I like to believe I’d quite like Captain Cardigan; he really ought to take up a pipe. I can imagine listening to him regaling the young folk who gather at his hem with stirring tales of helping geriatric old class warriors to cross the road, or rescuing socialist kittens from cruel Tory trees. Regally dispensing Werther’s Originals and occasionally ruffling a tow-haired mop-head he would sit there chuckling, recalling the good old days when six bob would buy you an evening’s entertainment and a bag of chips and everybody spent their days being kind to each other. Ah yes, the glorious forties; we were all so much happier under rationing.
We had to stand together to weather the storm. Jerry, with his pacemaker reminding us that with hope in our heart we would never walk alone; we could hold our heads up high and never be afraid of the dark. At the end of the storm we would find a golden sky and the sweet silver song of the lark. But we had to be strong against the wicked Tory establishment who would try to disguise their evil deeds. You must realise, he told us, when a lovely flame dies laughing friends deride and smoke gets in your eyes. You have to fight, he said, for your right to party.
Jeremy Corbyn’s Leader’s speech at the labour conference had an air of optimistic familiarity about it. Hadn’t we heard some of it before? Bits of it, at least? Some claimed that it was a re-hash of words written for Kinnock, others believed Ed Miliband had rejected it, but this was just sour grapes. Jeremy has a new, original, caring vision for the world. He’d like to build the world a home and furnish it with love. This was something new, something to fight for! He roused the passions with his plea: Don't give up 'cos you have friends. Don't give up, you're not beaten yet. Don't give up; I know you can make it good!
And what of this brave new egalitarian world, what would we be able to do? Why, grow apple trees and honey bees and snow white turtle doves, came the reply. You see, Jeremy ‘JayCee’ Corbyn wants so much more than an end to poverty; he wants happiness and joy unconfined. He’d like to teach the world to sing in perfect harmony. He’d like to hold it in his arms and keep it company. And you know what, he’s right! I'd like to see the world for once, all standing hand in hand and hear them echo through the hills - peace throughout the land. (That's the song I hear.)
"He's going to teach the world to what?"
By the time he had reached the end and managed to get in a few home ’spun’ jibes at the Tories’ mission to punish the poor and grind the bones of their babies into an unsavoury gruel the crowd in the hall were ecstatic. Using all his own completely original words he thanked Mom, Pop and apple pie from sea to shining sea and led the hall in a rousing rebel yell of God Bless America before bathing in the rapturous applause. I thought of the sermon on the mount and his initials, J.C. He’s going to get crucified!
His ilk only get crucified after laying waste to the hopes, dreams, aspiration and hard graft of the despised by socialists, middle class.ReplyDelete