The horror, the horror

 

© RTE

 

My apologies for writing another post about the contest to be the next British Prime Minister and Conservative Party leader so soon after the last post I wrote about it.  There may be regular readers of this blog who are still trying to rinse their eyeballs with bleach after reading about the ultra-sexy Michael Gove and his fondness for slurping a certain type of powder up his nostrils.

 

But I feel I have to write something about it, since the bloody thing seems to have been going on forever.  It feels like the contest started back in the Jurassic period when no fewer than ten candidates existed – when stomping around the Tory political earth were such cold-blooded, slow-witted reptilian monsters as Ester McVey (gobshiteosaurus) and Dominic Raab (bawbagosaurus max).  Now it’s been narrowed down to two candidates, Alexander Boris de Piffle, sorry, de Pfeffel Johnson and the rhyming-slang-friendly Jeremy Hunt, which doesn’t say a lot for the quality of the earlier contenders.  Yet it won’t be until July 22nd that the result of the final vote by Conservative Party members is announced.  Which means we have to endure several more weeks of this torture, of hearing Johnson and Hunt slagging each other off, singing their own praises and beating their chests.  Maybe by the time the final vote takes place climate change will have rendered humanity extinct and there won’t be a Britain for Johnson or Hunt to take control of.

 

Anyway, for what they’re worth, here are my predictions.  Firstly, I think Johnson is going to win despite his campaign being overshadowed by controversy.  The main controversy was the incident earlier this month when concerned neighbours summoned police to investigate what sounded like a ‘domestic dispute’ in the flat he shares with his current partner Carrie Symonds.  Actually, I don’t think what happened that night should have a bearing on the final verdict on Johnson and Hunt because couples do have rows and do end up shouting at each other, no arrests were made after the police arrived and checked things out, and ‘the benefit of the doubt’ is a concept worth upholding in a fair society.

 

If Johnson is to be judged an absolutely hideous excuse for a human being – which I think he deserves to be – it should be for deeds that are a matter of record.  These include his antics while he was a member of the notorious Bullingdon Club, Oxford University’s dining society for posh hooligans.  And agreeing to provide his old school chum (and future jailbird) Darius Guppy with the home address of News of the World journalist Stuart Collier, so that Guppy could have Collier beaten up.  And being sacked from the Times for fabricating a quotation.  And describing black African people as ‘piccaninnies’.  And describing gay men as ‘tank-topped bumboys’ and likening gay marriage to bestiality.  And publishing an editorial that insulted the city of Liverpool and publishing a poem choc-a-bloc with racist sentiments about Scottish people (“The Scots – what a verminous race! / Canny, pushy, chippy, they’re all over the place… / I would go further.  The nation / Deserves not merely isolation / But complete extermination”) whilst editing the Spectator.  And his dealings with American right-wing über-knobhead Steve Bannon.  And his lies during the run-up to the 2016 referendum on Britain’s withdrawal from the European Union.  And his utter ineptness as Foreign Secretary, one consequence of which was the continued incarceration of Nazanin Zaghari-Ratcliffe in Iran.

 

From paxonbothhouses.blogspot.com

 

However, all of the above, including the unseemly shouting match between Johnson and Symonds, are likely to matter not one whit with the 160,000 people who make up the Conservative Party membership and who’ll be casting their votes in July.  According to profiles of them, they have an average age of 57, are obsessed with Brexit and believe that bringing back hanging will cure all of Britain’s ills, presumably including low achievement levels in schools.  They’re generally untethered from reality and no doubt see all media coverage critical of Johnson as lefty fake news (which is ironic considering how right-wing most of Britain’s media is).

 

It’s like Donald Trump’s supporters in the USA who refuse to believe the mountain of evidence that their president is a corrupt, misogynist, racist sleazeball.  Trump could come round to their house, steal all their money, grab them by the genitalia and scream racist abuse into their faces and they’d still be going: “No, no, I refuse to believe this, this isn’t real, it’s fake news, FAKE NEWS do you hear?!”  So it is with the Tory Party faithful and their dismissal of negative coverage of their beloved Boris.  (Carrie Symonds’ neighbours probably didn’t help their cause by making a recording of the dispute and later sending it to the Guardian, which in Tory minds is a newspaper akin to Soviet-era Pravda.)

 

Therefore, it’s going to be Prime Minister Johnson come late July.  My second prediction is that a no-deal Brexit will happen sooner or later.  I know many political commentators have confidently predicted that despite their Brexiting bluster just now, both Johnston and Hunt, whoever becomes PM, will have a reality check once they’re in office and will try to appease the EU with another Theresa May-style deal.  But this will require time and I’m not convinced that the EU will give Britain another extension to the current Brexit deadline of October 31st.

 

Also, I suspect that Johnson, at least, would hold a general election soon after becoming Prime Minister if he thought he could win it.  And having won it, he’d then go hell-for-leather for a no-deal departure from Europe – even if the British economy was wrecked in the process, he’d have his majority and he’d be ensconced in power.  To stand any chance of winning such an election, he’d have to do a deal with Nigel Farage’s Brexit Party, who in the recent European Parliament elections stole the right-wing vote from the Tories.  But since both Johnson and Farage are in Steve Bannon’s address book, I reckon a deal is entirely feasible.

 

Third prediction: British people cringing at how their country’s reputation has gone down the pan internationally have seen nothing yet.  Wait until Prime Minister Johnson goes to Washington DC and starts acting as Trump’s comedy English butler.

 

© The National

 

And my fourth and final prediction, which comes from a Scottish perspective: it will be hilarious, if somewhat nauseating, to see how the slippier-than-a-greased-eel Ruth Davidson, branch manager of the Conservative Party in Scotland, changes her tune and becomes accommodating to all things Boris the moment Johnson arrives in Number 10 Downing Street.  Davidson once opposed Brexit, once accused the Leave campaign of lying and once took on Johnson in a public debate on the topic; but at different times since she has backed the UK staying in the Single Market, has opposed the UK staying in the Single Market, has backed a hard Brexit and has also backed an ‘open’ Brexit, whatever that is.  Her wriggliness is a sight to behold.

 

With Johnson, Davidson has criticised him for his ‘bumble-bluster, kitten-smirk, tangent-bombast routine’ and even banned him from appearing at the recent Scottish Tory Party conference in Aberdeen, presumably fearful that the spectacle of him on the podium would damage the party’s cause in Scotland.  But come the coronation of PM Boris, I’m sure that Davidson, ever mindful of the direction in which the wind is blowing, will be first in line to slap him on the back and congratulate him with her famous chuckle-some bonhomie.

 

Incidentally, when Johnson becomes PM, I expect him to dump the woeful David Mundell as Scottish Secretary of State and replace him with Ross Thomson, the dingbat right-wing MP for Aberdeen South.  Thomson’s sycophancy towards Johnson has been epic.  When I see pictures of them together, Thomson reminds me of the deranged, bug-eating minion Milo Renfield in the presence of his master, Count Dracula.

 

From twitter.com

 

Though I’ve gone on about what a horror Johnson will be as Prime Minister, I certainly don’t want to imply that Jeremy Hunt would be any better.  Hunt has claimed that even in the event of a no-deal Brexit, Britain would ‘flourish and prosper’, so in that respect he’s no better than his rival.  He also co-wrote, once upon a time, a book calling for Britain’s National Health Service ‘to be replaced by a new system of health provision in which people pay money into personal healthcare accounts, which they could then use to shop around for care from public and private providers.’  I’m sure those words would come back to haunt him if, as PM, he had to go to Washington DC to beg Trump for a post-Brexit UK-US trade deal.  As Trump has emphatically stated, in negotiations for any such deal, the NHS is ‘on the table’.

 

So to use rhyming slang – whoever finally wins this torturously protracted contest, we’re going to end up with a right Jeremy Hunt as Prime Minister.

 

© The Daily Record

 

A Fluffi-shambles

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From the National

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Last week was not an auspicious one for politicians who’ve served as Member of Parliament for Peebles, my hometown in Scotland. 

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Firstly, Lord David Steel, who was the town’s MP from 1965 until 1997 (while it was part of the constituencies of Roxburgh, Selkirk and Peebles and then Tweeddale, Ettrick and Lauderdale) and who is also a former leader of the Liberal Party (now the Liberal Democrats) found himself in some severe shit.  He admitted in a hearing for the Independent Inquiry into Child Sexual Abuse (IICSA) that in 1979 he’d ‘assumed’ his fellow Liberal MP Cyril Smith was guilty of child abuse at a hostel in Smith’s constituency of Rochdale.  Not only did Steel appear to turn a blind eye to this matter at the time, but nine years later he recommended Smith for a knighthood.  Since Smith’s death in 2010, police have uncovered ‘overwhelming evidence’ that he was an abuser of young boys.  By Thursday last week, it’d been announced that “the office bearers of the Scottish Liberal Democrats have met and agreed that an investigation is needed.  The party membership of Lord Steel has been suspended pending the outcome of that investigation.”

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Then there were the desperate and undignified squirmings of David Mundell, the Conservative MP for Dumfriesshire, Clydesdale and Tweeddale, a constituency that Peebles got lumped in with in 2005.  Since 2015, Mundell, or ‘Fluffy’ as he’s commonly known, has also served as Secretary of State for Scotland in the Conservative governments of David Cameron and Theresa May.  He didn’t win this position because of the possession of a stunning intellect, abilities or personality but because in 2015 he was the only Conservative MP left in Scotland.  (Back then, at the yearly Agricultural Show held in Peebles, the Conservative Party would invariably set up a tent and Mundell, aka The Only Tory MP In Scotland, would sit inside, ready to press the flesh with his constituents, should any present themselves.  Passers-by would invariably point and crack the well-worn joke: “Look, there’s the Rare Breeds Tent.”)

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Last week, it became clear that the UK government and parliament were in omni-shambles mode.  The parliament managed to vote against Theresa May’s Brexit deal, against the holding of a second Brexit referendum, against the UK leaving the European Union without a deal, against the so-called Malthouse Compromise and against parliament being allowed to take control of the whole sorry Brexit process.  But even in the midst of this omni-shambles, Mundell’s behaviour stood out as particularly shambolic – his was the Fluffi-shambles. 

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He found himself caught between the rock of his party’s enthusiasm for Brexit and the hard place of knowing, quietly, how damaging Brexit is likely to be for Scotland (which voted overwhelming against leaving Europe), for his heavily agriculture-dependent Scottish constituency and for his own re-election prospects.  Finally, he defied the government whip when the vote was called on ruling out an economically disastrous no-deal Brexit.  The Conservative government demanded he voted against it being ruled out, whereas Mundell wanted it ruled out.  Being spineless, though, he chose to abstain rather than vote the other way from his political peers and masters. 

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In ordinary times, even Mundell’s abstention would be treated as a defiance of government policy and a resigning matter for a minister.  However, in these extraordinary times, with Theresa May exerting about as much authority as a wet paper bag, Mundell got away with it without resigning.  Happily for him – the basic salary for an ordinary MP was £77,379 in 2018, but as Secretary of State for Scotland he can claim £67,505 on top of that (well, going by 2017 figures). 

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A subsequent interview saw Mundell give a less-than-polished account of himself: “I’m not, er, resigning because I support the Prime Minister in her course, er, of action.  Her course of action is, er, to leave, er, with a deal, er, in an orderly Brexit but I just… I’m very clear that I don’t support, er, a no-deal, er, Brexit and I’ve made, er, I’ve made that clear on numerous occasions, the House has made its view clear, and the government is responding and taking forward, er, the decision of the House today…  There are a number of cabinet ministers, ministerial colleagues, er, who didn’t wish to oppose what was clearly, er, the will of the House on not leaving, er, without, er, on not leaving with, er, in a no-deal, er, Brexit…”

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I’d say that during the interview Mundell looked like a rabbit frozen in some car headlights, but that would disparage the courage, grit and determination displayed by rabbits frozen in car headlights everywhere.  Indeed, Mundell’s snivelling performance would make the average rabbit frozen in car headlights look like Mel Gibson leading the Scottish forces into action at the Battle of Stirling in Braveheart (1995).

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Oddly, the ‘numerous occasions’ when Mundell made it clear he was against a no-deal Brexit didn’t extend to an amendment tabled in parliament in late February to rule out that very thing.  Mundell refused to support it, or even abstain on it, because those tabling the amendment were the Scottish National Party.  He dismissed this as a ‘stunt’ and claimed that the SNP actually want the chaos that a no-deal Brexit would cause.  Which is evidently why they proposed an amendment calling on the UK government to prevent a no-deal Brexit from happening…  What?

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From twitter.com / @scottishlabour

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When it comes to tying himself in knots like this, Mundell has form.  In October last year, he and Scottish Conservative leader Ruth Davidson threatened that they “would resign if Northern Ireland faces new controls that separate it from the rest of the UK” in some new Brexit deal.  Officially, this was because they feared it would “fuel the case for Scottish independence.”  Unofficially, I suspect they were playing to the hard-line Protestant, Glasgow Rangers-supporting gallery in the west of Scotland that has strong ties with the pro-British Protestant community in Northern Ireland, a gallery whose votes they’ve benefited from in recent years.  A few days later Mundell turned round and declared that he hadn’t intended to resign at all – and by mid-November May had indeed proposed a Brexit deal that might involve separate arrangements for Northern Ireland.  At least his £67,505 ministerial top-up salary was safe.

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In fact, whenever I see yet another cringing turn by David Mundell, I wonder why there’s any point in having a Secretary of State for Scotland at all.  After all, responsibility for the running of Scotland’s domestic affairs doesn’t lie with him but with the Scottish government, at the Scottish parliament in Edinburgh, which was set up in 1999.  But the real reason why there’s a Secretary of State is obvious – the Scottish government is run by the pesky SNP and London feels the need to have the likes of David Mundell hovering in the background, looking on and harrumphing disapprovingly, like history’s crappest colonial governor ever. 

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And I sometimes wonder too if Theresa May, whose empathy, emotional intelligence and people skills are not thought to be large, even knows who poor old Mundell is.  It wouldn’t surprise me if she believes he’s some fluffy-faced Caledonian footman who’s on hand to tend to her whenever her advisors decree that she visits the God-forsaken northern regions of her domain. 

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Still, awesomely hapless though he is, at least last week Mundell didn’t vote to leave the door open for a no-deal Brexit, even though by abstaining he didn’t vote against it either.  That’s more than could be said for most of his dozen fellow Scottish Conservative MPs, who cravenly ignored the pro-EU wishes of their electorates and voted with the government.  These include such specimens as Kirstene Hair, the intellectually-challenged MP for Angus, who once admitted to not voting in the Brexit referendum because she found the choice on offer ‘very difficult’.  Or the splendidly unhinged Ross Thomson, MP for Aberdeen South, who last month got involved in a stushie in the UK parliament’s Strangers’ Bar, where he was accused of groping a number of people’s bottoms.  Thomson’s defence was that he’d been drinking for five hours and was merely grabbing those bottoms in order to stop himself falling over, like they were handles or ledges.  From this, I can only surmise that there are some very peculiarly shaped bottoms in the pubs of Westminster.

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Actually, should Mundell decide that he can’t take it any longer, don’t be surprised if Mad Ross ends up as the next Secretary of State for Scotland. It’s not as if he’ll have to live up to the reputation of a distinguished predecessor.

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From the Evening Times

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