Summer holiday time for British politicians

Summer holiday time for British politicians.

Yes folks it's that time of the year again. It can only be that time of the year. It's the summer holiday break for our fine, upstanding British politicians, those very public figures who add colour and shade to our lives, those who live their lives through their principles and their visions. They're the ones who genuinely believe they can make a fundamental difference to the way we live and only have to appear on BBC's Question Time to make their voice heard, a definitive voice and one that can only influence our lives with positive repercussions in the long term.

But here we are in the middle of July and it's time for our respectable members of Parliament to rush out of the school gates, cheer hoarsely and then declare freedom from the arduous chores that, quite possibly weigh them down for too many months of the year. They'll throw off their caps, loosen their collars, release themselves from the tyranny of their ties and then sprint towards the ice-cream van. The blazers will be dispatched to the wardrobe for a couple of months or so and the well ironed shirts swiftly hidden away. And then they can finally turn off their mobiles, I-Pads, Facebook and Twitter feeds and then just let go all of those stifling inhibitions and stop all of that incessant waffle and all of that officiously stuffy posturing.

Finally all of the red tape and bureaucracy that has, throughout the winter, hung around them like a horrible burden, will just float into the ether and thoughts will turn to summer holidays in warmer climes. So how do British politicians learn the art of relaxing, resting easily well away from the public eye in the hope that nobody can bother them again or stop pestering them for yet more opinions on Brexit, the current shape of bananas and considered assessments on the state of the Ecuadorian economy?

 Maybe they'll finally give answers on the more taxing issues of the day such as the dwindling species of kingfishers in this country. Or maybe the species is flourishing and politicians would much rather talk about their summer holiday destinations. You can hardly blame them of course because it is hard to think of a more unenviable job anywhere in the world. Who would willingly commit themselves to a life fending off the cruel jibes and insults from  your political rivals? Who could possibly enjoy spending an afternoon in the bearpit that is the House of Commons, fending off personal affronts to their character, deflecting the spite, the malicious comments, the endless and hurtful invective? It would be enough to drive anybody around the bend but now it may be the time to draw a line under the sand.

A couple of years ago the well respected Labour MP Margaret Beckett once claimed that her way of unwinding from the stresses and strains of political life was simple. Margaret Beckett took a caravan into the English countryside and just escaped into the blue yonder. Caravanning holidays were her preferred choice of holiday and she didn't care who knew about it. Presumably she took all of the basic essentials needed for such a well needed break. You can imagine Beckett in said caravan with kettle, gas stove, small net curtains, bunk beds and plenty of board games if it rained.

But where do the politicians really take their summer holidays. Does Prime Minister Theresa May take her bucket and spade to some exotic retreat in the South of France? Will she be going on that famous Welsh walking holiday again where the idea for a General Election first came into her head? Or does she simply put her feet up on a comfortable deckchair on the bracing South Coast of England? It is safe to assume that May will just switch off completely because this has been one nightmare of a year for her personal image and the sooner she's left in isolation the better.

It is hard to imagine that anonymity will be achieved because somebody is bound to spot her climbing a hill or having a cream tea in Devon. These are difficult times for any politician because in a controversial General Election year the very thought of getting away from it all could be considered a fruitless exercise unless of course you happen to be fruit picking in which case it's a brilliant idea. In fact a week picking strawberries in the English countryside may be just what the doctor ordered for Theresa May.

Then of course there's Jeremy Corbyn still a fully paid up member of the Labour Party and its leader. Now what are we to make of Corbyn, almost two months after defeat in the General Election. There is something about the man that almost invites music hall ridicule. Is he being just stubbornly delusional or is he still convinced that the whole Election was just a sham where, deep within his imagination, he did win a moral victory? But maybe in his more private moments there must be a sense that Corbyn lost and May won regardless of the margin of victory.

But the dawning realisation is now reluctantly sinking in. Theresa May did lose her parliamentary majority although that was as far as it got for Corbyn. Maybe now Corbyn will pack his suitcases, neatly loading books on red rosette Socialism and the formidable diaries of Anthony Wedgwood Benn. Given the kind of year Corbyn has had so far a Las Vegas gambling casino sounds a very attractive option. Besides he did play political roulette with his future and the odds were so heavily stacked against him that maybe he can only be seen as a busted flush.

So Corbyn has shown his cards, left town and should head for California or some palatial Hollywood mansion where he can finally find yet another blizzard of publicity. Oh for the seclusion and privacy of some remote island where nobody can possibly find him or so he thinks.  The thought occurs to you that Corbyn may just think about popping into the Trump residence. Now there's an image to cherish. Jeremy Corbyn and Donald Trump are, hypothetically, singing from some outrageous hymn sheet while a piano tinkles away in the background. It doesn't seem conceivable but Corbyn probably needs someone to talk to while the rest of the Labour party head for the hills. How he must have longed for these precious moments.

This should be the happiest time of year for any politician but the reality is markedly different. Where does a politician find some therapeutic haven where the only sounds they can hear are the early morning blackbirds, the gentle plashing of lazy seaside waves and a couple of gulls soaring impressively into a blue sky? But once the dust has finally settled on the General Election and the voices have made their case heard for the defence, both the Conservatives and Labour party will depart British shores where nobody can see, hear or think of them - at least for a Cliff Richard week or two.

Today the Liberal Democrats appointed their new man as leader of the party. Vince Cable stepped up to the plate and you can only think that the Lib Dems will just want to get as far away as it's possible to be. Cable looks like a whitewashed Spanish villa kind of man who would love nothing better than a charming red glass of wine on a remote Iberian veranda. Cable looks a well travelled man so will probably be content with the finer things on his holiday jaunt. Perhaps he'll stroll down to a nearby fishing harbour and think of England, or Brexit.

It is hard to imagine where our politicians just get away from it all, the madness, the bedlam, the chaos, the contrasting beliefs, the well intentioned commentators, the people who just want them  struck off the list. There are those who probably feel that no politician should ever go on a summer holiday and just follow in the footsteps of Margaret Beckett and just lock themselves in a caravan.

Still off they go with their buckets, spades and windmills while not forgetting that unmistakable beach ball. Oh before you go Theresa, Jeremy and Vince. Don't forget to include your swimming trunks and. most fittingly perhaps a lovely copy of War and Peace. If the tide ever does come in they would be well advised to do the quickest front crawl, climb aboard a yacht and just disappear over the horizon. War and Peace may be essential reads for any politician of any colour. Besides 1,500 pages could take them nicely into the middle of September and Jeremy Corbyn does bear a slight resemblance to Leo Tolstoy. Or maybe the sun has gone to my head. It's time to head for the coast and don't forget the sun factor 63.