Her Majestys head rotated through 720 degrees. A stream of green projectile vomit erupted from her mouth. This wasnt so much a Queens speech as an exorcism. A desperate purge of the toxic waste that had been forced on her by a prime minister she had come to detest. A man who had already misled her over one prorogation and was now using her as a frontwoman to deliver an election manifesto. She had had her fair share of grubby moments during her time on the throne the Ceauescu state visit being a case in point but this was almost up there.

There was a large cluster of empty seats amid the ermine and tiaras from Claires Accessories in the Lords. The sense of futility was too much even for some Tory peers. The Queen eyed up the gaps enviously. Shed have given almost anything to have skipped the occasion herself. Anything but let Prince Charles have a go. Her son might be 70 but he still couldnt be trusted not to screw things up. Even an election stunt like this.

The Queen had looked both frail and furious as she sat down in her throne. Her eyes glanced over towards the TV screens as she waited for MPs to make their way over from the Commons. There was the prime minister trying to make small talk with Jeremy Corbyn. Good to see the Labour leader giving him the brush-off. At least he was good for something.

Her Maj then looked up towards the visitors gallery. Surely not? But it was. Stanley Johnson. You just couldnt escape a Johnson these days. Though surely Stanley was the Johnsons prize Johnson. He was like Boriss shadow. How pathetic that he could exist only in the reflected, tainted glory of his son. He probably slept in his own basket next to Dilyn the dog, just outside Boris and Carries bedroom.

Then the lord chancellor handed her the parchment and her professionalism kicked in. My government, she began. My government, my arse. This wasnt her government. It wasnt anyones government. It was just a bunch of shits and charlatans, men and women for whom lying was second nature. That her reign should have come to this. She and the country surely deserved better. Though perhaps they didnt. Maybe the UK was on a one-way ticket to becoming a failed state.

She plodded on, making sure not to let the slightest hint of enthusiasm escape her lips. Not hard. This was a punishment beating for everyone. An exercise in utter existential nihilism. Even if Johnson meant a single word of it something she rather doubted there was no chance of any of it happening this side of a general election.

So the best she could hope for was to be back in the Lords in a couple of months time, spouting the same old shit about providing dignity in old age and improving mental health provision. This from a man who had stripped a 93-year-old woman of her dignity and who had done more to damage the nations mental health than any other politician. Once she had wrapped things up, she slipped a message to the Rouge Dragon Pursuivant to pick up the pace on the procession out. She needed a drink badly. Make it a double.

Two hours later the Commons was back in session to go through the charade of debating a Queens speech that was never going to be implemented, while pretending the really serious business of the Brexit negotiations in Brussels wasnt happening. If this was a war, parliament would have been court martialed for dereliction of duty.

As is customary, two government backbenchers proposed and seconded the debate. These speeches are meant to be a chance to shine. To mix wit and personality with light-touch sincerity. But in Lee Rowley and Sarah Newton, the government had picked two MPs who are completely devoid of charm, barely capable of delivering a coherent sentence, let alone one that grips the imagination. Opera heroines have died a less agonising, less painful death.

Corbyn spotted his opportunity to live down to the occasion. This was the most open of open goals. All he had to do was declare the debate a farce, deliver his own election manifesto, point out that Johnson had now embarrassed the Queen twice within a couple of months, and ask when he was planning on going for the hat-trick.

Instead he rambled on, mistaking the Queens speech as serious policy and getting hopelessly bogged down as he tried and failed to grapple with the lack of detail. No wonder some Labour MPs are now seriously thinking of waving through Johnsons Brexit deal, however crap it turns out to be, and voting Conservative in the next election. Just to get rid of their leader.

Johnson was no more impressive. Pifflepafflewifflewaffle. Rather, he was at his most loathsome. Arrogant and dismissive. Not even funny. Land of hopeless glory. Devoid of detail and morality as he indulged in petty point-scoring. A desperate blob interested more in his own survival than that of the country. As are nearly all Tory MPs. Principles that were once held sacred on both the leave and remain wings of the party are now up for grabs. Sold to the lowest bidder in return for a Brexit deal appreciably worse than Theresa Mays that would make their constituents appreciably less well off.

This was an embarrassment. A parliament of all the talentless. What a time it is not to be alive.

Continued here:

Queen reduced to furious frontwoman for grubby election stunt - The Guardian