KEY POINTS:
Helen's right. It has been a "vexatious" winter. That's what she said on Tuesday and she was absolutely on the money.
No sooner had the quaintly Dickensian word "vexatious" left our leader's lips than the rest of us were saying, "You go, girl!" Not on holiday, of course, like that frivolous Mr Key, but "go" as in keep on telling it like it is, honey cuddles sweetie babe.
Because it has been a "vexatious" winter. It's been a b****y "vexatious" winter. Not to mention "horrid", "grotty" "frightful" and "bleak". It's been the kind of winter not even a Presbyterian could enjoy, albeit their delight in the penance of the flesh would make Max Mosley look positively ... Anglican.
But neither Mosley nor Presbyterian could relish the sort of seasonal flagellation we've endured. The weather's been appalling. Truly appalling!!! We've had more icy blasts than a flatulent polar bear. (Well, we must assume the bear's "blasts" are still "icy" despite global warming's various deleterious effects reducing their reliance on warm cocoa and under-floe heating.)
And while said "icy blasts" may have brought joy to the pretty folk who read the news - theirs being a parallel universe, a looking-glass world where bad is good and truly awful is fantastic - the rest of us have shuddered and shivered our way through them with a frigid stoicism bereft of joy.
Especially since the cold weather's been accompanied by a whole swag of thoroughly irksome "There, there, don't panic but you'd better turn something off" ads which suggest it's somehow our responsibility to save the power the gummint can't provide in order to avert a national calamity.
All of which is extremely "vexatious". And the Prime Minister's right to remind us of it. Indeed, it is her duty to remind us of it. Like the Queen, and the Queen Mother before her in the dark days of the Blitz, she has an obligation to let her subjects know she shares their pain.
"Vexatious" may not have quite as many letters as "Now I can look the East End in the face", but it means the same thing. It means our leader cares. It means our vexation is her vexation. We are as one in a "vexatious" universe where people we've never met suddenly tell us we must stop using those trusty old bulbs that have lit our path through so many joys and tribulations and start using those expensive, new-fangled ones that look like nothing so much as fluorescent haemorrhoids.
It's nice, in a way strangely comforting, in fact, for us to discover the Prime Minister feels as powerless as we do when suddenly confronted with such "vexatious" bureaucratic interferences.
Of course, there is another approach we all could take, one the life coaches would likely recommend. Those endlessly positive souls would probably say, "Hey, de-vex yourself! Cleanse the body (and the body politic) of all negative toxins. Look on the bright side. Imagine your petrol tank is half full and not unaffordably empty.
When the prison officers tell us if they can't get Tasers they'll turn to the triads for protection. Don't start tutting and fretting and shaking your head. Say, "Wow! That's a novel approach. Good luck to the lads in clink for triad something new."
And the next time you hear some sickening crime's been committed because the Corrections Department couldn't be bothered getting out of its own way to put a sleazy toe-rag back in jail, say, "That's fantastic! At least somebody's maintaining their usual low standards. Thank goodness for consistency. It's all we can ask for in a chaotic world."
No! Wait a moment! It's not all we can ask for, dammit! There is one other thing. A rare and splendid thing that may even see the PM de-vexed. We speak of that which miraculously came upon us in the dead of night, when children slumber and black ice mates. We speak of that wondrous thing that came this very day - the 3G iPhone.
Launched at midnight to a teeming throng. Did you see the clouds part? Did you hear the thunder roar? Did you watch vexation pack its plaintive bag and sneak away? Well, our extinguished poet laureate, the injimitable Jam Hipkins, most certainly did. And he is more than happy to lead the charge away from despair and into delight. Something he's sure to enjoy as soon as he joins the queue and makes an iPhone his own:
Ahhhhh! The iPhone, that sighPhone
I need one, 3G
To be truly iCatching
- A real iPhoney!
With my shy high iTech
I'll wi-fi all night
Consuming the world with
A big-gigabyte
I'll download and upload
And open my portals
I'll mega my pixels
To shame lesser mortals
I'll snd pointlss txts
And compile my iTunes
And send sexy iPics
To lonely tycoons
Ahhhhh! iPhone! That sighPhone
The Apple I'm needin
One byte and I'm there!
In the Garden of Eden!!!!
An Adam of Apps
In a digital nation
A WAP-happy chappy
Set free from vexation!!!!!
