Nadine Dorries, the whingeing, pouting troll from the Derek Draper / Damien McBride smearathon, outlived her usefulness a while ago and may now be usefully dismissed to the backbenches to deal with littering, dog fouling and leisure centre opening times in her charming constituency.
No doubt she will also find the time to give a speech or two in committee or the House, beggaring the belief of the inquisitively minded, spouting some pseudoscientific tosh or other and attempting to restrict the lives of women or promote some cult or other.
Perhaps she will find a flattering new angle from which to have her photograph taken for her audaciously poor blog. One that just shows a bit of womanly flesh, though nothing too likely to give the vicar a heart attack. You know the sort. Wink. Wink.
Why, you may ask, the sudden vitriol poured on La Dorries? What has the woman done to deserve this, the poor wronged darling? Isn’t Nábídána being a little bit harsh?
The fact is that, the day she was smeared by Messrs Draper and McBride, she became somewhat useful to the Tory party. It’s not often that a backbencher becomes useful to the leader, and when one does, it’s a nice time to have the photo taken with the leader, perhaps have a nice cup of tea, and do a round of the TV stations. And, when the leader’s office PR person goes home, that’s what you’re supposed to do as well. Nice long Radox bath, listen to some Rachmaninov. nice night’s sleep.
What one is not supposed to do is seize the opportunity to publicise your most lunatic and deranged policy fantasies, nor play to the masses of fellow morons who by turns visit every comments board in England saying something mawkish, basically nonsensical and ill-conceived.
But the worst thing about this mewling, sputtering klutz is the way in which she drew attention to the annoyance it would cause Tories for Bercow to become speaker. Her blog and her MoS article were object lessons for Labour MPs. ‘Care to really piss off the Opposition? Please vote Bercow.’
She is so arse-sweatingly naive it makes me choke just to think of her putting her head above the parapet, distracting from the hard work being put in by the Leader’s office and the Shadow Cabinet to control the level of odium surrounding Bercow. Until she learns the art of political subterfuge, she needs to keep her head down.
As it happens, I used to count Bercow as one of my political heroes, and, reading of his work for Burma, I feel there’s still much to respect about him. But our path as a party would have been much much easier and calm had we managed to get Sir George Young or Sir Alan Haselhurst into the big green seat. As much as anything else, I blame the wronged woman for the failure to control and command this election.
