One day after the new British PM has been announced, the (wannabe) pundits come out of the virtual woodworks. Perhaps it says a lot about the people in my circle that Labour is lamented en mass on my Facebook home page. People are shedding a tear over Gordon Brown’s final goodbye, reminiscing over his legacy (“Well, he wasn’t that bad really, he didn’t actually cause the recession.” “Ooh those little boys were so cute!” ” He was a better chancellor than PM, he seems very smart.” etc etc.) The ones who voted LibDem are cursing The Clegg for making a deal with the Devil.
People are worried everything will go back to Maggie’s days though I could not really comment on this as a) I was six when she resigned as PM and have no real collection of any event before 1990 – though my very first memory is pre- younger sister and dates from 1987 and b) being foreign my parents/family/neighbourhood has not passed down the legendary evil that this woman apparently bestowed upon the UK.
So as politics is about to change life as we know it in the UK and all the outrage we feel after a democratic election that has proven us a minority, spare a thought for a little Dutch boy.
His story is pushed below the massive picture of a solemn-looking Nick and Cameron waving outside Number 10, his story is not even mentioned in the headline or in the blurb underneath. On his way from South Africa, (Maybe on holiday? Was he excited to see where the World Cup would be held? Did he think this was the best half-term trip ever?) on his way to London Gatwick via Tripoli the plane crashed in Libya. All the other passengers died, leaving him aged 10 the sole survivor.
E = mc2 my friends: life might be changing, but at least ours still goes on.