Susan Morrison: You want a Barbie but you get a Sindy

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Oh, how I hate a letdown, even when you know it’s coming. It’s like when I wanted a Barbie for Christmas, but the ferociously anti-American Santa who visited our house produced Sindy, the British equivalent. Sindy was all right,

but she had the air of a dull, dough-faced, disappointed debutante. Her weirdly swollen face indicated an industrial gin habit and a past that hinted at quite a good war, if you know what I mean. That girl never lacked for stockings in the Blitz.

So, it’s been a week of exasperation, punctuated by endless cries of “Oh for heaven’s sake”. To begin with, the general election went exactly the way I suspected, and not the way I wanted it. Well, not entirely.

Our southern cousins seem soothed by the sound of an upper-class accent telling them what to do. You can practically see the effects of mass-forelock tugging every time they interview anyone from south of Hounslow. There is a tendency for the fringe to hang low over the eyes. The recalcitrant north, on the other hand, has a habit of viewing anyone who uses the term “one” to refer to themselves as the sort of thing a quick revolution and a guillotine would improve.

Now we have the stunning – stunning, I tell you – revelation from Ukip that Farage is apparently a “snarling, thin-skinned, aggressive man”. Well, I tell you, I reeled in horror. They’ll be telling us Elvis is dead next.

And that came after the shock, horror moment when Jim Murphy, far from falling on his sword like Miliband and Clegg, announced his unresignation. He’s clinging on to the wreckage for dear life, whilst what’s left of the Labour Party tramps on his fingers. Obviously, the man cannot go. For one thing, what would he do now? And for another, there’s probably not enough on his leaving sheet to pay for a can of Irn-Bru as a farewell gift. Awkward.

Meanwhile, in Bradford, we all discovered that George Galloway was a seriously sore loser. Really? You’ll have us believe Nigel Farage is a thin-skinned bammer next.

George found out that his fedora of fury couldn’t be pulled over the voters eyes any more, and landed up on the losing side of democracy. He promptly delivered the most baffling losers speech of the election, denounced the victor as a liar and started legal proceedings because the 19,977 folk who voted for her were all so easily duped it’s a wonder they didn’t vote Ukip.

Word of apology

Ah, an apology. Last week I rode to the defence of “feisty” and laid claim to Scottish roots for this fine word. I have been put right in no uncertain terms. This most favourite word of mine is

US English/Yiddish in origin. Happy to accept correction and happy that the correction came from a feisty source.

Bored out of our minds by ‘Black Spider’ letters

For the whole week, we have had numerous royal correspondents popping up on telly to tell us about the endless royal correspondence popping into Number Ten.

Meddling, said some people. How dare he, said others. It’ll be explosive, they said. Constitutional crisis, they all cried.

Nope. It turned out to be duller than the look in Nicholas Witchell’s eyes. It’s a mystery why they just didn’t hand the lot over and stun a nation into boredom.

Charles’s “Black Spider” letters turned out to have a lot in common with “green crayon” letters, whingeing about the availability of alternative medicine and the protection afforded to Patagonian Toothfish.

His neutrality will be in doubt, they all said. No, not really. I’m guessing HRH isn’t going to be voting Labour, SNP or Lib Dem any time soon. I think we all pretty much know where the royal vote would lie.

I haven’t read them all; none of us can, actually, since they paid a whole heck of a lot of money so we couldn’t read them all.

We’ve only got our mitts on some of them, but oddly enough, in this bunch, there seems hardly a word of concern for the people he’ll be ruling over.

The ins and outs of EU politics

Ah, now the gentle souls of the south have to deal with an entire airlift of SNP MPs nestling among them.

No wonder Angry of Tunbridge Wells and Outraged of Chipping Sodbury threaten to spend their dotage in Spain, away from pesky UK politics.

Well, they’ll be tired out, especially after the EU referendum.

They’ll want the folks Above Stairs to get back to running the country, telling Johnny Foreigner where to get off and getting the nation’s youth into good solid jobs, if you count organic, full-body chimney sweeping as a career choice, so Angry and Outrage will probably vote to leave.

Oh, hang on, Spain . . . part of the EU, isn’t it?