Image via WikipediaI see in the media the flood of Blairites and careerists throwing themselves themselves out of what seems to be a Cabinet with the stability of a shopping trolley and my heart is somewhat warmed. I suppose I must be clinging to hope that this exodus gives the Labour Party a chance to pull itself back from the jaws of death, to give one herculean effort at getting the heart moving again. You see, once the mutineers cast themselves adrift Cap'n Gordo has the opportunity to bring aboard a new crew. A crew that know what makes Labour work, that are in touch with the workers with whom they reside.
But no. He's too far gone with the terminal plague that goes by the name of nulabouritis. It seems that it deprives a sufferer of reaching out to the panacea that can cure them. In fact it's worse, they appear to lose all sense of clarity and thinking. He's now gone and replaced Caroline Flint with Glenys Kinnock.
Yes, that right, Glenys Kinnock. Glenys Kinnock of the Kinnock clan of trough snufflers and party wreckers. Those who had a Damascene conversion to Thatcherism and free market economics once they realised they weren't actually up to the task of supporting the working men and women suffering whilst trying to retain the coal industry against a butcher with hands blooded red.
When I joined the Labour Party I got a little yellow folded card. On the front was the Red Flag. Inside was part of Clause IV. By the time Kinnock was through the card was worthless. What brought me to the Labour Party had been ditched like a soiled handkerchief. They were what drove me from the Labour Party, never to return.
I suppose that I have always remained eternally optimistic that the Labour Party could recover and one day reclaim it's place at the head of the working class movement.
How deluded I was.
Kinnock my arse.