Hrtbps’ Weekly SOAL: Racist Love, Yung Toryz and BMI Baby

LOVE HURTS

It speaks of Ukip’s slide from the public consciousness that the act of poking fun at them has lost its spark. Where once one might have delighted in mocking their tragi-comic Ukip carnival, or smirked at Nigel Farage facing the rigmarole of condemning yet another local councillor’s racist comments, there remains only memories. For this is a rump of a political organisation. A party balloon in February, contorted and misshaped, filled with fetid air, longing for the sweet release of the recycling bin. Farage, freed from the restraints of public life (though he remains, I’m told, an MEP) sought first the role of gurning hype-man to American catastrophe Donald Trump, and latterly can be found clogging an LBC studio with his signature staccato. Shorn of his relevance since the EU, the self-styled Mr Brexit is now caught in that desperate scramble for attention that afflicts so many on the wrong side of a career bell-curve. Like a child competing to impress a distracted parent. “Dad! Watch this!” he shouts, as he catches 2 feet of air wheelying of a kerb on his new BMX. “Mum! Mum! Mum, I think should have a second referendum on EU membership!” Of course you do, Nigel. There can only be so many times your agent will let you say no to that I’m A Celeb gig. But Nigel Farage is the ghost of Ukip past. A single issue pressure group turned – and I have to be careful with my spelling here – personality cult. Which brings me to this week’s news. I was somewhat taken aback to discover that not only was the current leader of Ukip a Henry Bolton OBE, but that he was three months into the job. If Mr Bolton’s New Year’s Resolution was to get his party back in the headlines, then he’s been remarkably successful. Just last week, it was revealed that he had left his second wife to move in with a 25-year-old model. The news was met with a nation shrugging its shoulders and asking, “who?” Little did we know, though, that this was merely the first step of a plan to reinvigorate Ukip and bring the good old days back. The second step, inevitably, was the revelation that Mr Bolton’s new 25-year-old girlfriend was a bad racist who had sent racist text message about, amongst other things, Prince Harry’s fiancé Meghan Markle. This led to calls for his resignation as party leader by those inside Ukip who were already underwhelmed by Bolton’s leadership. In the end, he was faced with the ultimate dilemma: a straight choice between his racist party and his racist girlfriend. Bolton, of course, chose to end the relationship rather than relinquish the Ukip leadership. However, sensing he was on a roll, Bolton could not leave the story there. He has since claimed that the racist messages were FAKE NEWS. The positive for us is that we are treated to photos of the former couple looking glum on the Tube. Long may the Ukip soap opera continue.

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HOW DO YOU DO, FELLOW KIDS?

I had to agree with The Conservatives’ new chairman, Brandon Lewis, this week when he identified the need for his party to compete online with Labour in a bid to win over young voters. In an interview with The Sunday Telegraph, Lewis said that too many Tories shy away from fighting for the party on social media, and that he wanted to equip younger voters with a “toolkit” including graphics animated gifs and videos so they could “go out there and argue” for the Tories. It does appear that the Tories have a long way to go to match Labour’s digital output. Labour’s latest offering is this powerful, emotive video starring NHS staff: https://twitter.com/UKLabour/status/953695925351866370 Brandon Lewis fought back with this breathtaking video, starring himself: https://twitter.com/BrandonLewis/status/953726505716191240 Sensing they needed help, I mocked up a meme of my own that could garner those elusive organic shares amongst young voters: https://twitter.com/hrtbps/status/953574410719506434

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FIT TO BE PRESIDENT

I have a good friend who, in his late twenties, began to go grey. Nothing drastic, just the usual salt-and-peppering of the temples. To me, half a decade younger, it looked quite cool and sophisticated but appearance was never mentioned within our friendship group. It wasn’t a big deal. Then one day he turned up having dyed his hair. The salt-and-pepper had been replaced by a deep matt burgundy. Not that it mattered to anyone else, but in dying his hair, he’d unwittingly revealed to us all his self-consciousness. A chink in the armour of an otherwise outwardly confident man. Which brings me to this week’s results of Donald Trump’s medical exam. The President’s BMI was recorded as 29.9 which remarkably is exactly 0.01 less than the cut-off point for being classified as obese. The dental examination revealed that he has healthy teeth and gums, though it doesn’t say who they belong to. Under girlfriend, the doctor wrote simply “she goes to another school, and is a model.”