Report by Fay Kinuise:
Of her new perch, Sarah Wollaston said:
“After very careful thought, I have come to the conclusion that by joining Plaid Cymru I can best serve the interests of my constituency, Totnes, or ‘Pen-y-Tot’ as it should be called and I understand that I am the party’s first ever MP in Dyfnaint.
I bring a greet deal of experience, as I have seen many political parties in the last few years: I was on both sides in the referendum campaign, I campaigned for Leave then voted Remain, then voted to Leave in Parliament; I have in the course of a few months been in the Conservative Party, then The Independent Group, then Change UK, campaigning for the status quo. I then sat as an independent, and then joined the Liberal Democrats, until they failed to reselect me for Totnes.
I will now campaign for Welsh medium teaching in all Devonian schools, and to avoid a damaging border with Europe, by building one against England. I can assure my new colleagues in Plaid Cymru that I will be steadfast for the party for the whole of the week, or until a prettier party comes along.
Whatever I have said in the past, I am still
the Vicar of Bray, sir the MP for Totnes. Britain deserves better.”
Culture correspondents from several national newspapers shocked when a whole city appeared from nowhere. Reporters dispatched to cover the Festival was delighted at discovering a beautiful city, called ‘Edinburgh’, which they had never heard of before.
One BBC correspondent expressed his delight at the appearance of the town out of nowhere, reporting a place of beauty, with a fairytale castle and a mountain in the middle of the town. Old hands assured him that Edinburgh appears for just three weeks in the summer and disappears from sight in the media as if it had never been there.
Others reported the suddenly irrupted town to be filled with theatrical and musical events, and people pretending to be comedians as well as a few off the telly.
To avoid shocking readers, writers have agreed to report on the comedians competing for the best one-liners, leaving reports on ground-breaking performances of Peer Gynt and The Crucible to the back pages of the Guardian where no one will read them, or the front pages of the Guardian where no one will read them.
As the Space Race began, the British Empire still dominated the Earth. Inter-service rivalry stopped the British Moon programme before it started. The Queen would be Queen of the Moon had rivalries between the services not sunk the whole programme before it took off.
The roar of a rocket from the Woomera Range could have begun a
golden era leading swiftly to British voices being heard in orbit and
eventually on the Moon. The first words of a man stepping out of a capsule on
the Moon would not have been Neil Armstrong’s famous One Small Step, but “No –
Who was to control the space programme though? The Royal Navy as the senior service naturally spoke first and insisted that these space ships are vessels for navigation and so naturally fall within the purview of the Navy, and would fly the white ensign. The Royal Air Force objected however that rockets fly and therefore must be a matter for the RAF, under the RAF ensign. The Army then weighed in with irresistible force as is their wont, to point out that rockets fall within the Army’s remit, and furthermore that the aim of the programme was for a man to land on and occupy the Moon, which could only be the Army. The Navy suggested a compromise that the Navy should sail the rocket but the Royal Marines could land. No agreement could be found.
Each service had its friends in Parliament and friends in the nooks and crannies of Whitehall; everyone who had served in the War in one service or another or whose son or father did, and the battle raged in forthright memos and boozy lunches eaten in dark corners wearing regimental ties. On it went, and up went Yuri Gagarin while they still argued. They were still at it when an American man, Neil Armstrong, stood on the Moon on 20 July 1969.
Armstrong was of a Cumberland family, not a good family but a most notorious reiver clan. Had he followed family tradition, then at once he had captured the Moon he would have driven it off before the Lord Warden’s men arrived, but this scion of the Borders was a thoroughly dutiful American.
The race, for Britain, was lost.
The exciting news from the Liberal Democrat Leadership election is non-existent. Two candidates, head to head – Jo Swinson; Ed Davey, neither capable of finding more than two letters in their name nor finding more than one policy, nor any coherent reason for that policy.
Jo – Glasgow-born but sensible enough to have moved to Dumbarton, the one candidate honest enough to proclaim that a try-again vote was a fringe idea, but still supporting it. Ed – Nottingham-born and fled to Suburbiton, the one sensible enough not to mention a cry-again vote in his pitch.
Head to head, pitching identical platforms, defying that popular prejudice that holds that liberals have imagination – who will be chosen – who can tell when the voting membership are as mad as a box of frogs? Who indeed could care less?
In July, just as Boris is moving into Number 10, we find out which two-letter faces him across the Chamber, unknown until this moment, and unknown ever to remain. – Jo or (well actually it will be Jo).
The great Chuka Umunna national tour of politics continues. Labour – TIGgers – ChUKers – RA – New TIG – now playing in the Liberal Democrats, and each gig less successful than the last. We have to ask: where will his tour take him next, and isn’t it time to hang up his guitar and retire?
Fresh out of Labour he formed a new band, The Independent Group, and within two days killed it stone dead. The dying band renamed itself after him as ChUK – ‘Change UK: keep the status quo’, then Remain Alliance, and even its logo was crossing itself out. After destroying his new party, he created a new TIG, chucking ChUK just s it was taking on yet another name (don’t ask me – it could change again before the weekend is over). The newer band trashed, its a flit to see what he can do to the LibDems.
They took him in, readers – they actually took him in. Vince Cable swallowed the poison and is happy with it. The Chuka ex-ChUk Chuckle Brothers are grinning like Cheshire cats in publicity photos.
He is just in time to enter the contest for the LibDem leadership, but he is out of luck: under the current party rules he is ineligibility as he is not called Jo Swinson.
When the LibDems crash and burn and he looks for another stop on his nationwide tour, will he come for the Conservatives? Could he be diverted to the SNP?