It has been said that a week is a long time in politics. I would say, a second is far too long.
Having watched the debacle of Monday evening, going into the early hours of Tuesday morning. I sat opened mouthed and rooting for Speaker John Bercow; not because I was against the proration of parliament, to be honest, I am as sick of it all as are many. I just wanted to enjoy every second of the psychotic Tory antics as they realised, they may not get to shut down scrutiny after all.
The big moment arrived, the palaver began, we were taken to the ‘unelected House of Lords, the red leather benches deserted, well it was way past their bedtime. I don’t know why they didn’t turn up, they usually sit and sleep through their debates anyway. I digress, as the moment to prog parliament arrived in walks a handful, and I mean a handful of Lords and Lady’s or whatever title they have. None given by the public I might add. However, we have our own colourful names for these charlatans.
I sat mesmerised, wondering how much this pomp and ceremony would cost a public that has already been squeezed to the absolute limit and the good chums at Aunty Beeb informing those still watching of what the ceremony entailed. It really was a sight to behold.
Black rod, okay, some woman dressed in black with a big stick marched through the glinting hallway leading from one chamber to the other and we were taken back to the House of Commons. SNP’s Mhairi Black stood by the door, arms folded, smile on her face as she relayed to her colleagues what was happening. Two people stood behind the large heavy doors, ready to slam it in Black Rod’s face as is the tradition. There were a lot of nodding and giggles as the doors were firmly slammed and held. And then three loud knocks with the rod and a rather stern looking ‘Black Rod’ came into the chamber, her mission? To summon our elected representatives to the House of Lords to be given a message that they were to present themselves to the ‘other place’; yes ladies, gentlemen or whatever you identify as, OUR REPRESENTATIVES SUMMONED LIKE COMMONERS to hear what wee Betty had to say. I suppose that is why it is called the House of Commons, although it is not quite that now, not with all those Tory, Labour and Lib-Dem Toffs seated within.
The skirmish was fascinating as a group of MPs tried to prevent the Speaker from complying with the command. With their handmade signs which simply read SILENCED. Speaker John Bercow for his part, insisted that the prorogation was an outrage, or words to that effect. At one point, I thought he was not going to obey. This had me sit up and take notice. It would really have been something to see, had he held firm. Tories would have had a full-on stroke their blood pressure would have been so high.
Bercow at last got unsteadily to his feet and walked towards the door to a chorus of ‘Do your job’ from those who were once his Tory colleagues; now letting their loathing of him show. We followed him to the House of ‘unelected’ Lords and there was more pomp and ceremony and that was it, our parliament closed, shut down by a Prime Minister whom having seized the premiership now seized the parliament. A parliament that should have been closed long ago, preferably with those elite psychopaths still within.
I retired to bed still aghast that democracy could be shut out so easily by an unelected Monarch, and an unelected House of Lords. Just mind blowing and you would have thought that was it, MPs on a wee holiday for five weeks, I was mistaken for there was more to come.
By Wednesday, (least I think it was Wednesday, the days really do all run into one another where politics in the UK are concerned. Well many in England were to throw all their toys out of their pram as Scotland’s highest court ruled that the shutting down of parliament was unlawful.
Oh, dear god, queue the meltdown. How dare Scotland dictate to England, it really was popcorn time. As news seeped south of the border those in England, not used to Scotland having a say in anything Westminster related began a campaign to have us ‘fuck off’. Wow, what an absolute turn of events. No ‘we love you Scotland, please don’t leave us.’ This time round #FuckoffScotland trended, oh how the mighty have fallen. And if Scotland gets its way and has Article 50 reversed there will not be enough popcorn in the world to satisfy those in Scotland wishing to remain in the European Union. The time of England dictating to Scotland is over. We will not shut up and get back in our box any more. We have found our voice, our dignity and our fight. At this rate we will not need a section 30 order to hold another referendum on independence. The lovely people of England will see that we are thrown out of this union.
In the words of Gerry Cinnamon “Rip the chain from the unicorn, Scotland’s no longer your slave”
One thought on ““Rip the chain from the unicorn, Scotland’s no longer your slave!””
Reblogged this on Ramblings of a 50+ Female.
Comments are closed.