The sun is out. Spring is in the air.
A tangible sense of seasonal anticipation of a summer that is just around the corner manifests itself as ever-so-slightly more cheery looks on your fellow commuters.
Then you read Frankie Boyle's latest column.
And everything is dark again.
The comedian and commentator has, perhaps inevitably, turned his ire to the Panama Papers scandal.
But where last week, his column on Donald Trump was littered with witty one-liners and general mirth, this one is a little different.
He begins by asking if the we, the British public, are simply too cynical.
He writes: "This scandal suggests some complex element in the British psyche that knows this kind of thing is happening but can’t bear to be confronted with the knowledge. We know Cameron is filthy rich – he’s wearing a two-grand suit – but his sin is that he has forced us to think about it."
Boyle then lays out his take on Conservatism which he says has "has positioned itself as moralist" despite rejecting "universality".
He says: "When you look at it like that, Conservatives raging against human rights is actually completely consistent. They don’t believe that everybody deserves what’s right and fair, just those who conform to their idea of normal. And let’s not forget they have their ideas of normal forged in the public school system, a bloody crucible of hierarchical sodomy."
Boyle then draws parallels between politicians and corporations, arguing it is inevitable today's politicians would be implicated in the Panama papers as they spend much of their careers "trying to promote themselves and their agendas to business".
He adds: "In the end, as a senior politician having spent a career in what is the PR wing of corporatism, offshore tax arrangements might well be one of the few things you know anything about. I mean that quite literally. Politics is full of people who don’t know the price of a pint of milk but do understand the incorporation of a shell company. Why wouldn’t they have a trust in Panama?"
Boyle's column culminates in a fictional account of the worst holiday he ever took to British Virgin Islands, where he describes the rich coming ashore in an orgy of wealth and cash.
He concludes: "They raise their heads to the moon and roar. It is a primeval sound, and one by one they all join in. Soon the waves crashing on to the beach are drowned out by the beasts. There is a final sight of them before they are drawn back into the black tide, anonymous, and free. This is something that will happen forever, which scientists now estimate might be as little as 30 or 40 years."
Try and enjoy the rest of your day folks.
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