When it comes to delivering hope, Mr Mcdonnell is, er, hopeless
LABOUR’S John Mcdonnell claims to be offering hope. Yet he himself never seems hopeful. In fact, he seems thoroughly dejected. With his suits forever black and his voice forever grey, he exudes the air of an undertaker who’s just opened an enormous gas bill. In speeches and interviews, he heaves and sighs with funereal gloom. No one expects a chancellor to be the life and soul, but Mr Mcdonnell goes well beyond dour.
He makes Alistair Darling look like Timmy Mallett.
Yesterday Mr Mcdonnell gave a speech in London about the Tories’ innumerable failings. “The strain is becoming too much to bear,” he groaned. “We can’t go on like this… Every day brings fresh stories of misery… The starker the crisis becomes, the more visible the despair…” Of course, it’s only natural to sound gloomy when talking about gloomy subjects. Budget cuts, housing shortages, flatlining wages. Yet he sounds gloomy whatever he says – even his own plans to solve these problems. “Labour’s Tax Transparency and Enforcement Programme is the comprehensive means to end tax evasion,” he moaned. “Investment will secure the high-paid, high-skill economy of the future,” he wailed. I wonder if he’s like this in private. “Good morning, John.”
“A ‘good’ morning. I see. You think this is a ‘good’ morning. Up and down the country, families are struggling, local authorities are at breaking point, and our NHS is falling apart at the seams. And your response is: yes, this is a ‘good’ morning.”
“No no, John, I just meant…” “No, it’s fine. You’ve made yourself clear. You think this is, and I quote, a ‘good’ morning. You think it’s ‘good’ that, right now, Tory ministers are going door-to-door, snatching Coco Pops from the hands of frightened children, and replacing them with a dollop of cold gruel. This, to you, is what constitutes a ‘good’ morning.” “John, I was simply saying…” “I know what you were saying. It’s ‘good’ that, in one of the wealthiest countries on Earth, ordinary mums and dads are setting off on the school run, completely shoeless – while the richest one per cent leap out from behind bins, pelt them with diamonds and run off, laughing.”
“John, honestly, I was just…” “And when these ordinary mums and dads finally stagger towards the school gates, barefoot and bleeding, you think it’s ‘good’ that they’ll find the whole place locked up – because this Tory Government has sold off the school to their cronies in big business, who are, even as we speak, converting it into a gold jacuzzi full of coins.”
Still, Mr Mcdonnell should be much more enlivening company when he’s chancellor. Thanks to his foolproof plans for the economy, all the nation’s troubles will be instantly at an end, leaving him absolutely nothing to be miserable about.