Goldentie, or the Party That Loved Me.


It’s that time again; time to wade knee deep into the multi-coloured sludge that is the recent election and the results that crawled from it, like the creature from the UKIP Lagoon. I’m not going to go into the numbers instead this is more of an overview with attempts at political satire. Imagine I was someone clever like Jeremy Paxman or David Mitchell or Alan Partridge.

First overall the only thing you can really hear on the news is that UKIP won. Everything. The Grand National, Local Elections, The Lottery, The Great British Bake Off. They won everything, which means there was an “earthquake” in British Politics but if you really look into it, it was more of a tiny bit of coastal erosion that happened over night. They didn’t win. They didn’t win the local elections; they gained a few seats that where far and few between that didn’t add up to anything. A blip on the political radar. This analogy I feel sums up the local election perfectly; UKIP are the guys at the back of the bus, Conservative and Labour are still arguing to about whose going to drive, the Lib Dems aren’t even allowed on the bus and the Green Party are still worrying whether the buses fuel is eco-friendly or not.

Farage celebrates gains in the local elections

The big story was the European Elections were there was a slight upset, UKIP won. Not only did they win but every media outlet says they won with ease. With ease! The last thing anyone needs is UKIP leader; Nigel Farage being complimented. In some ways his ego puts the big in bigot. The word on the street is that many voted for UKIP as a protest vote thinking “they’ll never get into power, but I wanna shake things up”. Well that back fired didn’t it smart arse. They’ve got power and do you know what comes with power? I don’t mean women and money I mean insanity. They call it power mad and if there was ever a man who looks like the embodiment of this term; it’s Farage, with his Rugby Student antics. I mean the man downed a pint after winning and then placed the empty pint glass on his head, something most “normal men down’t pub” haven’t done since they were 18 to 20, so which publicist told him that was a good idea. Don’t get me wrong I love a political person with a personality I’ll be voting for Eddie Izzard if he ever runs for London Mayor, but this is a different kind of madness to the roguish oddly charming Boris Johnson, who doesn’t love that chubby blonde man child. I just think we’ve pulled our own gaff, many protest voted and it blew up in our faces. We might as well have listened to Russell Brand and not voted because I’m sure that would have really worked far better.


As far as next year goes it’s anyone’s race, well actually it isn’t. It’s not going to be Nick Clegg’s race. His horse fell at the first post and finds itself in a Findus 100% beef burger. Much like Trotter’s Independent Chandelier Cleaner’s after the first job he did; no one’s going to trust him again. Soon he’ll be hanging up that yellow tie of his and scuttling back to the shadows, a place he probably feels comfortable in after spending years in David Cameron’s. I’m sure he’ll be missed I mean whose going to fetch the tea for the real prime minister or thoroughly screw over anyone who wants a degree and can’t have mummy and daddy pay for it? We will just have to see, though maybe just maybe this is the first step to being an independent nation. Nigel could get tips from Alex Salmond.

Words: DB Mitchell.


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