If the NHS is Labour’s religion, the immanent, unknowable reality that nurtures its people, Ed Miliband is its holy warrior. It’s an old-fashioned, unreformed religion based on medieval inspiration and badly in need of a reformation but it still has a mystical grip on the people.
It is a bit of a sect, and its jumping jihadist is described – even by his supporters – as something of a cult, but the current crusade is to honour the teachings of the donkey-jacketed prophet Michael Foot.
Like any jihadist, he doesn’t quite match up to the inspiration.
As an ideological warrior, he’s driven by power rather than holiness. He’ll do any damage to his beliefs, as long as it damages his enemies more. He talks in such sectarian language there’s no conversation possible. He’s totalitarian in his edicts. He surrounds himself with a palace guard or he’d be torn to pieces by the wider following. And he lacks a beard. No beard! With teeth like his you need a beard.
The transcendental nitwit stood up at the despatch box and accused the Tories of manifold wickedness. They must have been blind. Are they still blind? Maybe that can be arranged. Branded and blinded for their filthy blasphemies against the holy of holies.