Is that Britain is crap 

And unless you’re deaf and blind and haven’t left your caravan in the last 75 years you know full well this thing cannot be turned around 

Why?  

Because turning it around requires optimism, a can do attitude and the ambition to change things for the better 

Do the Brits have these qualities? 

Um... 

Did Princess Margaret have a functioning lung?  

There you go 

Fuck it - let’s toss another beer bottle out the window, park on the pavement and block two driveways, flick a lit cigarette in the direction of that crippled pensioner. 

Who cares! 

Fill up the tank with some forty pound a gallon lung cancer inducing diesel fuel 

Call in sick and recline on your rented sofa for nine hours straight, watching Love Island on a lorry sized television, stuffing your face with cheese flavoured chicken balls and off license Lambrini.  

The Daily Mail! 

The Sun! 

Hello magazine! 

Pulling this nation deeper and deeper into a sinkhole of mindless decadence 

Brexit, shovel 

Polluted air, shovel 

Another undiagnosed bowel cancer, shovel 

Digging ourselves a well deserved grave in the cold wet cemetery of failed, forgotten powers 

An R2-D2 tattoo on your shin? 

Why not 

Spend a week’s pay on a hundred and thirty Robbie Williams bobble heads? 

Sure 

Gareth Southgate’s waistcoat! Brooklyn Beckham’s knit cap! The Bake Off! Top Gear! Did you see? Prince Philip looks like a walking cadaver! Benedict Cumberfuck got engaged to some woman I’ll be googling for the next forty five hours! I heard Graham Norton might shave his beard! 

And you ask about a solution? 

A solution??? 

There are 65 million people on this island and as I write this very sentence all but nine of them are vomiting bangers and beer into a bucket full of suds 

And this is a Wednesday 

Morning 

My advice to you is this: do not trouble yourself with serious questions as to whether or not this sinking shithole excuse for a nation can be turned around 

Forget all that… 

And stumble on up to the nearest train station. Sit down on one of those piss soaked benches, crack open a fifth of Hennessy and wait for the next train to arrive, which should be sometime in the late summer of 2024, when this nation’s long steady decline will reach its glorious, inevitable end 

God Save Romeo Beckham