Digested week: British toads are finally realized that Trump doesn't need them | John Crace

Monday

Spare a thought for the Grifters. Those sad Brits who spent years grooming Donald Trump in the belief that they had been admitted to his golden inner circle. These men and women who courageously posted selfies on X when they arrived in Washington in the belief that they would attend the Donald's inauguration.

There was Liz Truss looking like a cheap Paddington Bear in a blue coat and red maga announcing her arrival in DC. Only to go mysteriously silent when she discovered she hadn't made the cut. Not just in the Rotunda where the main action was staged, but also not in the excessive area of ​​the Capitol where guests could follow the proceedings on television. Presumably, Lizzie was left watching the action on her phone at a McDonalds somewhere downtown.

Then there was Suella Braverman. She was filmed arriving at the airport and was never seen again. Maybe she had enough of herself to come straight home once she realized she wasn't doomed. Unlikely though. Also on the flight was Laurence Fox, who gave up the game for a full-time fan half career. He filmed himself watching the inauguration on television with fantasy clerk Calvin Robinson in a hotel room. The sheer sense of uselessness was tragic.

We must not forget Nigel Farage either. The man who never stops telling GB News he's the only person in the UK with Trumps ear. I guess the Donald must have gone deaf. It will take some time to recover from this humiliation.

It must have been even more galling to him that the only Briton with a seat in the Rotunda was Boris Johnson. It was bittersweet for Bozza. His life is going nowhere his book bombed and even conservatives have abandoned him. Not wanted at home, barely tolerated abroad. Finally, this group of desperadoes realized what the rest of us have always known: that relationships prevail are fickle and transactional. He no longer needs the British. They died for him. He moved on to billionaire Tech Bros.

Tuesday

January is a miserable month. The holidays are over and there's almost nothing to look forward to until the clocks move one hour at the end of March. The days are cold and it seems like everyone is in survival mode. Joy is underpowered and many people struggle with colds.

The only upside is TV because networks are saving many of their best shows for this time of year because they know they have a captive audience. Unlike millions, I didn't watch Traitors because even when it aired, I decided I couldn't be subjected to another reality show. I may be lacking, but the thought of even more meaningless and revealing challenges makes me yearn for oblivion. Instead, I find myself gripped by a silent witness and I must be one of those rare sentient beings who has watched every episode of all 28 series.

In the beginning, it was great television: over the last five years, it's the fact that it's so catastrophically bad that makes it unwatchable. Nikki Alexander only has two concerned and completely blank expressions. That's one more than Jack Hodgson (I'm using their fictitious names to spare their blushes). It's just empty. Nikki and Jack are supposed to be a couple but you wouldn't know it from the chemistry. Nikki was also buried alive in Mexico but appears to have shrugged it off.

Then there are the scenarios. During this year's season opener, we had two men killing random elderly people in the same village for their pensions without anyone noticing that elderly people were slumping on the ground. Who came up with this? Then, this week, Nikki started doing a postmortem on one of her old pals. I guess since the show has been running for so long, there's a good chance that most of the people she knows have been murdered. The silent witness is long Prosper. I don't know what I would do without it.

Wednesday

Back then, while I was writing Digested, Read every week, January was always a tricky month because not much was published other than a few debut novels, which I always considered off-limits. Nothing to be gained by making fun of new authors. But I was always saved by a new self-help book often something by Paul McKenna because it was the time of year when people traditionally make a resolution for some sort of self-improvement.

So far nothing has changed and one of the bestsellers of this year is LET They Theory: a life-changing tool that millions of people can't stop talking about from the writer American Mel Robbins, who modestly describes himself as the most sought-after expert in Life Improvement, Mindset and Behavior Change. If you've ever felt stuck, overwhelmed, or frustrated with where you are, the blurb reads, the problem isn't you. The problem is the power you give to other people. Mels solution? Leave them. Stop trying to manage things you can't control.

Now, I may be missing something here, but this seems to be pretty much the message of the Serenity Prayer used by Alcoholics Anonymous, Narcotics Anonymous, and other self-help groups for decades. God grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change / the courage to change the things I can / and the wisdom to know the difference. So rather than book mels, you might be better off finding yourself a meeting. It won't cost you anything.

THURSDAY

It seems even Kemi Badenoch has had enough of Liz Truss. After Keir Starmer taunted the Tories at Prime Ministers' Questions last week with Lizzies Deranged cease and desist in which she demanded he stop saying she had crushed the economy, Kemi told his cabinet ghost that she wanted to find a way to silence her former boss. Trusss' interventions were always unnecessary, she said, and damaged the new image Badenoch was trying to create for the Tories.

This may be easier said than done. Lizzie is box office gold, especially for sketch shows, because she can be guaranteed to say something stupid. Journalists will therefore continue to hunt her down to comment at every opportunity. She also has no self-awareness and believes that all that went wrong with her 45 days in office was that she didn't stay long enough. That people would have come to see that she could save the West if only she had had the time to explain.

It is also problematic that Kemis is so tenuous about reality. This week she released her first political broadcast in which she admitted the Tories had left the economy and the NHS in a terrible state but forgot to add the word sorry. It was apparently one of those things. All the politicians made promises they didn't keep so the country had to suck it up. Even more troubling, Kemi insisted that things were now going to be different. Without recognizing that many ministers who had been in the cabinet and who were cheerleaders for Lizzie, including her, are now in the shadow cabinet. It's no different. It's continuity. Kemi cannot choose whether the country wants to forget the farm. We do it. And most of us and our mortgages are in no mood to forgive just yet.

Friday

A retraction. A partial. A month or two ago I wrote here that I was fed up with the current Spurs team. That I was numbed by their failures and no longer felt a sense of despair as they slipped to another defeat. The team had given up and so had I. The thrill was gone. Now I'm not so sure. Something strange happened. The feeling of excitement returned. Just not in the way I expected.

Don't get me wrong. Tottenham still look clueless. The fans like to apologize for the injury list themselves, the owners, were in a rebuilding process, but the fact is we're not that good. Almost all players are underperforming and would struggle to break into the first team of any club in the top half of the Premier League. But what made the season suddenly more interesting is that there's now a bit of danger. Spurs have only won five points from the last 30 and if that goes ahead they could find themselves in a relegation battle. And I say, bring it.

It's the kind of football I don't feel like walking down Tottenham High Road to pay big bucks to watch my team self-destruct. So much more fun than playing game after meaningless game only to finish comfortably in mid-table mediocrity. I want the adrenaline to come back. I wouldn't even mind if we get relegated. That would be the most despised thing ever. It would definitely be the most entertaining thing the team has done this century. A year in the championship could liven things up. New grounds to visit. Best of all would be to be relegated and still win a cup. Unlikely, I know, but we're still sort of three competitions away. Next thing I knew I had my Tottenham back.