The (Not So) Grand National

It’s all go for the band of merry scunners, battling for the prize that seemingly no one really wants at all. Today, after hardly any time at all, two of them have already bitten the dust:

  • Liam Fox : A man with all the easy charm and warm bonhomie of a chilled speculum. If you’re a man and you don’t understand that, I suggest you go and ask any woman you might know, then watch her facial expression and involuntary shudder.Still, at least we didn’t have to worry about him for too long. And if you’re a woman: I’m sorry to remind you.
  • Stephen Crabb – somewhere, a really mediocre lookalike agency is missing its Ricky Gervais. But don’t worry, everyone, Stephen can personally cure “the gay”, or something. Others have said that reports of his utterances are “misquotes”. Well,  he certainly voted against the 2013 Marriage Equality Act, which doesn’t suggest he’ll be lining up at any Pride events soon. Anyway, now he can go back and spend more time with his beard. And probably get more David Brent gigs, seeing as the film’s out soon.

So that leaves quite possibly the most stomach-churning threesome in the history of space and time to fight it out. Read it and heave.

  • Theresa May aka Cruella de Vil. It used to be that when she turned up for Tory Party conferences, most of the stupid end of the press talked about her footwwear. They were a bit quieter on the fact that she looked like she was more than happy to skin the small animals from which they were made herself. Just don’t mention the Border Agency, and all that stuff about passports a couple of years ago, eh?. And most certainly don’t mention those hugely successful vans with things like “Go Home!” written on them. She’s the favourite now, of course. Oh joy.
  • Andrea Leadsom putting aside the fact that she barely has a public presence outside her own front door, she has the unmistakeable air of that woman who, when you were a kid, would never let you have your ball back if it went in her garden. There’s an expression in French: “Peter plus haut que son cul“, which basically means to fart higher than one’s arse. I think that pretty much nails her.
  • Gove. Ah, yes. Gove. What can be said about this charmless, chinless little fart that hasn’t been said already? Well, plenty as it happens, but not now. Though when members of your won party talk about you with barely concealed disdain and revulsion, things are not looking good (ask Jeremy Corbyn). Everyone’s least favourite charisma vacuum is now discovering that it’s simply not enough to be a duplicitous little shit to win the leadership of the Conservative Party; it is unfortunately a necessary, but not a sufficient, condition for success. He’s also trying to claim experience as a virtue, but given the wonderful way he handled education, that might be a touch optimistic. Weirdly though, he’s not been entirely disastrous as Justice Secretary.  But, unfortunately  for him (but hilariously for us), he seems to be roughly as popular with his own  party as a bucket of lukewarm vomit, so his chances of making it through to the last two look bad. This is likely to annoy his egregious wife, Lady Macbeth Sarah Vine, no end. So, another bonus!

I’ve had an off/on relationship with Kenneth Clarke over the years, but it’s hard not to look at his assessment of what’s in front of us and not wince. His front-line career is over, so he’s free to say what he actually thinks, and not feel the need to be “on-message”, though God alone knows what that even means right now. Unfortunately, he’s not exactly effusive in his praise.

Also, in the pictures I saw today today, why did May look like she was wearing powder blue Sontaran battle armour, just without the helmet?

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