In a move that has sent shivers of inadequacy down the collective spine of Westminster, the United Kingdom has officially applauded Denmark’s formation of a new government under Prime Minister Mette Frederiksen. The statement, issued by the Foreign Office through gritted teeth and a forced smile, praised Denmark’s “stable governance” and “democratic maturity,” which is diplomatic code for “they don’t have a revolving door of lunatics in suits.”
Let’s be clear. Denmark does not have a government. It has a functioning administrative unit that processes legislation without a daily civil war. Frederiksen’s administration will now commence the deeply un-British business of passing budgets, implementing policy, and generally not collapsing into a pile of scandal-ridden rubble. Meanwhile, our own political class is currently engaged in a game of musical chairs with Downing Street as the prize, and the music is being played by a tone-deaf organ grinder with a grudge.
The sheer audacity of Denmark’s stability is an affront to everything we hold dear: chaos, incompetence, and the occasional constitutional crisis over a cheese sandwich. Our politicians, who cannot agree on whether the sun rises in the east, would do well to study the Danish method. But they won’t. Because that would require reading, a skill conspicuously absent from the modern MP’s toolkit.
“We congratulate Denmark on their continued commitment to good governance,” said a Foreign Office spokesperson, their monocle fogging up from the sheer hypocrisy. “We look forward to a period of fruitful cooperation.” Translation: “Please send us your stable, cold-weather overlords to sort out our potholes.”
It is a truth universally acknowledged that a nation in possession of a working government must be in want of a stiff drink. Indeed, the Danish model of coalition-building and consensus politics is as alien to British sensibilities as a quiet night in Fleet Street. We prefer our governments served with a side of scandal, preferably involving a ferret, a minister, and a poorly lit car park.
But let’s not be too hard on ourselves. After all, we have produced such glorious political theatre as Partygate, the Cost of Living Crisis, and the ongoing saga of “Who Can Possibly Be Worse Than the Last One?” Denmark, by contrast, offers the arid spectacle of functioning trains and reasonable healthcare. Who wants that?
In conclusion, the UK’s applause for Denmark is really a slow clap of self-pity. We are applauding our own ability to recognise competence from a safe distance, preferably through the bottom of a gin glass. Frederiksen’s new government will go about its business quietly and efficiently, leaving us to marvel at the exotic concept of a country where the prime minister doesn’t spend their weekends apologising for breaking lockdown laws.
Well done, Denmark. You have achieved the impossible: you have made us feel both proud and inadequate in equal measure. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have a date with a bottle of Beefeater and a copy of the Danish constitution. It’s the closest I’ll get to stability.
