Prince Phillip Is Dead And The Country Has Gone Mad.

The magic of the internet means that for some crazy reason, people as far away as India have decided to read my blog. It’s insane to me that some bloke in Mumbai now knows about my pathetic hair line and my recent bout of diarrhea. But that often means I avoid talking about topical news stories in the fear that my writing won’t be accessible to them. However, I’m going to break that habit this week and talk about something that happened in my country that is historically quite significant – the death of Prince Phillip.

Now, I have to be honest from the start and admit to not being a royalist. It’s such a backward, archaic institution. Nobody should be given a palace or deemed important enough that other human beings have to bow down to them because of some sort of weird concept of hierarchical vaginas. The very idea of hereditary privilege props up and justifies a whole class system that keeps people trapped in poverty. It’s disgusting. But this isn’t a blog about my objection to the monarchy.

And on a human level, it’s incredibly sad. I can’t imagine being in love with someone for seventy plus years and then that being taken away from you.

When me and my girlfriend initially got together, she stupidly ended things with me after about three weeks and I consequently cried directly into a pillow in my mother’s box room for 48 hours straight. If it wasn’t for my charisma and her fear of being a single woman in her thirties with a biological clock incessantly whispering in her ear, we might never have flourished into the absolute power couple we are now.

Point is. I can’t fathom the amount of sorrow and grief that The Queen must be experiencing right now. However, the response of the British public, as with all major royal occasions, is absolutely baffling to me. And that is what I shall focus on.

Take the media coverage on television. Now television is my usual place of salvation. I find it incredibly soothing. It’s my comfort blanket. However, my comfort blanket has now been violently ripped away from me and is being used as a shit rag by distraught subjects devastated by the death of a man they never knew. It is literally wall to wall coverage. And don’t get me wrong, I understand why it needs to be reported on. I get the historical significance. But the vast amount of coverage means that most of what we are being tortured by is nothing but filler. The news stations are currently finding a conveyor belt of village idiots to relive their boring dinner party tales of that fleeting three minutes they were in the same company as him.

TV currently looks a lot like this…

“So yeah. I said this incredibly bland and inane thing to him and then he said some incredibly bland and inane thing back to me. And then, to my absolute surprise he then moved on to my colleague who managed to say something even more incredibly bland and inane. But no, despite not knowing him at all and him not knowing my existence, he was a really nice chap.”

A lot of these loyal subjects are also getting incredibly offended by other people’s indifference or jokes that are in bad taste. I have an elderly family friend who I saw on Facebook replying in disgust to a mocked up picture of Queen Elizabeth on ‘Tinder’. “THIS IS DISGUSTING. UNFOLLOWED.” A poor, arguably unfunny meme, I agree. But this was the same person who sent me a meme last week with the caption, ‘When you visit the book store and can’t find your books…” Where’s the joke you might ask? Oh. The book store in question was a chinese store apparently called, ‘No Fuk In Books.”

And why are people mourning him? He was a NINETY NINE year old man who lived in absolute privilege for the entirety of his life. He won. He hit the life experience jackpot. If you’re royally inclined you should be celebrating his life. You should be in the streets popping champagne. If statistics are to be believed and my dreams are never actualised, I’ll likely perish is my seventies after working in call centre/office environments for almost half a century. Mourn me. A man who spends most of his waking hours sat at a desk with his hand in a sharer bag of processed crisp.

In fact, I’m going to get in touch with the BBC right now and request that in the event of my death, they contact my colleagues so they can repeatedly tell that hilarious story about the time I sent something to the printer without realising the printer was *actually* turned off.

It’s about time there was enthralling content that could challenge the incredible tales we are currently being entertained by.

The Short Fellow – A Revolutionary in the Making.

Today I have been reading John Lee Anderson’s great biography of the Argentine revolutionary Che Guevara and as someone who is fascinated by both history and politics, it has me hooked. However, this isn’t a book review or a history lesson, it’s more a review of my grandiose sense of self, my idiotic ego that has me bizarrely comparing myself to Che Guevara.

You heard me right. Me. A man who is currently sat here in his underwear on a Wednesday afternoon, has been thumbing his way through this book and excitedly saying out loud, “Che was only in his late 20’s when he met Fidel? It’s still not too late. I too can be a leader of men!”

Me. A man who gets nervous when his girlfriend asks him to go to the Post Office to send a package. How am I meant to inspire a nation when I nearly vomit when asking an uninterested middle-aged woman to send something first class?

You see. I’m a political animal. Or I certainly like to see myself as one. I’m THAT guy who after having a couple of beers gets really serious and starts ranting about the inequalities in society. I’m transformed into a working class revolutionary who will die for the cause. But if the revolution came, if the working class finally rose up from their slumber, if a man burst into this room now and handed me a gun, I would shit on the floor. I would literally defecate in my revolutionary trousers.

In an instant I would look for reasons to get out of being on the front line.

“I can provide administration? How about I set up a Facebook page? EVERY GOOD REVOLUTION NEEDS A SOCIAL MEDIA PRESENCE!”

It’s not only Che I compare myself too, but Lennon, Gandhi, Rosa Parks… The list goes on. Being in my 20’s I still have that na├»ve attitude and self important belief that I will one day change the world. I have moments where in the midst of one of my drunken tirades at a social gathering, I honestly believe I am about to spark off a moment that will have major significant historical importance. It never does however, they usually just end with me standing alone in a kitchen being looked at strangely by a friend’s Labrador.

So comrades, I shall leave you now. I need to get dressed and retweet some social injustice on Twitter.