Lost Vote
I despair, as I find I do with ever increasing frequency nowadays. This time it's with the Liberal Democrats. Again.
I don't nail any kind of political colour to my mast as a rule but probably due to some long held admiration for the underdog I have always had a certain sympathy for the third party. I don't always agree with them but they've seemed fairly innocuous and I often felt I had the upper hand in a polarised political argument because I had the stock "Well, I didn't vote for either of them, so it's all your fault. My round?" killer point holstered, cocked and ready to fire.
If you remember, it won a recent by-election in Dunfirmline despite being in a heap of turmoil following the revelations surrounding Mr Kennedy's lushness and Messrs Oaten and Hughes' private experimentations. It had an air of Captain Scarlet indestructability about it so the time would be ripe therefore, to take advantage of both a government increasingly having to slink off and lick its own wounds while in a sort of uncomfortable stasis as it prepares for the succession and a mildly resurgent Conservative Party still finding its feet and direction under a new leader.
So what do they do in their own leadership election? Elect Mr Hughes, who despite being a bit slippers and cardigan, is still fairly young but with immense experience? Or elect Mr Huhne, who is a dashing young media man full of brash new ideas? No. They elect, by a huge majority, a 64-year-old ex Olympic runner who has pledged to modernise the party and with a name nobody really knows how to pronounce.
Sir Menzies Campbell will be past the current age of retirement come the next general election so quite what the forward-thinking electorate were imagining is beyond me. The only thing most chaps of his age are looking forward to is a sly cheroot behind the compost heap, not leading a political party. So come the next general election in 2009 or 2010, the pumped up Tories under the boy Cameron and Gordon's revitalised troops will be facing the threat of a party more concerned with whether its leader will be able to climb down the steps of the battlebus. Parliament will have to make sure debates aren't scheduled for Thursday as it's pension day and it's that nice Mr Perkins and his dancing poodle do a turn at the Pop-In centre at 2.30 (free slice of Battenberg with your tea as well).
So, in a lone bid to get the party to see some kind of collective sense I will shortly be circulating the utterly fallacious rumour that Ming took monkey glands shortly before the Tokyo Olympics and that he should shamefully resign, leaving Mr Kennedy to reclaim what's rightfully his.
I don't nail any kind of political colour to my mast as a rule but probably due to some long held admiration for the underdog I have always had a certain sympathy for the third party. I don't always agree with them but they've seemed fairly innocuous and I often felt I had the upper hand in a polarised political argument because I had the stock "Well, I didn't vote for either of them, so it's all your fault. My round?" killer point holstered, cocked and ready to fire.
If you remember, it won a recent by-election in Dunfirmline despite being in a heap of turmoil following the revelations surrounding Mr Kennedy's lushness and Messrs Oaten and Hughes' private experimentations. It had an air of Captain Scarlet indestructability about it so the time would be ripe therefore, to take advantage of both a government increasingly having to slink off and lick its own wounds while in a sort of uncomfortable stasis as it prepares for the succession and a mildly resurgent Conservative Party still finding its feet and direction under a new leader.
So what do they do in their own leadership election? Elect Mr Hughes, who despite being a bit slippers and cardigan, is still fairly young but with immense experience? Or elect Mr Huhne, who is a dashing young media man full of brash new ideas? No. They elect, by a huge majority, a 64-year-old ex Olympic runner who has pledged to modernise the party and with a name nobody really knows how to pronounce.
Sir Menzies Campbell will be past the current age of retirement come the next general election so quite what the forward-thinking electorate were imagining is beyond me. The only thing most chaps of his age are looking forward to is a sly cheroot behind the compost heap, not leading a political party. So come the next general election in 2009 or 2010, the pumped up Tories under the boy Cameron and Gordon's revitalised troops will be facing the threat of a party more concerned with whether its leader will be able to climb down the steps of the battlebus. Parliament will have to make sure debates aren't scheduled for Thursday as it's pension day and it's that nice Mr Perkins and his dancing poodle do a turn at the Pop-In centre at 2.30 (free slice of Battenberg with your tea as well).
So, in a lone bid to get the party to see some kind of collective sense I will shortly be circulating the utterly fallacious rumour that Ming took monkey glands shortly before the Tokyo Olympics and that he should shamefully resign, leaving Mr Kennedy to reclaim what's rightfully his.
posted by Richard at 2:21 pm
3 Vegetable peelings:
Do you think a person can be too poor to have politics? I have reason to think I am one of these people. Too small to have a voice.
Depends what you're shouting about. Beauty of this place, isn't it. It never seems like you're talking to yourself
I've gone a rather tasteful shade of tangerine.
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