Nobody wants to be party to them now
I’M surprised that shower of rich, old letches who paid top dollar to stick their hands up the skirts of young female waitresses didn’t offer any sort of defence.
They could have chipped in their loose change to hire a world-class brief to claim that as they were attending a ball run by The Presidents Club, they mistook it for a theme night where every attendee had to see their daughter as “a piece of ass” and every waitress her age pouring their chablis a p***y waiting to be grabbed. And when that didn’t wash, they could have argued that trying to rip off maids’ outfits was what they saw father do when mother was at bridge club. Plus, at boarding school, nanny rewarded them every other Friday by showing them what lay beneath her skirts while they put Mr Tinkywinkle on parade. But nothing. Instead, the organisers of the self-proclaimed “most un-PC night of the year” realised that post-Harvey Weinstein the world had changed, threw their hands up (they’re good at that) and admitted that their party is over for good. We live in barely believable times. Another party that tried to make every night the most un-PC night of the year looks to be over for good too: UKIP. It ends not with a bang or a whimper, but with a wimp called Henry Bolton who fancied himself, to use the lingo of the chaps at the Presidents Club, as a bit of a banger. Who could have imagined it would end with mass resignations over its leader straying into the arms of a racist member who believes Muslims are “the cancer of this Earth” and the type of people who hail from Bongo-Bongo land are ugly.
This could have been the Eva Braun figure they had been seeking since Herr Nigel first got them goose-stepping to his beat with the promise of a final solution to the Johnny Foreigner problem.
But they turned on their latest fuhrer and his Eva, and now, like a poor Scrabble hand, it’s UKIP RIP. The final nail surely coming when Neil “liar and a cheat” Hamilton started handing them morality lessons.
Just as future generations will look at the Weinstein scandal and the goings-on at the Presidents Club unable to comprehend how they were allowed to flourish, so they will look at UKIP and be equally bemused. How, they will ask, did a rag-bag collection of overwhelmingly racist nonentities win 3.8 million votes while its politicians argued that women who don’t clean behind the fridge are sluts, illegal immigrants are “bomb-making, camelriding, goat-f***ing ragheads”, compulsory abortion should be considered for foetuses with Down’s syndrome and floods are God’s revenge for legalising gay marriage.
A party who scared voters with claims that 75 million Turks would soon be coming to use the NHS demanded Sir Lenny Henry emigrate to “a black country” and claimed British Muslims are the enemy within because they all want to either kill us or put the country under Sharia law.
Ah well, like Godfrey Bloom, Billy Liar the Bootle Squire and Mike Read’s UKIP Calypso, the party will soon be something everyone who voted for it really harked for: A distant memory.
And I thank the avenger of gay marriage for that.
One day we’ll wonder how UKIP ever won 3.8m votes