Starmer’s Britain is a bleak place – but the petition for another election gives me joy

Keir Starmer
Keir Starmer

Does anyone else object to the naming of Storm Bert? “Major travel disruption as Storm Bert hits rail and road” sounds funny and bumbling instead of disastrous. As everybody who grew up watching Mary Poppins knows, Bert is the name of the invincibly cheerful sweep who sang, “Oh, it’s a jolly ‘oliday with Mary,” which contained one of the most mystifying lines in all musicals: “The daffodils are smiling at the doves.” (The Sherman brothers must have needed a rhyme really badly.)

Bert was famously played by Dick Van Dyke. His cockney accent was to the English language what Rachel Reeves’ Budget is to economics: excruciating and universally panned. Still, Bert, unlike Rachel from Accounts, spread joy and felt no need to fib on his CV – being too busy dancing on rooftops. Although I seem to remember Bert did clean chimneys at the Bank of England, which may have been technically senior to what Rachel did when she worked there. Imagine what Tuppence a Bag would be adjusted for inflation in Starmer’s Britain (overlooking the move from imperial to metric). That’ll be 937 quid for a packet of bird seed and don’t eat it all at once.

Dear God, everything is so bleak at the moment that it feels like we must find our pleasures where we can. I really enjoyed Jeremy Clarkson at the farmers’ march clashing with Newsnight’s Victoria Derbyshire. Most people go along with the BBC’s “Tut-tut you’re a heartless rich bastard and we must consider the poor” line. Not Jeremy. “Typical BBC,” he scoffed when Derbyshire tried to claim he bought Clarkson’s Farm to avoid death duties.

BBC Newsnight

When Derbyshire pointed out that Rachel Reeves had explained (the Chancellor’s desperation clearly mounting in the face of public hostility) that money from farmers’ inheritance tax would go straight to support our NHS, Clarkson found it amusing (rightly so; £550 million would buy you 50 ops for ingrowing toenails).

Asked by Derbyshire, in her best pious, public-sector manner, where he suggested the Government could find savings for the health service, Clarkson opened his arms wide to gesture down Whitehall. “Any building round here,” he said, immediately breaking that inviolable law which states no one must say the lazy fat cats are actually in the Civil Service, not the spitefully over-taxed private sector.

I know that Clarkson, one of life’s great enjoyers, made it to the march despite serious ill health and all I can say is: “Jeremy, please don’t die. Keep going. Your country needs you.” We really do. The miserabilism of Starmer’s Britain is what will bring this awful government down. That’s why more than two and a half million people, including this columnist, have signed an online petition calling for an immediate general election.

The petition was started by Michael Westwood, landlord of the Waggon and Horses in Oldbury in the West Midlands. Mike, more of a Clarkson guy than a Starmer fan (just a wild guess) says: “The British public feel like they have been betrayed with the promises that were told in the lead up to the election and then what has been delivered since – it looks nothing like what was promised.”

I became quite addicted to checking how the numbers on the petition were ticking up, and I wasn’t the only one. It was hugely cheering to see so many people giving vent to their loathing for what is already the worst, most incompetent government of my lifetime. Okay, critics say it will achieve nothing because Labour, with its large majority (and slender mandate), is here to stay until 2029 and no amount of triggering a Parliamentary debate (as this petition will) can change that. But what the petition does is not nothing. It captures a soaring sense of solidarity around the sheer teeth-grinding awfulness of Reeves, Rayner and the rest of the glum, class war crew. How unfair of Putin to ban the pair from entering Russia; Vlad, take pity on us – haven’t you got space in a gulag? Ange will go anywhere for a new frock and Rache needs a place to hide from the bond markets.


It may be hard to muster much Christmas cheer, but this coming Sunday is one of my favourite days of the year. Lots of us will be in The Telegraph office to man the phones for our Christmas Charity Appeal, taking your donations for four incredible causes: Teenage Cancer Trust, Alzheimer’s Research, Army Benevolent Fund and Humanity & Inclusion (a charity chosen in memory of our wonderful colleague David Knowles who died far too young and whom this world really couldn’t spare on account of goodness and brilliance being in short supply). I hear Tim Stanley is bringing Bertie along (or maybe Bertie is bringing Tim) and who will be the worst behaved – the Cavalier King Charles or the sketchwriter – is a matter of hot conjecture. Please do call and give whatever you can. We really love talking to readers, revelling in our Telegraph mutual-appreciation society. More precious than ever in Starmer’s Britain. Love Allison.

To make a donation, please visit The Telegraph Charity Appeal 2024 or call 0151 317 5247