Dear Jeremy,
Please don’t go. I know you’re even more unpopular than the England football team right now — your shadow cabinet is currently emptier than the promise of a weekly £350 million for the NHS. Every few seconds a disloyal minister sends you an insincere letter full of veiled enmity which might as well say: ‘Dear Jeremy, since nobody likes you I’ve decided I don’t like you either, so I’m taking my ball back! Find someone else to play with — if you can.’ So I thought I’d write you a letter of my own, to let you know that someone still thinks you’re wonderful and wants to be in your gang.
You don’t know me, but I feel I know you intimately (though not as intimately as I’d like). You see, I’m a comedian and have been travelling the UK with a JC lookalike, performing an ode to your magnificence. ‘Love Song for Jeremy Corbyn’ starts:
Though you look like a tramp, you’re a hit with the ladies
Nick Cohen and Ayesha Hazarika discuss the Labour party’s woes:
And I’d love to have your little Corbabies
OK, so I’m 35 and you’re 67, but I still dream of visiting the Co-op with you to buy your favourite Fairtrade coffee, and lying in bed with you in our Palestine Solidarity Campaign T-shirts as we peruse the Morning Star.
Fantasy aside, I feel sad on your behalf, watching your purportedly left-wing detractors seek to replace you. It is frankly ludicrous that they’d prefer a robot such as Chuka Umunna to you. They think Blairites like Chuka and Liz Kendall are potential winners, disregarding the fact that they are pro-austerity and don’t have integrity like you, my love. How can they say that we have to move towards the centre to win? We both know that Labour performed well in May’s elections.
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