JEREMY CORBYN'S KINDER,GENTLER ASHES DIARY
Before I pay tribute to our brave cricketing comrades and their exceptional win over Australasia at Headingley Bridge, I must read out an email I received from a Labour Party member just the other day: “Male enhancement pills – make yourself huge and drive your woman wild in bed, add at least 2 inches and ensure that your love life is…”.
Oh dear, that appears to be the incorrect email. This was meant to be Harriet, from Cirencester whose TORY MP still hasn’t sent a tree surgeon round to lop the branches off a tree overhanging her desirable property. This is so typical of a TORY government who simply don’t care for the ordinary, hard-working, working class, retired-on-a-comfortable pension humanities teachers, who have trees threatening the aesthetics of their property. Middle class war, comrades.
Where was I comrades? Ah yes, the glorious victory by the England cricket team at Old Trafford in Leeds. It made me proud to be an Englishman. And not in a flag-waving, let’s invade the Falklands, I’m the worst type of human being TORY. It gave me immense pride to watch Ben Leach smack the Australian bowlers to all parts of the cricket stadium pitch.
On that glorious sunny day, we were all gathered at Seamus’ house, having a BBQ – John McDonnell and myself were drinking cans of working-class John Smiths bitter and cooking the Quorn burgers. Sadly, because of a cooking malfunction, the burgers were slightly “overcooked”. A gate crasher (Jess Phillips) took one look at the burnt offerings, then looked at the both of us and said “A horrendously unappetising mess…as the for the burgers…” With that, Seamus showed her the door, as Diane Abbott tipped a pint of Mojito over her head and tripped her up on the way out and shouted “TRAITOR!”. What a character she is!
I may not appear to be the most athletic chap, but as a young buck I was quite the sportsman. I was a tricky winger when it came to soccer football (Proletariat jumpers for goalposts football, none of this prawn sandwiches and corporate hospitality) and when it came to cricket I was a very tedious number 3 batsman, who sold his wicket dearly (and redistributed the wealth accordingly). I have to say that I’m a massive cricket fan (especially now it’s popular and there’s the possibility of a few votes in it).
As a youngster, I was thrilled at the prospect of watching Ted Dexter (although in later years I found out he was a TORY, and so burnt his autobiography). A few years later, Ian “Beefy” Botham won the Ashes on his own. Although I was eventually forced to burn my VHS copy of Botham’s Ashes when I found out that he too was a rank TORY. Tony Benn and I formed a pact at the time to never watch A Question of Sport whilst Botham remained a team captain. I keep the ashes of Botham’s Ashes in a small urn to remind me of the struggle, and my ultimate sacrifice, comrades.
Another cricketing hero of mine is Joseph Stalin. Although he never actually played the game, he did do one of the original Advance Hair Studio adverts with Shane Warne and Darren Gough. However, I’m certain he would’ve been a magnificent player and captained the Soviet Union to glory in the Ashes World Cup, but he was never “in” with the stuffy MCC old school tie TORIES.
What sickens me about national sporting success is the way politicians are far too keen to jump on the success bandwagon. For instance, when England didn’t win the World Cup during the Thatcher government years in 1982, 1986 and 1990, the TORIES were only too ready to take all the plaudits. But Kevin Keegan missed that goal, the much-maligned Maradona (we had a mutual friend in Fidel Castro) did a handball, and the man who sold his soul to corporate greed and did some pizza adverts, missed a penalty. As a post-script, Harold Wilson’s government won it in 1966, although it should be noted they were nothing more than a bunch of Red Tory Blairites.
As Leader of The Opposition, I took it upon myself to arrange a special reception at my house for our cricketing comrades who so bravely battled the Australians and regained the World Ashes at Trent Oval Bridge. Correction not quite regained the Ashes. We invited the entire team and their backroom staff, and I’m delighted to say one of the men who wears a tracksuit and carries the team’s kit was only to happy to accept our invitation, as was his mate Kev.
I stood outside and welcomed our esteemed guests by shouting at the biased media gathered outside my house, and told them to “mind their own business” as they asked me loaded questions such as “Did you enjoy the cricket yesterday Mr Corbyn?” and “Do you think Ben Stokes is the new Ian Botham, Mr Corbyn?” I bet they didn’t ask Boris Johnson whether he thought it was time to drop Jason Roy and pick a proper opener.
Anyway, once in the house we started to have the most wonderful time celebrating England’s glorious victory, although it was cut short when Len McCluskey turned up, started yelling into his phone, pointed at the finger buffet and shouted “clear this shite up – we’ve got work to do”, before telling us all that cricket was a “TORY game.”