The Prime Midden May’s Tory rats scurry, saliva dripping, smelling blood, flesh ripping, lips licking, chewing, panting with excitement, gnawing, gorging on the destruction of the bleak and abused and deserted and deprived while chanting their failed neo-liberal crap, pissing on the underlings while laughing, feeding in their gilded halls, celebrating, turning humanity to commodity, untouched by conscience, racism peddling, indulging in the fantasy of a great and glorious England past, present and future, as the Midden May, at the wheel, out of control, flops the flaccid juggernaut of Brexit over the edge of the cliff to the tune of baying rats, secure in their sickening self-righteous security, clothed in the glistening armour of ersatz caring while fondling the ermine finery of privilege, daring the burgeoning poor to bite back or eat cake, as food banks offer no loaves and fishes miracles, fostering foreign toxic hate, as the Midden May and her squabbling Tory rats try to demolish the welfare state and privatise our NHS while weeping crocodile tears of austerity as the rich get richer and the poor even poorer.
Mayday! Mayday! Mayday! There is a vacuum. The Labour Party must develop policies, and not just rhetoric, to create a society for the many and not the few.