Weekly Wonders and Woes: A Peek into UK Politics
From by-election blunders to farmers' fury, a review of the headlines of the past seven days
Do you hear that?
No, it's not the warbling of a distant blackbird or the hum of a Boeing overhead.
It's the distinct rattle of the UK on the rollercoaster of political tomfoolery, being ridden by our venerable Uncle Alfred after one too many sherries at the family wedding. I cordially invite you to the inaugural post of my weekly jaunt through the political headlines that occasionally made us go "I'm-sorry-pardon-me-what-now?!".
Envision me as your mockingly playful protector, equipped with a lively, jeering tongue, razor-sharp humour, and a bloody heap of sarcasm, poised to hunt down the political peccadilloes of our dauntless politicians. I'll be hauling them unceremoniously before the jury of jest, under the onslaught of scintillating quips and irreverent observations, whisked straight from the oven to your screens.
So, draw up your most comfortable armchair, tighten your metaphorical belt, and have that whiskey, wine, tea or beer on standby – you're going to need it. Each week, I'll be haphazardly graffitiing the top ten political (and semi-political) headlines that have had us grumbling into our Sunday roast and pondering whether a Martian relocation scheme might not be such a terrible idea after all.
You might think, “Surely this is all too much? Haven’t we been put through enough already?” Well, in keeping with the tradition of hardy resolve that we've had to grow over the past fourteen years, I say:
No bloody chance!
When is a loss, not a loss? When the Conservative Party is desperate to make you think that losing two by-elections (in addition to seven previous ones) is just no big deal
Well, where to start? How about with sunny Wellingborough? Once as Tory blue as an overworked smurf, this sleepy corner of Britain witnessed the boot being given to the incumbent Conservative party in the most robust manner. They were the proverbial chalk to the electorate’s cheese, ending up with their faces as red as a jolly London bus. And lest we forget the indigo tide turn in Kingswood - blimey, if the Tories aren't doing a fantastic dance of political face-plants.
Seriously, declaring by-election losses to Labour as "no big deal" is as ludicrous as announcing that the Titanic suffered a slight hiccup with an iceberg. It's nothing short of an attempt to airbrush reality while juggling flaming incompetence batons.
The Wellingborough Waltz: One could almost hear the collective groan through the Tory's silent screams, as Wellingborough slipped through their butter-greased fingers into Labour's welcoming grasp.
The Kingswood Skiffle: We watched in awe as Kingswood politely told the Tories to do a 180-degree turn and sprint in the opposite direction. The electorate quite literally changed its status from 'Playing Hard-to-Get' to 'It's Not You, It’s You.'
The smoke from their electoral wreckage is seen, smelt, and choked on for miles around. But the Tories, bless their clueless hearts, want us to believe they've merely misplaced their spectacles rather than being stark naked in broad daylight. No big deal indeed!
Jump in your combine-harvester, Mon-Ami!
Indeed, it's a sight to behold and one I wholeheartedly salute. This unexpected flair of French-rebellion brewing amongst our hardy British farmers? It's as baffling as a cheddar cheese soufflé, and I challenge anyone not to be both entertained and outright bloody inspired.
Far from being a whimsical pastiche, let it be known that I am staunchly in favour of this fervent proof of protest. Like a poblano pepper in a sea of button mushrooms, this display of backbone is a spicy kick up the complacent arse of our government.
These hard-working yeomen and women, so often the unsung heroes of our lands, are shouting 'enough' louder than a champion cockerel at dawn. They are making it abundantly clear they are done with being the forgotten keystone of the great arch that props up this kingdom. It's about bloody time, wouldn't you agree?
Through this borderline surrealist spectacle of civil disobedience, the message rings loud and clear. 'You can take our subsidies, but you'll never take our inability to remain silent in the face of sodding injustice.' So let's raise a glass, dear reader, to this newfound spirit of revolt in the heartland.
I say it's high time our government shivered in their neatly-pressed chinos and addressed the grumbling bellies of our custodians of the countryside. If not, rest assured, these tough-as-teak farmers with their ironclad resolve will keep revving those freshly spruced up Deutz-Fahrs until the bricks of Whitehall crumble. And it'll be fucking fantastic, don't you think?
Because who needs an A&E after all?
Next on our tour de farce, we swing by the now quaintly demoted A&E department at the Princess Royal Hospital in Telford. The Tories, in their usual wisdom (or lack thereof), have managed to deliver an absolute masterclass in decimating public services. Are they biologically incapable of handling our bloody health service, or are they just bloody awful at their jobs? Rhetorical question. We all know the answer.
Whilst chopping A&E services might seem a trite gauche, please remember that, to our 'leaders', money saved here can pave the road to the next jolly jaunt in Barbados. Emergency health services are overrated anyway, right? Especially, when our hard-earned tax-funds could be more fruitfully spent on the Rwanda Scheme and giving contracts to some well deserving cronies... I mean, donors. Who needs heart surgery when cucumber sandwiches are on offer?
In any case, let us raise our shandies to the 'tough decisions' our leaders have had to make. Who cares about minor inconveniences like saving lives when we can opt for a good-old austerity-fuelled downgrade instead? The Tory mantra – why fix the roof when it's raining if you can simply let it leak?
Speaking of money...
The United Kingdom enters a "Technical Recession"
Here we bloody go again. That whirling, deafening sound you hear is not just your vertigo playing up, it's the Conservative government spiralling us into yet another "technical recession." Technical, my big, hairy arse. It's a bit like saying climbing Everest is just a "technical hill."
The term technical, mind you, is designed to take the sting out, soften the blow; an attempt to wipe off the dirty smear of reality that a recession implies. Like using the term "water displacement" when your flat has just been flooded - the noun may change, but the soaked sofa, wet angry neighbours and damp air remain, right?
Will it impact your daily life, you ask? Well, remember last year when you accepted that passionate embrace of universal credit? Buckle up, buttercup, 'cause you're about to be romanced intimate again. "Feeling a little poorer, eh?" whispers Rishi Sunak, from somewhere deep within his money-lined coffin.
Are you already practicing your 'breathing underwater' techniques as your finances are about to get a one-way ticket to Atlantis? Don't worry! Just a "technical recession" they say. It's not like you're losing your flat... Oh wait, you are? Ah, must be some sort of "technical misunderstanding," it seems.
So there you have it. Another week, another economic arse kicking from the same suited gents who promised an "age of prosperity". You have to hand it to them – they've got a hell of a sense of humour. Gives you a special feeling, doesn't it? Like being tickled whilst simultaneously being smacked in the face.
Shock, horror - the Rwanda Plan is deeply flawed?!
Now, take a deep breath (possibly your last, given the state of our NHS) because we're heading into the nebulous vortex that is our government's two year navel gazing exercise, the so-called 'Rwanda Plan'. Picture this: a herd of Tories dressed in colonial-era safari suits, looking puzzled in a supposedly exotic landscape (which is actually Slough - nobody told them the flights were cancelled).
Here's the gem of an idea: Send our asylum seekers and refugees halfway round the globe, presumably on a one-way EasyJet flight (other budget airlines are available, but probably cancelled), to wait in Africa’s heartland to have their cases heard. It's an idea more ludicrous than Johnson's dreadfully amateur zip-wire stunt at the 2012 Olympic Games. The metaphorical elephant in the room has taken a rather literal turn, wouldn't you agree?
But just when you were thinking "surely our government wouldn't be that ethically dubious," a parliamentary report comes out saying that this storm-in-a-teacup plan is 'fundamentally flawed'. Hold the phone! You mean stuffing our asylum seekers onto a plane and dumping them into another continent while we make our minds up isn't the beacon of brilliance we were led to believe?
The report points out the minor detail of infringing on a few human rights laws (only the unimportant ones, presumably). But let's sweep that under the world's most sizeable rug, right? Perhaps we’ll try Antarctica next; at least the impending climate catastrophe there might distract from abysmal policy-making here.
It's times like these that make one dig out the receipt for democracy and consider if we're still within the 30-day return period. The Tories’ fascination with outsourcing everything, apparently including their moral compass, does beg the question: are we witnessing the death of compassion or merely its exile?
No-fault eviction ban by next election, Michael Gove promises
Now, just when you thought your political theatre experience couldn't get any richer, along slithers Michael Gove, promising to ban no-fault evictions by the time of the next election. Because when better to promise much needed legislative changes than in the run-up to a moment when you'll likely have to relinquish power? Oh, how we chuckled. It's like debuting the best punchline after the audience has gone home, the lights are off, and the barmaid is mopping up the spilled sensibilities. Our chortles could've knocked seagulls from the skies.
In a vacuous display of yet more political tightrope walking, Gove has taken it upon himself to embody public sector Father Christmas, doling out early policy packages wrapped in strained promises. Is that reindeer I hear on the rooftop, or just the pitter-patter of eviction notice letters falling in from heaven?
Do we dare to take him at his word? If we peer beneath the veneer of cynicism we wear like a protective shield against the acid rain of political inefficacies, can we find even the smallest iota of credibility in the face that's done more U-turns than a lost Uber driver? When the bite of winter comes and people are turned out, noses white with the frost of neglect, will the government uphold this sardonic pledge?
Laugh with us, dear reader, for the show delights. Drenched in the woeful hilarity of our predicament, we morph into a country of accidental comedians. Don your Joker hats, folks – the comedy, however black it may be, refuses to wane. Stay tuned for next week's episode of 'As the Conservative World Turns', or maybe, just maybe, we'll actually start to tell some different bloody jokes for a change.
Housing minister Lee Rowley insists 'we've got to have building targets' - despite Tories scrapping them
Speaking of housing - here we have our chum, housing minister Lee Rowley, frothing at the mouth like a rabid squirrel with a foaming hazelnut latte. He's bashing his pint-sized fist on the table, chanting like a broken record, 'We've got to have building targets' - a phrase we haven't heard since, oh, about six gin and tonics ago when the Tories scrapped them completely. Toolkit full of contradictions, ain't it?
Let's gloss over the minor detail that his own party exterminated these 'optical targets', in a fit of short-sighted bureaucratic frenzy, comparable only to a mole stuffed in a high-visibility jacket trying to operate a shovel. What about the apologies for spiralling homeless figures and the rocketing prices that keep us dancing on the edge of bankruptcy like Fred Astaire in ruby slippers? Sweet silence. About as substantial as a jelly trifle at a fat-free convention.
Perhaps Rowley thought we'd all gone senile overnight, or perhaps he's just been taking notes from the PM’s anthology of 'It's never our fault, govern’. Hard to say. One thing’s for certain though – the man's about as reliable as trying to grab onto a toffee apple in a vat of custard!
And so, dear readers, in a world where inaction masquerades as policy, and contradiction dances a tango with confounding lunacy, who the bloody hell do you think you're fooling, Mr Rowley?
Because it sure as hell isn't the rest of us.
Former chancellor Kwasi Kwarteng to stand down as MP at next election
Well, this is bloody brilliant, isn't it? Kwasi Kwarteng, the UK's former Chancellor of the Exchequer, the man who fondly treated our national coffers like a three day old kebab by throwing it straight into the bin, is set to stand down as an MP at the next election. Gods, not even Zeus could strike us with such golden luck! Chucking his hat in the ring of disarray, Kwarteng has decided to preserve his dignity, what little left of it, in the impending storm that is UK politics.
The 'why' of it all is spinning in my head like a berserk circus wheel. Has there been a sudden realisation that he, along with Lettuce Liz, deserve no place in the public sphere after absolutely ruining our economic prospects for year to come? Or could it be that our dear Kwasi had enough of the growing list of scandals, or perhaps he no longer had the audacity to participate in the governmental tango of deceit? But let's be real here – it’s not like anyone in the Tory Party even knows how to tango. More like a clumsy, drunken stumble on the dance floor with the usual pratfalls and collective amnesia when it comes to their faux pas.
So adieu, Mr Kwarteng. Fare thee well in your future endeavours - whatever scandal-ridden enclave they might be. And spare a thought for us, the exasperated masses, left to deal with massive increases in our Mortgage Rates while being told by our Prime Miniscule that "we've turned a corner" and "our plan is working".
Speaking of which...
Apparently Rishi Sunak's "Plan is Working" - Right then.
Do sit down, dear reader, and pour yourself a stiff one because it seems we're on a crazy roller coaster ride with no end in sight, and we all know how those go, don't we? Rishi Sunak, blessed with the political deftness of a drugged-up hamster in a wheel, emerges from the wreckage of the latest by-election, ashen-faced but determinedly grinning like a schoolboy who's just nicked the last biscuit before mum noticed. "Our plan is working!" he endlessly bleats, with a faux bravado that would make even the bluster king, Boris himself, pause and mutter 'steady on, lad.'
Now, I don't know about you, but when I think of a 'working plan,' I generally picture something more along the lines of a successful outcome rather than relentlessly repeated failures, or a pledge list that's 20% achieved (by someone else mind you, making it the equivalent of getting a point for putting your name on the answer paper). Maybe it's just me being pedantic or excessively bound to the rules of language and logic - heaven forbid. But really, what sort of plan includes losing by-elections faster than a lactose intolerant sheds weight on a dairy farm, or crashing our economy into a recession when your pledge was growth?
Why, it's almost as if Mr. Sunak reckons we're all a bit dense over here. 'Plan is working!' 'Plan is working!' he squawks and squeals, sounding about as sincere as a snake oil salesman promising hair growth to a billiard ball. But I'm not buying what Sunak's selling. Are you?
We're hardly asking for miracles, Prime Miniature. I mean, it'd be lovely if you could part the Conservative sea and lead us to an imagined land of competent governance, true. But for now, we'd just appreciate you finding a bloody plan that does actually work. And maybe you could stop bleeding all the Sterlings out of our economy like it's loose change down the back of the government sofa. It's embarrassing.
And so, we plead with irony that's as thick as treacle and just as hard to swallow, can you arrange for a real bloody plan to kick in any time soon? Or perhaps even, I don't know, a damned General Election! Now that's a headline we'd all look forward to reading.
Lord Cameron Jetting Off to the Falklands for a "Family Visit"
What a brave varlet we have in our newly ennobled Baron Cameron of Chipping Norton, dear reader! Off he flits to the Falklands as though they're the most forgotten corner of a neglected yuppie backyard, promising to heap upon them 'valued' family status. I'm not sure if this sudden affection is spiced with rare nostalgia or if he simply fancies a few penguins for company, given their mastery in the art of idling.
Ahem, we digress, but you see, it’s a smashing laugh that he considers the Falklands part of the "British family", isn't it? The same 'family' that's left yearning for basic commodities and rights? Or perhaps, he's thinking of an altogether different 'family' - the distant relations who send lavish gifts on Christmas, only to forget their existence for the rest of the year?
Wonder if poor Cammo gulped down an ample share of Dutch courage before embarking on this quest, or if he truly felt safe, swathed in the cosy illusion that the Falklanders would welcome him sumptuously as London does its stray pigeons. We'll permit ourselves the liberty of a severe chuckle at the very thought.
Why, dare we imagine the spectacle?! Lord Cameron, dolled up in his Tom Ford suit and ermine cloak stiffly penguin-marching around, pecking away at equations of GDP or GDP – or whatever anachronisms they're using to prove that Britain isn’t nosediving into a pit of despair. The poor Falklanders, with no doubt a thoroughly befuddled look, might ask, “Who exactly is this man, and what in King's blue blazes is he nattering on about now?"
So ladies and gents, spin up your favourite Corgi-shaped tea cosies, ease yourself into your stiffest armchair as we sit back and watch – oh, how we will watch – the Conservative Party’s most recent jaunt in the quest for supreme belly-laugh fodder. Who knows? Our dear Cammo might just outdo himself this time. We’ll be watching popcorn at the ready as this comedy of errors unfolds. Absurd, isn’t it?
And That's a Wrap
That's me done for the week - I do hope you enjoyed the first of my weekly trips through the week’s headlines. I'm hoping to take through all the headlines that graced our screens for the preceding seven days. One day, I truly hope this, we won't have to try and laugh off the sheer and unadulterated incompetence and psychodrama of this Conservative Government.
I'm personally not sure just how much of the senseless prevarication, obfuscation, and maladministration I can take before I start giggling hysterically before crawling under my desk to assume the foetal position, but do trust me when I say that sometimes laughter is the only medicine that will get us through this period of omnishambles that we're being forced to endure.
After this week, though, there does seem to be the smallest of feelings of hope - could it be that the General Election may be a mere two and a bit months away? Could we possibly see our current government given their marching orders only to disappear into what will hopefully be a minimum of a ten-year political exile?
There are some signs and portents that do point in that direction, but as ever, I will take all of this with a healthy dose of the saltiest salt - we all know just how much-spilt milk there is to yet go under these bridges.
For now, I wish everyone a lovely week ahead - let's keep our heads up, our wits sharp and our heads well informed.