The dust settles in British politics after Boris Johnson’s triumph, and the opposition parties are left to lick their wounds. In Wisbech, however, it might as well never have happened. There was no dust kicked up, no furious debate, no hustings, and no change. Did the election even happen? Well it did for me as I waded through sludge and puddles to the tradesman’s entrance of the Cricket Pavilion and put my mark against Steve Barclay’s name. As a card carrying member of his party, I could hardly do anything else. I joined up because of my admiration for Johnson’s scoundrel persona, his ‘f**k you’ attitude and his promise to finally get us out of the EU.

My bemusement at Wisbech politics starts and ends with the complete indifference to opposition parties in this area. Much as Mike and Ginny Bucknor worked their hearts and souls out while they were councillors, in the teeth of quite appalling treatment from the local Politburo, it has become obvious since ill health forced them to stand down that they were dyed-in-the-wool socialists all along, and their ‘Independent’ status was  rather sensible – if slightly devious – playing with words.

Viewed from a distance, Wisbech would initially seem to be a natural Labour heartland. Social deprivation, barely adequate schools, non-existent transport links and a growing sense that the decaying town centre is a nothing but a magnet for feral teenagers, out of work migrants and other casualties of our ruinous association with the EU. What do we get as a Labour parliamentary candidate? A random lady barrister, probably with a social conscience, parachuted in to take one for the team. The fact that ‘The Team’ was the worst Labour Party in my memory (and I am 73 next year) only partly explains why the Labour candidate’s attempt to win the seat was so risible.

Yes, Corbyn was an elderly Marxist with a dreadful record of hatred for his country and a determination to stand alongside any rag-tag-and-bobtail terrorist group who would grant him a photo opportunity. Yes, his future Home Secretary was a rather sad woman promoted way, way above her ability on the grounds of race and gender. Yes, his Chancellor was an envy ridden, malicious and devious Communist determined to avenge himself on those he thought to be too, rich, too successful, too clever. But still, the ghosts of a long-gone Labour Party, who put ordinary people before rhetoric, must have been gazing down in bemusement from The Other Place.

If Labour supporters really want to grab Wisbech people by the throat and make them think, then I suggest a couple of tactics that might just work.

Stop worshipping at the altar of unlimited immigration. In Wisbech, it has worked for factory bosses, unscrupulous landlords, employment agencies and criminal gangs. The downside, for the mythical Joe and Joanne Bloggs, has been the curse of street drinking and its insanitary by-products, huge pressure on public servicesand social housing blackspots.

 
Make a decision to stop fawning over the manufactured social outrage of a well paid coterie of London journalists, talking heads like Owen Jones, Jasmin Alibhai Brown, Paul Mason and their entourage of soy latte social justice warriors. They don’t care about Wisbech, so don’t link to them on your social media page and imagine that anyone here is going to be impressed or persuaded.

Every single one of us should take a long hard look at local politicians and how they operate. Ask questions. What do you do for your ward? Aside from bigging up your CV, what small and unglamorous fixes have you provided for  people who have sought your help? What do you intend to do about our poor schools, declining public safety, shabby town centre and broken transport links?

Will anything change? No, of course it won’t. Only some seismic event – maybe a huge public scandal, or a wayward meteor striking the council chamber during a meeting – will have any effect. My Christmas thought, for what it is worth, is that while Britain prospers under the boisterous but benevolent Boris, Wisbech will continue to sink inexorably back into the primeval slime whence it came. 

Happy Christmas!

WHAT A STRANGE THING TECHNOLOGY IS - This blog has been dead for over three years, and when I tried to give it the kiss of life a few months ago, it rejected my reviving breath. Eventually, because I was previously using the wrong combination of log-in details and passwords, I have manged to get back in.

IMAGINE A COMATOSE HOSPITAL PATIENT waking up after three years. Does he find the world hugely different? The last time I wrote, David Cameron had resigned in the wake of the June 2016 referendum, and his party were scrabbling around for a new leader. More of that a little later, but had the Sleeping Blogger awoken in Wisbech, the first blinks of his eyes would reveal that little has changed, at least nothing for the better.

THE NEWLY SENTIENT LAZARUS takes his first hesitant steps into the town. What does he find? A rejuvenated, bustling High Street, with its 'missing teeth' replaced with sparkling new buildings? Sadly not. The teeth are still missing, and many thousands of pounds of taxpayers' money has been trousered by consultants and facilitators with naught to show but a few implausible designs in an online brochure.

A RE-INVIGORATED MARKET PLACE, bustling with stalls, and lined with pleasant shops offering beautiful commercial opportunities? Woe, woe and thrice woe. The flagship retail experience of Wisbech remains firmly in the hands of pound shops. At this time of year, those with psychic powers can see the faint pahantoms of Christmas customers queuing outside Franks, formerly the best butcher's shop in the area. The Ghosts of Christmas Past wait in vain for their pork pies, haslet, ham, succulent sausages and other more esoteric (and acquired) porky tastes.

A WALK ALONG NORFOLK STREET is a depressing affair. Despite boasting three of the best shops in the town, Anglia Locksmiths - with the unrivaled expertise of its staff and great value, the Post Office - run by two of the friendliest folk in town, and Wisbech Music Centre - with the ever friendly and expert Carmine at your service, the street is shabby, litter strewn, home to fly-by-night hair-cutters, body-piercers and skin-inkers and poky European grocers. The progress of our former coma victim, as he inches his way along the pavement, is watched over by groups of smokers, huddled in shop doorways, making the thoroughfare as enticing as a slug crawling across a birthday cake.
 

AS LAZARUS REGAINS HIS STRENGTH he might be tempted to investigate Wisbech politics. That, above all other things, must have changed, surely? In tiny ways, perhaps. Those indefatigable campaigners for their constituents, Mike and Virginia Bucknor, have left the battlefield. Defeated perhaps by a combination of ill health and persistent animosity, they have called it a day. Virginia, though, has now revealed that she is a fearsome Socialist, despite her long held Independent banner.
STILL AT THE HELM OF WISBECH POLITICS, firmly in control, reputations undiminished by allegations, shining armour untarnished by the acid of criticism, relentlessly confident and charismatic are two people who ............ at this point I must stop. No names, no Pack Drill. Anonymity rules are not to be waived. Frustrated by the relentless assault on my decision (and that of millions of others) to leave the EU, and boosted by the arrival of Boris Johnson as Conservative Party leader and Prime Minister I joined that party. I have not regretted that decision for one second, and I hope that in the cold and frosty dawn of 13th December I will wake up to the news that Boris has won a working majority.

MY REQUEST TO BECOME A CONSERVATIVE PARTY MEMBER was challenged, inevitably, by the local hierarchy who, not without reason given my views on their antics, wondered why I wanted to be, as it were, shipmates. I replied that my request was in support of Johnson, and that I would not involve myself in any way with the local party, and that is that.