Well, that was depressing. I went to bed at around midnight before any significant results were in, and got up to the prospect of a renewed Tory government possibly propped up by the DUP (slogan: ‘Ulster says no; what was the question?’*). Things are somewhat better in Scotland but, while I don’t buy any of the ‘most dangerous woman in Britain’ nonsense about the SNP, I don’t think it’s healthy to have one party sweep the board the way they have in Scotland. Add in the now inevitable EU referendum – you know, the EU that the Scots were told they would have to leave and reapply to join if they dared vote for independence, that EU – and the prospect of £12bn coming out of some unspecified part of the social security budget, and I can say that Scotland today – or maybe just this one Scottish resident – feels far more estranged from what’s going on south of the border than it ever did during the giddy days of the September referendum.
But hey. The sun shone (and that wasn’t forecast either – perhaps the Met office could start predicting election outcomes and the polling organisations could have a crack at the weather; they can hardly do any worse), I had to ride into town to put together a Fankle and catch up on almost three months of literary gossip, and by the time I was cycling back I was feeling somewhat restored to myself, if not any more optimistic about the immediate political future. And tomorrow, I have invited some cycling buddies to come and help me celebrate 46 years on the planet with a 46-mile pootle around our back roads and I had preparations to make:
Two of them are coming from England. I’m semi-expecting them to claim asylum as soon as they step off the train. At least they won’t go hungry, anyway
*remind me again how awful it was going to be to have a party from the fringes of the United Kingdom holding the English to ransom, oh no wait, that was only a problem when it was the Scots, sorry, my mistake.