BigBoyKarlLiebknecht [he/him, comrade/them]
Diane Abbott’s description of dating Jez is amazing, he’s one of us:
In the summer of 1979 we went on a camping holiday in the south of France. We travelled by motorbike and, Jeremy being Jeremy, it was a socialist motorbike, an East German model. It broke down regularly on our trip south, which I found rather irritating, but lovingly repairing his motorbike by the side of the road was Jeremy’s happy place. When we reached the campsite I perked up. As well as enjoying the French countryside, I was looking forward to some delicious Gallic cuisine. I was horrified when Jeremy unpacked his motorbike saddlebags to reveal a week’s supply of instant macaroni and other processed foods.
…
Around that time I began to realise that, realistically, ours was not a match made in heaven. We were too different. I had a range of interests and enjoyed reading and the theatre, but Jeremy was 99% absorbed in party politics. The only other thing I remember him spending time on was growing vegetables in his back garden. Once, after I lamented our lack of social activity as a couple, he pondered it for a few days and told me we were going out. Feeling excited, I dressed up nicely and we bundled into the car. I had no idea where we were going – perhaps a nice wine bar? It turned out Jeremy’s idea of a social outing was to drive me to Highgate cemetery and proudly show me the tomb of Karl Marx.
And I learned that, uh, it makes a difference. This was the diving board area, and I was one of the guards. And they weren’t allowed to it was a three meter board. If you fell off sideways you landed on the damn the darn cement over there. And Corn Pop was a bad dude. And he ran a bunch of bad boys. And I did and back in those days and to show you how things have changed, one of the things you had to use, if you used pomade in your hair you had to wear a bathing cap. And he was up on the board wouldn’t listen to me, I said HEY ESTHER! YOU! OFF THE BOARD! OR I’LL COME UP AND DRAG YOU OFF! Well he came off, and he said, “I’ll meet you outside.” My car, this was mostly, these were all public housing behind you. My car, there was a gate out here. I parked my car outside the gate. And I, he said, “I’ll be waitin’ for you.” He was waitin’ for me with three guys with straight razors. NOT A JOKE! There was a guy named Bill Wrightmouse, the only white guy and he did ALL the pools, he was the mechanic. And I said what am I gonna do? And he said, “Come down here in the basement. Where mechanics where where all the pool filter is.” You know the chain? There used to be a chain went across the deep end. And he cut off a six foot lump of chain he folded it up he said, “You walk out, with that chain. And you walk to the car and you say, ‘you may cut me man, but I’m gonna wrap this chain around your head.’” I said you’re kidding me. He said, “No if you don’t, don’t come back.” AND HE WAS RIGHT! So I walked out with the chain. And I walked up to my car. And they had in those days used to remember the straight razor you’d bang’em on the curb get’em rusty put’em in a rain barrel get’em rusty. And I looked at’em. But I was smart, then. I said, first of all I said when I tell you get off the board you get off the board I’ll kick you out again but I shouldn’t have called you Esther Williams. I apologize for that. I apologized but I didn’t know if that apology was going to work. He said, “YOU APOLOGIZING TO ME?” I said I apologize not for throwing you out, but I apologize for what I said, and he said, “OK” closed the straight razor and my heart began to beat again.
So, I heard, and this is what they’re telling me - Vivek, you know Vivek, right? Smart guy, very smart, some say too smart, but we like him, we like him - a little too smart for his own good, maybe - but I heard he’s a Trotskyist now. That’s right, folks, a Trotskyist. You know, Trotsky, Trotsky, the guy with the little glasses, not a great look, not a good look, folks. And I said, “What’s a Trotskyist?” - and they tell me, they say, “Sir, it’s someone who is a Trot,” and I said, “Trot? Like a horse? Like a horse!”
So I commented the other day about the British billionaire whose boat sunk in a freak storm off Sicily, two days after his codefendant in a fraud trial was run over and killed.
After reading this Twitter thread:
- He was absolutely, without doubt, a product of the intelligence services, making Keir Starmer’s intelligence connections look innocent
- He’s entered the Blowback universe due to his connection with no less than fucking Richard “The Prince of Darkness” Perle
Comrade Eyup Lovely with a new dispatch concerning the UK’s Health Secretary, Wes Streeting
I’m delighted to confirm as the only person on Earth who has read any of Wes Streeting’s autobiography that the only reason he is alive is because his Mum ate a full English breakfast before her scheduled abortion and was unable to complete the procedure. Haunting.
Hey it’s my namesake’s mega