Screaming Lord Peter ‘Mandy’s’ Mandelson’s Nauseating Flying Circus
‘serpentine’: lord mandelson ‘represents everything rotten about our so-called democracy’
The most odious man in politics has been transformed into Westminster’s answer to Stephen Fry. The boys in the bubble hang on his every word.
His sins are not only overlooked, but celebrated. He revisits the scene of his crimes, accompanied by a slavering posse of press dupes.
Screaming Lord Mandelson makes jokes about his mortgage fraud. He flaunts his dubious associations with multi-millionaires, for whom he does favours.
After luxuriating on a yacht owned by financier Nat Rothschild, he leaps to the defence of hedge funds.
After immersing himself up to his scrawny neck in the hospitality of Tinseltown tycoon David Geffen, he announces a clampdown on internet video piracy.
He cosies up to Colonel Gaddafi’s son in Corfu and the next thing you know the Lockerbie bomber is about to walk free.
While serving as a European trade commissioner, he accepts private flights and freebie holidays from a Russian aluminium baron and, purely coincidentally, lowers import tariffs on Russian aluminium.
After being brought back into government by Gordon Brown, he suppresses a report into Brown using taxpayers’ money to bail out what we used to call British Leyland, just days before the 2005 General Election, in a cynical attempt to buy votes in key Midlands marginals.
He explains away his extravagant property dealings by claiming to have made a vast profit on his modest shareholding in a public relations company.
Even though these shares weren’t sold until a year after he allegedly paid off his mortgage, his convenient fairy story is swallowed by credulous reporters.
They would no doubt have believed him if he’d said he’d received a postal order from a long-lost relative in Australia.
When he tells the most outrageous lies about the Tories, the BBC and Westminster’s village idiots record it as if handed down on tablets of stone.
Yes, Lord Mandelson. Of course, Lord Mandelson. Three bags full, Lord Mandelson.
You’re such a card, Lord Mandelson. His every movement is captured on camera, like Jim Carrey in The Truman Show. Film crews camp outside his house. He is pursued on trains by panting sycophants, hanging on his every word. His witless asides are greeted like pearls of genius from Dorothy Parker.
You couldn’t switch on the TV last week without being confronted by his gurning, serpentine visage. Such was his ubiquity, I half expected him to turn up on Sky Sports, being asked his opinion on whether Liverpool should have been awarded a late penalty at The Lane.
On his doorstep, reporters shout out: ‘Do you want to be Prime Minister, Lord Mandelson?’
It’s suggested that the law will be changed to allow him to renounce his peerage and slither into a safe seat in the North-East so he can assume his rightful inheritance of the Labour leadership.
No one ever seems to question the legitimacy of his even being in the Cabinet, let alone being festooned with titles and allowed to ‘run the country’.
It is simply accepted as perfectly natural that an unelected recidivist, twice forced to resign from the government in disgrace, should be parachuted into the House of Lords by an unelected, utterly discredited Prime Minister and proclaimed ‘the most powerful man in Britain’.
The political pack has abandoned any pretence of proper scrutiny, preferring instead the soft option of taking dictation. I realise that even by writing this I could be accused of being complicit in this nauseating flying circus. But someone’s got to do it.
Screaming Lord Mandelson represents everything rotten about our so-called democracy – arrogance, cynical contempt for the paying public, institutionalised dishonesty, an exaggerated sense of entitlement and the complete absence of shame.
National treasure, he ain’t.