This is an odd time to be a left-leaning member of the commentariat, because almost everything said will be of no importance or relevance at all. You’d think, given the situation, that if not a working understanding of the global financial crisis, then at least an acceptance that it’s happening, would be a prerequisite to be paid to post your opinions, but no.
You know those accounts, the Will Smith parody accounts or the Notebook, endlessly tweeting the self-help slogans and the “never give up on your dreams” gruel? The ones that take up the part of Twitter that isn’t comprised of football ‘banter’ retweets and “that awkward moment when you thought they were talking about the man of the same name who sings in that band” tweets whenever a Mossad informant who shares a letter in his name with a member of one direction gets killed.
Since Mensch had the decency to resign before we got round to her, Dan Hannan marks our first Tory MP on this list. That’s quite something, when you think about it. I’d imagine that when Twitter was launched, few expected many of them to be hanging around, and that’s a shame, because it could’ve been a pretty good argument to persuade them to can the whole idea before it got past the fag-packet stage.
Well, that’s how you get hits, eh? Who knew that writing about Noel Fielding would be able to capture an audience that had a high ratio of Tumblr accounts ? Unfortunately, a lot of you who got on board due to that are gonna have to either sit this one out or pay close attention - can’t imagine the demographic crossover is too great here.
Listen, we’ve already spoken out on the Twitter Elite Death Krew, but I like to retain the vague semblance that we might’ve moved on since 1902. I like to believe that Social Media, such as it is, has at least changed the identity of the people that comprise the rulers of it’s own lands. I don’t need to still feel like I’m being oppressed by the church. Least of all when it’s figurehead closely resembles Martin O’Neill. We are though, because firmly ensconced within the Ivory suite at Twitterati Towers is the trendy vicar himself, Richard Coles.
So, we’re halfway there. For those of you who’ve been with us since the start, congratulations. For those of you who joined then got pissed off because we started having a pop at your friends, then fuck you Mr Barfe. For those of you who have turned up late to the party, no worries, it’s only just getting started. There’s still plenty of booze left, everybody’s getting into it, and the guy who hijacked the music and refused to play anything other than dubstep has been asked to leave. Settle down as we enter what this list is really all about.
If you’d told me back when I was 9 that Michael Owen’s career would end in a pretty embarrassing series of events, from sitting on the bench of St. James’ Park watching his team get relegated to the constant injuries and ineffectiveness, I’d have been delighted. I just didn’t expect him to be doing it in the fucking number 7 shirt at United.
It’s a strange sort who has a big emotional investment in not just electoral politics, but the goings-on within Westminster. A man who runs a blog called ‘The Green Benches’ and has his Twitter background of the interior of the House of Commons, despite never having been involved with the place in any way. Like most Labour idiots, a lot of people follow Dr Eoin Clarke PhD because he’ll come out with some “Ha! Ha! Look at this rubbish Tory policy! Idiots!” gib every day, and people forget that the natural addition “Of course, we’d do exactly the same thing but over a slightly longer period of time” remains unspoken.
To make it crystal clear for anyone unaware, the English are the white people of intra-UK relations. Taking it further, southern English. Middle-class English. And if we focus it down as far as we can, it’s people who like this sort of shit. Only in England could a critic be mythologised.
It’s easy to forget this, but John Prescott was once second-in-command of this country. Whenever Blair was away doing his thing abroad, he was the man left in charge. You’d imagine, wouldn’t you, that the gap between Prime Minister and Deputy Prime Minister would be smaller than ending up with the former getting insanely rich jetting around the world as some sort of £5m-a-photo-op political evangelist, and the latter reduced to hanging out on Twitter giving it his best “Wahey lads, let’s have your best #ToryVegetables then, I’ll start with Baroness Parsley and Jacob Peas-Mogg” routine. But it ain’t.