Is yours, but let’s just recap where we are.

The State has dropped the pretence that this country is a democracy.

A new, fucking awful, Prime Minister has replaced the old, fucking awful, duly elected Prime Minister.

A soulless robot has been replaced by a soulless seaside amusement machine, fake engagement and deep fake belly laughs.

We get no say in this, just as we get no say in where this sit-com character spends our money.

£30,000 on a flight to Manchester for him alone, plus the costs of Met Security and the rail and hotel fares for the fucking imbeciles that he’s appointed to Cabinet.

We’re so fucked that our gaping orifice is visible from space.

Taxes will rise to pay for the daily invasion of criminals and rapists that our government could stop in a heartbeat- if they wanted to.

Crime is exponential, especially rape and sexual assault and all the while, if you dare to say a word, you’re a bigot, a racist, a right wing thug.

An old lady is brutally murdered in her own home and guess what ? There’s a political / terrorist angle.

Probably not the usual suspects this time, more likely the alphabet mafia of perverts and degenerates who feel that their fucking fetishes give them permission to invade women’s spaces whilst waving their girl-cocks.

And more about them later.

What does our wonderful government do?

They fabricate a mass-murder plot against Muslims and splash the news of it all over social media.

Except it wasn’t.

But that won’t get reported in the same way.

Our media is now so compromised and complicit that it’d make the Soviets envious, whatever the state wants reported will be the truth.

Taxes will go up again.

It’s a given.

We have huge amounts of our own, home grown wastrels and money sponges, let alone the thousands upon thousands of gimmigrants who have zero interest in working or paying taxes.

We’re so fucked that they can see the aftermath from Pluto.

Staffordshire fucking Police are defying the actual law and allowing men who identify as rapist women into female cells.

A Muslim woman who dresses so that only her fucking eyes are visible through a slit has won an award where she’s empowered women – how? Fuck knows.

We’re so fucked that we look like Bonnie Blue from Saturn. That’s not a coastline and sea, it’s a bukkake tsunami.

So, what do we do?

And that’s the question.

I was in Bath on Thursday evening, I had a couple* of drinks with an old friend and we had dinner in a very nice bar.

*I only know how many from the bill, it was a lot of martinis.

We chatted all evening about times past, friends and lovers lost and the sort of conversation that bounces from point to point but somehow stays on track.

Our waitress was just the right side of friendly and probably thought that she was subtly encouraging us to drink more, she did get a good cash tip from both of us for being fun and good company without trying to game us too much.

So we may have been a tiny bit pissed.

Can’t have been too bad though as I took that on the way back to the hotel .

While we were sat at the bar, a strange thing happened.

Two very obvious, older men in dresses came in, ordered a drink and went to table.

They weren’t ‘trans’ they were men. At least fifty years old but their clothes were sort of appropriate for their age.

Still.

A bit weird.

So when it turned out that somewhere between eight and ten of them were more or less opposite us a bit further down the restaurant, it seemed natural to discuss them.

We agreed that they were:

All blokes.

Not one could pass for a female, not even the 30ish youngest of them.

Not actually doing any harm and given that they were using the disabled toilet, being reasonable and respectful.

And we agreed that despite the fact that we thought that they were all deviants, they weren’t doing any harm.

And we didn’t care.

They looked as if they belonged in Royston Vasey – all of them.

But it wasn’t hurting us.

So we didn’t care.

This country is fucked.

Beyond all recognition.

Beyond saving.

So there’s the choice.

But before that.

Here’s a word from our sponsor.

Written in 1948.

‘The horrible thing about the Two Minutes Hate was not that one was obliged to act a part, but, on the contrary, that it was impossible to avoid joining in. Within thirty seconds any pretence was always unnecessary. A hideous ecstasy of fear and vindictiveness, a desire to kill, to torture, to smash faces in with a sledge-hammer, seemed to flow through the whole group of people like an electric current, turning one even against one’s will into a grimacing, screaming lunatic.’

We can join in with this, or we can turn it upon itself.

Give yourself a moment or so a day to hate.

Not any specific group, but THEM.

The people trying to shape your life, your opinions and even the government.

Spend the rest of the day looking for the positives wherever they may be.

Family, friends, lovers, work colleagues, random strangers, cab drivers, supermarket staff, books, TV and music.

Make the choice to be your own person.

To choose who or what to hate.

And to love.