For the select few that read this blog, I apologise for the lack of posts. My version of the mid-life crisis is deciding to go back to stand-up comedy after an 18 year absence; what was missing from my life was the chance to perform to half-empty function rooms in pubs, with a dodgy mic and an audience comprised mostly of comics. I'm pleased to say that after six months, I must have performed to at least a 100 people, in total. Last weekend, I did my first 20 minute set to an audience of four punters and about ten comics, which was...an experience. Actually it went well, even the audience member with a large piss stain down his trousers enjoyed it. What that says about my material is another matter.
But the strange thing for me as a wannabe comic is to see comedy taking centre stage in politics. I don't mean politicians are trying to be funny; one of the most painful things you can witness is a scripted joke in a politician's speech. It's the rhetorical equivalent of a belly flop from the top of the high diving platform, made all the more wince-making by the knowledge that much effort went into that gag and the audience have no choice but to laugh, much like wedding guests when the best man cracks an offensive gag. They laugh but feel a little dirty afterwards.
What is most perplexing is the appearance of politicians who by any previous standards ought to be considered a joke, a practical joke at the expense of the electorate. In the US Donald Trump is the most obvious case, who seems to stepped out of an early eighties film, where he was playing the role of the evil boss of a ruthless multinational firm, though I'm probably being unfair to the make-up department as no film actor would be painted orange and given such an unconvincing toupee, or such a bad script. His public pronouncements are so bizarre and outlandish they seem to short circuit the normal process of political debate. Suggesting banning all Muslims entering the US, even if they are US citizens, hogged the headlines as was his intention. One perceptive journalist described it as the "dead cat" move: slap a dead cat on the table. The only thing anyone's noticing is the dead cat. It was a ludicrous statement, a joke in many ways. Attempting to ban US citizens from entering the country on the grounds of religion violates the constitution, a range of laws and in the highly unlikely such legislation could ever pass, would be struck down by the judiciary. But as Trump says "I don't care", the clown triumphant.
But here in the UK, we have joke politicians of our own. On the left, there's Jeremy Corbyn, who nobody, not even his supporters, not even Jeremy Corbyn can imagine being Prime Minister. You could argue that Corbyn is more authentic than Trump. A regular feature of Trump's speeches is that he is a self-made billionaire. If your definition of a self-made billionaire is someone who receives a $200 million as an inheritance in 1982, which if invested in an S & P tracker fund would be worth over $8. 3 billion, then perhaps Trump qualifies... just. His stated net worth is $8.7 billion, but $3 billion of that very questionable valuation is the Trump brand. Let's knock a bit off, call it $6 billion, the net result is that is Trump had done nothing but watch TV and play golf he would be significantly richer than he is now. A joke in other words.
So I am being unfair to bracket Corbyn with the fraudulent bully Trump? In his own way, he is no less ridiculous. This is a man who has not changed his mind or altered his views on any major political issue in the last 40 years. Not one. Nothing. The fall of the Berlin Wall, the rise of the internet, the crash of 2008, the long boom that preceded it, nothing, not one event, no social, political or technological change has made him rethink or reappraise his views formed in the mid 1970s. Some recent speeches according to colleagues include verbatim sections from those given in the early 1980s.
Corbyn remains wedded to unilateral nuclear disarmament, a curious policy concept that seems to be more about virtue signalling that practical outcomes. Combined with his desire to preserve state spending and heavy industry, produced one of the oddest suggestions in modern times, that the UK retain its submarine fleet, but without the nuclear missiles - an extremely expensive job creation scheme in other words. He may be principled, he may be consistent, but someone who doesn't change their mind in close to half a century is ridiculous.
On the right, Farage you could argue is the British Trump, but I'd nominate Boris Johnson as the true clown politician of the UK. This is an Oxford educated Renaissance man, with a stellar career, who plays the role of a slapstick Churchill crossed with Bertie Wooster. It's an act, it's a very successful one but an act nonetheless. This is a man who is a serious contender to lead the Conservative Party and be a future Prime Minister: a character act. Perhaps he believes some of what he says, but it's hard to take someone seriously whose whole public persona is fake, designed to draw attention away from his privileged Eton and Bullingdon Club origins. Whether Boris deep down believes his own act is an interesting question; even those closest to him cannot give a clear answer.
How modern politics has ended up with such a collection of jokes is a mystery, perhaps it's a reaction to the machine politician, the soundbite specialist with perfect hair who is never off message, never answers the questions and is always smiling. But the joke is on us and it's not a very good one.
