There are three things of significance about Labour’s victory in the Peterborough by election. Firstly, that if the Brexit Party can’t win a seat where  61% voted leave, despite their polling, they are nothing more than a bubble party that will eventually burst. Secondly, the election of a well known anti Semite not only shames Labour but will turbo boost the disintegration of the Corbyn leadership. And finally, it nails the lie that is being peddled by the carpet biters that if we don’t leave the EU by the 31 October the Conservative party will become extinct. It won’t. And what is wicked is that they know it won’t. 

 

So the leadership elections grind relentlessly on. Anodyne, safe focus group proofed and disgracefully held behind closed doors. The election of a Prime Minister in secret. What have we come too? There is one glorious exception, Rory Stewart. Like Thatcher and Blair he reaches out to people who would never vote Conservative in a month of Sundays. In other words, he is capable of winning an election. This rather terrifies the other candidates and they desperately want to keep him out of any televised debates. The people might like him, we can’t have that. Johnson is kept chained and gagged in Lynton Crosby’s dungeon being force fed lines to take and what not to say. But the gaffer has been let out to woo his MP selectorate. He is showered down, given a haircut, put in a suit that isn't a hand me down from Patrick Moore, sat at an imposing desk and told to look Prime Ministerial. Then the first mark enters and is waived to a seat. 

“Ah, George how good to see you”

“Robert” whispers an aide.

“So Robert you really have done a wonderful job at the Home Office”.

“Treasury”, hisses the aide.

“Anyhow, enough of this election malarkey you will play a very important role in my government should you be kind enough to support me. I won’t detain you any further. ‘Bon chance’ as that bastard Euro traitor Gove might not say! Oh, And if you are asked to write a newspaper piece saying how dynamic, Heineken and Corbyn slaying I am please feel free. Ah, and by chance here is one I knocked up earlier. Feel free dear chum, feel free”.

 

And at that the young man on a high at having not just spoken to the great man, but promised a senior role and called an ‘old chum’ is smitten”.

“Who the fuck was that?”

“Er, someone called Jerrick, Jennick, or something like that”.

 

“Splendid. Who next?”

“Some Rambo chappie called Mercer”.

“Splendid. Send him in. Ronnie old horse good too see you. You really are doing a wonderful job in, whatever that department is that gives money to bongo bongo land. Love your books. That one when you walk across Afghanistan with a fridge on your back....hilarious. Look, let’s not beat about the proverbial I can see a very senior role for you in my government. Any good at sums”?

“Actually”, whispers the aid, “you’ve offered the chancellorship to about eight others, including Leadsom and Truss”.

“Leadsom, Leadsom that woman from Mumsnet? Ah,Truss is very good news. Loved her book, Eats shoots and Weaves. 

 

 

What will destroy Boris will be the debates if he doesn’t self detonate beforehand. How will they persuade him to read his briefs? How will they prevent him from saying something really, really stupid? 

 

Which brings me to the political suicides of Raab and McVey. A messy business. Two deeply unpleasant people with scary views. Good riddance.

 

But my favourite image of the Peterborough by election is of Farage appearing in a cloud of televisual glory to claim victory only to hide from the press in the toilets. Not flushed with success. 

 

So what are the messages for the Tory party? You don’t need to do deals with Farage and you may not be facing Corbyn at the next election. Deliver a Brexit that doesn’t wreck the economy provided it is before the the next election. And for God’s sake get the leadership hustings into the open. Let the public see who will be their next Prime Minister. Lastly, remember that the Brexit party is like a giant rubber bubble. They have Farage and Widdecombe. One more prick and it will burst