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It’s madness to call by-elections so soon after the departure of the previous Member that there’s hardly any time to pick a candidate.
In the sixties and seventies when Labour leaders knew something about electoral politics and experienced agents brought cunning and nouse we used to have a long delay between death and vote. In Joe Ashton’s case, the 1968 incumbent cashed his chips in January. The by-election was in November. In mine, Tony Crosland died in January (obviously a bad month) the poll was 28th April (after I’d successfully phoned the Chief Whip to ask him to postpone it more – Cooks roared with laughter, “I’ve just moved the writ”).
This gave time for a good campaign. Time for old grievances to be forgotten. Time for summer holidays to soften things.
Now timing is decided by university smart Alecs who’ve never dirtied their hands or brains with electoral nitty gritty. They’re not used to by-elections because they’re rare events.
So we rush into Glasgow east to give the electors the bums-rush. We’re saying our record isn’t good enough to stand up to long local scrutiny.
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The Tea Room’s alive with the sound of – not plotting – but speculation. Is Harriet climbing out from under the knowledge that if Gordon goes she’ll run the party? Is Jack Straw plotting because he’s the untouchable stop gap? Is Geoff Hoon getting the grey men together? Will a round robin of MPs get the issue raised at the PLP?
Answers. No. No. No. No. No alternative. No guts. No organisation. No comprehension. With 22 months to go before its fear and loathing among the world’s most sophisticated electorate (R.I.P.)
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I’ve not been invited (yet) to the Downing Street meet the PM sessions now resumed after Tony gave them up long ago, tired of being told how wonderful he was.
But if Gordon doesn’t change in August it’ll be too late. So I’ll write to give him my advice. I did the same before he took over. I told him, among other things, he had to hold an election in September. He was interested but ignored it. Better luck this time because next year’s letter will be too late.
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There’s no gratitude in the City. We give them maximum freedom. They fuck up. We re-appoint Monetary Mervyn. He keeps interest rates high and gets us thrown out.
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