Blair Aide Warning!
While there have been undoubted embarrassments, in particular the antics of Clare Short, Harriet Harman and Ron Davies, it is the outbreak of Machiavellian scheming in the higher echelons of the party that must pose the greatest threat to a Labour victory at the next election. As the quest for power has become first a possibility and then a likelihood, so the concensus and discipline instilled by the desire to attain it has been eroded by a growing belief that victory is already 'in the bag'. As Neil Kinnock, now ensconced in his Brussels boudoir dreaming up ever more absurd places in which to enforce the flying of the Euro-flag, would unhappily testify, triumphalist rallies prior to victory are to be avoided. The spectacle provided by Neil's Sheffield Showdown, complete with balloons, ticker-tape and American-style contrived hysteria, was such a revolting, grotesque circus (with various types of clown) that it must have lost at least as many votes as The Sun's infamous polling day headline featuring Kinnock's head and a light bulb ('Will The Last Person To Leave...etc.').
It would appear unlikely that Blair will make the same mistake, being a much cooler customer than the Welsh Windbag. One cannot envisage, for example, Tony falling in the sea at Brighton; or Tony being arrested by the military at a remote African airstrip, abusing local officials and singing patriotic songs during his incarceration. Nor can one visualise Mr. Blair engaging in a punch-up with two men outside an Indian restaurant and then offering advice to whack the 'bigger guy first'. Admittedly, these insalubrious activities solidified Neil's image as a regular bloke, but would you want your next-door neighbour in charge of the country, even if you had met and were on speaking terms? When the electorate, faced with five years of Kinnock blundering around the globe, paused to consider, the desire to humiliate the Tories was replaced by the desire to put anyone but Neil and Glenys into Number Ten.
This time around, the script is different. The desire to humiliate the Tories, as strong if not stronger than in 1990, need not be tempered by the dread fear of a red-haired Welsh Prime Minister with a reputation as a bit of a bruiser. St. Tony is the ultimate user-friendly politician: always cheerful, always available and always ready with a few words from his sponsors. He is the acceptable face of Labour, someone who can relate to the 'middle class' rather better than the traditional 'trouble at t'mill class' (as can be gathered from his frosty relations with his deputy, John Prescott, a man who, despite protestations to the contrary, will never be an Islington luvvie).
Yet it is precisely this affinity with traditional Conservative voters that spells danger for 'Showroom Model' Labour as the clock ticks down towards the election. 'Clapped-Out Banger' Labour members cannot stand behaviour that smacks of appeasement. To them, power is all about making life a misery for the capitalist swine who have had their snouts in the trough since '79. To them, top tax rates of 90% are righteous punishment for greed, grammar schools are as despicable as Miss World contests and the monarchy is an anachronism that should be swept aboard Britannia and sunk in the Channel. They have no intention of toadying to the enemy. Moreover, they do not want Blair to succeed with his radical restructuring and hope that an early election win by New Labour will enable them to oust him quickly in order to form a government peopled by Old Labour.
But it is not only at local level that the party is split: the Shadow Cabinet is itself riven by disagreement and animosity. Perhaps the most revealing dispute between 'top dogs' is that raging between Gordon Brown, the taciturn Shadow Chancellor, and Peter Mandelson, who is the man credited (or debited, depending on your viewpoint) with master-minding the lurch to the right intended to make Labour electable. So seriously have relations deteriorated between the two men that it is reported that they have not spoken for 18 months. This would be unfortunate, if not disastrous, were it not for the fact that they are jointly responsible for planning Labour's election campaign and supposed to share an office. Brown will not set foot in the office unless it is certain that Mandelson will not be present. It bodes ill for the campaign.
Similarly, Deputy Leader Prescott is far from happy with Blair's brand of 'socialism-with-a-smile', as was made clear when St. Tony leapt gallantly to the defence of Ms. Harman after the hypocrisy of her stance on education was exposed. As Tony grinned, charmed and smarmed, Prescott glowered, growled and frowned. An action that seemed quite understandable to Blair was rank betrayal to Prescott, and he did not bother to disguise his feelings. In retaliation, key policy decisions are now taken without Prescott's knowledge or approval.
On almost every issue, from Europe to the environment, from national assemblies to local schools, New and Old Labour - Showroom Model and Clapped-Out Banger - are speaking the same language but hearing different words, divided by a common cause. As the Tories are well aware from their own irreconcilable differences on Europe, Joe Public is not much impressed by splits and schisms among their leaders.
If Labour is to lose the fast-approaching election, and it remains a big 'if', the fault will lie with the bickering brothers and sisters, who cracked in sight of the finishing line and yet again managed to snatch defeat from the jaws of victory.
After days, months and years of dithering, Dear John has finally decided to act the tough guy and show our nasty Euro-partners that every worm can turn. His belief is that by obstructing all EU business that requires unanimity, a 'framework' for the lifting of the beef ban can be secured by force.
As I have argued previously in this column, the only strategy that will succeed is one which involves the withholding of money! Most of the business of the European Union is of such tedious, nit-picking banality that a result at the end of it all is merely the icing on the cake: the fact that the protagonists have completed the negotiations at all is a cause for celebration. Furthermore, while it is encouraging to observe the Prime Minister display some backbone, one cannot help but fear that concessions will soon come, and in droves. For Mr. Major bears a growing resemblance to the young man from Devizes who, it will be recalled, had balls of different sizes:
As has been painfully clear from the government's 'negotiations' with Sinn Fein, all that is needed to force Major to retreat is an intransigent position and some time to kill. Eventually, as the days pass and no result is forthcoming, John becomes nervous that he will be blamed for the delay and concedes another juicy titbit to get things moving again. This process is repeated until all the demands of the antagonists (whether the EU, IRA or a passer-by with a grudge) are met, whereupon John proclaims it is a brilliant exhibition of diplomacy.
In the real world, however, it looks like surrender. Our Euro-partners, even more disgusted with Britain's antics than usual, are in no mood to discuss one particular issue with the UK while the UK wields its veto over 'all other business'. Even our supposed allies are turning against us. M. Chirac, who had signalled his support for Major's position, abruptly changed his mind when he learnt that British cattle feed was dumped on France long after it had been banned from sale in the UK. The prospects for the latest EU gathering in Italy look gloomy.
Meanwhile, back at home, the Prime Minister is reported to have 'gone nuclear' at the threat by two backbenchers to withdraw their support for the government unless the decision to close an Accident & Emergency unit in serving their constituencies was reversed. Tory 'grandees' were wheeled out to express their astonishment and outrage at such wretched blackmail. Hmmm....sorry, chaps, but isn't this tactic exactly the same as that used by the Premier in his Euro-battle? Perhaps John should be reminded of an olde Englishe saying....
Sauce for the goose is sauce for the gander!
are the unnamed passengers who refused to travel home on a flight from Majorca because one holidaymaker, a girl of five, had been treated (successfully) for meningitis. The 'excuse' of these people, that they were afraid of catching the disease themselves, is a symptom of the mindless hysteria that mention of disease nowadays generates.
It is not often that people display such appalling ignorance that I wish to give them a damn good thrashing, but in this case I would do so happily and without guilt, provided a suitable schedule could be drawn up. Such pathetic, paranoid losers as these deserve nothing but utter contempt and I hope that anyone who works or resides near one of them ostracises them both professionally and socially.
As a nation, we seem incapable of considering illness with any maturity, convincing ourselves that we will catch AIDS from toilet seats, CJD from milk and meningitis from sitting near a little girl who has been cured of it! Logic flies out the plane window and a family who have already had to deal with the extreme stress of their daughter's plight then have to deal with the sickening selfishness of their compatriots and make 'alternative travel arrangements'. There is only one way to react to these narrow-minded snobs....
Spurn them as you would a rabid dog!
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