Tag: Nick Clegg

La La La

La La Land DVD out now in my local garage. Told Cathy at HQ to Photoshop Lib Leader Tim Farron’s head onto the man’s body and talking blancmange Nick Clegg’s onto the woman’s. Until then, you’ll just have to imagine it. Oh, and Cathy’s promised to write something quite witty over the ‘THE FEEL GOOD MOVIE OF THE YEAR’ quote (I’ve recommended ‘THE MADDEST POLITICAL MOVES OF THE YEAR,’ Paul Nuttall, Film Nut), as well as changing the names, erasing the director bit, changing the awards for number of MPs or something, and definitely keeping the ‘HERE’S TO THE FOOLS WHO DREAM’ tagline. Enjoy!



Chatabouts TM cancelled till further notice


Hello, constituents! Thanks to some of you for joining me in my first Chatabout TM yesterday between 3pm and 3.10pm. It was a shame it couldn’t be longer.

As most of you know, on the whole it was a great first chance to discuss some of the points of my Manifesto. I’m sorry I couldn’t be more specific on some of the main topics. Like I said, the moment the Manifesto comes back from the printers, I’ll be delighted to get into the detail. Of course, it will first need to be drafted, edited, designed, and then sent to the printers. But it won’t be long now. As Cathy keeps telling me, the election is only a month away, after all.

Yet again heard another slightly mad-sounding woman on the radio saying how the country needs to get behind the PM at this difficult time, which makes her sound like a clapped-out old Triumph being pushed up a hill. Well, I’m here to tell you, the Brighton part of the country, this is exactly false. The only reason you might want to get behind the PM is because the front’s so cold and creepy. If you ask me, the PM needs a good fortnight on defrost. I’ve started calling her Theresa Grey, to Cathy’s feminist disapproval, but she does leave me with a definite chill. I imagine those around her always need an extra layer.

Finally, on my way home yesterday, after, and strictly not during, my chatabout TM, I was accosted by a man I’ll call Malcolm, much, I found out later, like Liberal Wallace and Gromit look-a-like Tim Farron. I always end up with the Last Of The Summer Wine theme tune in my head while watching him on TV. And then I’m off again in reverie, picturing him and Cleggy falling over a stone wall in the Yorkshire dales with stubbly Vince Cable sat in a woolly hat with holes in and a little friendly mouse twitching out of his tweedy sleeve.

Whereas Tim’s actual Malcolm was a fat, bald old racist angrily rejecting the accusation that he was a racist, which had only been made by a voice like his own shouting in his head every single day, mine wanted to know what I’d ever done for him. Having never met him, I told him to keep back. You’re all the same, he said in a non non-confrontational way, which is UNACCEPTABLE. What do you want? I said. But he was too slow to keep up as I cycled away.

It’s a pleasure to be your candidate, whoever you were.