This is the way the world ends.
The queue for the self-service checkouts in Sainsbury’s doubled back on itself and snaked round the corner into the washing powder aisle. Shortly after 3pm, the first alarm went off. Not loud but insistent. Others soon followed suit. Mine took a while to kick in. My phone has never been quick on the uptake.
Almost no one paid any real attention. Merely reaching for their phones in mild annoyance and swiping without checking the message. No one would ever get to know if this patch of south London was at an imminent threat of a forest fire. A few people smiled in recognition. This was what passed for an act of a national coming together. A communion. First the buzzer, then the coronation. A teenage girl out shopping with her mum grinned as she said: “That was scary.” Within five seconds the whole thing was over.
Over in Downing Street, Rishi Sunak had been dozing at his desk when the alarm went off. “What’s that?” he had asked sleepily.
“It’s the end of the world,” replied his chief of staff.
“Oh, I don’t think so. I mean, admittedly we’re fairly hopeless but we might still get away with it. It’s amazing the amount of shit people put up with from their government.
“No. I mean IT IS the end of the world.”
“Christ,” said Rish! panicking. “You don’t mean that Infosys shares have crashed and that my wife’s portfolio is worthless. Imagine being down to your last £20 mill.”
“No. Don’t worry. Nothing that ‘end of the world’ bad. It’s just that the Raabster has launched a nuclear missile strike against the Whitehall Blob.”
“I knew it was a mistake to give Psycho the codes when Boris was in intensive care. That man sure does know how to bear a grudge.”
Down in Esher, Dom was planning his next move. Time to go on the run. Grab the night vision goggles and go full Bear Grylls. No need to worry about food. He could strangle a badger if he got hungry. This time the civil service was going to get it in the neck. There was only room for one person to be shit at their job in any department he ran and that was him. He’d head for Dover. He’d recently heard it was quite close to the rest of Europe.
Michael Gove was in the crack den on his departmental roof. He’d been there the whole weekend. He found it peaceful there. No one to bother him. Just him and his stash. Besides, he no longer really had a home to go to. He’d only just surfaced from a blissful opium dream when the alarm went off. He smiled and ignored it. He lit himself another pipe. Nothing could touch him now. Bring on the end of the world. He’d have a ringside seat. The audio visuals should be amazing.
What was that? Keir Starmer had demanded.
“I’m afraid it’s the buzzer to warn us that yet another MP on the Labour left has said something casually antisemitic,” Rachel Reeves had said. “It’s Diane Abbott. She says she had been meaning to take out all the racist bits from the first draft but pressed send instead. She says it’s easily done.”
“Suspend her.”
At St James’s Park, the alarm had gone off to remind Spurs they were supposed to be a Premier League football club challenging for fourth place. Unfortunately it went off an hour late and they were already 5-0 down.
“I’m sorry,” said goalkeeper Hugo Lloris. “I completely forgot I was allowed to use my hands.”
Back in south London, everyone continued to go about their business as if nothing had happened. Cars went by without crashing into one another. Richard Tice and Laurence Fox looked on in amazement. They had been certain the alert would trigger a pathogen in the Covid vaccine that would turn everyone into zombies. Harvesting minds as well as data. Maybe next time.
This is the way the world ends. Not with a bang but a whimper.
