As Jeremy Corbyn entranced the Glastonbury faithful with his elixir for a just world, the baleful effects of that quack medicine coursed through the furred arteries of a real-world disaster.
Stood atop the world’s largest oil reserves, Venezuelans snaked the streets, queueing for eggs, as Corbyn served £7 pints to the one-per cent-oppressed in a pop-up city of hyper-capitalism.
The Labour leader’s object of unrequited affectation is a basket case. Mired in a state of emergency, the socialist utopia deified by Corbyn and his commie pals has enforced a mass weight-loss programme upon its citizens. Since last year, three-quarters of Venezuelans have lost an average of 19lbs, as the economy nosedives and reality bites.
Denuded by 400 per cent inflation, the Bolivar’s worthlessness means doomed denizens use banknotes in place of toilet paper. Unsurprisingly, Corbyn’s public adulation for Venezuela has eased, but his lovelorn abulia for murderous regimes still runs blood-warm.
According to the only man with his reputation enhanced following the general election, this Gotterdammerung of Marxist malady will soon be upon our own shores. John Curtice’s number-crunching correctly predicted a hung parliament. Curtice kept his head, when, as it is now clear, all around him lost theirs. Labour now has a straightforward path to victory, and the Red Flag will replace God Save the Queen.
This shouldn’t be such a surprise. For the last thirty years, conservatives have crumbled, cowed and capitulated to every demand of the Left; blindly surrendering every cultural battle for economic free reign. The devastating financial crash of 2008 put paid to the only hand conservatives held.
Worse yet, British politics is now a divide between the oh-my-gods and the over-the-hills. The young (as in anyone under 40) care little about Corbyn’s deleterious associations with terrorists, preferring to Instagram-filter such frivolities into artful idolatry. ‘Jeremy’, it’s always ‘Jeremy’, offers ‘hope’. He cares. He apparently secured peace in an Irish conflict they cannot, nor care to, remember.
Most importantly: Jeremy promises to upend the system which has locked them outside an affordable home, a decent job, and a share in the capitalist system they so despise. Something conservatives used to care about.
The farcical election manifesto offered nothing of the sort. A conservative party should have some conservative policies. Of course, moderate voices will disagree. The d’Ancona doctrine, or the Parris Accord, is to saunter leftward in the vain hope that their own receptions at liberal dinner parties increase in warmth.
But the milquetoast metrocons are wrong. Conservatism is the only mithridate for a party that failed to change its sex despite decades of self-mutilating hormone treatment. There’s still time to abandon the operation, with vital organs attached.
Free-market chemotherapy certainly fumigated the body of 1970s socialism, only to morph into a super-virus more meretricious to the politic than Marx’s mongrel creed.
The dictatorship of the Davosie has unleashed a pandemic across Western nations, mutating its capitalist host, and rendering its immune system useless. The desperate patient is reaching for a miracle cure from unlicensed Dr Corbyn, who promises to reverse the ageing process. For free.
State-sanctioned bribery is what the Left does best, and what untwined Theresa May’s armoured poll lead heading into The Alamo she barely survived. If voters want a sugary whack of free stuff, they’ll get it from full-fat Labour, not the zero-calorie Conservative option.
The facts of life are no longer conservative. With adolescence extended way into the thirties, fewer voters make the jump from socialist singledom, to conservative and married. The last time the Tories had a decent majority, two-thirds owned their home by age 30 – a figure now halved, and getting worse. A majority of renters back Labour, while an evaporating number with a stake in the system are staunch Tories. The solution is obvious: build more homes, and bake more capitalists.
Neither is it a coincidence that those most recently churned out of the occupied education system are bewitched by the bankrupt bloviations of a bleach-brained Bolshevik.
Religious in their slavish devotion to diversity, the Left’s subversion of education and popular culture has forced conservative thinkers to burrow underground, for fear of reprisals from the thought-police with informants stationed on every corner.
Michael Gove’s kamikaze mission collected a few heads, yet David Cameron’s anorexic aversion to conservative principle allowed the Blob to beat back the only worthwhile cultural advancement of his premiership.
This is why admitting a conservative opinion amongst the under-40s is like divulging one enthusiastically attends BDSM conventions. Tories are ‘perverse’, and to be pitied.
Yet, what is pitiful is the historical airbrushing of a creed so demented that the Venezuelan catastrophe is lauded as a work in progress. Corbyn may not tweet his adulation for the Chavez project now, but what he cries to the many, isn’t what he whispers to the few.