The Woke will not like it. This alone is reason enough to make it so. You would have to go a very long way to find anything that rabble of lentil hugging, bunny knitters like anyway. And the fact of their certain disdain is surely reason enough to do it.
Do what? You ask. It is not you that has to do anything. It is Sir Keir Starmer, and he wants to be quick about it too. He wants to be quick to rid himself of that posh accent or he risks never winning a by election ever again. Batley and Spen approaches like the Persians to Thermopylae and Starmer must form a shield wall in a tight pass.
There is little use though of forming a shield wall of the usual voices. Would a Mandelson ever win in the North? No. He needs a Prescott. Better still, he must become working class or that barrow boy of British politics, Boris Johnson, will have one over him again. A little bit wee, a little bit weigh.
Here is where we require a voice coach. Someone who can beat the silver spoon off Keir’s tongue, banish the heavy scent of cigars and brandy in private clubs from his lips, wipe the essence of born to rule from his face.
Dick Van Dyke is the man for the job. None can forget how he won the 1964 Leeds North By NorthWest by election from the Conservatives by sounding like a Cockney chimney sweep.
The working class demand elected representatives just like themselves. You only have to look at the result in Hartlepool last week to see the wisdom in the advice being freely given to Labour. Get working class or face defeat. Mimic the Tories. Mimic Boris Johnson. Talk to the people in rhyming slang. Get old Dick on the dog and bone and half inch the mouth!
