Six days ago, I was depressed beyond belief, not quite taking in how we had somehow contrived to vote to leave the European Union.
Today I am angry. Fucking furious, actually.
Two spoiled baby men, aided and abetted by people who should know better and many who never will know better, have allowed their schoolboy rivalry to make the UK the laughing stock of the world.
Racists, both closeted and up front, have decided the leave vote has given them carte blanche to express their bigoted, foul views on anyone who doesn’t quite look British enough.
And to put the tin lid on things, the Labour Party has picked this week of all weeks to start sniffing glue and embark on its greatest bout of in-fighting in three decades.
So businesses shudder with the realisation of what Brexit means for stability, for jobs, for investment; many Leave voters express bewilderment that we’re actually going to HAVE TO LEAVE and want to change their vote; the EU prepares to play hard ball over leave negotiations; the media, both social and mainstream, practically eats itself with the minute-by-minute implosion of the UK’s two major political parties; and MPs, political activists and commentators indulge in their very favourite pastime of backstabbing, gossip and intrigue.
In the meantime, no one appears to be at the helm of UK plc.
All of that is farcical enough to raise some gallows humour. I’ve spent the last week trying to look on any kind of bright side – usually helped by reading the acidic penmanship of the peerless Marina Hyde – and thinking that we’ll somehow muddle through this self-inflicted crisis.
But today I got one of those BBC News updates on my phone and it made me mad as hell.
It revealed that Boris Johnson would not, in fact, be standing for leader of the Conservative Party, despite spending the last four months ostensibly batting for leave but really simply auditioning to be the next prime minister.
The bumbling buffoon act turns out not to have been an act at all, BoJo outfoxed at the last by his fellow Outer Michael Gove.
Blue on blue action is usually entertaining, but right now I don’t fucking care that the Tories are effectively stabbing each other in the front. I don’t even care that yesterday I actually thought I’d prefer Theresa May as PM to any other candidate (actually I care a lot more about that than I’m going to discuss right now).
I care that the UK economy and the lives and livelihoods of millions of people have been put at risk because a bunch of overgrown schoolboys thought it would be fun to play political games.
I care that the wider Europe I loved being part of is soon to be denied me.
I care that people who think they have no voice have found theirs in bigotry.
I care that a man who campaigned on a tissue of lies used his ambition to gamble on this country’s future – and lost.
I care that voters on both sides of the EU argument have been betrayed.
Never mind the so-called new kinder politics – insert hollow laugh – the Corbyn-era Labour Party was supposed to usher in. They’re no better than the rest.
Politics is only a game to those at its heart. For them, their strategies and manoevres and machinations have no bearing in the real world – until they tragically do.
Until politicians, their hangers-on and the media scrum that follows their every move look outside their enormous bubble, the only kind of politics that is thriving is the divisive kind.
Grow up, the bloody lot of you.