David Mellor for prime minister, whichever party wins

Democracy is about the rule of the people, and Mr Mellor is one of those people.

I can think of no one who typifies our ruling elite better than this former minister in Margaret Thatcher’s government, no one who could preside over our cherished democracy as successfully.

Well, perhaps I could think of a name or two. Quite a few names actually. Or, to be exact, just about any of our rulers – whichever party they represent.

They all profess to be ruling in the name of the people, while cordially despising those same people – presumably because of the people’s failure to see through them.

Not many of our rulers, however, get caught expressing such sentiments publicly, but Mr Mellor is one of the chosen few. Yet again he has been undone by the technological advances of which modernity is so justly proud, specifically by the advances in recording technology.

The first time was back in 1992, and that put paid to Mr Mellor’s political career, though of course didn’t remove him from the ruling elite. Once in, never out, not even if there’s a bit of prison time involved.

There was no prison for Mr Mellor, even though he transgressed against a biblical commandment, if admittedly one that few of us regard as just.

Though very much married, Mr Mellor was having an affair with a lady of easy virtue. At the time his amorous tastes struck me as slightly bizarre, but then I’m notoriously square in such matters.

Apparently he wore the home strip of his beloved Chelsea FC during sex – while everyone knows that all worthy men support Arsenal or, at a pinch, Spurs.

Also, he had a taste for sucking the girl’s toes, which I suppose is harmless enough, provided the toes are clean and neatly pedicured.

Such intimate details became known when the young lady subsequently sold her suck-and-tell story to News of the World for £35,000, as one does.

The story, and that’s where the recording technology came in, was supported by telephone conversations secretly taped by the girl’s landlord, and I bet Mr Mellor is still cursing Alexander Graham Bell, the inventor of both diabolical devices used therein.

A scandal ensued, and in the process a few other indiscretions came to light, such as Mr Mellor having accepted a free holiday from the PLO, an organisation then not universally seen as Britain’s friend.

In his defence, the PLO woman he dealt with had the best pair of legs in London, which I once ascertained walking behind her up the stairs when she was wearing a short skirt.

Anyway, Mellor had to resign, yet here he is now, 22 years later, again caught by a hidden tape recorder preserving for posterity yet another toe-sucking… sorry, I mean toe-curling, incident.

Mr Mellor and his mistress were going home in a black cab, when he took vociferous exception to the route the driver was taking.

Now, before getting anywhere near a black cab, aspiring London cabbies have to take ‘the knowledge’, a written test that takes most of them several years to pass.

No wonder: to pass the test, the applicant has to know just about every building within a seven-mile radius from Charing Cross. He must also be able to name every street along both the shortest and, depending on the time of day, fastest route to every destination.

Mr Mellor’s cabbie passed the test and then drove for 10 years before his car was graced by Mr Mellor’s august presence.

As a member of the ruling elite, Mr Mellor knows everything better than anyone who isn’t a member, even if that person is an experienced professional.

Geography of London is one area in which hoi polloi can’t possibly be more knowledgeable than Mr Mellor. I imagine nuclear physics would be another such area, along with cooking, microbiology and last season’s statistics of Chelsea FC.

Mr Mellor is naturally superior to the plebs, a category that includes more or less everybody the other side of the select group.

This he communicated to the stubborn driver in no uncertain or polite terms. Alas, unbeknown to him, the driver was not only stubborn but also tricky. He pushed the ‘record’ button and now we can all take delight in Mr Mellor’s self-acknowledged superiority.

To open a dialogue, he described the cabbie as a “sweaty, stupid little s***” and a “smart-arsed little bastard”. Mellor then told him to “shut the f*** up” and tested the driver to find out if his ‘knowledge’ exam included familiarity with Mr Mellor’s credentials.

“I’ve been in the cabinet,” he screamed. “I’m an award-winning broadcaster! I’m a Queen’s Counsel! Don’t give me a lot of s***!”

Since repetition is the mother of all learning, Mr Mellor proceeded to go over his CV several times, to make sure the information would be retained.

Actually, the driver wasn’t challenging Mr Mellor’s expertise in any of the listed areas. He stayed in the confines of his own profession, not realising that, comparatively speaking, his knowledge was as inferior to Mr Mellor’s as his social standing.

At the end of the conversation, whose transcript is almost a newspaper-page long,  Mr Mellor called the cabbie a “stupid little s***” and told him to “stop here, by the red light. Then you can f*** off.”

I’m sure you’ll join me in issuing this plea, which comes from the bottom of my heart.

Please, David, come back to politics. Our democracy needs superior, educated, cultured gentlemen like you, gentlemen being the operative word.

For one thing, the revival of your political career may stop you writing on classical music, in which your taste is, frankly, a tad philistine and your knowledge well-nigh nonexistent.

Most important, at this time of rampant egalitarianism we need someone who can show us our place. Someone to keep us on our toes – if you’ll pardon the expression.

Come the f*** back, David. All is forgiven.


My new book, Democracy as a Neocon Trick, is available from Amazon and the more discerning bookshops. However, my publisher would rather you ordered it from http://www.roperpenberthy.co.uk/index.php/browse-books/political/democracy-as-a-neocon-trick.htmlor, in the USA, http://www.newwinebookshop.com/Books/0002752










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