So the final Thursday night political love-in of the season was pretty hilarious. Less for the issues discussed of course and more for the jowls they set a-wagging.
On Question Time, Will Self was, as ever, insufferably pompous and relentlessly intellectual but rather more unusually, managed to lose almost every fight he picked. Perhaps he is hitting the hashpipe too hard. Too hard to cogently defend (along with gay marriage and multiculturalism) his legal right to hit it….He also looks increasingly like a camel in an ill-fitting human costume. Or Niall Quinn stuffed by a blind taxidermist. Like when that giant cockroach alien puts on that bloke’s skin in Men In Black. Drawing to follow perhaps.
Peter Hitchens continued his mission to alienate the public from each and every interest group he represents. Which is very kind of him except that these eminent factions (rich, white, middle-class, homophobic racists) don’t really tend to need a great deal of assistance in that department . He also seems to think the Cold War is still on because he speaks in an almost entirely obsolete vernacular featuring words like “apparatchik” and “Trotskyist”. When he accuses Lord whatever-it-is of being a “well-known Troskyist agitator” does he really think that anyone under 50 knows to interpret that as an insult?
Everyone else on the panel was probably equally annoying but just at a lower volume (best efforts notwithstanding).
The This Week studio then reverberated to the sound of a personal hobby horse being ridden. Owen Jones munted on about benefits with such plangent intensity that by the end of his whining tirade Portillo looked like he was on the verge of mincing outside and cutting a switch. OJ did (as he often does) actually make some pretty decent points but, as usual, the way in which he delivered them was so skin-crawlingly unctuous as to ensure against the possibility of them ever being constructively engaged with. Like Hitchens but in a very different way, his horrific personality is a powerful enemy to his policies. OJ is the nauseatingly officious school prefect to Hitch’s barking, wine-soaked fascist of a headmaster.
We were spared, by the grace of a benevolent power-failure in Westminster, from having to weather the inevitable torrent of left-wing hyperbole which Mehdi Hasan would have unleashed. But actually I quite like Medhi so at this point I went to bed.
Soz, no drawing. Lazy.