LOOKING on the bright side – not an easy thing for any Englishman on Thursday morning – unlike 1938 we do not face the threat of German tanks thundering across the Low Countries to the Channel ports.
As the quixotic Donald Trump pointed out at the NATO summit in Brussels, just before England crashed out of the World Cup (and no, Trump won’t know what quixotic means either) German Chancellor Angela Merkel might have 280 tanks at her disposal, but only four of them have got engines.
How very unGerman. But of course Ms Merkel doesn’t need tanks. She has the European Central Bank and the massed regiments of the EU Commissariat to keep the continent in a chokehold.
The World Cup might escape – but Britain? Never!
Back in 1938 Neville Chamberlain, the spineless, appeasing “peace for our time” Theresa May of his day, was ultimately saved from himself by the British people and a certain Winston Spencer Churchill.
Where to find our next hero then, given that Gareth Southgate’s meteoric rise has suffered a bit of a hiccup and he’ll be busy modelling M&S waistcoats for the next couple of years?
Well, if you’d suggested to me mere weeks or months ago that I might even dream of uttering this next sentence we’d not have spoken again for a long time – at least not through the fat lip and possible broken jaw that one or the other of us would have ended up with.
It’s time for a Jeremy Corbyn government.
While Diane Abbott spends Thursday morning on her abacus, working out how England can still make Sunday’s World Cup final and Emily Thornberry finally goes to bed having spent the entire night running round her neighbourhood tearing down ‘racist’ England flags, the time is ripe for Conservative patriots to bring down this broken shell of a pretend government.
Let Corbyn do his worst – because his time has come.
Theresa May is not just a liar down to her wizened soul, she is a traitor too. Can you believe, seriously, that a British Prime Minister quietly went cap in hand to see the German Chancellor to get her craven proposals signed off – before presenting them to the British Cabinet? Really? Because May did.
It makes Chamberlain look like Charlemagne.
May has been a disaster both for the country and for her party, from first to last. Once discarded – and it’s coming – she deserves to wither in her dotage, eating her shrivelled self up from the inside.
So bring on Corbyn, man of the moment. It’s time for a new national song: “It’s coming home, it’s coming home, it’s coming, Communism’s coming home…
I WILL confess to uncharitable motives here. After two years of insults and sabotage from ‘quixotic’ Remain snowflakes and Momentum Marxists, I basically thought “sod it – let them do their worst. Why should I care?”
A few years of economic mayhem and businesses closures? I can manage, no problem. Just leave it to Jezza’s fans to grow up the hard way.
I was chatting with a young Corbynite at the weekend. Private education then Goldsmiths at the University of London, the full silver spoon. A pleasant, bright young fellow.
I asked him – a tad mischievously – which political model, from ancient Athens to today, he considered best suited to his idealistic new state. He went for Soviet Marxism circa 1935 which was apparently Marxism at its purest.
Well, I suppose Stalin’s purges hadn’t fully kicked in. The tens of thousands he’d already executed did in truth pick up pace through 1936-38. Happy days, eh?
Top of Corbyn’s wish list would be to change the voting age to 16, because kids are so wet-eared as to believe his BS. The older I get, the more I’m inclined to the idea that only property owners should have the franchise, and then only vote as their Lord of the Manor instructs. Too quixotic by far, eh? Yes, of course I’m kidding.
National joy would abound as Jezza wheeled his barrow along Downing Street to No.10. Within days Labour would be spending like drunks in a brothel.
National debt would soar into the squillions – re-privatising everything except fresh air costs money – taxes sky high, inflation and interest rates to follow, sterling a junk currency.
No? It’s my own Project Fear? Don’t take my word for it, take that of the next Chancellor of the Exchequer John McDonnell, who still avows his life goal as being to destroy capitalism.
So what if it didn’t work for Cuba and Venezuela (or Russia, don’t forget), it’ll be different this time…
Well no it wouldn’t, but neither is that my point.
The best thing about a snap election and a Corbyn government would be seeing his sack of fighting cats trying to deliver Brexit – because if the Tories are divided, Labour are at least as bad.
I’m sure Jezza’s ‘answer’ would be to collapse into a blind funk and call a second referendum – joy for the EU’s two concentration camp guards Barnier and Juncker, while the chaos here doesn’t bear thinking about.
Meanwhile, just maybe people would awaken to the Corbynista reality as their politics of envy and spite reaped the rewards that every socialist state has.
The people hurt most by the Marxists’ economic insanity would be the very same people today clamouring the loudest for it – they always are, bless ‘em. No fool quite like a quixotic fool.
PS: Just to say, there is still hope for Brexit. If Barnier and Juncker haughtily throw May’s white flag back at her and demand she wipe their backsides with it for good measure – and they could – then she’s gone and we could still have a Tory party to get this over the line.
I CONTINUE to be amazed at the widespread support of many of my American friends for their polarising President, the Donald.
They either love him, or they really, really hate him. I fall firmly on the latter side from a moral perspective, while appreciating – grudgingly – that at least he’s a straight-talking sonofagun.
A leader who gets things done and isn’t afraid to upset people, eh? Whatever else the orange-faced comb-over king is, you’d have him in charge of our Brexit negotiations wouldn’t you? I think Brussels’ bluff would be called in short order.
I suppose most of the thousands of people marching in protest at Trump’s state visit in London today will be the same snowflake university students who want ‘safe spaces’ and the silencing of any voice that differs from their narrow, neo-liberal worldview.
It’s a march against Trump because yes, actually, he is horrible, but I sense it’s more than that – it is anti-American, it’s probably anti any Briton still proud of our historic past too.
Today it’s Trump, tomorrow it’s Remain, the day after it’s a march to silence Free Speech. Where does that come from? Well, ordinary men and women who attended a rally at Speaker’s Corner in support of banned American and European citizens were labelled ‘far-right’ by London mayor Sadiq Khan. That’s how far we’ve gone – you argue your case to speak freely on our streets, you are by definition a right-wing thug. I know who I think the fascists are.
Khan is allowing an insulting Trump blimp to be flow in London which shames our country, not him. Would other nations do it to our Queen? No.
Still, I’m sure Khan will publicly insult the brutal, misogynist leaders of Saudi Arabia, Qatar, Pakistan et al ... yeah, of course he will.
I DID a bit of shopping on Wednesday night. John Lewis’s was deathly quiet. Some footy on the telly apparently.
I kidded myself I didn’t want to jinx England. I’d switched the Sweden match on just in time for replays of Harry Maguire’s headed goal. Later, Delle Ali had just scored so I switched off. They were doing fine without me.
But it wasn’t the jinx thing really. It was more that I simply can’t stand the prancing theatricals. Oh, and as much as I’d have loved our lads to win, from what I have seen they are just not very good. That Raheem Sterling couldn’t hit a cow’s arse with a banjo.
Still, from the highlights and stuff at least now I would recognise more than just Harry Kane if they walked up the garden path – probably a whole half dozen of them!
And even better, at least there’s no chance we’ll lose to the French in the final.
Because that really would have been an indignity too far.