Mumsnet thinks he’s the one. A ‘salty sea-dog’ sort of sexy, oozing beardy charisma in his beige and various shades of pastel. They’d love to share a cup of tea and a biscuit with him, pretend to listen to his ideas on progressive socialism, while dreamily gazing into those empathetic eyes. That’s what mumsnet care about, how sexy their politicians are and where they buy their vests. Why vote for someone if you can’t imagine them penetrating you?
I wonder if anyone on mumsnet has to use foodbanks.
There’s a contest happening. A contest to see who can be Captain Not-So-Great of the We-don’t- have-a-clue Party. These political media debates always take the same format, a twat asking questions to a group of twats whose sole agenda is to sound less of a twat than the twat who spoke before them. The debate and discussion should surely be about ideas and policy but it usually ends up being about how much of a twat everyone is. Ultimately any form of opposition should be offering a credible alternative and credibility is exactly where politics struggles. Because most politicians and media types are twats, born from a lineage of twats to forever and always be twats.
Labour is suffering and the left is suffering. It seems, in media coverage anyway, that there are only three types of people that can represent the left. One is most certainly Owen Jones, or one of the many forms of Owen Jones, that all look like Owen Jones but couldn’t possibly be Owen Jones because Owen Jones can’t be everywhere all at once, so there must be some sort of network of Owen Joneses, lurking at every broadcasting station across the UK, ready to step in each time Kay Burley needs an opinion to scoff at to appease Overlord Murdoch up in his sludge factory.
The other person that seems to represent the left is not another Owen Jones but what looks to be a crudely scribbled satirical impression of the 1980s Union member. There seems to be a never-ending supply of crusty lipped northerners, with un-brushed hair who may or may not have been in unions and although may be very passionate, end up sounding like an aborted Harry Enfield character. They still think that the poll tax riots are actually happening and are relating every current social issue to something that happened thirty years ago. It is them as much as anyone, who are dragging the discussion and the reality of what exists today, so far back into the past that their opinions are running across a picket line and are about to trampled by a policeman on horseback.
The third and final stereotypical left-leaning spokesperson is the waffling eccentric who has had their brain destroyed by far too much high-grade LSD. They will state that people deserve equality, quoting from their experiences of travelling in India and talking about gurus and the human spirit like it’s a tangible thing, whilst also claiming that trepanning has been criminally neglected in the world of medicine. I find it difficult to find any value in the opinions of someone who thinks drilling a hole in your skull is a reasonable response to a headache.
So, Corbyn. What’s his plan? What’s his shtick? How does he intend to be a credible candidate? There is support for the policies he is proposing and not just within his own party. But the process also involves explaining how you intend to implement these policies. Broadcasters and journalists keep using the word ‘authentic’ to describe him, so people realise that he is actually real and not a cruel joke dreamt up by Conservative media team or a ghostly spectre spawned from a Ouija board found in Tony Benn’s garage. The rest of the Labour leadership contenders look and sound like they’re managing a branch of WH Smith and haven’t quite realised that the majority of the crap they sell is cheaper and better quality elsewhere. If I wanted to spend £20 on an actual CD of Now That’s What Dad Calls Music 4 I’ve got your number. For now I’m quite happy to sit back and see how this farcical process unfolds and hopefully Corbyn won’t turn out to be a drug addict, a paedophile, arms dealer, religious extremist or a former manager of a high street stationers.
