It's Politics... But Not As We Know It E-Book

Nick Ferrari

• Herausgeber: Elliott & Thompson
• Kategorie: Geisteswissenschaft
• Sprache: Englisch

Seitenzahl: 78

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2015

Beschreibung

Do our political leaders embody your hopes and dreams? More importantly, when was the last time you looked at a politician and thought, 'That's someone I'd like to have a drink with'? Chances are, not recently enough. Let's look at the state of politics today. Our representatives sit in a Westminster bubble; the vast majority are one-track careerists who've never held down a proper job. Is it any wonder that people feel disconnected from all of this? This book is about the gap between politicians and the people. It's about being real, being honest, and - crucially, this is Britain after all - keeping a sense of humour. And it's the only place to find out why Boris needs to know his beans from his bubbles and Diane Abbott wants a new bread roll. Including Nick Ferrari's dream cabinet, his Finishing School for Politicians and other visionary ideas that might never change the world, this very funny but, ultimately, very important book is for all of us, from the political grandee all the way down to the 'NEET'. Welcome to the new politics, Nick Ferrari style.

Leseprobe

Contents

Introduction

1 The price of bread

2 The political disconnect

3 The Nick Ferrari Political Plan

4 Is it time to be more French?

Introduction

I can just picture it now: legions of political hopefuls stomping up and down the country, an eager look in their eyes, lips pursed at the ready . . . Every five years we witness the same sorry spectacle. Mums of Britain, beware! In the build-up to a general election, an army of politicians will be queuing up to kiss your baby.

Don’t let them do it.

I see this book as a kind of public health warning. When you get your ‘Guide to Maternity’ pamphlet from your GP, telling you why breast is best and that your child shouldn’t sleep on its side, this book should be handed out alongside it.

When the nation’s politicians pucker up to plant one on your beautiful baby, it’s your duty as a citizen of this country to point a finger and laugh out loud . . . and I’m going to tell you why.

Let’s look at the state of politics today. We’ve got a load of MPs sitting in Westminster, in their own bubble, legislating for a population that they barely ever interact with. We’ve got the House of Lords, which is so out of touch it might as well be on the moon. The vast majority of those in Westminster are politics careerists who’ve come straight out of university and have never held down a proper job. Is it any wonder that people feel disconnected from all of this?

As the presenter of LBC’s breakfast show, I get to talk to a fair few politicians. But I also get to talk to an awful lot of ordinary people; members of the public who phone in and tell us what they really think. This book is about the gap between the two – between the politicians on the one hand, and us, the people, on the other – and at the moment it’s a mile wide.

There are some good guys out there, some good politicians doing fantastic work. All is not lost. But we need a change of culture and it’s up to all of us to make it happen. It’s about being real, being honest, and – most importantly, this is Britain after all – keeping a sense of humour.

Welcome to the new politics, Nick Ferrari-style.

1

The price of bread

Politics is serious. The way it is practised, and certainly the way it is presented by the majority of current politicians, is deadly serious. It’s no laughing matter. But here’s a funny story that sums up a lot about modern politics.

It was autumn 2013 and Boris Johnson, Mayor of London, had just appeared on Newsnight with Jeremy Paxman. This was at the height of party conference season, so all the guests wanted to talk about were nitty-gritty issues such as foreign policy, immigration, unemployment and God knows what else.

And this is a regular trick up journalists’ sleeves – they also did it to George Bush Sr in the US presidential election – Paxman asked Boris Johnson the price of a pint of milk. Boris clearly doesn’t buy his own milk because he fumbled it! He guessed ‘about 80p or something like that’, then tried to pretend he was talking about ‘er, er, one of those biggish ones’ when Paxman told him it was around 40p for a pint. Boris even tried to turn the tables, but Paxman was having none of it: ‘I’m not standing for election, you are.’

So I had David Cameron on the show the following day and at the end I said something along the lines of, ‘I have time for just one final question – the mayor was asked by Jeremy Paxman yesterday what a pint of milk costs,’ and as I heard him chuckle down the line I said, ‘I wouldn’t do anything as low as that. Instead, Prime Minister, what’s the cost of a value sliced white bread loaf at Tesco or Sainsbury’s this morning? You’d know the price of that, wouldn’t you, Prime Minister?’

Cameron said something like, ‘Well, it’s gonna cost you, er, well north of a pound, I mean, er, I actually don’t buy the value sliced loaf, um, um, I’ve got a breadmaker at home which I delight in using and it turns out in all sorts of different ways but . . .’

After I told him the cost was 47p, he said something like: ‘Look, I’m trying to get my children to eat er, er, the sort of granary – and they take it actually, they like my home-made bread.’ Then, ‘A little plug for the flour made in my constituency – Cotswold Crunch – you get some of that, beautifully milled in the Cotswolds, you pop that in your breadmaker.’

And as he said this, I was thinking, ‘Oh no, the Daily Mirror, they’ll be googling “Cotswold Crunch” right now,’ and, of course, they did and found out that it’s handmade and it costs a whopping £30.20 for a 16kg sack.

He then went and asked if he could recommend a breadmaker to me.

And I said, ‘Well actually, Prime Minister, I’ve tried them and the trouble with these breadmakers is that they take so long, they take about three hours . . .’

And he said, ‘I’d recommend the Panasonic. There you are, that’s another shameless plug. Very easy – even Nick Ferrari could work a Panasonic breadmaker.’

And I thought, ‘God, the Mirror . . .’

Of course, they did google the Panasonic breadmaker – £139. Twice the weekly Job-seeker’s Allowance! Totally out of touch.

There was loads of coverage the next day: ‘The mayor doesn’t know the price of a pint of milk!’; ‘The PM doesn’t know the price of a loaf!’

About a week later, I was at the Daily Mirror Pride of Britain awards and I saw the prime minister, so I proffered my hand and said, ‘I’m terribly sorry, Prime Minister, about bread-gate the other day. Honestly, I had no idea . . .’ He laughed and said, ‘Oh, don’t worry!’ Then he reached down and picked up my bread roll, giving it a squeeze and joking, ‘Can I just say, I don’t think you got the texture of this one particularly right. You left the bread machine on too long, didn’t you, Nick?’ What he didn’t realise was, it was Diane Abbott’s bread roll – she was sitting next to me for dinner. To this day, Diane doesn’t have a clue why the prime minister handled her bread roll!

Boris Johnson came in a couple of weeks after that and the issue was still bouncing around, it really was the gift that kept on giving. He sat down, and I could see that he was clutching a briefing piece of paper in his podgy paws and that it had nothing to do with Tube fares or the fight against crime, or his favourite topic of cyclists and cycle lanes – it listed the price of all sorts of items from baked beans to a pint.

We were live and I said, ‘So, Boris, what are you going to do about the Hammersmith flyover? Shafting people in London, the state of the traffic jams and everyone with a job to get to . . .’

And he was waiting for me to say, ‘Never mind that, I want you to tell me the price of a tin of Heinz Baked Beans!’

He waited so long that eventually he broke and said something like, ‘Aren’t you going to ask me the price of everyday groceries today?’ Poor Boris, poised with his answers to crucial questions of the day like . . . how much is a tin of beans?

I said, ‘No, I am not going to ask you that, but tell me, Mayor . . . do you happen to know the price of Fortnum & Mason champagne?’ And, of course, he got it to within 50p!

Despite the silly outcome, this story makes a really important point. It’s not about trying to catch politicians out for the sake of it. If they don’t know the price of the basic foodstuffs that most people are surviving on, how can they claim to be our representatives?

It’s crucial to be in touch, to live in the real world – whether you’re a millionaire from the Bullingdon Club or you’ve worked your way up from the shop floor via the trade unions. Or even, as so many are these days, if you’re coming straight into politics from the nursery via a degree in PPE (Philosophy, Politics and Economics, for the rest of us) at a proto-Westminster Oxbridge college with a name that you have to be born into landed gentry to know how to pronounce.

The majority in this country are working people living in the real world with all its demands, stretching their limited resources to get by the best they can, people who commute to their job every day, pay their bills and raise their families: they just don’t recognise themselves, or their hopes and dreams, in our political leaders.