Constantly Furious

For the first time in many years, a General Election has ended not in the sun-drenched coronation of another grinning chancer, but in chaos, confusion and rumour.

We've got the Prime Minister, comprehensively rejected by the nation, still sitting in Downing Street.

We've got the Leader of a small party, a party which gained fewer seats than in the last election, and holds about 9% of the total seats, telling us that he will decide who is and is not Prime Minister, and what the Government's priorities for legislation will be.

We've got the Leader of the party that got the most votes, and the most seats, frantically scrabbling to appease the minority guy, offering him all sorts of things not in his own manifesto, while frantically looking over his shoulder, terrified that his backbenchers will rebel before they've even sat on a backbench.

We've got, in short, a total shambles. The world keeps on turning, Europe keeps on burning, and the country continues to hell in a handcart. Meanwhile, the governing and wannabe-governing classes race around London, begging, cajoling and threatening each other.

And this is what we'll get with PR is it? Every fucking time? This is what will happen every five years, if Cleggy gets his way?

The horse-trading, the negotiation, the conflicting agenda and overall, the uncertainty?

For fuck's sake.


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