Opinion Piece, views expressed are those of the author and not of the Politics Society, et cetera et cetera.
by Lindon Layton Best
David Cameron is an idiot. A simpering, say anything, dough faced, preposterous waddling idiot with a feeble insincere voice and an irritating tendency to squat at the top of opinion polls, and our crowned Prime minister Elect. Urgh. My stomach’s upset at the thought of it.
The above are just unreasoning snap judgements, based upon his media profile of the past few years – but then again, as almost anyone must concede, he was engineered by the Conservative party leader to be just that; a media profile upon which people make snap judgements. So that’s fair enough. On that basis, for the moment, let’s stick with snap judgements shall we?
There is nothing to him; he’s like a hollow chocolate Easter egg with no bag of sweets inside. Cameron will say almost anything if he thinks it might get him elected. If a shock poll announced that 51% of the British Populace had converted to bestiality, I would not be surprised to see Cameron on the news, riding around London on an open-top bus with the complete ensemble of animal farm, engaged in a weird erotic tryst of ecstasy and nature defying indecency.
He is nothing.
He is no one.
It’s notoriously tricky to find out much about his past. Believe me, I’ve tried. Beyond his time spent at privileged private prep schools, then at the required Oxbridge education that is mandatory of all Conservative Leadership candidates before waddling around and stewing in the juices of the Conservative Party wilderness years whilst managing to raise himself to position of the architect an election manifesto that would have had Margaret Thatcher suggest toning down on the ‘Tough on Crime, Tough on the Criminals, Tough on the Country, Tough on Johnny Foreigner and Slash the Tax’ the man is a ghost. It’s like he took care to remove the majority of evidence of his past life, slicing off his finger tips in order to leave no prints that could link him to the past. Have you ever seen the tips of his fingers? Have you? Of course not, think about it.
The apparently self penned autobiography on Cameron’s website begins, ‘I was born in October 1966’ and then leaps straight forward to 20001, missing out the decades he spent as a guffawing, top-hatted toff in between. The infamous picture of Dave posing alongside his inbred aristocratic chums from the Bullingdon Club in an expensive, hand tailored navy blue tail suite is one of the few clues we have as to who David Cameron is. It also looks surprisingly like the sort of Photo that Poirot or Miss Marple might study after a grisly murder has been committed; one where a group of friends might have accidently killed a prostitute during a drunken, stormy night, and collaborated on the cover-up. Now, I’m not saying the Bullingdon boys kill prostitutes, I’m just saying judging by the photo, and making that all important ‘Snap Judgement’, I wouldn’t be surprised. And that’s his fault, not mine. He’s gone out of his way not to mention his blue-blooded carousing, because he knows it would make the average citizen puke themselves into a coma, and one side effect of this is that he seems shifty and suspicious.
Every time I look at Cameron, I’m reminded of video game characters: not the lovably spiky ones like Sonic or Mario, but the bland, generic, dead eyed avatars you can create for use in a tennis game. You start with a bald clone, then add features drawn from a limited pallet; eye colour, one of three noses, an optional goatee beard and so on – and invariably end up with an eerily characterless zombie straight out of the board game guess who. Simulated choice as opposed to genuine variety. It’s easy to build a Cameron look alike, just simulate the smuggest looking estate agent you can think of, or some interchangeable braying twit in a four by four driving through the streets of inner city Manchester, RARing himself into oblivion. Easy.
Naturally, I’m biased. I’ve instinctively hated the Tories since birth. If there was an election tomorrow, and the only two choices were the Nazis or the Tories, I’d vote Tory with an extremely heavy heart. In descending order of vehemence, my objections to the Tory species stem from a) everything they do, b) everything they say, c) everything they stand for, d) how they look, e) their stupid names and f) the noises I imagine they make in bed. I once overheard two posh people - almost certainly Tories - having sex in a hotel room. It was grim. The woman kept saying, “Fuck me, Gerald,” in a cut-glass, received pronunciation accent, which was funny, but Gerald himself soon wiped the grin off my face with his grunting, which wasn’t really grunting at all, but instead consisted of the words “oh” and “ah” crisply orated aloud, like Sir Laurence Olivier reading dialogue off a card at an early rehearsal. I didn’t stick around long enough to hear the climax, but I imagine the words “gosh”, “crumbs”, and “crikey” probably put in an appearance.
And here is why that’s relevant: Cameron almost certainly says “crikey” at the vital moment. Go on, picture it. Right now, in your mind’s eye. You know it’s true. If nothing else in this puerile one-sided hatchet job has convinced you, that’s reason enough not to elect him, right there.
As to his actual political record, where does one begin? Probably with where it started, a job interview that included a reference from unnamed sources within Windsor Castle itself. From there, he acted as speech writer and public relations executive for the Grey Man of politics himself, Mr John Major, the biggest minor in conservative politics. John Major went on to become a mammoth of Conservative politics, shaggy, unwanted and outdated, losing in the biggest land slide to date in 1997, after barely scraping through the 1992 election. Surely, having backed such a stallion, Cameron could only go onto greater things?
Well, he didn’t want to. Deciding that he didn’t have enough experiance of the toil of the common man, Dave decided the way forward was to become a hard hitting journalist. Who worked as a special advisor to the Conservative party. After this, his life largely revolved around revolving around politics. A mediochre voting record which stands with the most right wing of political movers and shakers leaves us with one feeling. That there’s no way in hell Clegg, the most polite man in politics, could stand to share the front page of broadsheet with him. Ignore what the flapping potatoehead mouth tells you, Cameron isn’t nice. He’s as right wing as you can get without joining the BNP. His pretenses otherwise should unnerve at the best of times.
In summary, then: he is nothing, because he tries to be everything.
