As ministers continue to dance to
the tune of charlatans – excuse me, expert scientists – in their inexplicable
war on the economy and quality of life, we could be forgiven for thinking that
the latter’s influence over the former echoes that of a notorious mad monk over
the imperial Russian court just over a hundred years ago. If we may liken the
ascetic yet sanctimonious Professor Chris Whitty to Rasputin – and I think we
may – there is at least some wry humour (and wishful thinking) to be gleaned
from revisiting a cheesy 70s disco classic. The accompanying Boney M video is
so bad it's brilliant…
There lived a certain man, in Britain here and now
He was pink of face, not much hair above his brow
Most people look at him with hatred and with fear
As he tells the pubs they must pour away their beer
He can preach statistics like a preacher
Full of doom and gloom and fire
Wielding power as Matthew Hancock’s teacher –
“Drag them through the mire”
Chris, Chris, Chris Whitty
Slammed us under lock and key
There is a prat who really is gone
Chris, Chris, Chris Whitty
Britain’s greatest harm machine
It’s a disgrace how he’s carried on
He rules with Pat Vallance, and never mind the Queen
With their charts and slides, spreading doom that’s quite obscene
In all affairs of state, he never needs to please
He’ll just devastate with an economic squeeze
For the NHS, a propaganda squealer
Though we knew the harm he’d done
Boris still thought that he was a healer
Who’d make Covid run
[Chorus]
But when his blinking and blustering and his hunger for lockdowns
Destroyed quality of life for more and more people
The demands to do something about this outrageous man
Became louder and louder
“This man’s just go to go”, the call from some MPs
But the leaders begged, “Don’t you doubt his wisdom, please”
From lockdown fan Whitty, his doctrine of alarm
“You must find a cure, or you’ll come to too much harm”
Then one night, some men of higher standing
Found a really cunning plan
“You all need a guinea pig for treatment –
We know just the man”
Chris, Chris, Chris Whitty
Slammed us under lock and key
They fired the vaccine into his veins
Chris, Chris, Chris Whitty
Britain’s greatest harm machine
It froze him stiff and shredded his brains
Chris, Chris, Chris Whitty
Slammed us under lock and key
Upon a plate, we wanted his head
Chris, Chris, Chris Whitty
Britain’s greatest harm machine
So Boris sacked him and left him for dead
Oh, those experts
