Decamot of the month

03 Sep 2016-Labour's Lost Loves

This Decamot was Inspired by the following Decamot Items: druid, estuary, shaven head, extendable ladder, misapprehension, spectacle, vigil, radiator, shower, police

Tony Bair has always invited comparisons with Walter Mitty. He became leader of the Labour Party when he ought really to have been a conservative. After all, his father had been one. He adopted a strange estuary English to disguise his Fettes education. At the height of his electoral success he even considered sporting a shaven head to woo those parts of the Labour heartland who didn’t really relate to him. Finally he converted to Roman Catholicism as he thought the masses would follow. They did, weekly, but not as he had imagined. According to his critics, he even made a spectacle of himself over that nice mass murderer Saddam Hussein.

Jeremy Corbyn has also invited comparisons with Walter Mitty. He became leader of the Labour Party when he ought really to have been chief druid such is his devotion to mystical causes. The press maintains a vigil outside his Islington home. The masses shower him with affection. His utterances when squatting cross-legged in the corridors of Virgin trains are the stuff of legends, as are his promises to nationalise the very air we breathe. Thus it is that his followers await the next general election with baited breath. His offer to chain every pensioner to his or her personal state supplied radiator in order to keep warm in the winter is another corker of a policy proposal.

As ever William Shakespeare saw all this coming. The trials and tribulations of the Capulets and the Montagues are mirrored in the Corbynistas and the Blairites. Both members of the worldwide socialist fraternity labour under the misapprehension that they are really all one big happy family. A resolution of this impasse was urgently sought.

Thus it came to pass that a contest was devised by the GMB union, accounts of which were to be recorded as a codicil to Magna Carta for posterity. A huge eighty foot totem pole soaked in axle grease was erected at Runnymede. Jeremy Corbyn sat at its base wearing an orange Mahatma Gandhi loin cloth and a Chairman Mao peaked cap with red star, poised ready for the signal to climb.

At one minute to three o’clock, a fire engine with extendable ladder arrived with a police escort carrying the unmistakable figure of a confident Tony Blair resplendent in a Sergeant Pepper uniform with epaulettes sponsored by Virgin Atlantic. He waved his personal rosary in the general direction of his adoring supporter as he climbed the ladder and prepared to transfer himself to the top of the totem pole where he too awaited the signal to commence.

The rules were simple. When the bell tolled Corbyn was to climb whilst Blair was to execute a controlled descent. If they met exactly in the middle of the Pole and held that position for 20 minutes, the New Democratic Socialist Trotskyite Party would be declared HM Official Opposition and entitled to be taken seriously in perpetuity. Otherwise they faced total and permanent obscurity.

In the event, Corbyn had no head for heights. And Blair, like a number of formerly successful populist politicians (Berlusconi and Sarkozy spring to mind) was unable to deny the forces of gravity and slid with ever increasing velocity to the ground. That event is still celebrated yearly on May Day, and dancing round the May pole will become the next Olympic sport.