Chaos – mayhem – blackmail – a marriage made in merry Hell – the full extent of an electorate recklessly abusing democracy by rejecting a failed and corrupt government will become clear in about thirteen days. The Conservative party have not only lost the plot but have probably lost the May 2015 General Election.
After a long campaign of smears, personal attacks, untruths, preposterous spin and avoidance of answering straight questions, even the thickest of Tories realised that attacking the Miliband brand was making him more popular. They had a go at his dead dad which made even white van Essex man say “hang on a minute”. Constantly pushing a photograph of the unfortunate consumption of a bacon sandwich resulted in Cameron eating a hot dog at a picnic with a knife and fork. Think about that for moment and then reach for the mind bleach before asking if we deserve a Prime Minister that needs spin doctors to tell him how to eat.
The very fabric of political discourse, economic prudence, social responsibility and ethical probity was rent asunder at the earth shattering news that Miliband has two kitchens. Much worse is the revelation that common decency, morality and the sanctity of marriage is threatened by the fact that Miliband has had at least four girlfriends which is four more than George Osborne if you ignore the hooker with those strange lines of white powder and a whip. Which, in that particular case; is not Michael Gove. All this nonsense turned the Leader of the Opposition into an unlikely hunk and resulted in him being mobbed by a hen party. Cameron, on the other hand, has lots and lots of kitchens and is being stalked by a man in a chicken suit after the PM thought it best not to attend his job interview.
With the Tory campaign turning into a train crash, a new and very old tactic was dreamt up on the back of a discarded Farage fag packet. The strategy is extremely complex and too intricate for the plebs to understand but put simply it is based on promising lots of money and deploying pitchforks on immigrants. It seems interesting that all this suddenly found cash should now be promised just before an election when, after five years, it could have been used to, oh I don`t know, help a million people in hard working families currently reliant on food banks or send Cameron on a mercy mission to be carried shoulder high by the people of Benghazi. Erm…maybe not that last one; let`s bomb them instead. They way things are going; Lynton Crosby and Grant Shapps will be on the first prison ship bound for Botany Bay and given the Australian migration points system will probably end up sleeping with the fish once they reach the three mile limit.
If appearing in public with Boris Johnson is thought to be a good idea in boosting Cameron`s popularity, then wheeling out John Major to attack the SNP is proof of abject panic and utter desperation. Major, you may recall, is the last Conservative Prime Minister to win an actual majority way back in 1992 yet is still best remembered as the only carbon based life form that considered Edwina Currie alluring. You will probably need to order more mind bleach. Complaining of blackmail, Major forgets that his government was propped up by those charming Ulster Unionists and a 1922 committee with some unusual hobbies and ignores the fact that the last government was propped up by duplicitous Liberal Democrats who must surely rebrand themselves as the Crack Whore Party on May 8th.
After Major we got Blair and although that turned out to an unmitigated disaster, the Tories had William Hague, then Iain Duncan Smith and then Michael Howard as leaders. Howard has mercifully disappeared but the other two are still, technically, in government. It is probably best to allow Michael Howard to be best remembered for not answering Paxman on Newsnight but sneaking up behind Iain Duncan Smith and whispering the names of dead benefit claimants after being unjustly sanctioned would be both cruel and heartless and whispering the words “Dolphin Square” into Hague`s shell-like could induce cardiac arrest and would probably be considered as an act of terrorism. Where is Andy Coulson when you need him? Oh yeah…on remand.
Thirteen days could be a delightful Mediterranean cruise watching the corpses bobbing up and down in the briny, or the statutory residence period in the Cayman Islands to avoid paying tax, or the average wait in an A and E department or the time it takes for the bloody bank to answer the bloody phone.
Thirteen days is a long time in politics and even longer in Bedlam.