LISTENING to his resignation speech, I was almost in tearful accord with Keir Starmer as he wobbled his emotional way to the conclusion of his Downing Street denouement. I fear his embittered missus might not have offered me the same sympathy he likely received upon returning through the No.10 doors however. Seeing someone laughing themselves into a state of eye-watering paroxysm at your husband’s utter humiliation could move Mother Teresa to fury.
I confess, I could barely believe my ears as Starmer catalogued his immense achievements in just two transformational years. The wealthiest, healthiest economy in the Western world (among our peers were his actual words), a generation of children lifted out of poverty, a fully cured NHS (which, last time I looked, was still stacking up critical patients on trolleys in corridors for a dozen hours and more), wages outpacing inflation, a fairer world for workers and renters alike . . . on and on went his list of Nobel-deserving glories, all led by a government – his government – which had renounced, nay cured and removed, the national stain of anti-Semitism!
Really? Those keffiyeh-wearing Hamas enthusiasts who despoil high streets across our benighted country are Reform or Tory voters, are they Keir? You could have fooled me pal. Indeed, anyone fooled by the man’s pathetic rhetoric at his Downing Street gallows – sorry, podium – should have risen to their feet and demanded not a resignation but an elevation to presidential status, at the very least. Two years of glorious social and economic regeneration, yet for some astonishing, unfathomable reason, the Parliamentary Labour Party want rid of their heroic leader. What delusion seizes these imbeciles? How could that possibly, imaginably be?
Well, the answer to that lay in its very essence in the words with which Starmer bade his ungrateful people farewell. That fantasy catalogue of his imagined social and economic conquests was a perfect summary of exactly why they, and we, not just required but demanded his removal at the soonest opportunity. It was and is clear that Starmer and his vile associate, Attorney General Richard Hermer, could never acknowledge the rank injustices they boot-stamped upon citizens like Lucy Connolly and Peter Lynch. In itself that remains a public declaration of Starmer being a man of his people, not ours.
His departing weasel words included fulsome praise for a civil service that has held our nation and successive governments to quiet ransom at the very least since the people’s Brexit revolution 10 years ago. Those are Starmer’s people, his faceless, toneless, unaccountable, unprincipled, detestable people. In his disgrace and inconsequence he can meld back into their lazy, unmanageable companionship, the lot of them comfortable in their delusions and their hateful prejudices against the British people.
Andy Burnham? Time enough to contemplate an uncertain future dictated by the political intrigues of a man who couldn’t run a bath without hiring someone to do it for him. Wiping the tears of laughter from my eyes as Starmer barely contained his own, retreating back behind the No.10 door no doubt into the comforting mummy arms of his darling Victoria, my overwhelming emotion was simply a wish that Larry the cat had taken the opportunity of an emptied building to leave his own deposit on the Prime Ministerial desk. He would be speaking for tens of millions. Be gone, imbecile, be gone.
