As annus horribilis go, 2016 really took the biscuit properly making this one of the mostest horribilis of annuses in living memory, or something. When we look back over the last 12 months, apart from a particularly tasty burger that I had back in July there’s been very little to celebrate.
Paul Daniels, R2D2, Mrs Meton, Ziggy Stardust, The Artist formerly known as the artist formerly known as the artist Prince, Napoleon Solo and the Woganator are just some of the much-loved people from our childhood that have now moved onto the big non-existent retirement home for special ones in the sky.
Meanwhile, we’re all left here to survive in a new post apocalyptic world where the end of Planet of the Apes is the best we can hope for.
While minor distractions like failed prime minister David Cameraman inserting his member of Parliament into a dead pig’s face gave the nation reason for cheer, 2016 has seemed like steaming piles of unrelenting doom being piled upon shitty shitness. From Brexit to Trump and Farage to Gove, this year will go down in history as the one when nearly all of the good celebrities died and reasoned thought and consideration for our fellow man sailed off over the horizon.
So raise a glass and join me in a toast to 2016 as we all come together to say a big fuck you to one of the crappiest sun circuits of recent memory.
Here’s to 2017, let’s try not to balls it up, yeah?