about but my career is flagging and I wish you to look at me”. It’s depressing that people would base their politics on what a jumped up opera singing child-star thinks, but whatdyaknow, we live in that world now. Everyone on the telly is entitled to an opinion about anything. I cannot wait for Hollyoaks’ political campaign, or the TOWIE party’s manifesto. Vajazzles all round.

I’m not saying we should all just give up. I’m saying, let’s get on with it in whatever way we can. Feel smug? Good on you. Just don’t get sick or you may regret the x in the box. Feel Angry? Sign a petition, peacefully protest, go on strike, write letters, have reasoned debates with those who want them, write a blog, just keep your spray cans in your pockets round war memorials, lest everyone think you’re a c*nt.

Feel compassion? Help the needy, reach out to the depressed, donate to food banks, check on your elderly neighbours, don’t fiddle your tax. Feel inspired? Run for local council, join the party of your choosing, get involved, do something, change something, be something. But please. Let’s not be here in five years time, with everyone pissing and moaning, or hiding, and none of it making a blind bit of difference.

We’re all in this together. Whether we like it or not.

Michelle Harris

Following a career in teaching, Michelle decided to boss her own children round, instead of other people’s. Outside of the Internet, Michelle can mostly be found in the wine aisle of the supermarket.



Turns out I’m not an afternoon person either.


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