'Er...I'll have the second prize, please'

It's been an odd week for fundraising. First, the Urchin's school holds a sponsored swim to fund a playground for Guatemalan orphans and rewards the year-group that raised the most with a mass outing to a theme park - 'Hey, guys, we've bought you a tyre swing; now we're off to Alton Towers to celebrate!' - and then one of the least desirable raffle prizes ever is offered in the USA .

'In an e-mail sent to millions of people who supported Hillary Clinton’s White House campaign, the former President asks: “How would you like the chance to come up to New York and spend the day with me?” For those who would like the One-Day-With-Bill prize, an online donation of as little as $5 will buy them the chance.'

It seems it's a costly business running for President - estimates of debts run up by Hillary during her campaign run at about $25m, which rather takes the shine off the assertion that anyone can be president of the United States. As Secretary of State, Hillary is barred from fundraising so Bill has taken on the task.

This is apparently the second time this year he has raffled himself - the article doesn't say what happened last time; perhaps it's still sub judice - even though the Clintons aren't exactly short of cash. Their joint earnings from speaking engagements and memoirs 2000-2007 are estimated at $109 million.

And there's a horrible future spectre looming - if, as we heard yesterday, Cherie Blair took to sitting in on Cabinet Meetings (h/t Mrs Rigby), could she be harbouring future leadership aspirations? And if so, will we one day see Tony Blair selling himself to fund his wife's political ambitions?

New Shadow Cabinet meets...

Like the aftermath of a Las Vegas wedding, today will doubtless see some interesting scenes in 10 Downing Street as the newly-hitched couple start to find out about each other's intimate habits*, but spare a thought** for those former Cabinet Ministers now consigned to the wilderness of opposition...

Persumably there's nothing now to stop hats being thrown into the ring; given the backbiting and infighting (h/t and farewell LFAT) of which Labour's top brass have shown themselves capable, a leadership campaign should provide us with hours of entertainment in the months to come.



*The Urchin has been idly speculating on whether Clegg ought to have a bedsit on the top floor, or possibly a Thursday-to-Sunday timeshare, in consideration of his party's contribution.

**In the case of Ed Balls, 'Ha ha ha ha ha ...'

The opposite of aspirin

I think I need a note saying; "Excused Alastair Campbell".

A kindly soul sent me a link to Campbell's blog yesterday, commenting on the man's uncanny ability to wriggle out of any association with the sinking HMS New Labour.

Following on the heels of the coalition excitement and a frantic day at work, a few minutes of Alastair's musings were all it took to give me a headache - not one of your namby-pamby twinge-in-the-temple ones but a full-blown head-in-a-bucket bastard behind the eyes, enhanced by the nausea induced by the thought of his new novel featuring 'an A-list movie star'.

So, dear reader, you have been warned. Posting may be light for a day or so. But if you have the stomach for it, it does make interesting reading (as do the comments - my favourite is the one reproaching Polly Toynbee for not being left-wing enough, but look out for for 'Alastair, Have you managed to clear your pram of toys yet?' ).

Sights we'd like to see

Does anyone else have an irresistible mental image of the Queen solemnly watching the door close behind Brown before turning round and punching the air with a cry of "Yessss!"?

The caveman offering us a pig in a poke

So he's gone. Or hasn't. Like the leader of the last Neanderthals skulking in his cave, balefully watching Homo Sapiens stride into view over the hill, Brown clearly intends to stay put for the time being and strive to keep the march of evolution at bay.

Of all the indignities his Government has foisted on the electorate, this must surely be the greatest and most unforseen. Brown stays to broker a deal with the LibDems and anyone else they can rope in to make up the numbers, then, when Autumn comes and the LabLib coalition is firmly ensconced, they elect a new leader.

And as the doors of Number 10 open to receive Prime Minister Miliband or Balls or - God forbid! - Mandelson and another unelected leader is foisted on us, all the voting public will be able to do is watch in impotent horror and bury the valuables in the garden.

Prosepective leadership candidates have been asked not to declare themselves yet; it is claimed this is 'for fear of looking undignified' - I'm more inclined to think that, if Balls and Mandelson announce their candidacy, the most undignified spectacle in town will be the scrum queuing for immigration papers outside every Commonwealth embassy in London.

Update: Seen over at Burning Our Money in a fine post on the coalition wranglings -'Tyler's Polish patio-layer tells of an old Polish expression re changing governments - "same trough, new pigs". '

Farewell, Letters

Crowded as it has become, the blogosphere will seem an emptier place next week with the demise of Letters from a Tory.

Witty, intelligent, occasionally provoking but always a worthwhile read, the Letters have been regular reading for the Tavern inmates and will be sorely missed.

Coincidentally (with apologies to readers of a sensitive disposition), since the phrase appeared in a comment at LFAT on Friday, the Tavern has resounded to the cheerful tune of 'If I knew you were coming I'd have baked a cake' with revised words:

"How can we miss you if you won't f**k off....?
Gordon Brown, Gordon Brown, Gordon Brown!"

Happy earworm, everybody!

And now on BBC 1: The Luvvie Boat

One of the more bizarre elements of the BBC's Election Night coverage prompted Ross at Unenlightened Commentary to remark, "The things you see when you don't have a U-boat to hand," in a post appropriately entitled 'Ship of Fools'.

He was, of course, referring to the £30,000 party hosted by the Corporation at which dozens of celebrities were wined, dined and occasionally asked to pronounce on the state of the nation. Quite why our licence money should be spent ensuring Andrew Neil could call on the political acumen of Joan Collins or Piers Morgan, I'm not entirely sure.

While the presence of rival historians Schama and Starkey is understandable, it's hard to imagine the reasoning behind the invitations to Bruce Forsyth, Ben Kingsley and Kelly Holmes, whatever their respective merits in their own fields. And why did it have to be on a hired boat on the Thames? Last time I looked, the BBC had a state-of-the-art Election Studio with plenty of room for extra guests.

According to a BBC spokesman ‘As part of our election night coverage, we produced live interviews and broadcasts throughout the night from a boat moored outside the London Eye, discussing the election results with views of the House.' (Translation:"we wanted a load of celebs to upstage the competition but they wouldn't play ball unless we gave them free champagne".)

It's the apotheosis of the pointless on-the-spot report - Robert Peston shivering in a deserted Square Mile at 10:15pm or Nick Robinson standing in the rain outside Number 10 while the PM's in Scarborough. Here's the thing - we already know what the Palace of Westminster looks like. We really don't need you to spend £30,000 so you can sit in front of it cosying up to Piers Morgan.

The party did, however, serve to underline just how far we've moved on since the 70's, when election coverage meant a studio full of union bosses, expense account bellies and chins a-quiver, pontificating on the results. Instead, in an enduring legacy of 'Cool Britannia', the BBC sends its presenters out on election night to fawn on perma-tanned, botoxed celebrities - a sign of the times indeed.

The Tartan Factor

An idle thought - the Conservatives have just hit the 296 mark; they would now have an overall majority if Scotland were cut adrift.

Just sayin', is all.

Election - the musical; a reprise

While you're waiting for tonight's results, the tavern regulars thought you might like the chance to revisit some of the musical highlights of the campaign.

So here, for your delectation, are links to 'Seaside Manifesto' , the 'Gillian Duffy Blues' and 'It's My Party'. There's also a song that encapsulates the election fatigue that overtook most of us at some time or other (cheer up, NickM and Demetrius - you're not alone) and, in hopeful anticipation of the unkindest cut of all, 'Ed Balls - Who?'

Update: No post-election songs here as yet but Dungeekin's been quicker off the mark.

Game On!

The media may be muzzled today but comment is still rife in the blogosphere. This has been, without doubt, the most interesting and entertaining election campaign I've seen, mainly because of the numerous informative, perceptive and sometimes downright hilarious posts out there.

The downside is that, with a new-found interest in constituencies all over the country, I am probably in for a sleepless night - who could settle down for a relaxed kip when there's the potential Morley and Outwood Castration in the offing, or John Walsh's valiant struggle in Middlesborough?

Here at the Tavern, we usually try to preserve at least a modicum of political neutrality*, but the prospect of massive humiliation for the Rogues' Gallery whose machinations have intruded into every aspect of our lives while they lined their pockets at our expense is too much for our impartial stance - the Tavern will resound to loud cheers tonight if any of Labour's High Command are ousted.

Eschewing the BBC's 'Election Night Party pack', we have ample supplies of drink, we're armed with the Telegraph's handy expenses supplement to read during lulls in results and we plan to drop in occasionally on SUBROSA's live blog. See you there!


*ie we're happy to have a go at anyone who deserves it. To quote one of my favourite fictional characters, 'Honey, I have insults for every race, creed, colour and sexual orientation - I don't discriminate'.

Get Gordon Brown out of my sitting room!

There he was on the screen, grimacing away in front of a field of waving corn (prosperity? a subliminal fertility symbol?) while the adoring multitudes howled with delight at every opportunity.

He was pronouncing what you might call New Labour's Beatitudes, listing the achievements of the past thirteen years, claiming credit for anything that could possibly be construed as positive - Olympics, black women peers, the number of teachers... the list went on and on, while the crowd prostrated themselves to touch the hem of his garment.

I see from the news that I must have been watching Brown addressing 'a morale-boosting rally of 300 activists in Manchester' - which raises the question of exactly whose morale was being boosted. By the time I switched on, Brown was grinning manically, which is not a sight you want to be greeted with after a hard day at work.

The reason for this particular self-satisfied smile? 'Under Labour, there are more students at university than ever before and I'm happy to say the majority of them are women'. Cue: whoops and squeals of delight at a level suggesting the entire audience had just won the lottery.

Exactly why is this a cause for rejoicing? I'm all for equality in educational opportunity, but why is this inequality a source of jubilation? the only reason I can think of is a sort of double negative; women lacking education is BAD, so more women than men in university must be GOOD.

So where does this leave my son? Finding a university place is hard enough already: he'll be set impossible targets because his school is above average for GCSE's - and it's not comprehensive and we don't live in a deprived area, so there are quotas operating against him as well. With application forms now asking about parents' qualifications, he'd be better off being adopted by wolves - or possibly urban foxes.

The slogan 'A Future Fair for All' has a distinctly hollow ring to it, in this household at least.

Labour's Seaside Manifesto - blink and you'll miss it!

Yesterday afternoon, this bizarrely-titled document was appearing in media reports - by evening, there was scarcely a mention. Did they think better of it? Where did it go? Or was it just killed off by the British weather - the planned photo-ops of Brown surrounded by happy families eating ice-cream failing to materialise.

Still, it seems only right to commemorate it in song...




Seaside Manifesto

Seaside, while the media stroll along with me
I'm busy showing them that right is on my side;
See how I’ve teamed up with Duncan Bannatyne?
(You know you’d like to criticise but you can't)
So I’m campaigning madly,
Would town regeneration make you vote for me gladly?
A brand new angle in every marginal
Seaside rendezvous.

I’m getting frantic, three days left to campaign,
So it's Seaside manifesto time - you’ll like it,
It’s fantastic, you can be an entrepreneur,
And there are neighbourhood agreements,
Heritage programmes
And rebuilt piers - it's so fashionable!

**********

And so Great Yarmouth, where I am today
Visiting with Duncan here,
In a renaissance
Will be the Riviera of the North Sea
With just some regeneration and some government cash
If you all vote for me.

So we’re here at the seaside
For a photo opportunity
Maybe things’ll work out right
See how I’m posing with Duncan Bannatyne
In search of some reflected glory from the man?
Though maybe deep down we know
The public’s had enough of us and yearn to see me go
There’s still a place for Labour’s sensational
Seaside manifest-o – it’s adorable
Seaside manifest-o–o-o
Seaside manifest-o, give us a kiss!



http://www2.labour.org.uk/labour-launches-seaside-manifesto,2010-05-03