One thing I don't want, though, is for the former Leader of those years to write patronising, self-important, histrionic nonsense in whichever paper will have him about why voters like me are stupid and can't see what Uncle Tony sees - that we're all on the road to crazy left-wing Doomtown if we vote for Jeremy Corbyn. You'd think they'd be happy wouldn't you? Labour gains tens of thousands of new members and registered supporters. Young people climb walls to peer through windows at a Labour Party meeting, rooms are so packed out, speakers have to climb on fire engines. A politician seems to be genuinely liked and respected. What's not to love? It all looks great to me, but not a day goes by without some grizzled suit appearing in the media, waggling a finger and warning us we're all going to hell in a handcart, if we carry on with this nonsense. And strangest of all, they think we'll all stop the silliness and go to our rooms to think about what we've done, shamefaced like teenagers caught smoking by the bike sheds. As if we're not adults capable of rational decisions. Someone sneered on Twitter today "Is there anyone Corbyn supporters WILL listen to?" Well, actually, love, yes. For me, there are over 600,000 people I'll listen to. They're called the voters in this election and I'll listen to them and trust them to make the right call. And whoever is elected, especially if it's a convincing first round win, will have my support. Yep, whoever. Because that's how parties work, isn't it.
So, here's some free advice for Blair, Johnson, McTernan and all the others waggling the finger and offering me so-called advice. Get. Over. Yourselves. Stop behaving like jilted boyfriends, whining about what we see in this bloke with a beard. He hasn't even got a decent car, you snigger to each other over glasses of Sancerre. Why can't we see how great things were with you, Tony? Why can't we go back to those days, you wonder morosely. Stop issuing warnings about how terrible our lives will be together, trying to claim he has a dark side and he'll hurt us. We know you think we were NOTHING until you came along. You cleaned us all up, put a shiny New sticker on us and it's as if we're not even grateful. We're like Eliza Doolittle, thinking Oh, fuck it, I like talking Cockney. Yep. We are. And again, you need to Get. Over. It. Perhaps Alastair could take you all out, get you really drunk. You could sing along to classic break up songs - Don't You Want Me by The Human League, Irreplaceable by Beyoncé - cry into your beer and pick a fight with some guy with a beard, who looks like HIM. As the evening wears on you could tell each other you're the BEST and that we never really deserved you. Late at night John Prescott will show up with the Jag, as you're all semi conscious and help you up. "Come on, let's get you home," he'll say kindly and you'll ask him "Why, John, why don't they love me, I gave them everything". "It's over, mate" he whispers gently, "It's over and you need to move on". He's so right.