Alastair Campbell’s diary: My biblical battles with Zia Yusuf and Jacob Rees-Mogg

And lo, first Jacob did venture forth, for he was wise and long of tooth in Brexitania; and as its 10th birthday had come, so Jacob was called upon to cross tongues with an enemy, whom they had christened AC. These were the letters of the enemy’s name, yet it was not by those names but as AC the Antichrist that Jacob and his disciples did know him, for AC was a sinner.

AC would not swear allegiance to Brexitania, nor desist from saying to Jacob that he had been wrong, and the people wronged by him, in the telling of false stories which did make those people support him and his tribe, and thereafter become poorer and weaker in their own land, while he became richer by storing his treasures in greener island pastures, a short sail across the sea.

AC was not alone. Many such sinners spake loudly against the holy rulers. A New World did come into being, the gospel according to Two Matthews was it called, which spread the word, lest the falsehoods of the false prophet Boristopheles be forgotten, and it kept hope alive that one day we would leave the land of broken promises and reclaim a land of true promise once more.

Cakes and candles were there none, for this was a loveless, joyless birthday, the date remembered by all, celebrated by so few. Just Jacob. Or so was it thought, until the goddess Mishal did descend with heavenly voice to referee the joust as holy Jacob surely did intend to put the Antichrist to the sword, with tales of all that was so good in the land of milk and honey for which he and Boristopheles had fought so hard, and won. Surely?

No. Milk was there none to drink. Honey was there none to soothe his troubled, coughing throat. Of Brexitania and its glorious gains spake Jacob now barely a word. Only for the evil of the Antichrist did his lips and tongue come alive; only for lies supposedly told by the Antichrist in the land of Saddam’s Mesopotamia, many moons ago, could Jacob summon the spleen which did fire upon the crowd, confused now, for they had come to hear celebration of a blessed future, not the cursing of wars of the past.

Of a book did Jacob spout, at length, by a scribe named Oborne, which had proven beyond peradventure, he exclaimed, that the Antichrist’s lies had caused turmoil and torment in many lands. “There are footnotes!” Jacob shouted, and the crowd did laugh, in wonder, at where the Jacob of Brexitania and all its glory had gone, that a footnote in a long-remaindered tome should be the climax to the claim that his 10-year-old thing was good and strong and healthy.

The Goddess Mishal did endeavour stoutly to force Jacob to speak more of Brexitania, less of Mesopotamia, or of Oborne footnotes. In vain, for even her sweet voice of milk and honey could not summon from him the milk and honey promised but half a score years before. The thing was dying. Jacob was mute.

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Then some weeks later came Zia, younger than Jacob but dressed in finer cloth and splendid shoe, buckled and made by hand, for if Jacob was old money, Zia was new, and cared that all who came upon him would know how much of it was his. Like Jacob, Zia was of the Brexit tribe, though of another stripe, led by the fabled manfrog, Farage, whom Zia hoped one day would be gone, and he might lead in his stead. Of his ascent was he sure, if only he could free himself of the loathing he inspired in all who sailed on the Good Ship Nigel.

Where once Mishal had sat now came the Majestic Fiona the Bruce. Where Jacob had been sat Zia. But AC it was, not Nigel’s little helper, who spake first of Brexitania, and barely had he tallied its toll of loss before Mesopotamia poured forth from Zia, and the Antichrist was now a criminal of war, for by his words had hundreds of thousands been killed, and in chains should he be, today and for the rest of time.

Many in this crowd were unborn in the times of which Zia spake with such great excitement. They had a new King now, Andrew of Mancunia, and wished to speak of what the new King had meant in saying Brexitania had done more harm than good, and change must come.

Would Zia not seize the day, to succeed where Jacob had failed, to show the 10-year-old thing was good and strong and healthy? But no. The thing could not be named, for of it they can speak no good, as there is none; yet they fear to say bad, for such truth will pain their hearts, and anger the fabled manfrog.

So they say nothing of it, and lash out, distract, distort, and live in great hope that none shall see them for what they are. In their hearts though, they know, which is why Zia scuttled off into the shadows of the night.

OK, I don’t do God, but Jacob and Zia are such great names for a biblical story, and the Bible is full of stories of regret that won’t be admitted, or whose cause cannot be reversed. In fact, wasn’t it Jacob (though not the Rees-Mogg one) who benefited from his regretful brother Esau selling him his birthright for a bowl of stew?

And what was it Eve said after eating the fruit? “The serpent deceived me, and I ate.” The serpents are still touring the studios, but their Brexit apple has turned pretty sour, and if Zia Yusuf’s performance on BBC Question Time is anything to go by, Burnham having the guts to say so has got them rattled.

It used to be Labour and the Tories who wanted to talk about Anything But Brexit. Now it is the conmen and chancers who gave it to us.

I had met Jacob Rees-Mogg many times before our Brexit anniversary debate with Mishal Husain at Bloomberg, and always got on perfectly well with him, not least because he rivals Michael Gove for overdone politeness. That’s why his “attack is the best form of defence” approach was so noteworthy.

Question Time was my first encounter with Yusuf, about whom anyone who knew him had warned me he was a nasty piece of work. I definitely got that impression on the panel, but less so off it. Most nasty pieces of work have bone-crunchingly firm handshakes. A bone cruncher he is not. A bit limp.

Talking of Mishal, I hope if you weren’t there that you’ve been able to watch online the conversation we had to launch my book, Persevilience, at the Cadogan Hall in London. She really is a brilliant interviewer.