We knew that she was a wrecking ball that could do a lot more damage before her white-knuckled claws were finally prised off the keys to Number 10, but I never dreamt she’d go this far.
In the final dying days of her premiership, May is ramming through a policy that will make the last years of austerity seem like life on Millionaires Row. She is committing Britain to transferring, over 30 years, an estimated £1 trillion (£1,000,000,000,000) into the Swamp’s climate change scam, when our country is already among those with the lowest carbon emissions in the world.
It might even work out to considerably in excess of £1 trillion, according to Philip Hammond. In fact, such is her rush to inflict this curse upon us, it hasn’t actually been costed properly yet. But whatever the cost, the burden will fall on ordinary people like us – who she must hate with a vengeance. And when it destroys our economy, they will blame it all on Brexit.
Our energy bills, which already include a surchange of more than 20% to account for carbon taxes, will go even higher. Those who will suffer the most will be our elderly pensioners, many of whom won’t be able to afford to turn on the heating while they stare at the wall where their telly used to be. Already, thousands die every winter of hypothermia. So what better way to make a generation extinct that voted to Leave the EU?
Businesses won’t want to pay these increased carbon taxes on their emissions either, and why should they when it would make better business sense to move to countries which are not deluded by the lie of man-made climate change, like the US, Japan, India, Russia or China? May has already done a fantastic job of getting the steel and car manufacturers to move elsewhere. Now she’s just mopping up the rest.
And to think that she stood and sobbed on the steps of Number 10 about the honour of serving her country. I think she should tell us just where that country is.
Breathes there the woman with soul so dead
Who never to herself hath said,
This is my own, my native land!
Whose heart has ne’er within her burned,
As home her footsteps she hath turned
From wandering on a foreign strand?
If such there breathe, go, mark her well;
For her no minstrel raptures swell;
High though her titles, proud her name,
Boundless her wealth as wish can claim,
Despite those titles, power, and pelf,
The wretch, concentred all in self,
Living, shall forfeit fair renown,
And, doubly dying, shall go down
To the vile dust from whence she sprung,
Unwept, unhonoured, and unsung.
Adapted from “The Lay of the Last Minstrel,” Canto VI,
Sir Walter Scott (1771-1832)