Ay up from classic Blackpool! Who wants Europe when you’ve got this many 2p machines on your doorstep?
I’ve spent most of the week on the promenade trying to implement a capped-fare electronic ticketing system that connects the heritage trams, rollercoasters and donkey rides, but the local operators are resisting my attempts at total devolution. As I said to the man in the sweet shop, “Andy Burnham will not rest, until every stick of rock is stamped with a strictly regulated maximum price.”
I had a fish supper yesterday. A couple from Wigan sitting at the Formica table next to me interrupted their Daily Express sentiment-sharing session when they heard me ordering extra scraps. “By ’eck Andy, we knew you were authentic, but we didn’t realise you were that authentic. Reform can get chuffed; you’ve got our vote, lad.”
I got a call from The New Yorker today asking if I’d like to do an impromptu eight-page puff piece with a tie-in video profile going out on HBO and Sky Atlantic but had to turn it down because I was in Legend’s Sports Bar watching Leigh Leopards versus Leeds Rhinos. I don’t care who you are, nobody gets between this PM and his rugby league!
Anyway, I’m off for a pint of mild and a game of skittles. If anyone in the big smoke wants to try and corner me about early prisoner releases, tell them I’m busy nationalising karaoke bars.
I’ll sithee later,
Andy xx
Dear Brenda,
Sorry I couldn’t make Friday’s surgery, I’m in Monte Carlo, where I have been conducting an important investigation into whether a man can spend £2,000 on a lunch without experiencing any discernible moral consequences.
The evidence is encouraging.
I have to say, Bren, I’ve been going on some truly wonderful and much-needed holidays ever since Christopher Harbourne donated £5m to stop me getting drenched in McFlurries. My sentiment is clear that luxury rooftop bars in tax havens are the safest place for men of my profile.
That said, I didn’t have high hopes when I arrived. The place is absolutely crawling with migrants who’ve arrived by boat, refuse to pay tax and don’t do any work. Oddly, because they’re all wearing designer sunglasses, I don’t seem to care.
I took a yacht around the coast with a Russian oligarch yesterday. He wanted to talk to me about sanctioned Russian banks, but I reassured him, Arron hasn’t been yet.
If you could keep running the surgeries for me, Bren, that’d be fantastic. And if anyone in Clacton asks about my whereabouts, tell them the Hôtel de Paris is the perfect location from which to lead a fightback against the global elites.
Yours patriotically,
Nigel
To Whom it May Concern,
I originally considered a relaxing break but then remembered that relaxation is a construct of the left wing commentariat which lacks the personal resilience to endure a rigorous holiday.
As such, I am spending the week shuttling between Hull and Rotterdam on a P&O Ferry.
The breakfast buffet is a catastrophe of ideological compliance; the queue is full of weak-willed weasels who think they deserve a participation award for waiting their turn, while the menu carries so many trigger warnings about nuts and gluten it’s barely legible.
Nanny-statism is everywhere. Wet floor signs, life jackets, handrails around the edge of the deck. Yesterday I met a family reading the “What to do in an emergency” notice and lectured them on fallacies of institutional safety and the importance of self-reliance in deep water until their children started crying.
They tried to tell me the weather was choppy, but I refused to acknowledge the mainstream consensus of people around me vomiting into sick bags. Their meteorological modelling had been infected by the sort of institutional groupthink that makes you regurgitate partially digested bits of heat lamp sausage on deck.
Yours robustly,
Kemi
Suggested Reading
Kemi Badenoch’s incredible shrinking Tory party
Hiya guys! Having a smashing time at Center Parcs. Photo-ops, bickering couples, and the smell of chlorine are everywhere.
So far, I’ve done paddleboarding, falconry, facepainting, and the Tornado slide at Subtropical Swimming Paradise. I shout “Lib Dem surge” every time I land in the splash pool. Absolutely everyone loves it!
We did crossbow archery today. I kept closing my eyes when I fired the little arrows and the instructor said, “You don’t know what you’re missing.” It was very funny! Particularly as when I opened them, I could see a twitching wood pigeon impaled on a pushchair.
I’m on regular fist bump terms with at least six other of the Hawaiian shirt dads here. On top of that, one of the duty managers gave me a high-five when he saw how tightly I’d done up my bicycle helmet.
There has been a bit of tension with the next lodge. But if you can’t listen to In The Summertime by Mungo Jerry on repeat at full blast in the middle of a vast commercial woodland while failing to cook burgers on a disposable BBQ, when can you? At one point I thought the man was going to thump me, but he backed down when he came close. Emily thinks my bright orange tiger face paint made him think twice.
I went bowling this evening. I took my own wrist support, laminated scorecard and a personalised bowling ball shaped like Menzies Campbell’s head. The finger slots were his eyes and nose! Only two of us were playing, but I still managed to come third! Story of my life!
Splashtastic regards!
Ed xx
Suggested Reading
Ed Davey takes on Oakeshott and Tice
Yo, federated leadership team, hello from sunny Benidorm!
I felt I had to come out here to try to connect with the sort of voters who don’t usually hear our message.
Today alone, I’ve discussed proportional representation with a bingo caller from Broadstairs, the principles of an asset tax with a stag-do from Belfast and global warming with a man from Luton who chops down ULEZ cameras.
I think I’m beginning to cut through. A man outside the Little Britannia theme pub recognised me and asked if it was true the Green Party wanted to ban sausages. It’s heartening to see my leadership style beginning to get traction, even if it is from made-up policies in The Sun.
And a hen-do from Rotherham was keen to know if it was true I could hypnotise boobs to make them bigger. I told them I believed it at the time, but since new evidence was presented, I’ve had time to reflect and it’s now something I no longer feel I can offer. They called me a “Typical fucking u-turning politician.”
More encouragingly, I spoke to a man carrying a bucket of Sangria outside Millers Beach Bar who asked if it was true I wanted to replace all British pubs with wind farms.
I told him I didn’t. He said, “Fair enough, I’ll vote for you then.”
I asked what changed his mind. “Mostly, you’ve got the same haircut as my sister.”
Progress is progress.
Solidarity
Zack xxx
