Did the world stop spinning?

Did the world end?

No, of course it didn’t.

But there was a funny atmosphere this morning, following the General Election yesterday.  By the time everyone was going to work, the results were still not in. People got into their cars, switched on the radio, uttered a giant ‘Oh’ in unison and carried on as normal.


Things were a little strange for a while. The Clegg-nuts took down their ‘Liberal Democrats Winning Here’ with an air of faint embarassment, like waking the morning after to shamefully offer toast to the girl you drunkenly ground against but whose name you can’t remember.

It was drizzling, as it usually is.  The April showers have extended their holiday here due to volcanic activity.

Walking to the bus stop – being too poor and unlicensed to drive – I saw a man cutting a hole into his lawn with the fervour of someone trying desperately to forget something.

Cutting a hole.  In his lawn.

With a breadknife.

It was probably for a tree, I suppose.

The BBC has a handy map to see who won the Locals.  The orange Hallam region is crowded with redness of Labour triumph.  Despite this, the Tories seem to have come out slightly ahead.  I noted this an hour or so ago with a sort of dreadful sinking feeling.


I don’t remember the eighties.  I know I survived them, just about.  But I can read.  A lot of shit went down, didn’t it?  Jobless.  Foodless.  Milkless.  Rioters.

The parliament is well and truly hung.  Almost an anti-climax, really.  Faintly disappointing.  And things still exist.  We were not swallowed up by the physical manifestation of chaos as its transdimentional pseudopods crushed no. 10 into a shrieking singularity.

Alright, so the Queen has to put out two extra cups for the morning tea. The best we can hope for is a three-way scuffle at the door before the mutual winners (losers?) decide who gets to walk in and shake her shrivelled talon first.

I hear that Arnold Schwarzenegger, the Governer of California, congratulated Mr Cameron on his win sometime last night.  Via Twitter.  Maybe he was misinformed.  Perhaps it was a wink to say ‘Ahh, yhou’ve ghot et in dah baag ahlreadee, Day-vid!’ or however you phoneticise his ridiculous (and persistent) accent.

Oh hai!

Things are normal here, at least.  The rest of the world may observe, if they wish.  Those on the coast across the Pond, flicking the oil sheen off their toes.  The hatters in the Middle East who are probably annoyed they didn’t make the papers over here (Trying doesn’t earn you points, Mr Bomber).

I suppose if things get a little crazy in Parliament now and the world really does stop spinning, the atmosphere will drift away and we’ll all suffocate in the cold vaccuum of space and float away like so many ladybirds in a flood.

We’ll see.