So another General Election.

So another General Election.

Yes folks. It's absolutely true. You really couldn't make this one up. If there are any crystal ball gazers out there or those of a Nostradamus persuasion then you can now take a bow and claim some sort of vindication. In our heart of hearts we probably knew it was coming but we were never quite sure when. But the most closely guarded secret is now out in the public domain and we told you. Or maybe we did and you were hoping that it wouldn't happen after all.

Unless you've taken a short break a million miles away from Planet Earth you'll know that on the 12th of December Britain will once again be traipsing off to their local school, church or community centre to ink an X on their ballot form for yet another General Election. These General Elections seem to be multiplying and breeding because the last one only seemed like yesterday. This is quite clearly a gross exaggeration but owing to circumstances quite beyond our control here in Britain none of our esteemed members of Parliament can make up their minds.

It only seems like yesterday since former Prime Minister David Cameron was leading us into some strange, surreal political wilderness where all was barren land, broken promises and misplaced optimism. Regrettably, events have taken a turn for the worse, and those maverick politicians have told nothing but lies, malicious lies, half baked lies and lies to turn your stomach. They have left us with a whole load of emotional baggage, crossed lines and nasty, rancorous bust ups in the now echoing lobbies and corridors of Westminster.

And yet for three years those Cabinet and Shadow cabinet ministers have engaged in a kind of no holds barred argument, an appalling series of verbal fisticuffs that have polarised, antagonised and totally alienated the whole of Britain. Families have been at war, children have been crying because their cans have been kicked down the road and, according to latest market research figures, almost the whole population of Britain have taken to the streets with their anguished yells. Brexit has officially driven us around the bend and that's the truth.

But yesterday matters came to a head for those of us who believe that in the middle of all this strife, stress and pandemonium something had to give eventually. And it did. Boris Johnson called a General Election a fortnight before Boxing Day and for the satirists out there this felt like the worst kind of comical timing. So put down your Christmas shopping bags just for a minute and allow this realisation to wash all over you. You've got less than a couple of weeks to go before the trees, tinsel and turkey are all ready in your home, waiting to be displayed on your groaning Christmas Day table.

For the first time though since 1923 a General Election in the depths of winter has been announced. Now hang on. Does that mean we'll all have to don our winter pullovers, thick coats and woollen gloves just because our members of Parliament have told us to go down to the said school or church and decide who should lead the country. Usually General Elections are held when the first cuckoos of spring have made themselves heard or, quite possibly, the middle of summer when most of us are in T-shirts and shorts.

And yet with a blatant disregard for our welfare and health, Boris and his chums have told us that if we don't vote him back as Prime Minister he'll never talk to us again or maybe he'll just throw a petulant tantrum. You wouldn't put it beyond him. The chances are that come December 12 the Tories, with Boris Johnson riding the crest of wave will crush Jeremy Corbyn in the most emphatic fashion, sailing into the serene waters of a handsome victory. It could be the most one sided Election victory Britain has ever witnessed.

Back in the 1980's when Margaret Thatcher and Neil Kinnock were knocking seven bells out of each other for both Conservative and Labour parties respectively, the scenario was strikingly similar. Kinnock was spouting fiery Socialist discourse and Thatcher was committed to a whole new dawn of British politics where the fields would always be green, full employment would be absolutely guaranteed and Denis, her husband, could take as much time as he liked on the golf course.

Sadly though for Neil Kinnock it didn't go according to plan. In the now infamous beach scene where Kinnock and wife Glenys started stumbling on the sand and then falling over as the tide threatened to sweep them away, Labour were comprehensively smashed and blasted into a thousand pieces by Mrs  Thatcher.

Then there was the Sheffield pre election rally where poor Kinnock got all of his words twisted up and then found himself reduced to a gibbering wreck when he discovered that he hadn't a clue what he was talking about. Kinnock kept telling us about sun lit uplands, boundless prosperity and a brave new world where the factories would always hum and people would be so much happier under the Labour party. For the 1980s read 2019. It's all very symmetrical.

Today Jeremy Corbyn has finally got his wish and the No Deal concept that he felt should have been taken off the table has now been removed as that pesky obstacle in his way. The bearded one from Islington can finally tell all his friends that the blond one from Uxbridge has finally given into that relentless period of delaying, dawdling and dithering. He can now look the country in the face and shamefacedly convince us that he's the man for the job at 10 Downing Street. This could be a battle royale when in all reality we can be rest assured that it'll be nothing more than a straightforward knock out after three rounds.

Still, for the next three weeks, Corbyn will tour the country, jumping onto orange crates in sceptical shopping centres, put a megaphone to his mouth and grind out the same old story. He will gaze across at all the Costa coffee shops, the very profitable Pret A Mangers with their rich variety of both organic or wholemeal sandwiches and will loudly proclaim his suitability for the job of Prime Minister. We know fully well though, that no amount of converting or prosletysing will change the public's minds because they know, with some certainty, that Corbyn is just a chancer, a supreme opportunist and full of boiling hot air.

Of course Corbyn will forever be haunted by the dark shadows that have followed him everywhere he goes. His unforgivable antisemtic outbursts, his stubborn attachment to Hamas and all of their associated terrorist groups could well be the complete ruination of him. He will ultimately be judged for the man he is rather than the man he'd like to be. There are the extremist leanings and the persistent advocacy of everything that could be regarded as backward thinking rather than forward. We may well be heading towards a humiliating wipe out for Corbyn come December 12 and it's advisable to look away now.

So it's off to the polls we go on our merry way with plenty of festive cheer. We are now in uncharted territory because this isn't the way some of us thought this would turn out. After endless breast beating, agonising acrimony and damaging, ding, dong doubts at every corner you'd have thought we were much closer to a breakthrough conclusion where somebody actually comes up with a result one way or the other.

But here we are on the last day of October, contemplating pumpkins and witches on broomsticks. It may be Halloween but we are as far away from a Brexit withdrawal as it's possible to be. Today was the day the teddy bears were supposed to be having their picnic. It also marks, quite poignantly, the final day of the Speaker of the House John Bercow's occupancy of that very lofty chair. With a lump in his throat and maybe a tear or two in his eye he thanked his loving wife and children. Maybe he privately puffed out his cheeks with relief. It was time to rest that weary throat. Give that man a medal.