How short are people's memories? Specifically, the memories of Labour supporters. Short enough to debase themselves publicly, time and again. The frothing excitement over Andy Burnham's premiership proves one thing: a shiny new product can dupe even those who fancy themselves politically astute. Every public declaration of enthusiasm is setting them up to look exceedingly silly when it all goes wrong.
A cautionary tale from the Starmer era
They could have called Times journalist Caitlin Moran for a chat. When Keir Starmer became PM, she got excited — in the Biblical sense. She wrote an article headlined: "Keir Starmer has turbocharged my arousal levels. I feel fruity." How's that held up? Still feeling fruity? The sight of a dejected Starmer clutching a pint down the pub after he'd finally been forced out of the job was enough to kill any such feelings.
When Andy Burnham took over, I was genuinely worried his admirers would be so sexually charged they couldn't write about him at all. The thick-rimmed glasses. The hair. Those eyes. Thankfully, the praise wasn't so amorous this time, but Carol Vorderman assured us "...it's just gonna be marvellous, Andy Burnham for prime minister". And then there was that sick-making selfie. You'd think Labour MPs were taking a picture with a resurrected JFK, skull intact. Do they not know how daft they'll look if this all goes wrong?
Wishing every prime minister well
I want any prime minister to do well. Whichever party wins an election, I see no point in hoping for the country to get worse. I guarantee that in the unlikely event Zack Polanski becomes PM, I'll want him to see sense and do what's best for Britain. Win me over. Please.
I should be especially invested in Burnham. Having the first practising Roman Catholic grace the highest office in the land is a sign of something we all knew anyway: Britain has given up on that flavour of sectarian warfare and persecution. This might be poignant to those of us with Irish heritage. Sure, the progress was achieved long ago, but what a symbol Burnham could be to top off a relieving end to all the spilt blood and broken bones.
A northern neighbour's hope
He's northern, as am I. Being from Bolton, his campaign messaging — however thin — resonated with me. We've long known that once-great towns in this country have been forgotten. We also share a similar taste in music. Knowing how good The Pogues, Stone Roses and The Smiths are, I reckon it's more likely he's being genuine about his taste. The reflexive dismissal of his claims as fakery are the cynical spasms of those who can't fathom that a politician might share interests with ordinary people.
So it brings me no pleasure to suspect he will fail to end homelessness, put power in every postcode and end the cost-of-living crisis. Well, maybe one pleasure: I've not spent recent weeks publicly declaring an infatuation for a man who will likely turn out to be yet another mediocre leader.
Britain's mounting problems
I hope I'm wrong, but Britain has problems too comprehensive to list. To name a few: rotting defence, a stuttering NHS, the small boats farce, patience-snapping taxation and a bursting benefits bill. These times call for an exceptional politician surrounded by geniuses. Andy Burnham isn't the former. And his Labour colleagues definitely aren't the latter. The shine should come off any day now — likely it never existed for readers of the Daily Express.
So take comfort, dear reader, that in your wisdom you never rushed onto social media to hail the second coming of the messiah. The adults have been back in the room for a while now. Unfortunately, Burnham is the same kind of adult we've long wanted gone.
The sartorial distraction
The Burnham-bashing centred on his sartorial choices has made me marginally happy. Not because I have a problem with his love of T-shirts. Much like Nigel Farage being pictured with a pint, it can't hurt to have a PM who shows he's in some ways normal. Better that than one visibly disgusted by the masses.
The real reason it's made me smile is that it reminded me of a magnificent parliamentary put-down from 2016. Facing the aesthetically challenged Jeremy Corbyn, then-PM David Cameron raged: "Put on a proper suit, do up your tie and sing the national anthem!" His Etonian pomposity — usually enraging — made it all the more hilarious. It's well worth reliving on YouTube!
