Several things inspired me to pick up my laptop today and write this. Prime among those was the fact that I love you. Yes. You heard me right. I fucking love you. I love you with a passion that defies time, space and - well just about everything in the Universe. And beyond. I know, I know, we've not even been introduced, but there it is.,..... I've said it. I love you. Your move. Whoever you are.
We'll come back to the details of our passion later, but just to warm you up for some serious love-making that'll *seal the deal* let's talk about Ed Miliband. You know you want to.
You see, Ed wants to talk to you. And me. And approximately 3,999,998 others in the run up to the General Election. Bet that makes you feel special. Certainly made me come over all gooey. Obviously, Ed won't be able to have ALL those conversations himself so his elves - sorry - party members - will be doing it for him.
Thing is, the so called conversation won't be a conversation, because Ed's idea of a conversation seems to involve "telling people" what is at stake. And anyway that isn't the point, because unless you are a brain dead tulip, you will know that the whole conversation thing has no point at all. Like the verb 'wibble' or a North Korean election it is, I am afraid, utterly meaningless.
It joins Max Factor's appointment of new brand Ambassador Marilyn Monroe (dead since 1962), Nigel Farage's declaration of momentary teetotalarism (dead behind the eyes since 1964) and David Cameron's Road To Nowhere poster (I preferred the song) in a week that seems to be celebrating The New Meaningless as if it were the new black. Or brown. Or whatever meaningless fashion cycle we are currently in.
So before I rip off my thong and sing you an Aria here's a note to Ed:
We don't need a conversation. It's a waste of time. Labour needs leadership. Britain needs leadership. It needs someone who will stand up and have a fight and take some blows and throw some better punches in return. It needs a leader who will conjure up surprises and a road to somewhere and even some slightly left field eye catching but tangible ideas that will speak to progressive voters and people who might stop and think again and look beyond you and your ridiculous bacon sandwich.
Wibble?
It won't happen of course, because politics now sits where Derek Zoolander and friends have been reclining these past 50 years. In a nest of meaninglessness - atop a Froop tree.
A conversation with 4 million people my big fat arse. You might just as well go about the place telling complete strangers you love them.
Which I do by the way. I really, really do.
