Canvassing in Goring Heath and Whitchurch
Here we are in beautiful Whitchurch, canvassing and getting a generally excellent response. What mystifies me is the state of these opinion polls — how can Labour really be ahead, when I can’t find anyone going to vote Labour?
But then I’m out in the wilds of Oxfordshire – as they say in Apocalypse Now, I’m 75 clicks up the Nong River, and out of touch with base.
I have only one comment on the national campaign, and that follows a garbled radio report of what Charles Kennedy is supposed to have said about pulling British Troops out of Iraq. I may have misheard, but I can say from direct experience that a British withdrawal is the last thing the people of Iraq either want or need. For better or worse, we toppled their regime and transformed their country. It is our duty to see that through, and to restore security. That does not mean an indefinite commitment – and comparisons with Vietnam or Ulster are just absurd – but an immediate withdrawal is not on, and should not be the agenda for a serious prime ministerial candidate.
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We don’t need any lessons from Labour!
We don’t need no education, we don’t need no thought control, no dark sarcasm in the classroom – teachers leave them kids alone
The Daily Telegraph column today echoes Pink Floyd’s 1979 classic single “Another Brick in the Wall”
Labour needs to be taught a lesson
Even if you have no children yourself, you have only to read Lord of the Flies to know the reality. There can be few experiences more terrifying than to stand before a crowd of juveniles and to try to command their respect and their interest; and as soon as you do it, you are lost in admiration for the daily achievement of teachers.
Stanley Johnson
Boris and Stanley, a Son and a Dad
Both went acanvassing, and what fun they had
The son was the father, the father, the son
Whichever was which, British Politics won
Who’s fighting for the hard-working Road Sweeper?
Boris has been having fun canvassing recently but was shocked when someone blanked him out earlier this week:
“Hello!” I cried, and extended my hand. Blank. Nothing. He simply walked on by, cutting me as dead as a doornail, and shot into his house. For all the notice he took, I might as well have been a bollard, or some other item of pavement furniture
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