The latest round of the Westminster reality game show, 'It Wisnae Me', stars the man known to all as the Hoon. Sort of like the Fonz but with the street cred taken out. And the hair. And the brain. Well, okay, not so much like the Fonz. Perhaps more like Droopy the dog on valium.
The Hoon is trying a double finger-point maneouvre. First it's the 'It wiz the Gorgon' gambit. The nasty Treasury cut the budget for the troops right in the middle of a war, when they were really quite busy and could have done with some actual equipment to do their jobs. He says 'treasury' without naming his finger-pointing-target but we all know who was running the treasury at the time. I would say 'I'm looking at you, Gorgon', but I can't bear to.
Simultaneously, and risking blowing his main brain gasket with such double concentration, he goes for the 'It wiz the Blur' approach. We all know the buck should stop with the Tiny Blur, because he was Prime Monster at the time and how we managed to end up with a Prime Monster you wouldn't buy a used car from, well, that's a question that will vex great minds for centuries to come. We can't be blamed for replacing him with a sock full of spaghetti tied up ugly because we didn't get a choice on that one.
It seems the Blur wouldn't buy equipment to send the troops to war in case someone at the UN noticed we were going to war. I'd have thought the arrival of a lot of soldiers in someone else's country would have been a dead giveaway but then I know nothing of military tactics. Perhaps the Blur wanted to sneak them in disguised as a consignment of lampshades. Ah, but the Blur's thinking must have been along the lines of 'If they have no guns, we can't be accused of going to war. They're just unusually aggressive tourists in funny clothes.' He might have done better to round up some of our football hooligans, load them up on Stella and then drop them in Iraq with a map to a fictional off-licence and benefits office in Saddam's house. Two birds, one stone.
In all the bickering and finger-pointing that's been going on, they seem to have overlooked something. An awful lot of people died, and are still dying, in two wars against countries that were no threat to us at all. Our soldiers went into those wars short of basic essential equipment just so that the Tiny Blur could say to his mates at the UN - 'War? Us? No, no, we're not even thinking about it. Honest, mate. Would I lie to you?' They went to war without boots and bullets so that Labour could strut the world stage and look good.
Around thirty percent of the people of this country still say they'll vote Labour. Meanwhile, not one member of their beloved politicial party is willing to stand up and say 'We were wrong.' Instead they shunt the blame from one to another and wash their hands of any responsibility. Those are the sort of people thirty percent of this country want in charge. The sort who care about money but care nothing for lives. The sort who never accept responsibility for anything they do.
I can only conclude that thirty percent of this country exists in some kind of parallel reality which the rest of us never see. In their world, the politicians aren't filling their pockets at our expense, they aren't making up idiotic laws that apply to us but not to them, they aren't criminalising trivia and treating every minor infraction as if it was Lex Luthor's latest scheme to destroy the planet and they aren't turning the police into the paramilitary wing of government.
So how come we get the shitty reality then? Where's the reality enjoyed by those other thirty percent?
You know, I think it might be found in a well padded room somewhere. The only way you could get a result showing 30% in favour of Labour is if you did the poll in a lunatic asylum.