It’s only three months since the Tories left office, but it turns out I’d already forgotten the sheer depth of their well of deceit, venality and corruption. Time and again I found myself thinking “oh gods, they did that too”. And if you ever find yourself wondering whether things were really that bad, Jones backs it all up in the endnotes: 1,574 of them.
But that makes this sound like a depressing read. Of course it is for its substance, but Jones writes with such a glint in his eye and such a gift for a turn of phrase that it is in truth utterly compelling. A particular strength is his ability to caricature the players in brutally apt ways. When I tell you that a super-villain made of string-cheese, an apparition of a pitiless Victorian dentist that appears to you just before you die, an aristocratic goth earthworm, a spindly mantis, a zombie Jarvis Cocker, a stupid person’s idea of a posh person, Marilyn Manson’s mum, a bewitched oboe, the mind of a tapeworm tragically wrapped in the body of another tapeworm, a Monopoly piece cursed into life by a passing witch, Nosferatu attempting to pass unnoticed at a Bible study group, and the unholy result of the Child Catcher angrily impregnating a bassoon all refer to just one person, you’ll get an idea of the riches in store.
Not glad the underlying events happened, but thrilled that Jones has skewered the perpetrators so thoroughly.