Theresa may

Once, politicians remained in their safe spaces and elections were fought in a handful of swing seats. This time Theresa May is campaigning in Labour heartlands, pitching herself at people who have never considered voting Conservative before. Tories are targeting seats they have not held since the 1930s and social class seems almost irrelevant. Pollsters YouGov recently observed that class now tells us ‘little more about a person’s voting intention that looking at their horoscope or reading their palms’. As Tony Blair might have put it, the political kaleidoscope has been shaken and the pieces are in flux. A picture of a Britain with new fault lines is emerging. To

Prime Minister, I have good news and bad news.  The good news is that you have been denounced in the letters page of the Daily Telegraph. One correspondent huffs: ‘I wonder if Theresa May and her small group of advisers closeted in Westminster are aware of the fact that each initiative they introduce in an attempt to win over traditional Labour voters risks having the opposite effect on traditional Conservative voters.’ Another damns your energy price cap as ‘wrong-headed’ and even accuses you of ‘play[ing] into the hands of Jeremy Corbyn’s muddle-headed electioneering economics’. Lord Tebbit echoes these fears: ‘The further Labour goes Left, that would mean the further we go

I can understand why Theresa May should want to toy with the idea of having ‘workers’ representatives on board’. As with Tony Blair and his promise to be tough on crime, and David Cameron and gay marriage, it has become a tradition in modern-day elections that a party campaigning from a position of strength makes an audacious raid behind the lines to plant a flag in some prominent place in enemy territory. It creates the impression that you are not merely trying to pitch for votes at the fringes of your opponents’ traditional homeland – you are confident enough to present yourself as a government for everyone. May’s proposals are,

Why do Conservative politicians love Ronseal so much? Theresa May tells today’s Sunday Times that the Ronseal slogan – ‘it does what it says on the tin’ – is her ‘political philosophy’. David Cameron spent years talking about Britain’s yearning for ‘a kind of Ronseal politics’, before describing the Coalition government as operating according to the Ronseal principles. May’s Ronseal branding seems to suit her better: A.N. Wilson describes her in this week’s magazine as ‘patently boring’. Ronseal’s slogan was developed as an acknowledgement that it was competing against fancier brands in a crowded market, which isn’t May’s problem. But she has always styled herself as a woman who gets things

An eagle-eyed Twitter user has spotted something that could be a metaphor for the last 12 months of British politics. Theresa May’s 2017 general election battle bus is – wait for it – last year’s Remain bus, spray-painted with new ‘strong and stable’ slogans. It looks like the number plate checks out: 1/2 Theresa May's presidential campaign coach. Very smart. Registration number YT12 RLV. Hold on, that rings a bell! pic.twitter.com/xXlGVPxuCH — My Sweet Landlord (@MySweetLandlord) May 12, 2017 2/2 Last year it was the Vote Remain #BattleBus ! Theresa May pushing Hard Brexit on the Vote Remain bus. Says it all really. pic.twitter.com/sp42p4KfO7 — My Sweet Landlord (@MySweetLandlord) May 12,

It would be easy to dismiss Jeremy Corbyn’s launch of the Labour party’s election campaign this week on the grounds that hardly anyone believes he has the slightest chance of becoming prime minister. But given that David Cameron was given a 0.5 per cent chance of winning a majority, and Donald Trump a 1 per cent chance of the presidency, it would be foolish not to take the main opposition party seriously. At the very least, Corbyn’s ideas need to be examined in order to understand why Labour finds itself in the position it does, and why no party leader to the left of Tony Blair has won a general election

How was last night’s TV squirm-athon? The sacrificial victims handled it pretty well, at first. Theresa May and her unknown husband, Philip, were roasted live on a BBC sofa. The idea, presumably, was to make them seem relaxed, normal, unexciting, not too posh, at ease with themselves and, above all, genuine. Dull Phil sported a bland shirt, no tie, and a forgettable jacket. With his gnomish pallor and his thick-rimmed spectacles he resembled Sir Ian McKellen entering a Woody Allen lookalike contest. Mrs May was in headmistress mode. Her wandering lips – each has a life of its own – were painted in hard-Brexit scarlet. She wore a black-and-white tunic

Out on the campaign trail in Leeds today, Theresa May stated that she supports fox hunting. ‘As it happens personally I have always been in favour of fox hunting and we maintain our commitment – we have had a commitment previously as a Conservative Party – to allow a free vote,’ she said. The Prime Minister has consistently voted against the ban on hunting, and the general consensus has been that although she doesn’t necessarily think of it as a particularly important issue, she is supportive of the hunting community.  But it is perhaps something of a surprise that May has today come out and publicly said that she is

I’m a Brexiteer and I’m glad Le Pen lost. Those Brexit-bashers who say ‘Brexit-Trump-Le-Pen’ almost as one word, as if they are the same thing, all weird, all evil, all a species of fascism, have got it utterly wrong. Brexit was democratic, optimistic, generous, a positive people’s strike for better politics. Le Pen’s programme, by contrast, is mean, nativistic, protectionist and tragic. Its motor is fear, not confidence; panic, not experimentation. It has nothing in common with Brexit. I am a Brexiteer against Le Pen, and there are many of us. Today’s Macron-loving front pages once again give the impression that Brexit was the starting pistol of a sinister new

Newspapers everywhere are in trouble, with advertising revenues down about 20 per cent a year. Local newspapers are worst hit and many are on the brink of collapse, sacking staff and pages. But there can be no more depressing sign of their distress than to see newspaper owners selling front pages to political parties. Look at the above pictures: both are designed to deceive the reader and look like genuine front pages. They’re created by Labour and Conservative spin doctors, printed as so-called “cover wrap” adverts. Sure, there’s a blink-and-you-miss-it caveat saying “political advertisement” in the Labour one (left) for the Copeland by-election, there’s hardly any branding at all. The