Robin Nicholson's 2016 UK Election Diary: The Extra Fun Inside Story

Don't worry kids, I'm not gonna do a me and abandon the other 2016 timeline I'm working on. Yet.


Thursday
February 25, 2016


“But let’s move on to an election which is actually imminent, in the United Kingdom; Europe’s uppity one.”

Oh, but if only John Oliver knew how correct he was. Hearing it reminds me of the jibe by the European Commission President last year that Britain “does nothing but argue,” lamenting the old days under David Steel. You may think it’s strange for me to be watching HBO on the day the Prime Minister went to the palace to have Parliament dissolved, and you’d probably be right, but this very first day of the election campaign is usually quieter than outside observers realise. Everyone huddles and finalises their strategy; today most of the party leaders are revising for tomorrow’s debate; the first in British political history. So here I am in the back of the taxi on the way to Broadcasting House, watching one of the countless American shows where someone talks to the camera while funny images appear over his right shoulder, because I’ve seen the Prime Minister’s pitch today at Downing Street a thousand times already. I’m interrupted with a text; my producer wants to know my take on the big controversy slowly emerging about his speech. The PM had referred to Britain being “on the precipice, faced with the choice of either continuing down the steady path or jumping into the unknown. At this time of national peril, we cannot resort to wild or rash actions. Stability is the only option.” A lot of people, Labour and the Liberals included, are calling this very statement rather wild and rash. Some have called it fearmongering, and the term “national peril” has been described as almost warlike in its rhetoric. The Labour leader has been calling “civility” between the parties the best option during the economic crisis, and what a crisis; last week the unemployment figures finally hit that terrifying twenty percent. It’s worse elsewhere, with the news all week displaying fresh pictures of the civil war-like riots in Greece and Spain. Over there it’s terrifying, here it’s just miserable. I text back to my producer, "he should have just cried, we both know he's dead in the water regardless of what he says." Come on, he's not staying in Downing Street amid this kind of circumstance.

But the cast of characters has been assembled. There’s our Tory Prime Minister, the energetic Etonian patriot Donald Mount whose claims to fame include being the tallest and youngest Prime Minister ever whose Cabinet has been variously been nicknamed the Algonquin Round Table or the Oberkommando. His sunny optimism is wearing very, very thin on a country dealing with the worst state of affairs since the Luftwaffe figured out how bomb doors work. He rose so high when he first came to office, refusing to follow the Americans into Iran, and now look how far he's fallen. Our own little forgotten war in Sudan is still grinding on after ten years. Then there’s the Labour leader, John McDonnell, representation of a party rebellion against a generation of centrism by the hierarchy and mired by controversy over his comments about the IRA. The party loves him, the country not so much, the executives of the industries he wants to nationalise even less. The Liberal leader attracting plenty of international curiosity, Paisley-native Sophie Nkrumah, who holds the potential to be the first black national leader in the history of Western civilisation (I think). Her Muslim deputy, Alaa “AJ” Jasim, has managed to become the darling of panel shows everywhere ever since calling the Prime Minister a “cockbucket” on The News Quiz. Coming at such a time for international politics, when the continent’s centrist consensus is being ripped to shreds by the far-right and far-left amid the recession, it’s not doing an inconsiderable service to our global reputation. Doing the opposite, as he’ll be the first to tell you, is Victor Hood. Real name John Western, having changed it to presumably be an eye-catching supervillain, he’s been leading the rebranded and modernised National Front for a decade in total obscurity. Then along came the recession and the return of that spectre called stagflation, and he’s exploded onto the political scene. Today he’s addressing a rally in Blackpool and channelling his inner Oswald Mosley once again as his party prepares for the most important election in its history. But unlike Mosley he’s got no time for intellectual fine points; to many he’s the bloke next door who says some outlandish things but doesn’t really mean them, the nice guy who pays his round and with whom you can always have a laugh with. His being a homosexual (obviously, look at that suit) is enough for a great deal of people to dismiss accusations of fascism; last year in Manchester he famously conducted a book-burning of Mein Kampf as a publicity stunt on Holocaust Remembrance Day, which the Anglo-Jewish lobby diplomatically called “unnecessary.”

Notice how I gave plenty more words to Mr Hood than anyone else. There’s a good reason, because he’s shaping up to be the key figure for this election. Since the world economy decided it was too stable for its liking, the National Front has catapulted from a solitary percentage point in the polls to occasionally touching fifteen percent. Proportional representation working its magic, a motherlode of parliamentary seats are beckoning. It’s been a hell of a lot of work to rebrand the party; when he became leader, Hood publicly refused the endorsement of former leader John Tyndall, the party’s first MP when proportional representation first came into effect for the 1979 general election. Since then he’s had an uphill fight against the party’s white nationalist old guard but is now declaring “I cleaned out the rot.” Appointing a black deputy showed how far the party had come and a spanner has been thrown into the works of a political system which since the late 1970s has rotated around the three big parties. Smaller parties come and go as quickly as they are conceived (remember the Referendum Party?) but this feels different. Something deeper in underway.

I arrive at Broadcasting House to present my nightly piece on the six o’ clock news. There’s a lot to get through. With the main story being the dissolution of Parliament and beginning of the six week election season, I spell out to the viewers back home the one thing everybody can agree on; this election may prove the most consequential since 1979. Nobody can deny that Britain is at a crossroads, which promises remarkable results no matter who ends up on top. Is it possible that Victor Hood could end up our Deputy Prime Minister, I ask? To some he might resemble a cartoon character, a chuckling aristocratic walrus, but he represents a fundamental threat to the politician mainstream. I don’t make the walrus comment in front of the camera, of course, but my point still stands. What I do say is an imploration for the viewers to tune into the debate tomorrow. It’s going to change everything, I’m sure.

I make it home in time to catch The News Quiz on BBC One. It says a lot about our culture that the beginning of the election gets barely a few minutes. It seems the American election is attracting rather more interest, for now at least. Still, the story of Georgia senator Winston Jackson, descendant of slaves, taking on establishment heavyweight Lloyd Bernstein for the Democratic nomination in a time of economic chaos, social unrest, and war in the Middle East makes for an inspiring one. Polls suggest that if it were up to Britain, Jackson would win by seventy points. He seems to have a real shot at winning in South Carolina tomorrow, but I don’t buy his eventual victory. Bernstein’s been at the top of the party for twenty years; someway, somehow, it’ll be him and President Falwell come November.
 
Last edited:
This is... crazy to say the least, but very interesting so far. I'm assuming the POD is a Liberal Conservative Coalition in the 1970s and not an Aloiance wins TL as I had initially expected. I'll certainly be following this...
 
Friday
February 26, 2016


On the tube

On the way to Broadcasting House I was recognised for the first time in a while. A beardy student in a flat cap with a big red Militant badge on his jacket, presumably canvasing since he was holding a big handful of Militant leaflets, called me a “foot soldier of parasitical capitalism” before quickly scurrying off at Westbourne Park. I wondered how long he’d spent looking at me thinking of something clever to say.

Broadcasting House

Arrived at the studio only to find a handful of constables guarding the approaches to the main entrance. Apparently a bunch of Scottish nationalists have converged to protest their party’s exclusion from the debate tonight. It’s a row between Edinburgh and the BBC which had been raging for a couple of weeks now. The BBC’s line is that, as a regional party, they can’t reasonably be expected to provide the next Prime Minister and so don’t belong on the stage. But they included the National Front based on a single iffy poll which gave them 30% of the vote. This hasn’t helped much and is why a lot of anti-fascist demonstrators are mixed in with the Scots. One of the officers informs me I’ll have to be escorted behind the police line. I ask if he’s expecting trouble and am told a sound engineer from 5 Live got into a row with the protesters and had his nose broken. I assure the officer that I, a balding middle aged political analyst, have never been the type to pick fights with nationalistic Scots but am ignored and led past the small chanting crowd of saltire waving protesters and into the building. I half expected to be pelted with fruit; at the Conservative conference in 2014 my cameraman got walloped in the temple by a flying tomato when someone mistook him for the Home Secretary. The recession really has brought out the worst in people; it all used to be quite civil.

By the way, isn’t Broadcasting House big? Extensions just after the turn of the century increased it to nearly 400,000 square feet with its highest point 13 storeys up. I suppose that £10 billion budget has to go somewhere, even if it were up to me we’d stop sinking any of it into godawful game shows. I’m told the Director-General secretly despises them too. But on the subject of Broadcasting House, it is a marvellous sight. Its extensions were made to an Art Deco style which makes it look like a temple built in 1920s New York. I remember when it was only a quarter of the size. Now they’re trying to figure out what to do with some of the empty rooms that’re still left over, with the prevailing suggestion being that we knock down the walls, build a stage, and create a dedicated BBC Theatre. Or just have more offices. That’s an option.

I don’t even really need to be here today. The debates aren’t happening in London at all, in fact not even in the South; the University of Manchester is hosting them. But they want me on the panel in the studio to contribute to the analysis and despite my reluctant seeming lexis, I don’t think there’s anywhere else I’d rather be. I can’t even begin to list the number of times Richard’s been called “long-suffering” for having a political obsessive as a partner. At least on the panel I don’t have to defend anyone like the people representing their parties will have to; I can just be objective, and that’s the way I like it. Even if the accusations come hard and fast, as they always do, that the BBC are never objective. Everyone on the left thinks we’re right wing, everyone on the right thinks we’re left wing. So we must be doing something right.

BBC News studio

It’s a curious sight. The first televised debates between British party leaders in our history and by golly does it not look American. I think the BBC may have deliberately chosen a location that avoids looking anything of the sort. It’s all polished wood and seats with velvet cushions, vast High Renaissance portraits on the ceiling and oak podiums. There was a bit of a fuss within the BBC over whether this or a super-modern look was more appropriate. I think the right people won; it looks appropriately serious for such a serious subject and much less like a gameshow. And in the centre of it all, before 600 students of the University of Manchester, stand the men and woman themselves. In the centre the Prime Minister, to his left Sophie Nkrumah hoping to perhaps be the first Liberal to lead the country since Russell Johnston. To the PM’s right is his coalition partner John McDonnell, looking suitably Prime Ministerial in a bright red tie and black suit and whose leadership victory last year successfully wrecked the coalition with Mr Mount. And to the far-right (surely that was a deliberate placement) is Victor Hood, practically sneering with pleasure at having gotten on the stage. Ashley Patel, my comrade-in-arms in political analysis, invigilates. I confess to a small (gigantic) twang of jealousy that she landed such a gig. I’ll have to pester upper management for the job come the next election.

The debate starts well enough; having asked the audience to be respectfully quiet, Ashley introduces Donald Mount and immediately he is pelted with boos. So is Victor Hood, while Miss Nkrumah is greeted with roaring cheers. If only students could vote I think I know who’d be winning in six weeks time.

Mount performs with the same energy he’s somehow managed to maintain since coming to power in 2011, a remarkable feat. It’s extraordinary really; he’s presiding over the worst economic crisis since after the war, and yet seems almost sunny. A lot of senior Tories find his willingness to go off script even more extraordinary and it’s certainly helped endear him to those sick of the political class. Presumably a PPE graduate from Oxford worth £9 million is a real hero for the underclass. Mount’s pitch is repeated again and again; I know things are bad, but under this lot they’ll get worse. We’re stability, they’re chaos. Besides someone in the crowd shouting “bloody liar!” there’s no more disturbances. John McDonnell is up next and he makes a passionate anti-austerity case but finds, to Mount’s eternal relief, that Sophie Nkrumah’s biggest barbs are for him. She drops a bombshell when she declares that “I will sooner abandon any hope of power than hand it over to the Tories.” The implication is stark; she’s rather stay in Opposition than go into coalition with the Conservatives. It’s a promise other party leaders have threatened before but none have ever delivered on and it quickly becomes one of the most memorable moments of the night. And then Victor Hood speaks.

Before he can even open his mouth, Nkrumah mutters “here we go” into her microphone, eliciting laughter from the audience and a bizarre wink from Hood. Soon the two are going at it, leaving Mount and McDonnell almost side-lined (exactly what the PM wanted) as Nkrumah asks Hood straight up; “do you think I’m British?” He furiously replies, “you sound British to me!” “So if I had an accent I wouldn’t be British?” she fires back, and for a moment you see genuine panic on Hood’s face. Nkrumah does the impossible and seems to fluster Victor Hood. It’s a wonderful piece of television and it gets better when she points out that his parents were Greek immigrants who came to Britain in 1962. Well, her British family tree starts when her grandparents arrived from Ghana in 1947. “I’m more British than you!” she declares to enormous applause, including from John McDonnell.

The rest of the debate is quite unmemorable after all that, besides Hood calling the gay marriage debate “a distraction, a bunch of lefty bollocks.” I take that a bit personally. The Prime Minister gets more grilling than perhaps he’d like on the economy; inflation hit 15% today, but he has a weapon. He points out that the Labour and Liberal strategies are to spend their way out (he alleges) and he pulls out an A-Level economics textbook to read a passage which makes very clear that increased spending will only heighten inflation and deepen the crisis. It’s a great stunt and knocks the other two off balance. Nkrumah is still recovering from what she said last month about inflation being “a price worth paying” to reduce unemployment.

And before you know it, that’s a wrap. Back in the studio, the verbal sparring commences around the table while I sit back and do little more than fact check. The Prime Minister’s guy, Adrian Lovejoy MP, seems most interested in explaining what Donald Mount meant to say. Labour’s Claire Brown MP just tries to stay out of it and let the others rip each other apart, while the Liberal’s Lord Mark Haley contents himself with ripping the piss out of everything that comes out of Lovejoy’s mouth. Renaissance didn’t send anyone to join us, how sad. I have to say, it’s strange seeing the Liberals become the real lefty radicals of British politics while Labour plays second fiddle.

On the tube

The exit polls come through and find Donald Mount and Sophie Nkrumah neck and neck. I’m surprised for the Prime Minister. Maybe he’ll do the impossible and survive. On the way home I get a text from a senior Labour figure. They nervously ask, “what did you think?” I reply “you tell me.” They’re worried. McDonnell didn’t go in for the kill and so won’t be remembered one way or the other, good or bad. I get off at East Finchley and on the way back see a camp of the homeless in a park in Muswell Hill, complete with tents and looking like a Hooverville. That wasn’t there last year. The stagflation is biting, even if growth is actually up. It’s certainly not touching a lot of people.
 
Last edited:
Top