It was the final leaders’ debate last night, and with it featuring questions on the economy, Gordon Brown acquitted himself as badly as everyone expected from somebody who’s been running the country’s finances into the ground since 1997. He sounded his usual automaton self, full of statistical crap. It’s probably too late for these debates to significantly alter people’s voting intentions as they head to the ballot box next Thursday, but the press reckon that Gordon Brown’s run-in with Mrs Gillian Duffy was his ‘bête noire’. As one commentator said, ‘Short of picking on a war widow, it’s hard to see how Brown could have chosen a worse target’, referring to the fact that Mrs Duffy’s family have voted Labour for generations and that she was a widowed pensioner.
Calling an old lady a ‘bigot’ was not only insulting but completely inaccurate – her questions about immigration were quite reasonable. It made me think what Brown could have said, off-camera, about other people he might have met on his walk-about.
The Rubbish Collector – my God, did you smell that guy? I’ve stepped in stuff which smelled better than he did. Do you think he ever has a bath? And did you see his teeth – the tombstones in Westminster Abbey look better than his nashers.
The Blonde – well, did you see that? What a gorgeous pair of knockers? I bet she likes a bit of the old ‘wham bam, thank you maam’. Maybe if Sarah wasn’t hanging onto my coat tails making sure I don’t mess up, I could have suggested that we nip into her house for a quickie. I wonder if her old man is in? Did you get her number?
The Used Car Salesman – did you see the crap cars that guy had on his forecourt. I bet he’s a real crook ripping punters off right, left and centre. He sounded like a real east-end conman. Actually, he sounded just like Alan Johnson (Home Secretary).
The Gay – did you just listen to that poofter? Bent as a nine-bob note. Asking for equal rights when I’ve already allowed them to marry each other. We should have had our gay boy, Mandelson down here. They could have gone off into the bushes together to discuss the state of the pink pound.
The Hoodie – little prick. Couldn’t understand a word he was saying. How come these little shits who obviously come from nasty, poor families can afford these fancy trainers and smart bikes. Remind me to check up on Tax Credits when I get back to Downing Street.
The Priest - he was a shifty looking piece of work wasn’t he? I bet he’s top of the Pope’s paedo league. He didn’t seem too pleased when I asked if old Benedict was going to downsize and move into something smaller in Rome, did he?
The Liberal Supporter - What a turd. Liberal namby-pamby, wishy-washy, flippy-floppy pain in the ass. When I get re-elected, I’m going to pass a law which ships all these pond-life creeps to a 3rd world country. Tosser.
Assylum Seeker - What a nice chap. Only arrived from Turkmenistan with his family last week and is on Working Tax Credits already. And did you see how nicely dressed his twelve kids were and how clean and polished his car was. What a beacon of light for the society I’ve built and he’s going to vote for me, for me.