Labour party political conference and British politics.

 Labour party political conference and British politics.

Of course we know that British politics is a mug's game. It always has been and always will. It is a profession for the hard skinned, masochistic individual who just loves to take stick on an incessant basis, who derives enormous pleasure from being viciously and verbally attacked and ridiculed, mocked and derided, made fun of and generally made to feel totally inadequate. There are those who have a democratic right to express their disapproval of politicians, humiliating them, demeaning them and then shooting them down in flames and that is their right.

At this week's first party political conference of the season, the Labour party, now the new incumbents at the very top of the political pyramid, face their critical and judgmental public as the government of the day and full time residents at 10 Downing Street. Allegedly, Larry the Cat is fascinated by all the latest goings on in this legendary corner of Westminster. He still goes wandering around the back streets in search of different types of haute cuisine, scraps of food and then bowls of milk that may have turned sour because Sir Keir Starmer may have forgotten about Larry in all the heady excitement of the last month or several. But, Starmer has been wowing the crowds in Liverpool for the Labour party political conference and it's time to get down to the nitty gritty of political discourse.

But this year marks his debut appearance at a major Labour party celebration. Now they're the governors, the leaders, the overall bosses and crucial decision makers, the men and women responsible for either making or breaking the United Kingdom. What we need now is, perhaps, a moment of sober perspective. The Labour party, who had hitherto completely lost their way on their route back to governing the country, have this week been back in the spotlight just when they must have thought everybody had assumed they no longer existed.

And yet after 14 years of bumbling incompetence, foolhardy behaviour, comical statements straight from the British music halls of the Second World War and general mismanagement, the Tories have now taken a back seat in some wild wilderness where only loneliness and grudging remorse may be the harshest of realities. Nobody wants to know what happened to Boris Johnson, fewer are interested in the stuffy pomposities of Jacob Rees Mogg or so it might be thought and as for Dominic Raab, Liz Truss and Nick Hancock, the less said the better for us all.

We survived those darkest days of Covid 19 because we could hardly believe the improvisation comedy act who was Boris Johnson, as Johnson simply went from one verbal disaster to another. Every time Johnson appeared at that now memorable Press conference lectern accompanied by his medical scientists Sir Chris Witty and Sir Patrick Vallance, we knew it would fall apart at the seams fairly rapidly. And it did so embarrassingly. In hindsight, no one political party of any persuasion could have stopped this calamitous tragedy, this horrible decline into confusion, complication, obfuscation, denial, counter denial and then, suffering on a monumental scale.

But now that the Conservative party are out of office, Britain can now look for its latest set of sitting targets, another set of buffoons, pranksters, tricksters, exploiters and ministers who are about as useless as chocolate tea pots. Hold on though. The Labour party have been in government for just over four months and there's still dust in the curtains of 10 Downing Street's windows, the furniture has only just been installed in the dining room and a certain portrait of a former Prime Minister had to come down.

This week though, the Labour party have been selling their wares in Liverpool, once the city of culture and now hosts to a new government for their annual shouting match. It will be a hotbed of fierce debate, a thousand private discussions, confidential whispers and a platform for profound statements and expressions of either delight or frustration.

It used to be the case that wherever the Labour party went, trade unions and militant voices would jump to the defence of Labour because they were the ones with those good, old fashioned Socialist ideals and the working class proletariat would come together over yet more beer and sandwiches. Labour represented the working man or woman, those who once plunged into dangerous mines and coal faces with dirty faces, clocked onto industrious factory floors and grafted for their living.

From the earliest days of Clement Atlee right through to the gruff and forthright Harold Wilson, the Labour party have arrived at the front door of 10 Downing Street and left it behind because something had gone terribly wrong with the machinery and the country was either flat broke or just an international joke.

When Wilson declared his White Heat of Technology speech a resounding success, there were still grumblings of discontent. The economy was still in a ropy, parlous state, our standing on the world stage was no longer secure and even Swinging London had become a hollow cliche. The Vietnam war had slowly degenerated into agonising death and grotesque bloodshed and all Wilson could claim as his major achievements were the Open University and the addition of BBC Two as Britain's third new TV channel.

Fast forward another 30 years and two men were conspiring to pick up the pieces of a Labour party who may have been accused of being stuck in a time warp. Both Michael Foot and Neil Kinnock were competent and conscientious politicians who knew all the wrinkles of political etiquette. But Foot seemed to drag the Labour party through a muddy quagmire of wrong turns and ill conceived legislation of dodgy policies. The final straw of course for Foot was that infamous appearance at a Remembrance Day service when he thought nothing of wearing a shabby coat and the kind of dishevelled look that seemed to bring disgrace, shame and disrepute upon the Labour party.

Neil Kinnock of course had been an admirable speaker, an orator of the highest quality and status, a fiery if hugely intelligent academic who knew exactly what to say and had no reason to apologise for any gaffe or indiscretion that might have passed his lips. But at the height of Margaret Thatcher's reign as Prime Minister, Kinnock stuck his shoes onto the most explosive minefield of them all. In the lead up to a General Election, Kinnock was deliberately photographed with his wife Glenys running along a beach before being swept away by a huge tidal wave and falling onto the sand without a care in the world, faces wreathed in smiles.

Little did he know it at the time but that would spell the end of Labour party until the now well respected tenure of Tony Blair as Labour Prime Minister. Labour went into hiding and hibernation after Kinnock and, after Blair had performed minor miracles in rescuing Britain from another meltdown, we are now back where it all began with Blair.  The political party with an authentic heart and soul, the party with compassion written all the way through them and the party who always cared for the downtrodden and neglected, were officially back in charge. Leave it to Labour. They'll know what to do. That's for sure.

And so it was that Sir Keir Starmer came to the microphone in Liverpool yesterday. He stood up at the microphone, composed himself, took a sharp intake of breath and just spoke rather like the bridegroom who just wants to say the right thing to family and friends. He looked down on his piece of paper and then swiftly looked up at his adoring audience because he knew just what this all meant to his party. They had come this far, toiling away furiously behind the scenes and then finally reaching the summit.

Starmer began to thank all of his colleagues for their unstinting, tireless contribution to the Election campaign trail, outlining his plans and promises in a steady, measured style. There were no grandiose five year projects, nothing to suggest that the country's woes and troubles would be remedied almost immediately. He spoke about sunny uplands but then we knew he would because new Prime Ministers have been expressing the same sentiments since time immemorial. He warned Britain again that this would be no picnic, no easy task and there was much to do. Of course things would never get better overnight and there were no medical or homeopathic treatments that would transform everything tomorrow or indeed this morning, afternoon or evening.

But he then got started on the controversial winter fuel allowance that had pre-occupied so many minds in recent days. Apparently the elderly would have to sit in cold dining rooms during the winter without any comforts apart from Strictly Come Dancing on Saturday night TV. Oh dear, first clanger dropped and suddenly the blustering voices were in full angry mode. How have we come to this juncture? Weren't the Labour party, the party with a benevolent heart of gold? Apparently not. Or have they simply been misunderstood?

And then there was the weekend fiasco of sleaze and scandal. Sir Keir Starmer is one of the now many Prime Ministers to swear their football allegiance to a leading Premier League club. Starmer is a fervent Arsenal supporter, a Gooner and therefore a man of the people. Starmer is the man who loves to share a pint with his fellow football supporters, leaping into the air when Arsenal score and slumping back into his seat in an inconsolable state of despondency when Arsenal lose, a feeling that's unfamiliar to them at the moment.

So what was all the fuss all about? We have now been reliably informed that Starmer wants his own seat in the directors box at the Emirates Stadium rather than mixing with the great and good in the crowd. Labour have been handing out free tickets to all and sundry and up to all kinds of deceit and skulduggery. The knives are out for Labour, sharpened and ready to be used when necessary. Suddenly, Starmer has become public enemy one, taxing  those who should never be taxed, upsetting everybody and then finding there are slight cracks in the structural integrity. Doubts are being uttered and all of the dizzy euphoria of General Election victory in May is  beginning to taste like flat lager.

It does seem though this may be a temporary blip in the proceedings, a minor setback, teething problems, a transitional period for the government. Patience has to be a virtue. Besides, Rome wasn't built in a day but the bricks and mortar used for this political project may be needed sooner rather than later. This is going to be one long and painstaking operation, laborious in the extreme but trust has to be placed in Starmer since there can be no plausible alternative.

The ghosts of Foot and Kinnock may come to haunt Starmer in due course. But now maybe now is the time to sit tight and hold onto our seats. Labour won this year's May General Election by a comprehensive landslide with a vast majority that almost feels unprecedented in modern times. They won because the UK wanted a refreshing change, shiny new innovations, more housing, an education system for our children that should rightly be considered the best in the world and an economy that thrives in no time at all.

Starmer re-assures us that the NHS will be his first and most important priority because our doctors and surgeons are just exemplary role models, outstanding in their very public roles. The health of the Britain has to be addressed almost immediately and no elderly member of society should have to be expected to languish in a hospital corridor for hours and hours, day after day. 

So there we are Great Britain, it's the party political conference for the Labour party in Liverpool. Be there and pay attention because Sir Keir Starmer is talking and talking positively. And then, much to the amusement and hilarity of the nation but not to me personally, Starmer, in a brief lapse of concentration, in an emotional moment in his Gaza - Israel dialogue with the fellow members of his party, referred to the 'sausages' as opposed to the hostages detained at the moment. It must have been the lights in the hall and the beads of sweat on his face. This was the most unfortunate of cock ups but then again Starmer is human after all. So much for Punch and Judy politics.