May now has the confidence to put her shit kicking boots on and Brandon Lewis as emerged as a big beast

4 May 2018 at 15:40

The tears of anger, frustration, incomprehension and horror of the hyped up Corbynistas will soon turn into an anti media snarl of, ‘we was robbed’, by Murdoch, hedge fund managers and of course, ‘friends of the state of Israel’.

To the Momentum hordes, Labour’s disastrous local election showing is proof that there is a conspiracy of bankers and the press to thwart the will of the people. A very good reason that there should be more controls over them. Freedom of speech is precious and therefore must be rationed.

But the truth is pretty obvious. In London Labour did fantastically well at the last local elections. It was delusional to think they could do significantly better this week. And UKIP is now not just not fit for purpose, it has no purpose at all, apart from being airbrushed out of political history. It is just about possible that Farage could crawl back if he can gain traction with the fantasy that May is betraying the people’s Brexit. But Brexit is going to happen, just not in a the way that the purists want it.

The trouble with Labour is that they inhabit an echo chamber of chanting crowds screaming offensive and futile slogans. All Tories are scum, but moderate Labour are far worse. Red scum and class traitors. Blairites. And what a monster he was.

They feed off each other’s belief systems and have as a reedy cheer leader Corbyn re ratter, Owen Jones, running after the mob which he hAs convinced himself is leadership. It’s rather sad to see an intelligent left winger who I always thought was a decent enough guy spouting the most appalling and dangerous nonsense. His credentials are in tatters. What a shame.

It’s easy for commentators like me to say that it is all down to poorly managing expectations. Actually it’s not. Brandon Lewis, the Tory party chairman, has shown himself to be a man to watch, a big beast off the leash. Fluent on the telly, rarely a foot wrong and was so convincing that the Tories were going to have a terrible night that most of the cabinet believed it. And he has a Wilsonian air of man of the people. Another serious leadership contender is in the incubator. He’ll be the next in line for a big job.

The tectonic plates of politics have begun to move. Momentum seems to be infested by a middle class who know best. And their kids, Harry, Freddy and Ros no longer spend their gap year building African schools, they go on marches. They dwell in the cities. In the rest of the country those who aspire are moving back to the Tories. A lesson for Corbyn which I doubt he will learn is that voters will be reluctant to vote for a party that they are scared of. And Labour has become a gothic horror story.

I am not going to bother with the problems of anti semitism, intolerance, bullying and the councils that Labour should have won as it’s all so painfully obvious. But what may trouble him is that he commands the largest political army in Europe who outnumber the Tories to a massive scale. To what avail? Madame has lost four cabinet ministers, Brexit is a fiasco and the scandal that is Windrush has nor even begun to fade away. Labour should be twenty points ahead in the polls.

Well, Madame should treat herself to a few large craft gins this weekend. This decent and rather awkward woman appears to be winning the grudging respect of the public for her dogged determination and sheer courage in putting up with some of the ghastly creatures that inhabit her party.

I suspect there will be a rather different and more confident approach from now on. This is her time to tell her Brexit mobsters to put up or shut up. Of course they won’t shut up. But they won’t put up either.

If you can feel a slight breeze, it is a wind of change that will be gently be wafting though Number 10.

But on the political stock market I’d buy shares in Brandon.



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Javid’s appointment is inspired. But he must be allowed to be his own man even if it means tearing down structures created by May. They both need each other

30 Apr 2018 at 10:14

Don’t be too mystified about that very large belch you may have heard last night. It was merely the quicksands of the Home Office devouring yet another minister. I can only think of one Home Secretary who escaped with his reputation intact. Ken Clarke. But to say that in these poisonous and rancid times in the Tory party, is tantamount to telling the Shadow Cabinet that Tony Blair wasn’t a bad fellow after all.

One of the reasons I haven’t been blogging for a while is that I have been concentrating on putting together a three hour live news and current affairs show every Sunday between twelve and three pm. But now all the bumps in the road have been ironed out I can relax a little more. What finally convinced me that Rudd’s position was untenable was when my producer handed me, mid programme, the brief about who had said what on the political shows. As soon as I read that Brandon Lewis was less than orgasmic in his support, I knew she was flat lining and that the plug was about to be pulled. Brandon is a former minister for immigration and is probably still trying to understand how it was possible that Rudd was not aware of removal targets. Sadly, her leaked memo about targets undermines everything she told the House.

One of the few golden rules in politics is that the Seven Horsemen of the Apocalypse barely break into a trot when there is a scandal, but are in full gallop when there is a cover up. And up until yesterday there were no horsemen to be be seen. It was just Corbyn and Abbott on an ass. And it was a very silly one too.

It wasn’t the burglary that destroyed Nixon in Watergate, it was the cover up. It wasn’t shagging Christine Keeler that destroyed John Profumo, it was his lie to the House. And if Rudd had stuck to her guns in a statement today her position of just looking ridiculous could come perilously close to a contempt of Parliament.

All departments have to aspire to hit targets to keep them on their toes. When they become too difficult politicians, with a wave of a magic wand, turn them into ‘aspirations’, which in reality are just a bunch of dead rabbits being pulled out of the hat.

I really don’t object to realistic targets being set unless it involves due process. Each immigration case has to be dealt with on its merits before Home Office adjudicators or a tribunal. To say that there must be X number of deportations a month spits in the face of the rule of law. It would be like the CPS saying that they had a target to obtain X convictions for murder every month.

But the worst thing about targets is that the only way you can even aspire to achieving them is to go for low hanging fruit, which are very often the vulnerable targets. That’s how the Windrush generation were ensnared in this cruel bureaucratic nightmare, which seems straight out of Catch 22. ‘You are not illegal immigrants. But you must prove it. Oh, and to make it easier for us pointy heads and so we can meet our targets, we have destroyed any documentation that could make it easier for you. And you will be removed form your family home of the last forty years and placed in a deportation centre pending you repatriation to…..oh, just a minute, we have no documentation as to where you came from. But anywhere other than the U.K.’

Grayling would have been the logical choice for Home Secretary. Totally incompetent, viciously partisan and with the emotional intelligence of pre hydrated tub of pot noodle. He has that rare gift of wreaking havoc in every department he has adorned. Perfect. A minister not fit for any purpose in a department not fit for purpose. And when he has finished there, send him over to the department of health. His humane policy of selective culling of of the elderly will ease bed blocking and solve the problem of community care at a stroke. GMB’s Andy Peters will be replaced by Rees Mogg in full undertakers kit in the Trip to the Great Unknown Lottery. He will start on the council estates first then move onto the Remainers. You’ve got to be in it to win it.

We now know that Sajid Javid has been handed to poisoned chalice by Madame. It is clever and inspired choice. A reluctant Remainer with a heart. But he must be his own man. He must have the independence of mind to bring major structural reform to the Home Office. That’s his job. Not to preserve in aspic everything that May put in place. She must have the confidence to give him a free run.

He is now back in the leadership game. Him getting it right is vital to her staying in Number 10. For them both to succeed the Home Office culture of complacency, bureaucratic callousness and being dependant on dodgy data has to be razed to the ground.

Times have changed. Targets don’t work. But people need to be reassured that those that are here illegally, will, after due and fair process, be deported. His priority must be that those poor Windrush souls must have their status quickly restored and that a fair and speedy compensation system be implemented. There must be no dragging of feet and no road blocks from the treasury.

His real dilemma will be how to handle EU movement of people. As a former business secretary he knows how important foreign labour is to business. He can turn the whole immigration debate on its head. Humane, fair, business friendly and tough on those who are taking the piss. Oh, and for heaven’s sake put an end to the daft rules on capping professional labour from the Commonwealth. We have a shortage of doctors and some who are training here aren’t allowed to take jobs in the NHS. Quite insane.

Poor Diane Abbott. She has a dilemma. Javid’s back story means that she can never accuse him of racism nor understanding the plight of immigrants. If you didn’t see her being asked the impertinent, unfair and unexpected question of what is her immigration policy by Piers Morgan this morning on GMB, I implore you too. She hadn’t a clue. It was a good audition for being Home Secretary. And she was not fit for purpose.



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The ERG are like a bunch of chippy saddos who had a rough time at school and come back with a political assault weapon in revenge. The Boringdom versus the Bulllingdon.

3 Mar 2018 at 14:50

If your television screens are suffering serious interruptions, it’s not the weather. It’s Margaret Thatcher spinning in her grave. She would be horrified at how the Conservative Party has degenerated from a party that really cares about ordinary folk and is dedicated to equality and opportunity, to a one issue dictatorship.

Harsh words? Not at all. Just a depressing hard truth.

Poor Theresa May. My God that woman has guts and determination, perhaps as much as Thatcher had. But Thatcher was there to slay the dragons of the left. They were a clear and necessary target. They were destroying Britain and had been for years. On this her party was totally behind her and any criticisms on other matters, were in coded language. In other words, we behaved like decent people towards each other and her.

But Madame has been kidnapped. And ransom notes with dark threats of death and torture come with the regularity of the flash of the assassin’s stiletto. Gavin Barwell doesn’t have to whisper in her ear every day, ‘thou art only mortal’. She bloody well knows it. And the IDS of March are fast approaching.

And her kidnappers? That awful, demented, chippy and repellant organisation called the European Research Group. One thing I can assure you of is that Madame will never suffer from Stockholm syndrome. They are far to odious to form any sort of attachment with. This group effectively controls all utterances from Number 10. Mogg sits on his throne with the triple crown of ERG and with his gift of infallibility gives blessings or condemns with bell, book and candle a heresy worthy of excommunication. In over thirty years I have never seen the Conservative party lose its way in such sinister circumstances.

I used to regard Mogg as a rather harmless eccentric who would entertain the House with whimsy and the occasional barmy idea. And perhaps one day be elevated to the chair of a committee in a bad year. But Mogg is very dangerous. He is a hyena in meerkat fur. Not only does he believe in the delusion of Brexit, he helped create it. Unlike Boris, who is a bumbling opportunist with a Rolls Royce brain which he drives like a Skoda, who believes in nothing other than himself. In other words a self made man who worships his creator.

And what would Thatcher have thought of the personalised abuse of John Major as a traitor and worse? She would be incandescent with rage. Horrified. John is as honourable and decent a man that has ever lead the Conservative Party and the country. He must have agonised about whether to speak out. But he knew that it was his duty. I would imagine that most MPs of all parties would agree with every word he uttered. The game is up. He knows it. Everyone knows it, except for the minority in the cult of belief. Even with the most optimistic of economic models post Brexit, the future isn’t good. And it might not even be Orange.

So who is going to stand up to the ERG? What on earth are Parliamentarians afraid of? Their shadows? Colonel and Mrs mad who run their associations? For God’s sake grow some balls. Do what you were elected to do. And what might that be? The right thing.

The ERG give a good impression of nothing more than a group of bitter people who suffered a rotten time at school and have come back years later with a political assault weapon in revenge. The Boringdom Club as a hellish antidote to the Bullingdon.

I really don’t think that the Tories can hold together for much longer. And neither can Labour who have had their long march to the wrong end of the ice pick. So who can I vote for? Who represents the middle ground? Who can lead the fight for decency and moderation. Nobody. Yet. But they have under a year to come forward. As Tony Blair once said, ‘it’s time for a change’. Courage mon braves



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How to survive in the shark infested waters of Westminster and remain reasonably sane

24 Feb 2018 at 11:26

A few days after the last general election I bumped into an old friend who had just been elected. He looked rather shell shocked. Pleadingly he turned his ashen face to me and wailed, ‘I haven’t a clue how to do this job. What should I do?’. So I sat him down, administered large doses of claret and gave him a few home truths which are as relevant today as they were then. So here they are.

Unless you are a Machiavellian, sociopathic little shit who would betray his colleagues eat their children and sell what was left of his soul for a red box and a share of a medium sized family saloon, there are three priorities. Your family and those you love. Your constituents. Your party.

Your family really does have to come first. It’s difficult. Sometimes very difficult. But at least try. Because in the dark tea time of your soul they are the only people who really care about you and will sustain you through the many crises that will dominate your life. Remember the overwhelming majority of your Parliamentary friends or colleagues don’t really give a shit about you when the going gets really tough. Try and find at least one politician who you can confide in, trust and befriend. This is not easy and will take time. Sometimes you will be surprised that they are from another party.

The whole point of being in Parliament is to look after your constituents. I am afraid the majority don’t give a flying fuck about your views on foreign affairs or even the EU unless they directly affect them. Make your constituency a party political free zone until each election. People hate party politics. And politicians. But they might give you the benefit of the doubt if they know that you are watching their backs. Anyhow, the people who run your association love doing all that political stuff themselves. Rise above it all. Personal attacks are just undignified. And don’t get involved with every fight on the constituency association playground. You can’t win. Don’t try. They do love House of Commons notepaper though. Send them lots of personal notes. But one golden rule. Give you support and loyalty unconditionally to your chairman. He or she has far more power and ability to end your career than the whips. And they will firefight flare up for you that you never knew existed.

You will be shocked at how hopelessly inadequate many your local councillors are. Best not let them know. But to the large part they are good hearted and want to do the best for their wards and the various odd ball ideas that have been buzzing between their ears for years. Just let them get on with it and they will be as happy as pigs in shit. Oh, and they love the notepaper too.

Now for the klaxons, bells and red lights. This is important. To many, being a councillor is the pinnacle of everything. When the national opinion polls turn nasty many panic and become independent. Act in sorrow more than anger. They tend to come back when things improve.

Now for your party. Mmm, a tricky one. Remember that you were elected on their coat tails and they can still pull the plug on you. But keeping up with party policy is a nightmare. Pity dear old Alan Mak. I’ve never met him. I’m sure that he is very nice man. But you can smell ambition on him like a cheap aftershave. Imagine his dilemma every morning. He has spent days bobbing up and down in the chamber and destroying Amazonian rain forests with press releases salivating the wonders of a policy. And then suddenly it is reversed and you can smell the burning rubber of a forced U turn. Except that it won’t be forced for young Mak as he will be rejoicing the wonders of this new and wonderful crock of crap.

Years ago the legendary producer Ed Boyle and I collaborated on a game show for politicians called a Kick in the Ballots which aired on ITV. He developed a game called U Turn. A politician was given a subject to speak in favour of, then the Chairman, Charlie Kennedy, would press a buzzer and the politician would argue against. God they were brilliant. Not even a pause for thought.

I really can’t advise on how to handle this. Perhaps do a half Mak. Probably best not to believe a word that comes out of Number 10.

Now for the press. NEVER trust the news desk. They will probably never speak to you again and don’t care about burning their sources. Always say off the record first, then it is. If you say it later this magical incarnation won’t work. Find someone you can trust in the lobby. Believe me they do exist. Their rule is everything you say is off the record unless you wish otherwise. But never ever lie to them. It is not clever. It is lethal because most of the lobby gossip with each other. If you get a reputation for being a shit they will destroy you. And pamper your local press. Don’t issue releases from on high. Chat to them. Take them for a drink. Remember that Fleet Street is for your ego the local press is for your life support.

Oh, and if you receive a phone call from Simon Walters on a Saturday afternoon and you notice Michael Crick strolling down your street, it’s not going to be pleasant. Run for the hills as you are just about to be right royally fucked.

And one final word of wisdom. If a tall pin striped man with the smile like the brass plate on a coffin asks you to sign a letter supporting the Prime Minister. Don’t. For two reasons. Firstly because he is cunt. Secondly, if you sign it you will resemble one too.



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Boris, Mogg Al Capone and the St Valentine’s Day massacre. Gangsters the lot of them

14 Feb 2018 at 11:30

I have been trying to work out the logic of Bozo making his keynote grab for power/speech on Brexit (delete where applicable) on St Valentine’s day. But it’s a monumental waste of time. A bit like Bozo. Perhaps he thought, ‘romance is in the air’. Not for the first time. After all, his officials have been trying to tell him that monogamy is not what his desk is made out of for months. Perhaps it is because the whole tone of his speech is holding out the hand of friendship and reconciliation to Remainers and Brexiteers alike. A great human rights extravaganza, perhaps reminiscent of Dr.King’s I Have a Dream speech. But a British version. Soft, cuddly, roses, soft toys and a few sips of English sparkling wine, laced with cyinide. Yet not so much of a dream as a nightmare. Let us build a bonfire of all those regulations that Brussels inflicts on our businesses. In future it will be British regulations. We will set the standards. We will not be a vassal state. Oh dear, empty vassals do make the most noise.

These people are delusional. And dangerous. If you are going to trade internationally it won’t work unless you have basic standards, by agreement. Which is how we operate now with the EU. As much as we would love to believe it, we haven’t ruled the waves for years. And our navy is only marginally bigger than the Swiss.

The truth about this speech is that it’s just another Bozo tantrum. Another grab for the headlines. Another selfish, cynical move intended to propel him into Number 10 with likes off that ghastly Mogg abomination. If that terrible day comes I will elope with Anna Soubry.

But just a moment. I have suddenly realised why he has chosen St Valentine’s day. To celebrate an attempt to end another trade cartel. It was 1929 and Al Capone was rather fed up with Bugs Moran muscling in on his bootlegging business. He was helped by another gang, Egan’s Rats. They massacred Bugs Moran and his crew. One man, Frank Gusenberg was taken to hospital with fourteen bullets lodged inside him. When the police asked him who was responsible Gusenberg simply replied, ‘nobody shot me’.

Not unlike the denial that it was said that the Turks were joining the EU or the NHS was to receive £350m a week.

Gangsters the lot of them



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Mogg you are disgrace. Don’t be an ocean going dolchytosser

5 Feb 2018 at 14:06

It has been my privilege to have known three Cabinet Secretaries, or heads of the civil service. Andrew Turnbull, Robin Butler and Gus O’Donnell ( who used to initial all his memos GOD). These men have served governments of all parties. They are incorruptible. They are fair and they treat their job with an almost sacred belief that their duty is to give impartial advice, no matter how unpalatable it might be to their democratically elected masters. It is for civil servants to advise and ministers to decide. And here lies the problem with Brexit. It is their job to give ministers options and give realistic advice based on the evidence.

Let’s be honest. Not all Treasury forecasts are set in stone. Economics can sometimes be as reliable as meteorology. So don’t look too carefully at the figures, but look at the overall trends. And the overall trend is that a hard Brexit will damage jobs and business. To what degree nobody knows. After all it hasn’t happened yet. We are akin to 1939. A phoney war. But soon the war will be a reality. It will hit home. It will affect all of us in some way, which will not be pleasant.

To attack the hard working and impartial men and women who advise ministers is an attack on our democracy. Steve Baker, who has all the charm, but not the accuracy, of a speak your weight machine, quite properly apologised on the floor of the house for repeating and giving credence to the lie that civil servants are biased. Rees Mogg hasn’t. He accused treasury officials of fiddling the figures. Fiddling whilst the Treaty of Rome burns.

It has been said that he is the sort of man whom barmaids consider to be a gentleman. This is an insult to barmaids. It is not the act of a gentleman to accuse officials, who can’t answer back, with the protection of Parliamentary privilege, of being liars. And it is not the act of a gentleman too keep peddling these blatant untruths which he knows full well don’t have even the flimsiest acquaintance with the truth.

For Andrew Turnbull, one of the mildest mannered and discreet men that I have ever met, to suggest that there are echoes of Dolchytoss (stabbing in the back scapegoats in 1930’s Germany) speaks volumes. For Gus O’Donnell to compare Brexit zealots to snake oil salesmen who don’t want their dodgy products tested, is a sign that those who guard our democracy are deeply, deeply troubled. And so should we be.

This is terrible news for democracy. The zealots are demanding the sacking of another distinguished public servant Ollie Robins. The hysteria that is gripping the carpet biting wing of the Tory party is nothing sort of a disgrace. And a very dangerous one. It is meat a drink for Corbyn and his dangerous rabble. If we start a precedent for trashing and sacking our public servants he will take it to its logical conclusion. Give him the fools and he will finish the job.

But back to Mogg. He has camouflaged himself as a great Parliamentarian. But this is nothing more than smoke and mirrors. He believes in Parliamentary sovereignty so long as it does not affect the ‘will of the people’ on an advisory referendum.

It is time for Madame to assert authority. To show leadership. To show direction, otherwise Barnier will have us for a continental breakfast. But that is exactly what the likes of Mogg want. Sod Johnny Foreigner. Two fingers to Brussels. Let plucky Blighty go it alone. Remember the war.

So a message to Mogg. Don’t be such an ocean going dolchytosser because you are piloting this country onto the rocks.

And my message to Parliament? Be Parliamentarians. Give May a chance. But if all is lost, vote with your conscience. The people will never forgive you if you don’t.



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After the Pig’s revolution the farm had been requisitioned. But inside the Tory turkey shed they were voting for an early Christmas...

2 Feb 2018 at 08:28

Piglet pressed his little nose close to the farmer’s window. How things had changed since those wicked people had been loaded onto the back of a lorry and sent to the free market and the farm requisitioned Inside comrade leader Corbyn sat rigid with fear at a large mahogany desk. In the corner piglets dressed in leather were chanting, ‘truth are lies, lies are truth’ over an over again until they collapsed into an exhausted heap. Comrade Corbyn turned to a sinister looking pig in dark clothes who was obsessed with clipboard held tightly in his left trotter.
‘Comrade John. I am concerned, deeply concerned. Why are so many animals disappearing and where are they going?’
‘Oh, they are the traitors and capitalist running dogs who want to undermine the Pig’s revolution. They are being re educated in a camp on Canvey Island. This collective will not be free until everyone has learned to love you comrade leader.’
‘And what of the Tories in the turkey shed?’
At this comrade John gave an hysterical high pitched laugh which chilled the room into a terrified silence.
‘Oh let’s leave them to their own devices’, he hissed. ‘Even as we speak they are voting for Christmas’.

Piglet was intrigued. The Tory turkey shed was just a short trot way, right next to an evil smelling factory which emitted stinking clouds of putrid smoke. Attached to the factory entrance was a sign proudly announcing, ‘welcome to the promised land’.

Piglet peered into the shed. There was much shouting and ruffling of feathers. An old turkey covered from head to toe in black and white stripes began to speak.
‘The turkeys of Great Britain have spoken in unprecedented numbers. They have demanded that we leave this farm and move into the promised land in time for Christmas, which is so near it is within touching distance. Naysayers and doom mongers tell us that the promised land is nothing more than a factory which stuns, kills and eventually stuffs us. What lies!! I Have been assured by our chief negotiator, Mr. Bernard Mathews, a well known friend of turkeys, that this is just project fear. That behind those doors is a land of milk and honey, of unprecedented turkey opportunities. A land fit for turkeys. So let’s rise up against these traitors and saboteurs. Turkeys have demanded Christmas and they want it now, not on a transitional basis. Now, now, now! Join me my fellow turkeys and vote for an early Christmas!!!

Newly hatched chicks looked at each other with tears of joy streaming onto their little beaks. And they began a chant which turned into a crescendo.
‘Mogg, Mogg, we want Mogg. Save us oh mighty Mogg’.

Rheumy eyed old birds shook their heads in sadness and shuffled out into the night, never to return.
All this confused little piglet. For it was obvious to everyone that the promised land was no more than a turkey factory. If he could see it why couldn’t they?

As he pondered this earth shattering question two enormous swine dressed in leather and carrying large clubs seized him by two trotters.
‘You should be in your sty. Comrade leader has decreed that no animal should be out at night. You are a spy. A traitor an enemy of the pig’s revolution. Come with us.’

Poor piglet was never to be seen again.



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My message to Conservative moderates? Take back control.

29 Jan 2018 at 06:37

Does Bozo want to be Prime Minister or leader of the Opposition? His slash and burn policy is suicidal for both him and the Conservative Party. The hysterical screechings from Brexiteers, terrified of their own shadows, seeing apparitions of betrayal in every corner is meat and drink to Corbyn and his goons. Do Mogg, Bozo, Dorries and the rest of this rag tag bag of obsessionists really think that by replacing Madame all our problems will disappear? The depressing thing is that they probably do.

A leadership election (there will be no coronation) will make Game of Thrones look like gentle stroll in the woods. It will be a war that never ends. Betrayals, smears and body parts rotting in the crimson stained corridors of Westminster will be the back drop to the War of the Poses. Beware. Splinter is coming.

The Tory party is being tested to destruction and nobody on the carpet biting right seem to care. Everyone must kow tow to their project. Anyone who dares warn that our rate of growth lags behind the EU, America and most of the developed world is talking our country down. Saboteurs, particularly wiley civil servants, hell bent on betraying the will of the people must be purged. My once broad church of a party, a sort of gentle C of E not at prayer, has been taken over by serpent wrestlers, snake oil salesmen and wild eyed evangelical fanatics. George McCarthy would be so proud. Now we are as wide open to entryism as Labour. As the bad ship UKIP descends to the depths of the ocean the flotsam and jetsam of the wreck is floating over to the Tories. God help us.

But I am not entirely correct in my analysis. Labour is not open to entryism, it has been. It is possessed by the diabolical entity that is Momentum and its host is Jeremy Corbyn. Most of you will not remember when moderate Andrew Macintosh won the Greater London Council for Labour. Within days there was a coup and the mad left under Ken Livingstone took control. It won’t escape your attention that John MacDonnell was in charge of the purse strings. But he was too left for even Livingtone’s mob, who sacked him for trying to push through an unlawful budget.

If the Tories give Labour the chance to win Corbyn will be replaced by MacDonnell within months if not weeks. The city will panic. A state of emergency will be declared and institutions and property will be requisitioned. And there will not be time for democratic elections. They would be a distraction. After all the People have spoken. Their will and their revolution must not be betrayed. Saboteurs will be punished. Do those last two sentences sound familiar?

Our two great parties are been taken over by extremists. There is no hope for Labour as moderation is as filthy a word as Blair.

But there is still a flicker of hope for my party. My message to Conservative moderates? Take back control.



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Britain has more in Common with Hawaii than you might think

14 Jan 2018 at 08:15

The United Kingdom has more in common with Hawaii than you might think. Yesterday the fiftieth State was thrown into panic when an incompetent pressed the wrong button sending terrified Hawaiins to the nuclear shelters in fear of Armageddon. Yet barely a week beforehand the good people of Britain began running for the hills, stocking tins of canned goods and bottled water awaiting the prerecorded ‘don’t panic’ message from John Humphreys who had already boarded a private jet to take him to a secret location in Antarctica. And as the Queen was ushered into her bunker in Buckingham Palace with a rattling biscuit tin under her arm, another message crackled across the air waves.

The the sound of klaxons, flashing lights, closing blast proof doors and senior civil servants running baths and reaching for razor blades echoed through COBBLERS, the briefing room where Theresa May runs the country. Strapped to a chair and surrounded by beefy men in white coats, her wild eyes dart across the room in a mixture of anger and bewilderment. A croaky voice screeches above the mayhem, which momentarily halts a mandarin in his search for a cyanide capsule in a tooth cavity. ‘And WHAT is WRONG with Chris Grayling becoming party chairman?’ Nick Timothy told me he would be an asset. Provide us with intellectual rigour, policies to unite the party and galvanise the country into voting for ME’. Just as she launches into her ‘ the country needs me! Only I can deliver us into a Brexit of milk and honey, and I will go ON and ON,’ speech, a Gavin enters the room and administers the liquid cosh, moves over to a flashing computer terminal, deletes GRAYLING and inputs Brandon Lewis. Almost immediately the riots in the streets and the looting subsides, whilst people plant roses in the barrels of the guns of the police. Crisis averted. The Humphreys plane diverts back to Heathrow and the Queen gets back to watching Jeremy Kyle.

A few months ago a friend of mine told me how after a good lunch at the Garrick he popped into the Kingsley Amis’s house for a digestif. He was shocked at the scene. The great man was surrounded by empty bottles. The room was strewn with paper thrown in every corner. In the middle sat Kingsley with a knitting needle stabbing randomly at the paper. My friend was aghast.
‘What on earth are you doing?’ He spluttered.
‘Oh, just choosing the shortlist for the Daily Mail poem of the year. Help yourself to a drink’.

One gets the sinking feeling that the thought process of this last reshuffle fiasco was not a great deal different.

As just about everything possible has been written about it, let me keep this simple. It was a bloody disaster. It’s no use briefing that the dead wood is going to be put on the fire unless you do it. It would have been far better to under play it all and emerge with strength and some degree of dignity. It has made her look weak. It has strengthened the power of the madmen. It has kept the incompetents in place to alienate the public still more. And it has brought morale on the back benches to an all time low. The usual whispers of a palace coup have started again, much earlier than they should have. Nothing will happen until a front runner has emerged. And the Gover has put his think tanks on the Number 10 lawn. Wisely, he has hinted that the race could be between Spider Boy and someone called Hinds. I must say that I have never heard of Hinds. But he seems to be bright and personable. I am just not sure that country is screaming for a former President of the Oxford Union to lead us into the modern world.

The whole purpose of the exercise was to show that Madame was in control. That the party had direction. Rejuvenation. Rebranding. At least with Anusol you know what it is meant to do.

I suspect that the role of Nick Timothy is overblown. He is not the Rasputin that some would like him to be. After all Rasputin was charismatic and had a thirteen inch penis. But like Timothy he was notoriously difficult to kill off. Writing pieces in the newspapers slagging off ministers is not a good idea. Nor putting forward policy options. It gives the impression that he is still running things from the political grave. It’s not a wise idea to have government by seance. Will someone have a word? Get him running a bank? Make him Governor of Bermuda?

But thanks to Trump and Henry Bolton with his latest squeeze, it is all yesterday’s news. For now. Please can someone get a grip? The local elections are a few weeks away. Momentum is slowly ethnically cleansing anyone with an ounce of decency from Labour and some very, very scary people are running the sweet shop. And the kids think it’s cool. God help us all.



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The season of goodwill is over. Time to bayonet the wounded in a reshuffle

6 Jan 2018 at 09:56

Now that the season of goodwill is over there is not a better time to start bayoneting the wounded. It’s reshuffle time. Whoop!! As an old hack, let me tell you the terrible truth about the process. None of the press have a clue about whose crawling up the ladder or sliding down the snake. It’s all guess work, rumour, misdirection and a bit of luck. As Number 10 was leaking last week that a reshuffle was likely to happen it will probably be starting today. Very few people will be in the loop. Jeremy Heywood, Gavin Barwell, probably Damien Green (yes, I know, but there is nothing to stop him privately advising May) and perhaps Spider Boy. I haven’t mentioned the chief whip because he might be for the chop or a move. Poor Julian hasn’t been a success. Losing a vote is not the end of the world, but the way he treated Charlie Elphicke, who still doesn’t know what he is accused of, was incompetence tinged with the despicable. McVey would be much more effective.

So let’s go down the road of who is seriously crap and ought to go. Let’s start with Bozo. Psychotically ambitious, lazy as a toad, as trustworthy as an Algerian brothel keeper and as much use to further British interests abroad as a cat flap in a submarine. Which means he will probably stay. There is much talk of giving him a big role in Brexit but it would be like making Harold Shipman minister for patient care.

Andrea Loathesome. So terminally dim that it’s hard to imagine her being able to walk and talk simultaneously. But clearly not as dim as the sixty odd (very odd) MPs who voted for her as leader. She has no power base, so give her a DBE and tell her to fuck off.

Chris Grayling. The Turner Prize of Ministers in that everyone wonders what he is there for. He has that rare gift of being able to wreak havoc and mayhem in every department he has, ahem, ‘run’. A man with ideas above his station, if only he could find one whiched was manned. Easy to get rid of. Time to give him a one way ticket to Epsom. Except you can’t as he has totally screwed up the railways.

Philip Hammond. Despised by everyone except, perhaps, Mrs Hammond. Hopeless at the Foreign Office and dangerous at Defence. Spider Boy watches with horror as the sky blackens with Hammond chickens coming home to roost. To be honest, I had high hopes for him at the Treasury, but he has Van Gogh’s ear for political intelligence, has seriously angered the Brexiteers and lost the confidence of May a long time ago. A mortal alignment. He really should be shown the door as there is a lingering fear, since his suicidal plan to raise national insurance for the self employed, that he will seriously fuck up. And his replacement? You are now going to think that I have gone mad. Michael Gove. Yes, I know that he is slightly bonkers about the EU and the Middle East, but nobody can deny that he is probably the most effective minister in a generation. Every department that he has run has been a success. It would be a bold move, but it would send the right signals and show that May really is back in the driving seat. To her credit she has been remarkably resilient. Very few people would have the courage and inner strength to soldier on as she has done. And much credit to Barwell for keeping the circus on the road with the minimum interference from the clowns.

The rest I don’t really care about. However, there are two names who should be in the frame for cabinet. Matt Hancock, cerebral, charming, and as good on the box as at the box. And Dominic Raab. Yes, I know he has some barking views on Brexit, but nobody can deny his ability, mastery of a brief and effectiveness with the media.

Jeremy Hunt really needs to be relieved of his heroic stint at Health. He is much underestimated. A genuinely nice guy who really does care. His response the the Crisis at Christmas, which has happened every year since the dinosaurs roamed the earth, was appropriate and masterful. He could be first minister (if she bothers to keep the title, which I doubt) in a coordination role or chairman of the party. He has appeased the Brexiteers and has a safe pair of hands. In every respect. He is one of the few people who could unite a bitterly divided party. And if you want a really good deputy chairman look no further than Kemi Badenoch the new member for Saffron Walden. Not because she is a woman and black, but because she has both charm and ability. Rare qualities nowadays.

Now for a wild card. Why not make Moggy leader of the House? Well, ok, there is a musty old library of reasons not to, but…….the splendid Patrick Kidd of the Times, who can produce the most brilliant and amusing copy out of thin air (or the space between Loathesome’s ears) would be as happy as a pig in shit. The sheer joy of business questions. The Latin. The long words. This boy has earned his pin stripes. And it will really piss off Bozo. But this has as much chance of happening as Toby Young being made Party Chairman. Oh, God don’t give them ideas



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