The far left takeover of the Glastonbury festival was completed yesterday when a tent full of fun-loving revellers managed to take John McDonnell seriously, even when he claimed the victims of the Grenfell Tower fire had been murdered.
Earlier Labour leader Jeremy Corbyn had addressed a field full of committed socialists, every single one of whom had driven up from London in a 4×4 and paid £250 so they could do that ‘Oh, Je-re-my Co-o-o-o-rbyn’ thing despite the flagrant disregard of copyright law it involves.
Friday night saw rock star Thom Yorke of Radiohead cement his Marxist credentials – not by giving away any of his millions of pounds to poor people, but by being mildly snippy about Theresa May while she was not there to defend herself.
Thom is now widely tipped to be the man commissioned to write the new national anthem, once Mr McDonnell’s million-man street mob has rendered general elections unnecessary. The new anthem is expected to be long, slow, mind-bendingly pretentious and nothing like as popular as it was in the 1990s.
Glastonbury Gauleiter Michael Eavis is tipped to join the Labour politburo because his experience in marshalling huge crowds will come in handy when the revolution dawns. Somebody else will be put in charge of the toilets, however, because the ones at Glastonbury are still rank.
London retailers of brown ale and celebratory cheese sandwiches have been given an unexpected profits boost this weekend as the Labour party continues to congratulate itself on losing a third general election in a row.
Among the most voluble celebrants of this towering achievement was dreadful little turd George Osborne who took to the TV studios in order to demonstrate his lifelong commitment to Conservatism by whooping it up at his party’s disastrous showing at the polls. Apparently Mr Osborne still can’t work out why nobody likes him.
‘Prime Minister’ Theresa May, in the meantime is attempting to agree the terms of a coalition with the Democratic Unionist Party, whose most eye-catching manifesto pledge was to attack gay pride marches with Napalm.
It is expected that under the coalition agreement families of six or more children will be made mandatory throughout the UK, except among Catholics who will all be deported, ideally to Syria.
The prospect of either Jeremy Corbyn or Boris Johnson becoming prime minister in the next few weeks is so terrifying that even professional half-wit Donald Trump isn’t risking a visit to the country.
A spokesman for the president told the Mercury that Mr Trump ‘has never seen such chaos and rank political ineptitude in his life’, and is staying in Washington ‘until you Brits can at least match the comparative professionalism of my administration. Bigly’.
After a bewildering and incompetently handled election campaign, voters go to the polls today to determine the fate of Britain’s most reviled and mistrusted group of men and women – the political pollsters.
Following a campaign that has seen projected Tory leads fluctuate between 22% and minus 2.8%, this morning’s final polls demonstrate definitively that the polling organisations are just making stuff up as they go along.
An ICM poll in the Guardian puts the Conservatives on a 12 point lead but with a chance of scattered showers in the afternoon. Also unicorns at 13/2.
YouGov in the Times forecast a narrow Tory victory over the Rebel Alliance on the proviso that the Death Star remains viable in Labour-held marginals.
Survation in the Daily Mail have illegal immigrants and free-loading health tourists as the big winners, with Labour beaten into third place by Desert Orchid.
ComRes in the Independent didn’t know there was an election on so just handed in a recipe for flapjacks, while Ipsos MORI thinks voting is boring and everyone should get a turn at being prime minister. Except Jeremy Corbyn, obviously. They’re not that mad.
Opinium and Qriously polls for the Beano have been discounted until they learn to spell their names properly. Also because they keep mistaking Tim Farron for the leader of a major party.
Hopes that Donald Trump had slumped dead onto his keyboard while tweeting last night have been dashed this morning after it emerged he has, instead, been making up UK election polling figures for the Times.
The word ‘Covfefe’ that appeared at the end of one of the president’s tweets turns out not to have been the result of his tiny fingers convulsing during agonising death throes, but a genuine attempt by Mr Trump to further enrich the English language following the success of ‘bigly’.
Mr Trump had a busy night. It is being widely accepted this morning that a YouGov poll published in the Times predicting a huge Labour surge can only have been the work of Donald Trump, belonging, as it does, to a world of deranged fantasy and wishful thinking.
The poll also predicts that Julian Assange will be elected mayor of Stockholm and a herbaceous border will ascend the throne of the Netherlands. Also, the Pope is really a ring-necked parakeet named Neville. As is Diane Abbott. Wibble.
UK General Election 2017: After the suspension of campaigning that followed the terrorist outrage in Manchester on Monday, the major political parties are set to resume electioneering today by shamelessly using the attack as an excuse to kick the crap out of each other. In the new spirit of togetherness and compassion, obviously.
Trump’s world tour hailed ‘an unequivocal and totally unexpected success’ by White House: The US president has managed not to fondle Angela Merkel’s lady garden live on TV, administer a gratuitous wedgie to the Pope, call the Saudi king a towel-headed bomb-happy Muslim fanatic, spray obscene graffiti on the wailing wall or blow anything up (although he did assault the prime minister of Montenegro, just to stay in shape).
This demonstration of iron self control makes the last week the most successful of Mr Trump’s presidency. In fact, the only successful week of Mr Trump’s presidency (provided the Montenegro PM recovers from his injuries).
Labour leader Jeremy Corbyn is expected to offer a seat in his shadow cabinet to Pippa Middleton later today. This comes after press coverage of Ms Middleton’s lavish wedding helpfully obliterated any mention of Mr Corbyn’s alleged enthusiasm for Irish people blowing stuff up.
The Daily Telegraph’s six thousand column inches on the society wedding of the year broke the incendiary news that a woman – wearing a dress – married a posh bloke – in a church, no less – watched by friends and family members.
The couple later drove off together. In. A. Car!
Speeches were reported to have been made, champagne drunk and wedding analysts have speculated that at some point during the event canapés may have been eaten. Several middle-aged male guests will have attempted to dance with tragic consequences, and at least one bridesmaid will have been felt up behind a Portaloo by a member of the band, almost certainly a saxophonist.
Crucially for Labour however, Jerry Adams was not on the guest list and nobody tried to explode anything, unless you count the best man popping inflated condoms ‘for a laugh’.
Mr Corbyn is expected to offer Ms Middleton (or whatever she’s called now) the prestigious dinner party and flower arranging portfolio. Or defence, whatever.
Ms Middleton – who looks like a committed Marxist, albeit with a nicer than average bottom – is almost bound to accept. I mean, who wouldn’t?
The course of the general election was turned upside down last night during an epoch-making televised Leaders’ Debate featuring no one with the slightest chance of ever becoming prime minister.
After Jeremy Corbyn opted to spend his evening making jam and Theresa May announced she ‘simply couldn’t be arsed’ to turn up, it was left to five other internationally respected political heavyweights to fill an hour of ITV airtime – presumably because they’ve lost that film of a potter’s wheel they used to use.
Lib Dem leader Tim Farron, the SNP’s Natalie Sturgeon, Plaid Cymru’s Natalie Wood and Green Party co-leader Natalie Lucas took turns making Ukip’s Paul ‘Natalie’ Nuttall look bigoted and stupid. After the debate ended Mr Nuttall visited Tesco where a packet of chocolate digestives also managed to make him look bigoted and stupid. In fact it did a better job than Tim Farron and odds have shortened on a Hob Nob being elected the next Lib Dem supremo.
The debate was deemed such a success in changing the course of British parliamentary democracy that ITV plans to hold an event of equal significance next week, which will feature a panel of retired Crackerjack presenters and a variety of root vegetables, including Paul Nuttall.
News that childless couples and unmarried young people will no longer have to subsidise school lunches for junior members of the aristocracy has outraged middle class voters in Jeremy Corbyn’s own constituency.
‘This is the greatest injustice ever perpetrated on the human race,’ said one Islington mother too incoherent with rage to pronounce her name, ‘how dare these evil Tories take the food from out of the mouths of my little Milo and Antigone?’
‘What this manifestly wicked policy is going to cost me and my architect husband means our children will go without this year: without organic corn-fed roast chicken on a Sunday – we may be reduced to buying ordinary pikey chickens like people who work in the public sector – and maybe even without fast-track lift passes when we Christmas at Gstaad. We might even have to downgrade to Grindelwald for heaven’s sake! After hearing the news I even found myself searching the web for generic supermarket quinoa! Nobody should be brought so low! It’s inhuman!’
We pointed out that, under Conservative proposals, actual poor children would still get free school meals, but that just got her going again:
‘We are poor, you tit!’ she bellowed through the window of her Range Rover, ‘we just don’t fritter our money away on Tennent’s Extra and lottery tickets like some of the lard-arsed Ukip-volting proles around here. I’ve been wearing the same Balenciaga two piece for nearly a year now! No one knows my pain! No one!’
We were going to mention that, in addition to the new school meals policy, poor young people will no longer be required to pay the heating bills of rich old people, but courage deserted us and she just drove off to her Pilates class.
In a sweeping and radical five-year plan (or ‘Labour manifesto‘ as it is being referred to in public) Jeremy Corbyn has pledged to bring the Dalston Mercury back into public ownership ‘at the earliest opportunity’.
As with the rest of the party’s manifesto, which was launched yesterday, the cost of re-nationalising the Mercury has been calculated by a crack team of elves and fairies who live in a magical kingdom far, far away. And spend most of the time drunk.
The magic fairies estimate the bill for bringing the Mercury back into public hands as somewhere between ‘nothing at all and £50 billion, give or take, depending on whether we have to buy toner for the photocopier’.
Labour’s most sophisticated financial minds – those belonging to Diane Abbott and a small pot of Marxist geraniums – have checked the elves’ figures and declared them ‘absolutely spot on. Erm… oh, hang on though… is 50 billion more than £7.50? Erm… carry the four, divide by one and… look, stop asking me about numbers you racist bastard.’
In Other Election News:Twinkle-toed Unite union chief Len McCluskey has admitted publicly that he ‘can’t see Labour winning’ the general election.
Other astonishing revelations made yesterday by Mr McCluskey include: he ‘can’t see a set of patio furniture winning next year’s Grand National’ and ‘Len McCluskey’s chances of appearing on the cover of Sports Illustrated’s swimsuit edition modelling a daring slashed-thigh aquamarine one-piece are slim at best. Though still better than Labour winning the election’.
Following the leak of their election manifesto last night Labour have acted swiftly to reassure voters that they are not about to drag the country back to the 1970s.
‘We’re about to drag the country back to the 1970s,’ said a party spokesman this morning, ‘but in a good way.’
‘We are not going back to the 1970s of three-day weeks, power cuts, mountains of uncollected rubbish festering in the streets and the dead hand of the trade unions directing government policy. Well, maybe that last one, but definitely not the others.
‘We’re going to reintroduce the things people really liked about the ’70s: Noel Edmonds’ Multi-Coloured Swap Shop; Skippy the Bush Kangaroo; brown cars with vinyl roofs; Barbara Windsor’s breasts; footballers with perms breaking each other’s legs on grassless mud baths; the blonde one from ABBA; race riots; pubic hair; Gary Glitter; sophisticated dinner parties serving mushroom vol-au-vents followed by chicken-in-a-basket and black forest gateaux washed down with a bottle of Blue Nun (or, for the gentlemen, Long Life lager and Watney’s Red Barrel).’
Party spokesmen have also claimed Labour’s transport plans will provide ‘a huge shot in the arm for the British pogo stick and Space Hopper industries. Until we nationalise them, of course. Which we will on June 9.’
The Scottish Nationalists have attacked Labour’s plans for failing to guarantee the return of the Bay City Rollers, even the horse-faced drummer who became a male nurse when the hits dried up. Also the Krankies. And Billy Bremner.
The Greens have complained that the static electricity generated by all that polyester will melt the ice caps or something.