What is it about the Covid-19 emergency, pandemic, fiasco, call it what you will, that made it the most dislocating event to hit Europe since WW2?
One day there was this new strain of flu in China that perhaps half of all people who catch it barely realise they’ve got.
The next, the heads of almost every major government in the world explode like in the climactic scene of Kingsmen: The Secret Service.
They frantically shut up their citizens and shut down their economies, laying the groundwork for epic self-inflicted depressions.
The media go fucking nuts; screaming for more, harder, faster lockdowns, more 4,000-bed exhibition centres, and tests, tests, tests up the wazoo.
The UK took advice from a bloke from a university who began by shouting “500,000 MIGHT DIE!” — later amended to “maybe 20,000, two-thirds of whom would have died quite soon anyway. Sorry.”
Even on a good week around 10,000 people die in the UK; mainly of running out of life after seven or eight decades of it. It’s what we all do eventually.
But this year it’s as if all the heads of governments got bored around the same time. So they thought it would be a thrill to run a hugely dangerous experiment in political, social and economic anarchy at the first excuse they got.
That’s when coronavirus rocked up. A relatively minor threat. Which they turned into the most monumental own goal in history.
I’m prepared to bet that none of the idiot politicians, W.H.O. panjandrums and self-regarding media pricks who brought this tragedy down on our heads will suffer any real consequences.
In more enlightened times we’d quickly run out of spikes to impale their heads on and iron cages for their bodies to rot in.
Instead we, the guinea pigs, will be left to reassemble livelihoods from the rubble. While, come next year, the perps will be back at Davos with their noses up each others backsides like nothing ever happened.