Tell me the old, old story,
Of unseen things above,
Of Jeremy and His glory,
Of Labour and Its love
Tell me the story simply,
As to a little child,
For I am weak and weary,
And helpless and defiled.
Tell me the same old story,
Sell me the same old view,
Tell me the stale old story,
For the many not the few.
Over in east Hull the Labour Party treats its constituents like infants who should always keep a-hold of Nurse, for fear of finding something worse. And yet in east Hull and some other Labour places they seem to lap it up. I went to see Jeremy Corbyn at a meeting in town on Monday evening in Zebedee's yard. I say I went but I did not stay and did not get to see the would be Prime Minister and hero of the working man. Zeb's Yard is a horrible cramped place, totally unsuitable for a meeting. The goofy bearded loon or Great Leader of The Most Advanced & Unified Labour Party turned up half an hour late according the paper and still the large mass of deluded fools, sorry that should read devoted believers, comrades and acolytes, hung around for yet another thirty minutes before no doubt he incanted the ritual benediction: "For the many not the few". Verily J C makes them whole.
Mrs May ("strong and stable") in the poster is shown with Mrs Thatcher's hair style. That's just so original, so subtle! She is being a total mean bitch; taking dinners from hungry school kids and telling pensioners they'll have to pay for their care out of the forced sale of their homes (neatly and rightly labelled a dementia tax) and wants to bring back fox hunting, in short saying the kind of nasty things you only say if you know you can't lose and she won't. When pressed she crumbles and stutters and seems to back track; she and the rest of this government are clearly not up to the job of leading anything but nevertheless she'll win by a country mile. You see for the rest of the country the idea of Jeremy Corbyn as PM brings out that old fear of finding something worse...
