by Lucien Young
He said: ‘Oh yes, Nun’s quite a bit more left wing than me. In fact, I think she could give you a run for your money!’
I could only blink with disbelief and wonder if my ears were deceiving me, so The Boy continued: ‘Yeah, she’s a full-on Trotskyite. Obviously we have to keep it on the down-low because of her parents, but she’s been making me read Eagleton, Adorno, Althusser … In fact, she’s the one who gave me the idea for my app – it’s called RedFlag and it sends the user quotes from Das Kapital throughout their day.’
THE EMBRACE
I didn’t need to hear any more. With tears falling down my cheeks, I gave my son a bear hug and declared: ‘You must marry her right away!’
8th June
Election day. Despite a long, contented sleep, I awoke with the weight of the world on me. I like to think of myself as someone blessed with more than the usual consignment of zen, but this morning I felt wary of exiting my front door, passing my unruly rosebush and presenting myself to the world outside. I had been staring into the hallway mirror for some time when Mrs Corbyn came up and put her arms around me. I said: ‘Does this face look prime ministerial to you?’
She said: ‘You look like a Jeremy. In fact, I’d say that you were the Jeremiest Jeremy who ever Jeremied.’
I replied: ‘Would you say that’s a good thing?’
She smiled and handed me my Lenin cap, then said: ‘I wouldn’t have it any other way.’
Though I have consented to taking more car journeys of late, there’s only one way I was going to travel to work today. With my feet pressed against the pedals and the wind whooshing through my hair (via the ventilated portions of my helmet, of course), I glided through the streets of Islington, my wonderful home. As I cycled, I saw people going about their days – people of every age, race, culture and class. The people it has always been my honour to serve. I just hope I haven’t let them down …
Soon after arriving at the Leader’s Office, I asked Julian to gather everyone round. My entire staff was there, as were John and Diane. I stood in front of them and began to speak, my voice not unstirred by emotion. I said: ‘I’m not usually one for speeches – arguably a drawback in a politician – but today I’ll make an exception. No one knows how this election will go. If the past couple of years have taught us anything, it’s that prediction will predictably make a dick of you. But what I do know is that each and every person in this room has served their party with passion, skill and devotion. I know it’s been difficult – you’ve put up with a lot of nonsense, most of which came from me. But even on those occasions I failed as a leader, you persevered, because you want to make this country a finer, fairer, kinder place. I appreciate that more than I can say. If you’ll forgive me for using an unfashionable word, I consider every one of you a comrade. As such, I have made you each a personal pot of jam, whose flavour will, I hope, demonstrate what you mean to me.’
The staff responded with warm applause, as I knew they would. I may not be the world’s leading orator, but I have always believed in the power of jam. John clapped me on the shoulder and Diane said: ‘Where were these people skills during the campaign?’
Day turned to night in a flurry of activity. I’m writing this at Labour HQ, as we wait for the exit poll to arrive. Our hope is that the result is less disastrous than has been projected, so we can live to fight another day. Fingers crossed. However it turns out, I’m glad to have run a principled campaign.
THE SURPRISE
Later: Dear Diary, I am in a state of blissful shock. In fact, it’s as much as I can do to stop my pen-hand from shaking. Soon after I finished the first part of this entry, I heard a collective intake of breath. Fearing an unprecedented rout, I rushed over to my staff, who were all gawping at their phones. John said: ‘Un-bloody-believable. They’re projecting a hung parliament! According to this, we’ll actually take seats from the Tories!’
There followed a stunned silence. After a while, I remarked: ‘Well, we seem to have won a magnificent defeat!’
This provoked hearty gales of laughter from the room. Finally, one of my jokes gets the reception it deserves! I can’t claim all the credit, though – most of us were pretty hysterical anyway. Diane gave me a hug and said: ‘My God, you might actually end up being prime minister! Sorry, I shouldn’t say “actually” …’
9th June
A truly remarkable day. With the final results in, the Conservatives are down thirteen seats and we’ve gained thirty. The talking heads who were gleefully predicting my ruin a couple of weeks ago are now gibbering wrecks, desperately trying to fill airtime. Throughout the day, MPs who called me a loon and a loser to my face have been going on Sky News to praise me for exceeding everyone’s expectations. But this isn’t the time for crowing or gloating (well, maybe just a bit – screw you, Blairites!). The fact is that I have more important things to consider. It may sound ridiculous, but, throughout the entire period of my leadership, I don’t think I ever truly imagined myself in Downing Street. This has now changed.
Reflecting on the events of yesterday, and the preceding weeks, I have come to an important decision. It’s clear that, more than any leftist in decades, I have a real chance to reshape the UK along egalitarian lines. Whatever people may say, this isn’t something I take lightly. I need to maintain an obsessive focus on my duties as leader (as well as my allotment – let’s not go crazy). Which, I’m afraid, doesn’t leave me time to keep recording these reminiscences. Dear Diary, you have been witness to my triumphs, my failures and my very occasional embarrassments, but this, alas, must be your final entry.
I can’t think of a more appropriate way to end than with one last crack at a limerick. Here goes …
LIMERICK #3
By Jeremy Corbyn
There once was a comrade named Corbyn
Who found his allotment absorbin’,
But, when push came to shove,
He loved nothing above
The cause of equality and the promotion of human rights both at home and abroad.
Still having trouble with that last line … Hey ho, I think it sums me up well enough. Anyway, it’s getting towards nine, so I’d better head to bed.
A FINAL ENTRY
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Epub ISBN: 9781473562035
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Ebury Press, an imprint of Ebury Publishing
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Ebury Press is part of the Penguin Random House Group of companies whose addresses can be found at global.penguinrandomhouse.com
Copyright © Lucien Young 2018
Illustrations © Ollie Mann
Cover design by Two Associates
Lucien Young has asserted his right to be identified as the author of this work in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988
First published by Ebury Press in 2018
www.penguin.co.uk
A CIP catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library
ISBN 9781785039942
A Note from Mr Corbyn
fn1 Note from the editor: This was never agreed upon.
Chapter One
fn1 The surprise is more chickpeas.
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