Dire Straits...

So, the parliamentary recess is over, the holidays have been had and everybody is back at work recharged, reinvigorated and full of vim. It’s surprising just how much good a few days of rest can do for the soul. Particularly refreshing is the bright new Labour stand up comedy routine. I do hope they are taking it to Edinburgh. I may be wrong, but it appears that their answer to three long years without any policy at all is now to present themselves not as the party of opposition, but as the party of shrugging and saying “What can you do?”

That’s just pathetic rubbish. They could at least go out in a blaze and deliver a manifesto full of fire and brimstone and promise the earth to the lowest bidder. If you are going to crash and burn on the political stage you might as well make your pyrotechnic political suicide memorable. If things carry on like this, in ten year’s time people will only say, “Labour? Oh yes, weren’t they something to do with the Greens? Or am I thinking about Lord Sutch’s lot? Were they ever taken seriously?”

Future historians will be amazed that the party which harnessed the manpower of, well, manpower and immeasurably improved the lot of the worker spent the last forty years of its existence colluding in bringing about its own sorry downfall. The party of the workers should be boldly Eurosceptic, pro growth and very much against the something-for-nothing culture it cultivated so enthusiastically. Labour should be almost racist in its rejection of multiculturalism because that policy has been instrumental in creating the underclass who are now donning brown shirts and stirring up rebellion. It is a bitter irony that the socialist party has spawned a National Socialist uprising.

Nobody will ever know who burned down that Muswell Hill ‘mosque’. You know, the one long overdue to be demolished, re-funded and rebuilt; ripe for a fraudulent insurance or compensation scam. Nobody will ever discover who decided to spray paint EDL on the smoking ruins. But I bet there are plenty of natural Labour voters quietly nodding and muttering “well done”. If you are going to turn your back so completely on your natural constituents you may as well go out with a bang.

So, I hereby present some manifesto pledges  to make Labour’s last gasp election campaign at least as memorable as they are unelectable. Free hay (means-tested of course) for all unicorns. Golden eggs to be accorded royal status and paraded on silk cushions on national holidays. Rocking horse shit collectors to be classified as a distinct race and the use of their name in conversation to become a hate crime. All trees to be a protected national asset, just in case one of them turns out to be magic and money-bearing. Equality to be extended to cover all living things, the issue of spider passports being a major priority.  All ethnic food to be classified as British, thus the phrase “going for a Chinese” can never again be uttered without prosecution.  Oh and jam with everything... tomorrow.

Labour's new party uniform

If you are going to be a laughing stock you may as well give it your best shot.