The Rules Of Engagement

It was getting late, and by all rights, I should have knocked the writing malarkey on the head for the night. But I couldn't go to sleep without getting this down, because it had been rattling around my head all evening.

Politics. I don't like it. At all. But I know we have to have it, which means there will be the odd occasion when I write about it. I can't help myself, because what goes on in that world is proper, certified bonkers. It makes no sense whatsoever.

Before we go any further, though, I want to establish two ground rules:

First, you will never, ever know which way I vote. I value my status as an independent voice far too much.

Second, I remain convinced that anyone who wants to be a politician? Is the kind of person who should never get to become one.

Those two rules sit behind everything I write whenever politics rears its ugly head. Which brings me to a brisk debate I had earlier with my internal editor, Arthur. The moment I opened a fresh blank document, he was off.

—No. I wouldn't go there, lad.

—Er, why?

—Well, nobody cares what you think. And people these days get proper mad when other folk express political views.

—Aha! But that's the very thing I'm not doing.

—Eh?

—I'm making observations about the madness. Without making a political judgment.

—Aye, right. I see what yer trying to do. But it's risky.

—Why?

—Because folk will still accuse you of leaning one way or the other.

— Hmm. Fair point. I'll have to state my rules up front.

He's got a point, of course. But the current political climate is too daft not to observe. Pointing out the comedy doesn't mean taking a side.

Take the Mancunian leader's—who is, in fact, a Scouser—latest bus fare cap announcement. Handy enough if you happen to take the bus, I suppose, but I don't. Or rarely. And that grand VAT reduction on energy bills? It works out to roughly 90p a week. An amount the energy companies will swallow up by next Tuesday anyway.

Two headline policies. Both of bugger-all practical use to the average person. But manufactured to give someone something to shout about at a microphone.

But my main point is the sheer structure of the thing. We now have unelected figures walking into Downing Street. And taking over the running of the nation. Where else on earth could you pull off a stunt like that?

I entertained the idea of strolling into Coventry City Council tomorrow morning. Pulling up a chair, and announcing that I'm running the place now. When the security guards protest, I'll explain that it's standard protocol these days. Tell them to check with Downing Street.

Mind you, it’s no worse than the last lot. They used to swap Prime Ministers every time someone needed a clean pair of socks.