In moments of national self-implosion, we must cling fast to those wisest and most foundational of texts. At these moments we need the guidance of our national bards, and for me, nothing gets close to Blackadder.
In terms of national self-implosion, nothing in my lifetime has got close to Brexit, either. The breathtaking chaos, tinge with tragedy, is almost Greco-Roman in its scope:
“We’re in the stickiest situation since Sticky the stick insect got stuck on a sticky bun”
Only a few men can do it justice.
There’s the obvious:
“That’s the spirit, Blackadder! If all else fails, a total pig-headed unwillingness to look facts in the face will see us through.”
And while General Melchett is doing his best Jacob Rees-Mogg impression, there is of course:
“You look surprised, Blackadder.”
“I certainly am, sir. I didn’t realise we had any battle plans.”
“Well of course we have! How else do you think our battles are directed?”
“Our battles are directed, sir?”
“Well of course they are, Blackadder. Directed according to the Grand Plan.”
“Would that be the plan to continue with total slaughter until everyone is dead apart from Field Marshal Haig, Lady Haig and their tortoise, Alan?”
“Great Scott, even you know it!”
Then there are those lines that reflect my own steady ennui with the entire business of the national self-implosion:
“You a bit cheesed off, sir?
“George, the day this war began I was cheesed off. Within ten minutes of you turning up, I’d finished the cheese and moved on to the coffee and cigars, and at this late stage I am in a cab with two lady companions on my way to the Pink Pussycat in Lower Regent Street.”
And then, in light of Donald Tusk’s brilliant “special place in hell” musings on the fate that should await Brexiteer politicians, there’s the wonderful:
“I’m not a religious man, as you know, but henceforth I shall nightly pray to the God who killed Cain and squashed Samson that he comes out of retirement and gets back into practice on the pair of you.”
A telephone rings
“Captain Blackadder speaking. Ah, Captain Darling… You want two volunteers for a mission into no man’s land? Codename: Operation Certain Death? Yes, I think I’ve got just the fellows.”
Turning to George and Baldrick
“God is very quick these days…”
Feel free to comment and share all the beauties I’ve missed out…