'The Queen's been dead only 18 months, and the country's gone to the dogs'
War. Rationing. Mortgage rates at 15%, mounted police charging at starving miners, Jeffrey bleeding Epstein, Cilla Black singing at the Royal Variety. The late Queen saw and survived a vast amount of horror in her 75 years on the throne.
But the moment she looked into the mad-as-a-pigeon eyes of Liz Truss, it must have become clear to Our Lizzie that some deeply weird s*** was about to hit a very large fan. A fan that, if Elon Musk ever goes into internal air conditioning, would be called the Super Massive Blowy Cheek Buster.
Liz, at 96, thought "eff this" and went for a nice lie-down under St George's Chapel at Windsor, where she is probably doing 75 rpm by now as the lads she left in charge have near brought down the monarchy with some shonky Photoshop.
A princess is AWOL, the heir and spare are acting like teenagers who can't be in the same room, and the calmest cog in the Royal machine appears to be a Strictly fan from Wiltshire who's just been turned into a Barbie doll.
Perhaps Barmilla can yet save them all (PA)Meanwhile the country is being run, or there is a pretence the country is being run, by the political incarnation of Spongebob Shortypants, a slightly-dim but eternally-optimistic creature who is constantly teetering on the edge of his own Peasants' Revolt.
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Armed Forces minister James Heappey has become the third minister to "do a Queenie", and abandon all hope. He's resigned and announced he's leaving politics, something which neither politics, the Ministry of Defence, or his constituents in Wells will probably notice.
But following the departure of Ben Wallace who said politics was a "toxic" addiction (only regular hits of monkey dust could explain some of them) and Dehenna Davidson who couldn't cope any longer with the migraines (you and us both, Dehenna), it's little more than another busted wing mirror on the unholy, shoddy charabanc of a government that we have been cursed with.
People were genuinely frightened what Dominic Raab might do with his lunchtime tomatoes. Suella Braverman has made fire-and-rehire her standout CV achievement. James Cleverly isn't. Grant Shapps has only to LOOK at a missile and it misfires, and Nadhim Zahawi's tax affairs were so bad they actually managed to make the Prime Minister's non-dom wife look honest.
Paying tax in a different country and arguing about the dishwasher. They're so NORMAL (Simon Walker / No 10 Downing Street)Gavin Williamson was fired so he could spend more time in his constituency, perturbed by telecommunications boxes. Liz Truss flew all the way to America to peck madly at Steve Bannon, and still homed her way back to Parliament to argue for laws limiting people's right to be. Robert Jenrick resigned because the Rwanda bill almost no-one in the country wants wasn't worse. Now a Prime Minister who faced the choice of a general election on May 2 or bust appears to have chosen... bust. Like, willingly.
And these are the people in charge! The ones who write memos explaining what they're up to for the monarch, who would rather have a massive dose of cancer treatment than have to read any more of their dribble. Scientists have yet to establish whether being exposed to idiocy makes you ill, but Lizzy seemed sick to death of it and she seems to have had the right idea.
Meanwhile the bread and royal circuses, with which we are entertained so as not to point all our are-you-f***ing-kidding fury at the politicians, seem to be circling the plughole of widespread republicanism. Our American cousins are speculating wildly about what's wrong with the King, who the heir's been up to, and where his wife's at. Andy's still popping up like the last bit that won't flush, and the Spin Doctors are having to rewrite their 1991 hit so that it's called Two Princes Who Ignore Each Other At A Memorial For Their Mum.
If Liz once thought that Lady Di had rocked the throne a bit, she'd be delighted to learn that, these days, the insurgency is entirely the Windsors' own doing. "All any of them had to do was smile for a photo," her shade is probably grumbling to Philip. "Even you managed that once or twice."
Once upon a time, divorce was going to destroy the monarchy. Today it's ham-fisted retouching. When I were a lass, ministers stayed at their ministry for years, you got to know them, and they became indelibly linked to their brief. Douglas Hurd, Alistair Darling, George Robertson - you could rely on the fact they'd probably still be in post at the end of the week, and it would take a scandal of enormous proportions to winkle them out of it.
Today public life is filled with people who don't give a damn. They'll block you, smear you, get the taxpayer to cover the legal costs, resign on a whim because, sigh, I thought it would be easier than this. And these are the ones who say 20-year-olds are too weak and woke to crack on with things. I mean we might as well be governed by moths, at least they head for the light.
When they get around to adding to the Windsor side-crypt where Old Queen Liz currently resides, they'll open it up to find she's no longer there. She'll have spun so hard for so long she'll be approaching the Earth's core, still muttering about 'bloody Americans' and insisting we should have banned them after the war.
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There is only one upside to the Last Days of Britain As We Know It: some of us will survive, and in the meantime there's spectacle, and gin. See you on the other side - I hope.
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