I’m great, me

I realise that blogging is often accused of being a self-referential circle jerk.  But, to those naysayers, I offer a ‘so the fuck what’ because we all need a little external validation now and again.

And so I present to you… a man on t’internet saying how great I am: here.

It is difficult not to agree, of course.  I would love to, except that we had a similar debate at work today and the greater number were indeed outraged by Ms Berger’s perceived crime of ignorance of her constituency-to-be.  This follows the Liverpool Echo’s sterling efforts in catching her out on a couple of questions of local interest.  I can probably forgive her the one about the Mersey Tunnels, as I wasn’t sure how many of the blooming things there were either.

But she didn’t know who Bill Shankley was.  I mean, what the hell?  Surely that information appears on the first page of the important stuff she printed off Wikipedia to read on the train up to her interview.

Or maybe she spent the journey considering what she would say regarding the problems affecting Wavertree today rather than a football manager from our fathers’ time.  I know it might be sacrilege even to suggest it, but the only way knowing Shanks’ name is going to help her as a Labour MP is if she has this quote pinned up on her wall or possibly carved into her arm:

The socialism I believe in is everybody working for the same goal and everybody having a share in the rewards. That’s how I see football, that’s how I see life

Labour’s in the fight of its life at the next election.  Fighting for everything it professes to believe in, for all that it claims to have achieved since 1997, facing charges that it has broken Britain and a commentariat that seems to believe the party deserves to be out of power for another generation.

I would like to believe that constituencies deserve dedicated people, no matter where they hail from.  But if picking ‘the Londoner’ leaves such an open goal for opponents to shoot at, that it is as if Reina had gone up for a corner and been beaten to his line when they caught us on the break, then perhaps, this time, I have to concede that it is not worth the risk.

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