I don’t know about you, but I’ve always had an annoying tendency to start chanting catchy tunes at inappropriate times.
So it was then that on Sunday, while talking with family I started, without prompting to sing: “Oh Jeremy Corbyn, oh Jeremy Cooorbyn.”
Monday, with a day off work, I leisurely honed the tune in the shower; while walking the dogs, while eating, while watching television.
Tuesday, my work colleagues, all of them Corbyn fans got a decent rendition, as did my girlfriend, my neighbour, and my dogs.
The issue is of course, there’s no second verse, it’s just: “oooohhh Jeremy Corbyn” hollered as if you were at a boxing match. It’s very repetitive.
Jeremy Corbyn on the Pyramid Stage at Glastonbury
This weekend thousands headed to Somerset – with their £243 tickets – to watch, among others, our dear leader (and his sidekick comrade McDonnell), inform us that he would be the leader in six months. (Queue an outpouring of “Oh Jeeeereemy Coorbyn.”)
Comrade McDonell also said he wants a million on the streets this weekend to ensure another election – after the last one we had a few weeks ago – where they lost.
But back to Somerset.
Owen Jones and co took to their respective platforms to tell the world that the adoring crowds showed real change was coming – no other politician can expect this reception – real change, real change, real change.
Left in the hands of those predominantly young ravers, who could all afford £243 for a ticket, real change would be forthcoming.
But the ravers left, smelly and hungover, as well as presumably in some vocal discomfort at singing…you guessed it: “oh Jeremy Corbyn.”
But they left, and left behind one of the most deprived areas in Britain.
An area which didn’t vote for comrade Corbyn, an area which is white, working class, and Conservative.
White, working class, and Conservative, versus: middle class, affluent, liberal, Labour.
The Office of National Statistics says that four in every ten workers earn under the living wage in Somerset.
According to the Department and Local Governments report, the area is the 56th most deprived local authority in the land.
And it’s Conservative.
Lots of doom circles the Tory party. It had a terrible election, and genuinely probing questions need to be answered if the party is to survive.
Labour, if we believe Owen Jones, is on the up – forget being 50 seats behind this appalling Conservative Party – it’s waiting in the wings; the revolution is coming.
And if the revolution – as the cliché demands – is to be televised, we saw it last weekend. Middle class, liberal, educated, and affluent.
Labour is finished if it cannot win the working class, a group which has systematically left the part, centralist or left wing, since 1997.
The working classes, for those who have no interaction with them, have made clear they want: strong borders, a decent wage, a sense of national pride, and a tighter welfare state.
The Labour Party offers none of this – hence why Somerset, the parts of which we don’t see every summer on television, remains blue.
For when the cameras leave, as is the case across large swaths of working class areas, people don’t care about scrapping tuition fees, let alone internationalism.
This is what the blue team must do – represent patriotic Britons, the kind who can’t afford the cocktail of skinny lattes, fashionable camping attire, and £243 tickets – the very people who have abandoned Labour.
Lastly, I’ve decided it’s as essential that they come up with a catchy tune for me to sing at work – something like: “Oh, Jacob Rees Mogg… Oh, Jacob Rees Mogg.” Or maybe not.