The Marr Ground Hog Sunday.
The post election, of any kind, dust, is not permitted to settle, by the BBC Pravda section, until the George Formby lookalike has had his say. So it comes to pass. Wee Dougie mumbles his heavily accented Scottish pronouncements as though he was nowhere to be seen when his dear bum chum, Snotty, ruined the Nation.
Formby fidgets with excitement that the glory days of incompetent Scots' ruinous credentials may return to the promised land of The London political chamber. He gurns his way through his self perceived glorious hour of pure theatre and joyous play acting only the smug, rich at our expense, Chatterati of The BBC can muster.
Yet listening to the tired old excuses of the losers and watching the smirks of the self congratulatory, apparent winners I despaired at the banality and the stale similarity of it all. Just as with Snotty, so now with The Boy less wondrous and his dear pals elevated to positions of high earning office. Not withstanding that all of them are little more than toys for the Senior Civil Servants. Playthings to be belittled, often justifiably, behind their backs.
I suppose I'm too long in the tooth to ever see this cosy and repetitive stale, boring non-dramatic drama ever change. Yet I still dream of it. I long to watch an election where the established and destructive morons are toppled. A night of the long knives when the whole electorate has a sober day of clarity and we see the whole charade as something to boot out.
Imagine a Greek rebellion at the ballot box, a French election so anti The EU as to bring in a wrecking squad, balls and all. (Think about that pun.). Imagine a UKIP sweeping victory when the old, tired trio of stupid, vainglorious selfish lot we are so plagued by from the old guard. You know the ones. The Huhne, Hoon, Brown, Dougie Alexander, Harperson, retired Red Kens, the Cameroons and the Hagues.
Go back even further to remember Wilson, Heath and their long forgotten but same old, same old faces that are regurgitated today. Remember Marr's Welsh predecessor and fearsome snob, Huw Wheldon. The Father of The BBC as we know it. Now there was a man capable of putting down any aspirational working class intellect. The similarities to Marr are very obvious.
Well, OK, one is smiling, or is that gurning but the smug sense of superiority beloved of the leftie moraliser is still there. Have a great Weekend.