While Royal Marines were busy harassing Russian tankers in the Channel, the rest of us were busy harassing our own algorithms for a sense of identity. Scotland is euphoric, the doctors are back to the grindstone, and Keir Starmer is promising to finally sort out the teenagers online—presumably before Andy Burnham sorts him out. Meanwhile, Donald Trump turns 80 by hosting cage fights on the White House lawn, because nothing says 'leader of the free world' quite like watching two men wrestle in a garden. It’s a glorious tableau of a world rewilding its estates, rewilding its politics, and quite frankly, losing its marbles.
Royal Marines board Russian tanker in Channel
Starmer faces leadership crisis and online safety
Trump marks 80th birthday with White House cage fight
Spiteful Vocal Jazz
🎵 (s)Hit of the Day 🎵
Version 1
Version 2
📜 Lyrics 📜
[Verse 1]
Six hours upon the grey and choppy swell
The Royal Marines bid shadow vessels farewell
A tanker boarded in the Channel's cold light
While the frost on geopolitics bites rather tight
It's all terribly brave and it's all terribly grand
When the fuel in your tank comes from a contraband strand
[Chorus]
But oh, the state of the nation today
Where the leaders are lost and the shops have gone away
We're pressing our noses against history's pane
Watching the circus go proudly insane
Insane, my dears, quite utterly insane
[Verse 2]
The Prime Minister stands with his nuclear phone
Protecting the teenagers left all alone
But his collar is fraying, his wallpaper peels
As the Defence Secretary exits and squeals
Andy Burnham is circling the northern estates
While the good people of Makerfield ponder their fates
[Bridge]
[Whispered] And what of the culture?
What of the taste?
The algorithm's murdered discretion in haste
We're all digital sheep in electronic clothing
Baa-ing in unison, nobody noticing
[Full Voice] Except perhaps for the vibraphone's hum
Reminding us all that we're thoroughly numb
[Verse 3]
Scotland erupts in the wee small hours
A victory against Haiti brings jubilant powers
Doctors have dusted their scalpels and smiled
The strike is suspended, the threat is exiled
But back in the shires where the hedgerows grow dead
There's a sense that the country has simply gone to bed
[Chorus]
Oh, the state of the nation today
Where the leaders are lost and the shops have gone away
We're pressing our noses against history's pane
Watching the circus go proudly insane
Insane, my dears, quite utterly insane
[Tenor Saxophone Solo]
[Verse 4]
And speaking of circuses, gather around
Donald's turned eighty, the candles abound
Two hundred and fifty years of the States
Marked by a cage fight on the White House lawn gates
Investment funds rewilding Yorkshire's green plain
While political logic goes right down the drain
[Outro]
So raise up a glass to the fourteenth of June
A Sunday of chaos beneath a pale moon
The shadow fleet sails and the algorithm sings
Of cage-fighting pensioners and invisible kings
[Spoken] Cheers, darlings. Do try the canapés.
[Fade out with dissonant piano chords]