Country Matters

“I think,” said Mrs M – always a worrying start this – “I think,” said Mrs M on Tuesday night, “that it may be time to open up a new line of communication.”

We were watching our very own lib-dem MP, Andrew Stunell, on the TV news, seated at a wood-effect Round Table. He really is looking a bit thin: we should have him in for shepherd’s pie.

Not quite knight

“God’s Truth, Woman!” I was tempted to say. Why should anybody want to open up more communication, when there is clearly far too much already? Andrew and co. were already far too busy, nipping in and out of Millbank and Walworth Road. If they had to enter into discussions with Mrs M at number 72 as well, we would have no Government this side of Whitsun.

Mind you, Andrew’s battle-hardened for Westminster. All these years he’s been fending off Staffies on the Cherry Tree estate and bottled blondes in Marple. Yes, we’ve got a bit of most things in Hazel Grove constituency: a few vestigial mills making cardboard under contract for China; green hills to set off desirable dwellings; posh preps and bog standard high schools; air-conditioned executives waiting on Dan Bank for the A6 Relief Road. There are inter-war estates with privatised porches; dying pubs and late night clubs. We can even rise to an occasional gangland shooting.

You’d think that 13 years of listening to us all moaning on would be ideal training for Westminster. But I worry this coalition might be more interested in what make us the same than what makes us different. We’re now in the civil sinews of a con-dem embrace. Those who aren’t with us are... with us.

At least the election was good fun while it lasted. M3 was up all election night, or at least long enough to discover that the big blue numbers were not Labour seats after all. (He set his iPhone for 3 am, but we have been sabotaging their gadgets ever since Mrs M dropped M1’s bleeping Tamagotchi in the bath.) Our newspaper has a new section called a “viewspaper”, which its new owner feels conveys the mission to his intellectually challenged readers. However, I’ve been pleased to report that the “viewspaper” has been getting quite well buttered at breakfast over the last week.

“I wonder what my brother thinks,” says my lady. It is now Wednesday evening. On the TV, Nick ‘n’ Dave are in matching grey suits, but sport coloured ties, so you can tell them apart.

Ah, that’s it, then: The Brother.

“Do you think it’s a good time to ring him?” It’s too late for golf, and there are no Rugby Union fixtures that I know of. So the worst risk is a police drama on Sky HD.

Mrs M goes in search of a telephone, saying something about a “constitutional”. That would be nice: a pleasant stroll over the hill to Knowle Farm perhaps, exchanging greetings with sundry canines and ladies in riding boots.

“I wonder what he thinks about it all”.

At this point, it is important to state plainly that The Brother has nothing in common with Gordon’s opinion of Gillian Duffy. No one would accuse The Brother of being other than forthright in his opinion, and of backing it up on the stump and in the bar.

I don’t care whether he’s with the Levellers or the Luddites, the Monday Club or the Moonies. At least he knows they’re all different.

By Thursday, a third young man has taken to the podium. This one has a red tie. That’ll be nice then: Dave ‘n’ Nick ‘n’ Dave Miliband too.

Were we at school together?

Is that how it’s going to be now? All the same except for the colour of our ties?

Not here we’re not.

People Like Us

I can’t say that I shared the outrage of our nation’s press when our Prime Minister referred to Mrs Gillian Duffy from Rochdale as “some sort of bigoted woman”.

It is not something I would say of Mrs M. And, as far as I am aware, none of the forms of the word bigot is in the approved lexicon of the boys’ Specialist Language College; nor of the various associations of youth to which they belong or aspire.

I always try to distinguish politics from bigotry, but I find the task gets harder. So I can’t be quite clear where Mr B felt that Mrs D crossed the line from political insight to bigotry. She was reported as saying “you can’t say anything about the immigrants because you’re saying that you’re ... but all these Eastern Europeans what are coming in, where are they flocking from?”

(“So, what am I missing here?” interjects Mrs M. Don’t they flock from Eastern Europe?”)

If the Duffy family and the Mandall family have different ranges of views on this topic, it is perhaps less a reflection of bigotry than of geography. I don’t think I’ve ever been to Rochdale.

Here in the Bridge, we had a fine batch of immigrant au pairs from the Slavic region a few years back. I didn’t hear too many complaints in the Devvy. Nor when the Oak opened a Thai restaurant. But perhaps it feels different a few miles down the road in Hyde, which boasts a thriving Bangladeshi population, a huge pork sausage factory, an impressive portfolio of boxers and serial killers, and lots of restaurants.

The more I think about it, the more I am astonished by the number of things I don’t know about being foreign in Britain. For instance, if the Queen married Philip today, would he be British? Would he have to pass a test about which side of the road to drive a cricket bat, or how many gills there are in a pint of brown trout? And what would happen to him if we decided to deport him?

As it happens, M3 was born offshore, so to speak, while I was freelancing on behalf of our European friends. We were advised that our son would be British-By-Descent, which means that his heirs would not have a Right-of-Abode if they were also born abroad.

Now, for all that I love Foreign Parts, I also love our own Little Sod. So I was less-than-impressed that a Mandall might not be welcome here.

I thought of writing to my MP about it. But I don’t like to bother him if I can help it. He works so hard, and looks as though he’s been wearing the same wool-rich sports jacket and polyester trousers since the election before last. I may be in a small minority here, but I’m not aware that MPs have taken a vow of misery. Just give them a decent wage, or at least a few John Lewis vouchers.

MPs Andrew Stunell and Mark Hunter in action

It all turned out OK for M3. This particular extended trip was generously financed by the European Community. The British High Commission kindly gave us a pamphlet which explained that, the European Commission being merely an adjunct of Her Britannic Majesty’s Government, M3 is British-Other-Than-By-Descent. And his seed for ever.

At least, until they change the law, which no doubt they will soon enough. One man’s bigotry is another man’s vote.