The State of British Politics

Here’s where we are. Our mother, Theresa, wants us to welcome rich Uncle Donald with open arms, despite the fact that he’s a vulgar lout with a reputation for roving hands and rumors that he’s a serial rapist. Mother says we must do this because he’s a good family man, even though his kids keep telling us what an awful bully he is. What Mother doesn’t say is that we are becoming increasingly poorer, especially since she had that huge falling out with Aunt Angela and most of the more distant members of the family aren’t speaking to us any more. Mother thinks Uncle Donald will lend her money. She seems to be unaware that he has a reputation for reneging on all of his promises.

If this was a Victorian novel it is pretty clear what the ending would be. But it isn’t, so we can’t rely on the moral compass of the universe to save us. There’s not a lot we can do to prevent Uncle Donald coming to visit, but he is a dreadful narcissist. If we fail to smile winsomely enough at him, or poke a tongue out at him when Mother isn’t looking, he’s likely to go off in a huff. We can make a start today.

And we can keep signing this, even if Mother says she’s going to ignore it.

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