It’s a sign when you have to listen to Radiohead to cheer yourself up. I was sat in a conference hall today watching the US election results over somebody else’s shoulder, and when Trump was shown as winning Florida, I figured the jig was up: four years of a unqualified lunatic in the White House, the capper on a year that’s delivered Brexit, Duterte, Bowie dying, Syris and who knows what else. At least there’s less than two months of 2016 to go.
It’s confounding that the predictions were so far off base. It’s surprising that people think a female president would have been an intrinsically good thing, but then they probably hadn’t lived through Margaret Thatcher. It just all feels like an immense lockup, predicted by Popbitch months ago, and gradually careered towards. I suppose it’s four years of keeping your head down, and then moving to Canada if the world has escaped the apocalypse.
(The conference was good, apart from this, as I got to see some of the ways we contribute to society, but my spirits were dampened by it all. And I’m not even a citizen of the country.)
No more to say, except that bad news is never as bad as it seems. Unless you elected Mussolini or Hitler, that is.