Here’s a quick question for you. Let me present you with six women’s names. Miriam; Kirsten; Natalie; Justine; Nicola; Samantha. They sound like the lineup for a new all-girl band; they all sound a bit posh. Now tell me which two of the list are the odd ones out. I’ll give you a minute.
And the answer is Nicola and Natalie. They’re proper grownups, and head the much feared SNP and the not very much feared Green party, respectively. Miriam, Kirsten, Justine, and Samantha are married to the leaders of the major political parties, or in Kirsten’s case the dangerous buffoon Nigel Farage. They are not proper politicians. They’re bolt-ons, like smart wheeltrims on a car.
Right now, as sure as night follows day, the wives (and children) are being wheeled out to give a nice fuzzy feel to the campaigns being waged by their big rough tough he-man partners. We’ve had photographs of Ed Milliband and his wife Justine in their kitchen. Not to be outdone, ‘Call me Dave’ Cameron and Samantha (‘Call me Sam’) had a photoshoot in their kitchen. This led to endless analysis of the appliances by the more vacuous tabloids, who’s got what, that’s a Neff, as if that matters. Call me Dave went one further with a photograph of his daughter Florence playing in the Budget Box. Good to know our cash goes to good ends, eh? By the way, the sofa the box was on was a yellow one from the Fancy Nancy range at sofaworks.com. The picture also features Sam looking domestic in the background, and a rattan tissue box cover, yours for a mere £26 from Oka.
Both CMD and CMS have been putting themselves about a bit this week. CMS has been having a ball fingerpainting in various kindergartens, and today CMD took a photo-op with an orphaned lamb to bottlefeed it. Awwww.
Nigel Farage took the family photo-op to its logical extreme when he engineered a ‘raid’ on a family lunch in a local pub, where ‘political opponents’ allegedly terrorised his children so much that they ran away and hid. Turns out the whole story was a pack of lies, so he looks even more stupid than he did before. Slippery little git.
Some real politicians are either too considerate of their partners to try to pull the family guy card or, more likely, too scared of their partners to even suggest it. Nick Clegg’s Miriam has been kept pretty much under wraps, and I don’t believe I even know what George Osborne’s wife Frances looks like. George tried to get round this last week, by being filmed making and baking a pizza in a Pizza Hut. This was unconvincing on at least two levels. Firstly, George (real name Gideon) has never done a day’s work in his life, going straight from university to a job as a researcher/speechwriter at Conservative Central Office. He just looked a dork, at least as dorky as the unfortunate Mr Milliband eating a bacon sarnie a couple of weeks ago. Secondly, I doubt the poor bastard on a zero-hours contract whose livelihood he was usurping was too happy about things.
I’m offended that politicians believe I am so soft-headed that seeing them kissing babies will change my views of them. Why on earth do I care if CMS goes fingerpainting? How does that alter my profound distrust of her husband and his bunch of gentleman robbers? I want to know before I vote exactly how the parties intend to make cuts that are likely to affect me. I don’t want to find out after the election, at which point all I can say is ‘They didn’t tell me that.’
Stop hugging babies, stop touting your wives (CMS had her very first newspaper interview this week, after five years of total silence), because I can see through the sheen. We all can. We’re not stupid. We don’t care. Winston Churchill did a pretty good job without dragging Clemmie out of the cupboards.