Donkey Jacket ❌*
Chucked wreath down ❌
Pissed on cenotaph ❌
Wiped cock on poppy ❌
Didn’t quite bow low enough for some arbitrary measure of low bowing, determined by no one ever except now and some cunt we managed to ring up for a quote ☑☑☑☑☑
It doesn’t matter that he did bow. That doesn’t matter. It wouldn’t matter if he’d bowed down so low he’d headbutted the concrete. It wasn’t going to be good enough. Never good enough. It was always going to be wrong. If he’d cut off his own face as a sacrifice to Ourbraveboys and flagellated his bare buttocks with poppies made of shrapnel dug out of a wounded veteran, it wouldn’t have been enough. It was never going to be enough. The story was written before it had even happened. That it didn’t happen doesn’t matter. That’s not what newspapers are for.
If you’re thinking, am I living in some kind of strange parallel world in which bowing isn’t bowing, you’re right. It’s the same Parallel World in which a living wage isn’t a living wage, but is because it’s called a living wage, and a Northern Powerhouse isn’t a Northern Powerhouse, but is because it’s called one, and so on and so on. Say something happened and it doesn’t matter whether it did or not. Say something exists and it does, even if there’s no evidence for it. This isn’t a battle of facts or evidence, it’s a question of who shouts the loudest. When did they last read out your carefully crafted tweet on the BBC News papers review? Exactly.
If you’re thinking, well, he should have played the game – if you upset Rupert, thisis what you get, you’re half right. Except, just as with bowing to the war dead, if you’re the wrong kind of person, you can bow down as low as you can to Rupert and he’ll still crucify you. That’s just how it is.
* There never was a donkey jacket. But that’s how these things happen.