The year has turned, Old Father Time has passed by, and Sadiq Khan has squandered London council tax payers’ money on sending the most expensive virtue signal in Europe up in smoke. Nothing was missed out as fireworks paid tribute to LGBT issues, Ukraine, climate change (I assume these were low emission fireworks) and the old queen (no, not Elton John, The Queen). Welcome to 2023.
Some people make resolutions, but as someone who may not have enough time left on God’s earth to fulfil them, I prefer to reflect on the year past and the things I have learned. This year, there was so much that was remarkable or new, it was hard to know where to start and especially where to finish. Nevertheless, a few things stood out.
Politicians are liars
To be fair, this is not a revelation and has been carried over for many years. But they excelled themselves in 2022. When kids are caught with illicit sweet wrappers in their pockets their first instinct is to deny they’ve been nicking toffees from the kitchen cupboard. Politicians are just the same, at least the ones working and residing in 10 Downing Street. Empty wine bottles, vomit-stained carpets and even video footage of regular hootnannies at the headquarters of British democracy all led to denials that the Covid regulations—which had kept the rest of us banged up, families separated and folk dying alone in hospitals—had been broken. But broken they had been, and the word ‘Partygate’ entered the lexicon. I am rarely surprised at the mendacity of our politicians, but I thought Andrew Bridgen’s revelations about Partygate on The Delingpod podcast were quite shocking. The reason people were being told to bring their own bottles and minions were being dispatched to off licences was to avoid using any of the alcohol in the Downing Street cellars. Apparently, that would have had to be accounted for and become a matter of public record. So, it appears, our glorious leaders were not only on the piss, they were taking it in large volumes too. However, this does not explain why Messrs Plod at the front door of Downing Street kept no record of who was involved in the copious comings and goings.
Gender
I was brought up in simpler times when the possession of a winkie meant you were a boy and a lack thereof meant you were a girl. We have long had men who want to dress as women, some of whom go to great lengths to convince themselves that they are one, up to and including ‘the chop’. There are also women who make a move in the opposite direction. It is recognised that these people are often mentally ill and decent folk will adapt and call ‘John’ ‘Jean’ to keep the peace and avoid offence. But this past year the extent of our stupidity in going along with all this has come to light as men posing as women knock ten bells out of women in MMA competitions, and other men sweep the board at women’s swimming competitions. Men have even won beauty pageants; presumably in competitions specifically for visually impaired judges. The real rub is not so much the above as the fact you can lose your livelihood for not buying into this bullshit and having the temerity to express that on social media.
Sex
On the rare occasions when I have been privileged to indulge in the delights of the flesh, I have always approached matters in a conventional way. After all, I read Ian Fleming novels when I was a kid and thought there wasn’t much I could be taught about how to put a smile on a woman’s face. I now realise I was doing it all the wrong way. A deadly virus emerged in 2022 which decimated populations and spread fear across the globe: monkey…sorry…Mpox. So dangerous was Mpox that conventional sex no longer became acceptable and those health obsessed fanatics who run our public health departments issued guidance on how to do it properly. Thus, we all took to sitting on opposite sides of the bed, we lads playing with our marbles while our lady friends did whatever they do. We were all a lot happier as a result and, crucially, did not catch Mpox.
Climate
‘Climate’ in the new word for ‘weather’ and we seem to have lost a grip of the fact that we have weather every day. Sometimes it is warm, sometimes it is cold and sometimes it is kind of in between. But now it is something to be feared, revered even, and—even when it is brass monkeys in the middle of winter—we are lectured to about our carbon footprints, polluting emissions and global warming. Meantime, the environmentally concerned including Greta Thunberg, Emma Thompson, the great and the good of the World Economic Forum, the G7 and COP22 pollute our skies with their transatlantic flights and fleets of private jets. You would think that they would at least see the irony and take some responsibility. But guess what? Turns out it’s all my fault. We can barely move round the side of our house for the confusing and multicoloured ranks of recycling bins that we must fill with the appropriate contents; I can barely find my way around our house because light bulbs hardly provide any light these days, I get asked if I want to offset my carbon footprint when I book a flight and my diesel powered car—yes, the one we were all told to buy by former Chief Scientific adviser Sir David King—now makes me a pariah.
That’s what I’ve learned.
Roger Watson is a retired academic, editor and writer. He is a columnist with Unity News Network and writes regularly for a range of conservative journals including The Salisbury Review and The European Conservative. He has travelled and worked extensively in the Far East and the Middle East. He lives in Kingston upon Hull, UK.
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