JEREMY CORBYN’S TYRANT TRAVELOGUE
So, it’s with great sorrow and serious sad face that I today learned of the death of great revolutionary and champion of social justice, Fidel Castro, at the tragically young age of 90. He had so much more to give. At the same time, I was also filled with great sorrow when I learned of the life of George Galloway, who’d filled his Twitter feed with snaps of himself being all matey and crawling up Fidel’s glorious backside.
Sadly, Mr Castro never had the pleasure of meeting me, but I’m sure we’d have cracked open a couple of Havana Cigars and smoked to our good health (I would’ve opened the window or retreated to the designated smoking area because I like to respect a non-smokers’ safe place).
It was my great pleasure to visit Cuba a few years ago. We had a wonderful experience overall, although there was that time when the brave men of Cuban’s Revolutionary Armed Forces confiscated my Kodak Instamatic after I took some photographs of what I was told was a “long term holiday camp”.
It was a wonderful trip in which I experienced the genuine, authentic Cuban 5-Star, all-inclusive hotel experience. During the fortnight, we’d spend most of our one hour not spent in the holiday complex mixing with locals and generally patronising them to within an inch of their lives. The rest of the time was spent producing a humorous skit directed by yours truly, in which we parodied that bit in Godfather 2 where Michael and Fredo have the first gay mobster kiss. After some editing it proved a huge hit when we showed it at the Annual Socialist Worker Vegan Dinner & Dance, in Crouch End. (Just to point out that said skit was for charity and wasn’t meant in any way to offend the LGBT Sicilian community).
As I look through my photo album of that Cuban holiday, I’m reminded of other grand adventures (there’s Martin, Gerry, a man in a balaclava and me handing over a giant cheque) Then there’s that wonderful trip I took to Uganda back in the early 70’s. Back in the day I was what you might call a typical, headstrong young buck - young, dumb and full of working class sperm.
Uganda proved to be a wonderful, welcoming place – well it was if you weren’t one of the 300,000 people who disappeared mysteriously during Idi Amin’s eight-year reign.
Anyway, I digress. I’m happy to say I was honoured to have dinner with the great revolutionary and champion of social justice, President Idi Amin Dada one night. Now history paints Idi as a dictator – myself, I saw him more as a hard-nosed pragmatist. A bit like my right-hand man John McDonnell, although he hasn’t to my knowledge had anyone shot for sedition and hung from a helicopter.
Far from being a horrible bastard, President Amin was a wonderful, amiable host and we had the most convivial evening. I can safely say that when I went to fetch a can of Lilt from the fridge, I didn’t spot a single, solitary hacked off head belonging to one of his political opponents. Like my good self, Idi Amin was the tragic victim of a right-wing media conspiracy to sully his name as one of the world’s greatest un-democratic mass-murderers. Apart from the fact the casserole tasted slightly off (it was shortly afterwards that I became vegetarian), it was a wonderful evening spent in wonderful company. We finished the night off with brandy and cigars, interrupted only by the sound of an extremely violent horror film coming from the basement.