From all the furore surrounding this week’s revelatory allegations about our current Prime Minister and his university aged antics you’d think none of us had ever had a few too many sherries and woken up with our junk in the orifice of a deceased farmyard animal. And honestly, if we’re judging our politicians against standards that high there’ll be no room for any real characters in elected office at all!
Cameron’s alleged porcine corpse rape might have made for a comedic and entertaining aside earlier this week. I personally spent at least an hour trawling social media for some of the most original bacon based puns I’d seen in years and if nothing else the moment allowed me an opportunity to introduce a previously uninducted friend into the dark world of Charlie Brooker’s Black Mirror. If you’ve seen it you’ll be aware of the episode to which I refer. Incidentally, if you haven’t seen it stop reading this at once and seek out a way to educate yourself.
But once the mirth dies down and the gruesome mental images fade from our nightmares we are all aware that this isn’t a thing, aren’t we? I ask because I’m scared that there’s a section of people out there that think this a genuine political story. I suspect they’re the same people who thought that Cecil the Lion was a conservation tragedy and that whether or not you sing the national anthem matters to anyone who doesn’t already have a very firm idea of who they’ll vote for at the next election.
This shouldn’t affect anything real. It shouldn’t have any legislative impact, the reflection in the opinion polls should be miniscule, if it exists at all, and the career of David Cameron shouldn’t be in any way threatened by this. As much as the giggles roll on (and I’m to be commended for not including a play on “sausage roll” there) this is entirely a non issue. The truth is I don’t really care if it’s true or not. And as objectionable as I might find Mr. Cameron’s economic ideology and his party’s policy direction on a range of issues, those objections are entirely unrelated to whatever moronic rites of rich-kid passage he went through decades ago.
It shouldn’t matter, but that’s not to say it won’t. We, as a nation, possess no stronger collective talent than our ability to act indignant and offended by the most ridiculous of things. Just ask Russell Brand and Jonathon Ross. There is nothing we like to do more, on these Isles, than put down out cup of tea and pretend to be horrifically and personally insulted by something we don’t actually give a shit about. While Cameron can point to the fact that there’s literally no proof that this ever happened he’s probably just about safe from the baying masses of empty headed fuckwits itching to start whining about morals and decency, but if more accusations were to appear or a grainy photograph of him kneeling, de-trousered over the edge of a rusty trough in a field somewhere, then they would be out in force, desperate to seize the opportunity to register their disgust to anybody who’ll listen. And horribly, in this age of 24 hour rolling news, there are plenty who’ll listen. They wander round highstreets with cameramen and microphones happily broadcasting the opinions of “ordinary people”. Your screens will be full of Dave from Burnley, complete with a sports jacket and a furrowed brow, telling you how “it’s a disgrace” and that “He’s gotta go, hasn’t he?” and the idea of substance over spin and policy over personality will sink a little further into it’s grave.
*Rejected titles for this blog:
“Samantha Cameron’s been fucking a pig for years and we never gave a shit about that”
“The Great British Bac-on”
“The squeal of scandal”