Ed Lines - Election Special 2017

Ed Lines - Election Special 2017

QUESTION one came from daughter as she prepared to head into college for an exam resit she was determined to get: “What does a hung Parliament mean dad?”

“It means Theresa May should be taken out and hung from the lamppost outside 10 Downing Street darling. Good luck today.”

(And then I explained, of course).

Question two came from Mrs L, although as usual it was couched in rhetorical 'told you so' terms. “Has that bloody woman really gone and totally beggared the country up?”

No answer required.

“Question three came from Lokesh, the gent who runs the village shop. As I bought emergency Weetabix (fuel for daughter's biology re-sits) he wondered whether the Tories might go into coalition with the Scottish Nationalist Party.

I explained that it was more likely that Theresa May would be dragged kicking and screaming out of 10 Downing Street and lynched from a nearby lamppost. Beyond that, a coalition with Northern Ireland's DUP (Democratic Unionist Party) would probably shore the Conservatives up for now.

“But what does it really mean?” he inquired.

I said it meant that a nation sick and flaming tired of elections would almost certainly face another general election, if not in a matter of months then certainly before the end of the Brexit negotiations.

Theresa, the closet Remainer who thought she could fly like Icarus, had suffered the biggest meltdown in British political history.

Begone, woman and damn your baggy eyes.


I COULDN'T believe the seasoned political voices that kept insisting on Wednesday night and Thursday that the Tories would still return a healthy, increased majority. 

Whatever planet they were on, it wasn't the one that turned the EU Referendum result on its head against all the overwhelming evidence and odds, or which swept Donald Trump to unlikely power in the USA.

These are changing days. People – slap my thigh and go to the foot of our stairs yet again – refuse to be told what's best for them.

They don't like being patronised and chastised. They can sniff a political lie from miles away and Theresa May's blatant deceits turned their stomachs.

So why did so many so glibly swallow Jeremy Corbyn's unmitigated bullshit?

Because Jeremy, bless his cotton socks, doesn't think he's fibbing! He completely, absolutely believes his Marxist economics so completely that he managed to convince great swathes of the land who either choose not to remember the 1970s, aren't old enough to, or practise the politics of small-minded envy.

It is no coincidence that the millions of people cheerfully accepting his pledge to plunge the nation into unimagined debt are precisely the people with no intention whatsoever of paying it off.

It's easy to live off someone else's efforts and earnings, isn't it?

And if Jeremy believes entirely in it, so why shouldn't they?

He's a terrorist sympathiser? An old politics/new age appeaser of everyone that hates what the United Kingdom used to stand for? So do his supporters – and there are millions of them!

Thursday night laid to rest the Labour Party of Tony Blair and Gordon Brown and confirmed the  ascendancy of the left wing, socialist revolution. Hapless Corbyn and his malevolent shadow chancellor John McDonnell have an iron grip on the party.

Even that vile racist Diane Abbott can now safely crawl from under her bed, say the paracetamol worked, and resume her life of unearned privilege. Will she? If not it won't be Corbyn's doing, far more likely the conniving string pulling of his own puppetmasters, men like Seumas Milne and McDonnell.

If they've any sense she'll be written off as damaged goods – send her back onto Andrew Neil's Thursday night tv sofa and get someone halfway competent in the job.

Abbott however is a symptom of the fever that has gripped the United Kingdom, not the cause.


THE downfall of Theresa May can be simply mapped, with roots in Blair/Brown's open-door immigration madness and the youth movement. 

“The kids don't vote, they talk a lot but won't drag their lazy arses out of bed,” was the received wisdom – right until the results started coming in. And we know the migrant/Muslim vote always comes out.

Just look at a map, study those huge swathes of countrified blue, the dense concentrations of urban red. Those idealistic youngsters and those determinedly organised ethnic communities have fused solidly behind Labour.

Liberal neighbourhoods of white, upper middle class London might have swayed Remoaningly back towards the Liberal Democrats, but here in Yorkshire MPs like the excellent Greg Mulholland in Leeds North West and former leader Nick Clegg down in Sheffield have been swept away.

I think it's fair to say, even in the still seismic aftermath of an incredible night, that Britain is a two-party nation again.

It's also clear that the British people don't like Prime Ministers who gain office by mastering the backstabbing politics of Westminster but not the approval of the people at large.

It's ironic that Gordon Brown's disastrous legacy will always be marked by his determination not to call an election when he first replaced Tony Blair, having been anointed without reference to the country.

The scheming whisperers in May's ear persuaded her first to call an unnecessary election, and then, fatally, of her own misplaced sense of importance. And she got bitten on her bony backside by a nation completely unconvinced by her stilted, vainglorious campaign.

Theresa May called an election to rubber stamp her imagined domination of the UK political agenda, to cement her mastery of the European landscape for the next five years, to etch her name  in the annals of history.

It's the oldest adage in this nefarious game – that all political careers end in failure. Most however last longer than the scant 11 months of a woman who, like David Cameron before her, bought far too much into her own ego.

Our lords and masters take the British people for granted at their peril.

The coming days and weeks will see more turmoil, more bloodshed, more uncertainty for a country that had a measure of it until Theresa May's folly. What the future holds, no one really knows although my oft repeated fears of the past six weeks appear to have been realised.

It's coming up to 9am and look, the sun is out. I think I'll go walk the dog.

Have a nice day.



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