The penny is finally starting to drop.
The press and, if my experience is anything to go by, the public are salivating at the prospect of a shed load of MPs being undone by their venal expenses claims.
The Cabinet are starting to fall upon one another like a pack of ravenous hounds as criticism is followed by denial, followed by infighting, followed by calls for unity. I can only ever see a call for unity as a call to get behind the person calling for unity. Brown’s colleagues are starting to edge away from the ranting madman in front of them to the door marked ‘emergency exit’, no-one wanting to be the first to hit the push-bar and setting off the alarm, even fewer wanting to be the last to get through. The New Labour project really is in its last days, the air in Number 10 and on the government front benches is heavy with the stench of decay.
The facts of the matter are this; ever since Brown and Blair’s New Labour project has been put into action, the humiliation of the party has been as certain as night following day. From day one, with celebrities queuing up to get into Downing Street for a photo-op, (wherefore now, Oasis, Damon Albarn, Bonio and other celebs?), an obsession with the projection of image over every other consideration, spin, spin, spin, spin and more spin, incredible hubris, vanity and arrogance, from that very first moment, Labour were destined to consume themselves in a Bacchanalian feast that they thought would last for ever. Just as the banks gorged themselves on financial capital that didn’t exist, Labour have gorged themselves on an equally imagined political capital.
They are utterly discredited. They have betrayed those whom they promised the Earth in 1997, they have angered the rest of the population, they pick battles they cannot win against those with huge popular support, and make pronouncements they cannot back-up, or promise referenda they have no intention of delivering. They seek to control every aspect our lives, record where we go, with whom we speak, which websites we visit, to whom we send emails, or chat with on Facebook. They demand our most personal genetic and biometric data, demand we place our children on a database for their safety and security, whilst using the same argument to exclude the recording of their own progeny. The bleating of ‘four legs good, two legs baaaaad’ from the farm is audible from the bar of the village pub, crippled with enormous tax hikes, a ban on smoking and a government health inspector tut-tutting as people drink their beer and noting down who consumes what, lest that information should be needed in the future. And whilst they do all this, they cream millions of pounds of our money off into their pockets like tinpot dictators of flyblown, swamp-ridden African countries.
Not one of them, not one, has the self-awareness or decency to hold their hands up to the offences committed against this country. The deceit and deception is total, and still as the slow, painful and bloody end approaches, the party nobility just do not get it, they deceive even themselves. Neil Kinnock has told the Guardian this morning that this squabbling is ‘ludicrous and damaging’ and that the jockeying for position in anticipation of the inevitable will ‘hand victories to the BNP’.
Well, no Neil, you’re wrong. I don’t quite understand how one man with such a long political history can have been so successful despite being so wrong, so much of the time. No-one is going to vote BNP because Harriet doesn’t like Hazel, Hazel doesn’t like Ed, Ed doesn’t like David, David can’t stand Maragaret, Margaret abhors Alistair, Alistair hates Charles and everyone despises Gordon. What do we expect? They’d all walk upon disabled babies to sit in that big chair. We understand they all want power, it is just that we don’t want Labour to have it, they’ve had it for 12 years and have squandered the opportunities afforded to them.
People aren’t going to vote BNP because of your little rows, Neil, people will vote BNP because they have cleverly and skilfully positioned themselves to occupy the space vacated by the party, who charged on the attack, like Pyrrhus, to this authoritarian ground where control over everyone, everything, must be complete.
The only remaining question to be answered will be whether those in charge of the project have the courage to administer the injection, putting their pet to sleep, or whether they will sit back and watch in denial as it lies on the floor fighting to catch its final breath.