Tuesday 28 July 2015

a twelfth new reflection ... 'corbyn for labour leader'

As the time for Labour members to cast their votes for a new leader of the party draws near with the announcement of the winner of the leadership election coming on September 12, it seems likely, as Stephen Bush in the New Statesman posited this week, that Jeremy Corbyn may triumph as the various polls at the close of the leadership hustings indicate and as Corbyn mania sweeps the media.

I hope Bush and the polls are proved to be correct and that the media continue to give Corbyn a platform to talk politics. He is the man to resurrect and rejuvenate Labour.

Where rival leadership candidates Liz Kendall and Yvette Cooper in particular stress the need for electability over policy and Andy Burnham comes across as increasingly desperate in his pleas for Labour members to elect him (he’s been raising his voice a lot of late in attempt to appear assertive and persuasive when really he’d struggle to coax a dog with a bone - in spite of his mother-me-eyes), Corbyn places emphasis strictly on ideas; ideas about how to make UK society more just and more inclusive, in doing so reinforcing his identity as one of the most experienced, principled and downright sensible politicians in recent memory.

It is clear the Labour party cannot compete and should not compete with the Conservatives on the centre, centre-right ground of UK politics. The Conservatives are better at spin and electioneering and in David Cameron and George Osborne have two politicians that positively thrive there; secondly and most importantly, a Labour move to the centre, centre-right makes the party less distinct from their Tory rivals and carries the simplistic and misguided assumption that the electorate as a whole is somehow predisposed to be right-wing in individual and collective outlook.

Corbyn, of course, is left-wing but he is not so far left as to be a communist, moreover his rhetoric is increasingly sounding like the politics of the future embraced by the youth of today, the core-voters of tomorrow what with his pro-diplomacy/anti-war stance, desire for more investment in the quaternary sector, an amnesty on tax-dodging international corporations (Boots, yes Boots is the latest!) and the frivolous, ultimately exploitative TTIP (Transatlantic Trade and Investment Partnership), not to mention more prevalent, better funded and implemented green policies. Indeed, it has been suggested in some quarters that if Corbyn was elected, the Labour party would have to rebirth and reform as in ’97 with New Labour (hopefully minus too significant a Blairite influence) and in this scenario it would be interesting to see whether the Greens would be willing to unite behind or combine with a Corbyn led Labour party – after all, he wants a broad church, a wider grass-roots movement driving change.

Even Alex Salmond at least hinted the SNP could do political business with a Corbyn led Labour party which might enable Corbyn to go some way to achieving a kind of reparations with the Scottish left-wing (pinches of rock salt at the ready). But Corbyn’s politics is that of encouraging dialogue, and it’s a dialogue he wants to begin at all times outside of Westminster, among the people – you and I, north and south of the 'divide', north, south of Hadrian's Wall.

One of Ed Miliband’s endearing characteristics was that he tried to listen to the people, even if his efforts to respond were sometimes political double-speak or intellectual gobbledegook; for Corbyn both listening and responding in a clear and dignified manner come naturally. I would venture to say our current PM believes so wholeheartedly in his blinkered vision of how society should be run and who for that he might as well leave his ear trumpets at home, while of Corbyn’s rivals for Labour leadership, Kendall can hear nothing but the sound of her own voice echoing in a barren, empty room, Cooper a radio jam, while Burnham’s favourite band is the Courteeners (ahem!).

Joking aside, it’s hard not to like Burnham, Corbyn's main challenger: he resembles a well-groomed extra from Captain Scarlet and is something of a man of the people with the ability to appeal in a tonal sense to the masses, some of whom voted for UKIP over Labour in the recent GE – but he seems, paraphrasing Tony Benn, to be a political weather-vane rather than a sign-post pointing the way to a better future. Nevertheless, he was gracious enough to say he would consider standing in a Corbyn led shadow cabinet whereas Kendall and Cooper were not, in the process delegitimising the views of thousands of Labour members at one gesture. Kendall said it would be ‘disastrous’ if Corbyn got elected which does lead one to wonder what she is doing in the Labour party. As an aside, her statement was endorsed by Chukka Umanna, a man who in this instance would do well to remember the trials and tribulations of his Streatham constituents who loyally voted him (Labour) in by a landslide in May.

Corbyn’s election to Labour leader may upset some in the party but only those who are actively encouraging Labour toward the centre ground, where the movement will be stuck between the proverbial rock and a hard place and be easy prey for the ghoulish spawn of Osborne and Cameron Incorporated. That is to the say the end point of a drift to the centre will also bring about a split in the party, but one that will leave remaining very little of principle to build on from a left-wing past that has given the UK the NHS, the National Assistance Act and public ownership of (other) major industries and services. Labour needs to reclaim this past now and take it (and some elements of Blair’s more aspirational, wealth generating policies) into the future. Corbyn is patently the only candidate to do so.

Wednesday 22 July 2015

a seventy eighth new poem ... 'mike smalling'

Van Gaal radioed for Giggs
To ‘get Mike Smalling up
Here at once’. Giggs was
In the middle of a game of
Chess with Rooney. Luke Shaw
Was hanging around in the
Background with Blind talking
Hair gel. Mata was there as well,
Head-phones on listening to a
Linguaphone cassette. Van
Gaal’s assistant  - Albert -
Sat opposite his boss
Preparing to win their bet.

a seventy seventh new poem ... 'destiny of froome'

Froome sat on his
Pantomime horse and
Surveyed the French
Countryside: fields of
Gold and an old, tumble-
Down farm house,
Crumbled with time,
Humbled with weeds,
Wind in the telegraph
Wires above. Froome
Swigged brandy from
His water bottle and
Thought of war, law, love
And a very long
Engagement.

Friday 10 July 2015

a seventy sixth new poem ... 'corked'

Dominic uncorked
A third bottle of
Echo Falls, Stewart frowned
Being tee-total and
All. Gooch’s sun,
Sand-blasted
Face mooned into view;
In his batting glove he
Held a white plastic cup.
‘Fill us up’, he said.
Cork poured:
Most of it
Went on the dressing
Room floor, some splashed
On the dressing room wall.
Stewart frowned
Being tee-total and all.

a seventy fifth new poem ... 'tms tea'

Vaughan knew he shouldn’t
Help himself to another
Slice of Victoria Sponge but
Something in him couldn’t resist
The lure of jam and cream and
Butter, so he wrapped his
Yorkshire chops around a slice
As big as an adult shoe and the
Cake crumbs and icing sugar fell
On his shirt, settled on his ECB tie
Like dandruff and snow flakes. 

Thursday 9 July 2015

a seventy fourth new poem ... 'moeen's bread'

Moeen’s beard could
Hide all sorts of things:
His bank card, chip
And pin, in case of
Emergency, cucumber
Sandwiches, linseed
Oil for his bat, a water
Bottle full of Lucozade,
A piece of graph paper
Showing Cook’s field
Placings by way of
Reminder, throat
Lozenges and a few
Frank words for Warner,
Clarke, any of them
Aussies really.

a seventy third new poem ... 'summer of root'

Root bounced into the
Changing room, danced
And swerved
Along the bench to where
His kitbag lay,
Tore the Velcro from his
Batting pads, whipped
Out a Gameboy, began to
Play, blithely ignoring Bell
Who sat sniffing,
Nibbling sadly at a
Soggy pitta.

Friday 3 July 2015

a seventy second new poem ... 'royal box'

Parker-Bowles arrived in the
Royal Box, Centre Court, and
Started lobbing expletives at
The French umpire: the C word,
F bombs, and so on; a Palace
Aide said later that Camilla had been
Simply ‘a little, er ... head-strong’.

a seventy first new poem ... 'inverdale'

Inverdale blundered into the studio
Drunk on Guyana rum, tripped
Over a satellite cable and split his
Temple on the corner of a video
Monitor, got to his feet again
Grinning manically, blood leaking
From his skull all over his pink
Polo shirt and made a
Lunge for Lindsey Davenport, attempting
To snog her flush on the lips.

a seventieth new poem ... 'sue barker'

She shall not grow old, as we that are left grow old:
Age shall not weary her, nor the years condemn.
At the going down of the sun and in the morning on
BBC Breakfast we will remember then – 
She is still alive, still well, forever flirting
Shamelessly with John McEnroe, laughing
Generously at Tim Henman's 'jokes'.

a sixty ninth new poem ... 'fed'

The ball girl blushed
Deep red like royal
Cheeks when, before the
Tie-breaker, Federer
Unzipped his fly and
Urinated in an empty
Bottle of Robinson’s
Fruit and Barley.

a sixty eighth new poem ... 'tennis'

Simon shrank back
From the net – shaking –
Having shot his
Doubles partner dead.

Thursday 2 July 2015

a sixty seventh new poem ... 'wimbledon'

Jill and Jack
Packed a picnic –
Strawberries,
Cream, champers –
Into one of their
Two picnic
Hampers and
Set off to Wimbledon
In hope of watching
Murray (not Judy, or
Jamie the handsome one,
But snaggle-toothed Andy)
Serve, smash
And volley, thrash
Some wally from the
Former USSR, but
They crashed their
Car into a lorry
And the whole day
Was ruined sorry,
The car:
A write-off. And
They both had
Their feet amputated.

a sixty sixth new poem ... 'the scot'

Donald was a Scot.
He drank a lot.
Bloody lots.
He drank like
A fucking fish –
Jonah’s whale, or
The Loch Ness
Monster if it were
To get pissed.

a sixty fifth new poem ... 'hewlett-packard incident'

Gregor looked sheepish,
The silly bastard.
He had just reversed over
His brand new Hewlett-Packard.
The hard
Drive was buggered,
And could he get the CD-Rom
To run again? Could he
Ever!?
Never, nada.
Yawn, yawn, yada, yada – Gregor
Would bleat about his misfortune
For months to come, one
Time he even cried about the
Incident in front of
His Mum
(Hewlett-Packard said the
Warranty had expired;
Gregor said he’d been
Fleeced, had the wool
Pulled over his
Milksop eyes).

Wednesday 1 July 2015

a sixty fourth new poem ... 'wine tasting'

Wendy went wine
Tasting, Tuesday night,
Threw back five
Glasses of red,
Snouted six of
White; Wednesday
Woke up
Face down in a
Bowl of Cheerios
With the sad, mumbled
Morning light.

a sixty third new poem ... 'second practice'

Hamilton put down an ‘office copy’
Of FHM, thumbed his TV-sized
Mobile telephone for Twitter updates,
Pictures of gangsta mates
Playing GTA, Call of Duty, perused online
Beauty tips from Top Shop for men and then,
Feeling his sweet tooth,
Fumbled in the pockets of his
Nomex safety clothing for loose
Change and went to find Mercedes’
Chief Race Engineer or a steward to
Operate the paddock vending machines
And procure a can of brand
-ed  fizzy-pop, perhaps a packet of
Pringles, all the time tugging
At his fugging
Diamond-studded ear-ring,
Hearing engine noises and
The shrill tones of his zoned
Out wife.