Today they are getting righteous over the alleged thirst of the man slated to become the next head of the European Commission (EC); tomorrow, some or all of them will be getting equally righteous over Jimmy Savile. But supporters of The Blue Team, especially those who have in the past lionised the memory of Margaret Thatcher, have no room to talk on either subject. I will explain.
Young Dave has tried to block the candidature of Jean-Claude Juncker, on the grounds that the vote should be down to heads of Government – several of whom he claims have reservations about the former Luxembourg PM – rather than MEPs. On this, Cameron is in a probable minority of one. So he is being backed up by a number of pundits who should really have kept schtum.
The perpetually thirsty Paul Staines is one of them: The Great Guido has told of “Jean-Claude Juncker, the drunk who has cognac for breakfast”. Staines is in possession of four alcohol related convictions, including two for drinking and driving. He is damn lucky that his trial for the last D&D, at Tower Bridge Magistrates’ Court, was switched to another court at the last minute: the judge he was down to face would have seized his wife’s car and sent him to prison.
Over at the Spectator, editor Fraser Nelson takes a rather more jovial, but still righteous, line, pushing Charles Moore’s article: “Jean-Claude Juncker is stale, unimpressive, probably a drunk. What’s not to like?” he asks.
An equally ardent Thatcherite, Dan, Dan The Oratory Man suggests by use of a photo that Juncker gets down to work waiting for the wine to be poured (the offending sauce has decreased in strength, sadly).
Then Mrs T’s bestest fan in the whole of Manhattan, Louise Mensch, has her ninepence worth: “Cameron should ask on record in writing if [Juncker] ever met officials having drunk alcohol in the morning, or took official meetings drunk”.
So, for all these upstanding followers of the Iron Lady’s memory, I present the Gents’ toilets on Platform 12 of Crewe station. It was here that the political career of one Peter Morrison came to an end. Morrison was a good friend of Margaret Thatcher, so much so that she trusted him with her 1990 leadership campaign. Sadly, he was so pissed that he spent much of it asleep: Morrison was an alcoholic.
Perhaps one day there will be a blue plaque on the wall, although the wording may need careful consideration. Morrison’s career was ended when he was caught with an under-age male: the Tory whips tended to worry about his cruising around the Sussex Gardens area. And yes, that, too, is relevant.
Because Jimmy Savile was also a good friend of Mrs T. Still feel righteous, folks?