It is with a heavy heart that I report the demise of one of the finest swearbloggers—indeed, one of the finest bloggers—ever to stalk a Labour government.
Yes, it is true: Mr Eugenides is no more.
But what I don't have now is that same hate. The last administration filled me with disgust; the mere sight of my telly of a Charles Clarke, a John Reid, a—God forgive me for even typing the words!—Patricia Hewitt, sent me flying into almost uncontrollable loathing. And without fury, without rage, without spite, this blog is nothing, really—or at least, not what it was—because the way it's written, it is set up for polemic, not placid discussion.
In as far as I owe you anything, it is, I would say, not to confect outrage over things which don't really upset me, not to try and find hate where none exists. I'm in a more placid place, and I think that the country's got at least a fair chance of becoming a better place with that horrendous shower out in the cold; and that's as good a place as any to leave it.
For what it is worth, your humble Devil feels much the same. Unlike my peripatetic but impecunious Greek friend, however, I carry on because... Well, because I want to.
But it will be a less exciting, sweary and, yes, funny place without Mr Eugenides. And, take it from me, he is a funny man in real life—I have long missed those few nights when we met in Cloisters to get unbelievably, hideously pissed. But we all move on—me to London, the angry baby to places in the Far East.
But more than that—when your humble Devil first started his peculiar brand of enraged vitriol, there were a few who heartily joined in. We became almost a brotherhood—this band of swearbloggers* whose ranks have swelled over the last few years. It seems strange to contemplate that blogging was, generally, something of a geeky and, even, genteel past-time until we feckless, violent bastards invaded the political sphere.
Obviously, the rage cannot last—I am now the only one of us left, and I barely count as a swearblogger any more. All the others who were my colleagues and compatriots in the field of gratuitous insults, unnecessary death fantasies and incisive political swearing are all gone.
But Mr E also brought a professional debaters' rigour to the proceedings—much though we both enjoyed insulting Polly Toynbee, my impecunious Greek friend always, I felt, had the edge in terms of making a succinct and pertinent point (and the nailgun was genius).
I sincerely hope that you and I shall raise a glass (or many) together again in real life, Mr E. But, until that time, I shall bid farewell to my friend—impecunious and peripatetic—and one of the finest bloggers ever grace the shores of the internet.
Vale, Mr E! I hope that we—and, more specifically, I—have not seen the last of you**...
* A term coined, I'm perversely pleased to say, by your humble Devil...
** Given the progress of Our New Coalition Overlords™ so far, I give it six months...