MPM in the UK – diving below mediocrity

Heading for the fire exit, frightening Brussels, the Establishment’s progress, limboing towards leadership and other stories


meglycinessnipIt’s at last beginning to dawn on me that the UK’s political anarchy at the moment is probably a cunning plan to get things moving more quickly in Brussels-am-Berlin. It’s based on the principle that, if we appear to be completely mad, they’ll think of us a dangerous radioactive isotope, and push us away with all haste.

Personally, I think we should take the Erdogan approach and demand to be paid to leave the EU. You know, threaten to unleash 40,000 England fans, having encouraged them to rape and pillage at will: “Twenty billion Quid or you get a dose of British disease – stuff it up your Juncker”.

I’m sure it would work. When the drunk gets on the late bus, we all pray he won’t sit next to us, don’t we? Our eyes are fixed in a close examination of the wooden ribbing on the floor. But five minutes after he does sit next to you, you’d pay him anything to bugger off.

And there’s a further advantage to letting loose the Dogs of War: we could pretend we didn’t know them when they tried to get back in. We could deport them to Gibraltar, and then give it back to Spain. Another two problems solved, and one in the eye for Tidings of Comfort & Rajoy – who gave forth yesterday on why he though Scotland was part of Britain, end of.

Maybe we should reverse history, and send an Armada of Celtic hooligans to Spain hell bent on revenge for Rajoy daring to badmouth Scottish aspirations to independence.

I suppose my point here is that there are many ways to get TF out of the EU. But The Borisgove doesn’t seem interested in any of them. Whyever not, we wonder.

While the major Party meltdown (to be dubbed ‘MPM’ in the best traditions of the blogosphere) is oddly fascinating to watch – and increasingly funny – there is a clear and consistent thread running through the mayhem at all times.

It is this: the Establishment is ruthlessly taking back the territory it lost last week. Whether it be freezing UKip out of the deliberations, ousting Jeremy Corbyn – or blathering on about the need for calm, slow deliberation on the logistics of Brexit – everything points to the same end goal: after a period of stabbing frenzy, Business as Usual.

An Old Etonian isn’t going to be the next occupant of Downing Street, but a member of the Newscorp mafia may well be. BoJo never was acceptable to the Tory Establishment; how odd it must feel to this gross élitist to be frozen out.

The Corbyn who looked at one time like he might actually break the Labout Establishment seems likely to be replaced by just another acceptably unattractive nonentity leading the Labour Party into the wilderness.

The rest of us, meanwhile, are outside watching the party on big screens….as a sop to being disenfranchised by the FPTP voting system.

Apart from this recent Referendum, I haven’t voted since 1985. Not merely because 99% of them are useless thieves (although that’s something I do take into consideration) but chiefly because nobody gives me a hierarchy of choice, or the option to tick ‘none of the above’.

The Leave/Remain vote was unique in being the nearest we will ever get now to direct, popular democracy. Yes, everyone lied and yes, all the media were ludicrously biased…but at least every vote was equal. Leave won. Asking the whole thing to be rerun because of fraudulent claims or media bias is like screaming once you put your finger in the bacon slicer: it’s a bacon slicer dummy, its sharp – bacon slicers are always sharp. No, we’re not going to make the bacon slicer blunt just because you want to pretend you didn’t know it was sharp.

So it is all rather telling that when the neoliberals and socialists lose in a direct democratic decision, they insist that the ref change his decision. The Left does it through chanting puerile slogans and writing daft tweets; the neoliberals – who are ghastly, but smarter – simply go away quietly to plot a new route round the volcano on their way to the Broken Promise Land.

The logical (and ethical) thing for the Left to do would be to adopt proportional representation as a key election promise, and ally themselves to the SNP and any others keen to have a qualitatively different Britain. But the Left never, ever moans about a voting system invented in the Tory shires four hundred years ago. Because without it, both they and the Conservatives would be history within a decade.

Everything involves selective morality in ideological politics.

Meanwhile, back at the MPM, the best part of fifteen wannabe leaders are bidding to eclipse the mediocrity of the last lot by demonstrating their ability to limbo under even that bar with ease.The only non-mediocre (albeit thoroughly malign) player Borisconi having fallen on his sword, going down below mediocrity is now The New Black.

So I thought it might be informative take a potshot at one or two of these drongos over the next few weeks; but first of all, it’s important to establish what comes below ‘mediocre’.

The etymology sites I went to weren’t a lot of help, to be honest: they had things like useless, unfit, ignorant and so forth, but all pretty much on the same level as mediocre. There is, sadly, no such word as lowestocre or bottomocre; which is a shame, because many of the runners and riders declaring themselves at the moment really are from the bottomocre of the barrel.

There’s also the need, however, to find a word that would accurately describe the known behaviours of those aspiring to the crown, and the fact that, whether we like it or not, they are the dish being served up…that there’s unlikely to be anything on the menu we might want to choose.

So after much thought, I’ve decided on the descriptor ‘tapioca’.

Tapioca has much to commend it in this context. As a food form, I’ve avoided it ever since the days of school dinners, when I learned the hard way that it’s like eating bland frogspawn. It is nothing more than a bag of balls wobbling in one’s dish, is tapioca. It is repulsive. I’ve yet to meet anyone who likes it.

As you can discern therefore, it ticks all the boxes: pondlife, a load of balls, utterly undistinguished, unattractive and impossible to market. Observe below as I make the point pictorially:


So henceforth, the review of political hopefuls at The Slog will be referred to as the search for who has The Tapioca Factor. Stay tuned.

A recurring remark I’ve come across over the last five days is, “One gets the feeling that, after all the arguments and counter arguments chucked about during the referendum, we’ve learned nothing”.

I go along with most of that, but ‘nothing’ is I think a little harsh. I found the campaign a near-failsafe way of confirming my views about various people in public life. That Bob Geldof, for instance, is a prick, Osborne a bully, Polly Toynbee a bigot wrapped in a cliché, Kate Hoey a star, Dennis Skinner a genuine national treasure, Nigel Farage a loose popgun, and Jon Snow a one eyed, one-trick pony.

I also felt by the end of it all that, were the Queen ever to invite me to form an Administration of all the Talents, I’d be well-equipped so to do:

Minister of Mental Health,  Michael Gove

Minister for Drugs, George Osborne

Minister of Cookery Books, Jeremy Hunt

Minister of False Flags, Jeremy Corbyn

Minister of Punishment, Stephen Crabb

Minister of Invention, Nicola Sturgeon

Minister of Sport, Nigel Farage

Minister for Music, Tom Watson

Minister for the Environment, Dan Hannan

Home Secretary, Nicky Morgan 150 words pm

Chancellor of the Exchequer, Jeremy Bentham

Minister without Moral Compass, Hilary Benn

Prime Minister, Kate Hoey

Minister keeping an eye on all the other bastards, Denis Skinner

Good morning, one and all.

Yesterday at The Slog: Life in the EU after March 31st 2017