No country has fallen as fast as the Albion in recent memory. In two decades, the UK has gone from being mocked for going along with George Bush’s WMD hoax to a point where no one cares about its opinion anymore. A small island whose entrepreneurs sailed the globe to sell opium and torture natives by making them read Dickens and Shakespeare, an endeavour that eventually saw them controlling the biggest landmass of any empire in history, one on which the sun never set, has become a punchline, an afterthought whose politics is now followed mainly for its King’s comedic timing. And there is nothing more comical than how the Brits pick their PM in a bicameral, first-past-the-post system that somehow involves sacrificing a prime minister every few months. The one whose head is now on the proverbial chopping block is Keir Starmer, a man with the air and personality of a chartered accountant who only gets excited during tax-filing season.
A version of the British Parliament has been around since 1265 in one form or another, and has survived murderous kings, civil and world wars, lord protectors, skirmishes that inspired the Game of Thrones Red Wedding, and one lettuce that briefly became a constitutional actor. It has seen its fair share of entertaining characters.
