Grinning and scratching his crotch, Calvin steals the Chancellor's thunder

Telegraph

3 days ago

Politicians are a right nuisance. You're in your place of work, quietly doing the crossword, when a minister shows up – and by some strange convention, you're required to stand around them for an hour while they lie to the TV cameras and dodge questions from the press. Why?!
Well, someone has finally taken a stand. Let's call him Calvin (he looks like a Calvin).
The latest stop in Rachel Reeves's Magical Misery Tour was a bus factory in Rochdale, where – as per usual – local workers were expected to semi-circle the Chancellor as she announced £15 billion for transport links we know we'll never see (put it this way, the service from Calais to Dover is cheaper and more reliable than Brighton to Victoria).
Naturally robotic, she recited 'to serve Halton, St Helens and Woodchurch' as if announcing the service would leave in five minutes from platform three. 'Spades in the ground', she said, losing herself in the rhythm of the words, would 'link up Bradford, Kirklees, Calderdale, Wakefield, Pudsey and Leeds. If you see something that doesn't look right, speak to staff or talk to British Transport Police. See it, say it, sorted.'
The pre-recorded Chancellor grinned her way through the Midlands, via a rail replacement bus, to Didcot Parkway, and around her the workers listened grimly but politely, with their arms folded as if bouncing outside a nightclub on a slow Tuesday in the pouring rain. Except for Calvin, standing to her immediate right in an grey jumper and 'not bovvered' beard.
He looked unhappy to be there from the off, and dropped subtle visual cues. 'Secureonomics,' said the Chancellor: he rubbed his eye. 'Not prepared to tolerate a situation in which steel is undermined': he bit his lip. 'Growth made in Britain': he sighed deeply.
When she arrived at her rhetorical terminus with 'This Government promised change and we are keeping that promise,' the bus workers applauded politely – but Calvin did not. Perhaps because he knew what they didn't. The journey wasn't over.
'I'll take questions': the workers looked horrified. There's more?! One could see the precise moment that the soul left the body of a boy in a blue jumper and disappeared into Heaven, screaming for release. Like an unscheduled stop at St Leonards, these poor creatures were forced to endure 20 extra minutes of mind-blowing tedium – without the bonus of seeing Calvin's commentary.
The boy is clearly an economist. As Reeves said her policies were fully funded, he nodded and rolled his eyes. When she justified her decision to raise taxes, he grinned and scratched his crotch.
Social media fell in love. The Tories, who have nothing better to do, dashed off a video of his highlights (they'd better pray he doesn't turn out to be a nutcase or, worse, a Lib Dem).
His performance captured both the madness of expecting the public to act as a backdrop for politicians they probably don't support, plus the widespread feeling of being trapped with Labour – as though the Great British train had broken down, the aircon won't work, the windows are stuck and Rachel from Complaints is on her phone shouting about her 'manifestow'.
This, Mr Miliband, is why so many of us prefer to drive.