They Mock Us

In May 2020, Lyn’s death was still fresh and raw in my mind. She had passed away just the month before, and I knew that she was the type of person who could never be replaced. Before she died, I’d gone to visit her in hospital: I will never forget the sight of her unconscious in a hospital bed, hooked up to a respirator. She had a tumour which had been growing for months. Of course, I didn’t stay there long: this was the height of the first wave of the pandemic, and I didn’t want to put anyone at risk, least of all my friend. I assumed I would be going back to see her again before long, or perhaps when she returned home, but Lyn died a few days later.

We now know that that was when Johnson and his friends were having parties in the garden at Downing Street. Just when I and so many others were going through the most horrific of times, they were behaving as if the pandemic was something which happened to others; sipping wine and laughing while the rest of us mourned lost friends. Perhaps I shouldn’t make such matters personal, but I can’t help noticing the coincidence: my best friend was dying and I didn’t dare visit her, but they were partying on patios, as if it was their birthright and that they were above the suffering everyone else had to go through.

Knowing what we know now makes my blood boil with rage. Those were the darkest of times for so many, and the Tories didn’t give a fuck. And now, watching them all try to defend their leader, spouting lie after lie, insisting that it is perfectly ok for him to make a mockery of the rest of our suffering, pain and grief, is an insult I can and will never forgive.

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