Tag: Labour

7 Reasons It’ll Be Great Under David & Nick

Yesterday I watched David and Nick in the garden. I don’t know about you, but I kind of liked it. I felt a sense of profound optimism. Maybe it’s me. Maybe I am deluded. Maybe my sense of profound optimism combined with my natural optimism has made me go completely loopy, but I think it might just work. I think it might just be great under Dave and Nick. And here’s why:

1. It’s In The Names. The meaning of David is beloved. The meaning of Nick is victory of the people. That sounds good to me. Incidentally the meaning of Gordon is large fortification. Which probably explains why it took so bloody long to get rid of him.

2. It’s In The Colours. Anyone who went to school and paid attention when they accidentally knocked over the blue and yellow paint bottles, will know that, when combined, they make green*. You know what this means. The environment. David and Nick are going to save us from Global Warming. Caroline Lucas must be furious.

3. It’s In The Hands. As luck would have it, David and Nick seem to favour opposite hands. As the above shows, David likes his right and Nick likes his left. This means of course that they have two spare hands that meet in centre ground. Genius.

4. It’s In The Hair. It may be May, but that means sod all in this country. The weather is still unpredictable/predictably rubbish. As I have pointed out, yesterday David and Nick were in the garden. The sun was out but it was chilly and a tad windy. Miraculously though, for forty minutes, their hair acted superbly. Not once did either of them so much as touch their coiffures. It was the kind of strong, stable hair that this country so badly needs.

5. It’s In The Wives. Neither Samantha or Miriam – that’s Mrs Cameron and Mrs Clegg if you are not on first name terms yet – seem particularly keen on the limelight. Which is good. Because they have a job to do. Run our country. Don’t be fooled, David and Nick don’t really know what they’re doing. And they are married men. Their wives tell them what to do. So for the next five years Great Britain will be run by a creative director and a Spanish lawyer. Mandelson and Campbell, eat your hearts out.

6. It’s In The Looks. It’s quite useful that they are called the cabinet because that is what most of them look like. And so they should. It’s brains you need in politics, not beauty. The last thing we need is for Theresa May to be distracted by a six figure sum to pose naked for Playboy or for Ken Clarke to get his braces off for the centre-fold of Cosmopolitan. Thankfully – for all our sakes – that isn’t going to happen. It’s going to be all work and no play for David and Nick’s boys. And girl.

7. It’s In The Logos. No one in the world has picked up on this yet. But that is why I am me and the rest of you do interesting things with your time. The Conservative logo is a tree. The Liberal Democrat logo is a bird. Birds like trees. It’s where they live. You couldn’t make this stuff up. If this coalition was destined to fail the Liberal Democrat logo would have been an axe. But it’s not. It’s a bird. And David has let it into his foliage. Bravo.

*Yes, if it is pure blue and pure yellow it would turn black, but that’s the point. It’s a coalition. All purity has been thrown out of the window.

NB: I might not believe all of the above nonsense.

May 13, 2010
7 Reasons That The BBC Election Night Coverage Was Weird

1. Fiona Bruce. Bizarrely, for their election special, the BBC decided to segregate the sexes, with the men downstairs and the women upstairs. Queen of the woman-zone was – of course – Fiona Bruce. She was obviously so determined to be seen as the prettiest of them all that she appeared to be wearing all of the make-up. I don’t just mean foundation, concealer, blusher and mascara (I have just reached the limit of my make-up vocabulary), I mean the BBC make-up department’s entire stock of everything. It was extraordinary. Her face appeared to be entombed in concrete. She’s noted for being calm and cool, but if she’d become hysterical during the broadcast it wouldn’t have become apparent until next Wednesday. They’re probably still trying to excavate her chin now.

2. Dimbleby. Down in the man-area David Dimbleby was firmly in command. Seated at the big table, he exuded authority and unflappable professionalism. Of course, there’s no reason that he shouldn’t have, he’s been covering elections since Gladstone was in power. I checked Wikipedia on election night to find out Dimble’s age and discovered that he is a hundred and fifty-four, and that he is immortal. Thanks Wikipedia.

The iMonolith. It's very perceptive.

3. 2010: A Geek Odyssey. Also upstairs in the woman-zone was Emily Maitlis. She was in possession of some extraordinary equipment; she had something that looked like a giant iPad (an iPad Maxi, perhaps). I wondered at first if it was a regular sized one and they’d shrunk Emily Maitlis, but that turned out not to be the case. It looked familiar, but I couldn’t quite work out why. Then it struck me. It was like a cross between an iPad and the monolith from 2001: A Space Odyssey. Presumably across the nation, Apple-obsessed-geeks were gazing in awe at the iMonolith, drooling, and thinking “I want one”. That was pretty much what I was doing too, though I wasn’t looking at the iMonolith.

4. Tradition. One of the best election night traditions that the viewer can participate in is the time-honoured custom of being aggravated by the ridiculous and vapid CGI effects that Jeremy Vine uses to illustrate election night events. Appearing baffled, rolling your eyes and criticising the stupidity of the CGI is the viewer’s traditional role on election night – it’s like being Paxman – but this year, something strange happened. I understood all of the graphics; I wasn’t annoyed by them; I didn’t feel patronised by them; in fact, they were quite good. I don’t pay my licence fee to not be annoyed by the election night graphics. It is my right. Next time, I expect them to spend more money on them and make them as vast, preposterous and inscrutable as usual.

5. Paxman. The third inhabitant of the woman-zone was everybody’s favourite pantomime dame, Jeremy Paxman. My god he was furious. Perhaps he was cross because he’d been put upstairs with the ladies away from the big table, or perhaps it was because Dimbleby refuses to die. Whatever the reason, he was angry, short-tempered and petulant throughout the broadcast. It’s a shame to see that a once fine broadcaster has become such a parody of himself. Even having two laptops wasn’t enough to placate him. He looked like a man who didn’t want to be there and I hope he gets his wish.

6. The Luvvie Boat. To cover an election that the Tories (who have promised to slash the BBC budget) were widely expected to win, the BBC chose to spend a vast amount of money giving free booze to celebrities on a swanky boat moored on the Thames. They’re obviously idiots. Captaining the good ship Lollygag was Andrew Neil, a man so creepy that spiders shriek and stand on chairs when they encounter him. It was Neil’s job to elicit the opinions of drunken celebs on the election and in this he was successful. Unfortunately, as is often the case after a lot of drink has been taken, the views being expressed were not as coherent and insightful as they might otherwise have been. Probably the best slurrer of the evening was Kirsty Allsop. I can’t remember exactly what point she was trying to make, and she probably can’t either. The soberest person on the boat appeared to be Bruce Forsyth, but his opinion wasn’t helpful either because he’s clearly mad. There is nothing in the world that can be improved by knowing Brucie’s opinion on it. Nothing.

7. The Result. We’re still waiting for the result, it’s been four days! Hurry up.

May 10, 2010
Election Special: 7 Reasons I Managed To Stay Up All Night

Yesterday, there was a general election. You may have noticed. The results came in over night. I was there. Throughout. This is how I did it.

10:00pm. So we have an Exit Poll – which it turns out is very different from an exit pole. It’s going to be Hung Parliament time. I can hardly contain myself. So I don’t and have a biscuit. Ten minutes into the programme and the BBC have a screen fail. Unfortunately, there was no screen fail while Dorothy was walking along the Yellow Brick Road. Or was it Jeremy Vine bouncing down Downing Street? Who cares. The BBC try and talk to Michael Gove. He’s mute. I don’t blame him. Jeremy Paxman is asking silly questions. Oh no, Gove has stopped being mute. And worse luck, so has Harriet Harman. I note her choice of nose this evening. I’m not sure why I note it, but I do. Some twats in Sunderland seem to think they are on Record Breakers. Tossers.

11.00pm. The first hour wasn’t too bad. I feel relatively fresh. Mind you, I am not usually in bed by this time anyway. Not that I need to share my bedroom habits with you. And I hope you don’t want to share yours with me. (But if you do we have an email address: [email protected]). I’ve got the munchies now. My fridge shouts sausages at me. Not literally. That would wake the neighbours. I ignore them anyway. Another biscuit. Labour are winning 1-0-0-0 by the way. Jeremy Vine is playing virtual dominoes. Esther Rantzen is on my screen. It brings back memories of Hearts Of Gold. In the meantime, Fiona Bruce seems to be finding everything absolutely hilarious. I don’t know why. This is boring.

Midnight. And we are into a new day. The day we get a new government. Or not. Ken Clarke just made me giggle. Some sly comment about Paxman cutting away from him to show Gordon Brown arrive at his count. David Cameron has gone to the pub. It’s 00:33. Late license? Blimey I need a drink. Stricnine ideally. Only three seats in so far. Why is it so slow? Eyelids beginning to feel a little heavy now. David Dimbleby is angry. Very angry. It’s a scandal apparently. I think he’s talking about people getting turned away from polling stations, but I am distracted by thoughts of him in the boardroom. Not in a dirty way. In a Sir Alan Sugar getting annoyed with the candidates way. I wonder what Sir Alan Sugar is doing tonight. Subbuteo is my guess. I used to love that game. Time for another biscuit.

1:00am. The Tories still haven’t won a seat, but boy they’re swinging hard. Mind you the Baltimore Orioles swing hard every year and look where that has got them in the AL East. I’m talking about baseball now. How did that happen? Oh yes, I was thinking about swinging. Cameron just stroked his wife’s bottom. Nice touch. I feel drunk. Which is odd considering I haven’t had a drink since Saturday night. I think I need to start now though. Twenty-three seats declared. David Blunkett has admitted defeat. I think he has fired off a bit too early to be honest. But as the camera won’t pan downwards, I’ll never be able to confirm this.

2:00am. And we’ve made it to 2am. The Tories have won some seats, Labour have won some more seats and the Lib Dems appear to be going backwards. Which is odd. Nick Robinson agrees with me. It is odd. But enough of this election nonsense, I am back on the tea. Not that I ever really left it. It’s just been a while since my last cup. Like forty minutes. Now I’m having a look at Twitter. There is a lot of hate out there isn’t there? My political views – and they are mainstream – make me anything ranging from a ‘deluded prick’ to a ****. I chuckle to myself heartily. The Sex Education Show is on Channel 4. I’m not watching it, I just pressed guide to see what else was on. Now someone’s talking Welsh. What’s the point?

3:00am. My freeview box wants to do a daily service update. Cameron wants to talk. Seeing as I watched Brown do his speech after he held on to his seat, I’ll give Cameron his moment. He doesn’t seem to know what he’s talking about though. Fair enough, he hasn’t been to sleep for months. We’ve got a race to the first hundred on now. It’s neck and neck. Not anymore it’s not… oh, yes it is! No, it’s not! Yes, it is! I’m doing Murray Walker impressions. And The Tories win, win, win! Well that was fun. That’s kept me going for the last thirty-minutes. Now I’m screwed. I’m not going to survive another hour before we get to 200. Fiona Bruce is still high I see.

4:00am. And now I enter my 7th hour. Nick Clegg holds on to his seat. But he doesn’t look too happy. Maybe someone ate his Mars bar. That is just about the worst feeling ever. I have a headache now. Sleep deprivation beginning to bite. And now it’s raining. I wonder if the Tories need less seats under the Duckworth-Lewis system? I ask Marc. He doesn’t know. His cat thinks he knows though. Marc has been talking to his cat. I wish I had a cat. Would be so much more interesting than talking to myself. It’s definitely going to be a hung parliament then. In that case I’m going to bed. I leave the situation standing at 224-167-36-26. It’s been fun. No, actually, it hasn’t.

May 7, 2010