That I have contempt for those who lead us into Brexit is no secret.  I have precious little regard for those gullible, culpable or simply stupid enough to vote for it: but I did not expect them to pay with their lives.  And, shameful as it is, that is exactly what is happening.

Diehard (word fits theme precisely),  diehard Brexiteers were for the most part ill-educated,  elderly, men; men with little sympathy for face masks, nurses, sanitation or sense. Diehard they were, and die hard they do.

Ours is a government that looks after nobody, absolutely nobody, but itself.  The runt of the litter is little Jake Mogg, who emerged this week,  from wherever he has been hiding,  to insist that MPS should abandon the electronic measures that enabled them to perform outside “the chamber” and return to the benches.  Why ?  Because the Flatulent Leader – to whose apron strings little Mogg clings with the all tenacity of an Etonian threated with loss of privilege, is not only flailing, but failing,  to control his party.   Not content with one disastrous U-turn, the FL has made so many that he is more like a whirling dervish – in performance and appearance – than a sober statesman.  By forcing MPs back into the Commons Mogg and his minders hope that tribal politics can be restored, and quick.  Is this plan medically dangerous for MPS, their families and staff ?: yes;  does it go against stated government policy ?: yes;  do Mogg and the FL care: no, not one bit !

There is just one fly in the ointment: astute readers will have realised that Mogg has been oddly silent of late.  There is a reason: every time he opens his mouth he puts his foot in it.  Nobody has the ability to antagonise like little Mogg, nobody is better at getting every point of judgement absolutely, diametrically, wrong than little Mogg.  I can’t do better than quote from a review of what is – we can only hope – his last – in every sense – published ‘work.’   Here goes: “his own pretensions [as they] are repeatedly dashed on the rocks of his incoherent thoughts before sinking under the dead weight of his lifeless language.”  The full review can be read here – I commend it.

As a postscript, I may add that while writing today’s blog, I corrected one of my myriad typo’s: instead of Mogg I wrote Moff, which seems rather apt.  Moff he is and Moff henceforth will be.  Back to the prologue: One of two outcomes seem likely: either MPs do, indeed, make their return, in which case many of them are likely to become ill, and some to die – “Moff balls up” as you might say; or the whole plan will be quietly ditched,  his latest Moff-balled suggestion.