Farewell to the Noughties – a depressing decade of decay
Yet the Conservative Party has been complicit, and Cranmer has no hesitation in highlighting its spectacular failures in opposition. The Party has chopped and changed leaders so often that the general public has scarcely had time to put a face to a name. They have limped from the demise of the ‘don’t-tie-my-hands’ John Major, through the trendy baseball-cap-wearing William Hague, on to ‘the quiet man’ who was Iain Duncan Smith, then to the undeniable ‘something-of-the-night’ Michael Howard, and then ex nihilo came David Cameron, with whom Cranmer had dinner just a fortnight before his election as party leader. He is no fool, and knows what must be done. To be out of office for 13 years and go through five leaders will rank among the lowest points in the party’s history: it has been another aimless foray into the wilderness which will rank with that of 1850-74. It is now up to David Cameron to lead us to the Promised Land.
The decade has been punctuated by the seismic and unforgettable – the destruction of the World Trade Centre will one day surpass the shock and slaughter at Pearl Harbour in the American historic consciousness. The evil was latent, but it spawned a new era of overt ‘global terrorism’, and jihad entered the Western vernacular. London was hit by its own atrocity in the summer of 2005, and very nearly indeed we came to a Christmas Day spectacular on Flight 253 to Detroit. We are a nation at war, and our soldiers are dying weekly in Afghanistan and Iraq, and they are not really sure why. Closer to home, duck houses, moat cleaning, mortgage flipping and Sky sex movies brought our Parliament to its lowest ebb since Cromwell last purged it. As the world was convulsed by its own labour pains with tsunamis, earthquakes, disease and famine, financial armageddon hit like an asteroid, and the punitive taxation consequences will be felt by generations to come.
The Noughties have been a depressing decade of decay: civilisation has become more uncivil; lies have become truth; justice has ceased to be just.
And what of the 2010s, or two-thousand-and tens?
Firstly, let us get the collective name right. The decade must be called the Twenteens. Forget the inconvenient fact that 10, 11 and 12 are not ‘teen years: the name will catch on thereafter. You read it here first.
Cranmer has predicted 10 events of the Twenteens below. Granted, some are born of his present pessimism, and one or two are tongue in cheek.
But, surely, things can only get better?