Dear Mr Kinnock
I come from a poor but proud family in the Rhondda valley.

You may just remember my grandfather. He was the big deaf feller you came across in the Treorchy Labour club back in the early 1970's.

My grandfather was the feller you kept deliberately turning your back on even though you knew damn well he was deaf from birth and needed to lipread.

After an hour of this, when he threw his pint to the floor to get your attention and swang a haymayker at your smug face, he unfortunately missed and was bundled away out of the club and social justice was delivered to his ribs and face as he took a kicking from your "stasi" entourage of hangers on.

This, Mr Kinnock, caused a bit of a rift in our family. Grandad, a staunch and grizzled old Labour man had you worked out for the crook you were, but my Dad would have none of it. As far as my Dad was concerned the sun shone out of your damn arsehole. According to Dad, you were the great redeemer, come to save us all.

I remember well when I was a young child the arguments my Dad and Grandad would have. Not any ordinary argument, but an argument in sign language. The rapid silky sound of fingers moving rapidly over fingers and the slap of skin against skin, the exagerated facial expressions and most of all the periodoc thumping of a fist on a table or wall to push a point home or to interupt the other.

I always knew when they were arguing about you Mr Kinnock as it would always end up with my grandfather bellowing like an Ox in his very limited speech and Dad shouting back almost as incoherently.

My grandfather died in the mid 70's and was spared from seeing you go on to become leader of the party he so cherished, but my father still saw you as the great redeemer, the man to save us all from the Liberals and Torys.

Not even Mr Kinnock, could my father be swayed from your unholy influence when your stasi boys got hold of me, his beloved son.

Do you remember those cheeky likely lads who threw snowballs at you outside St Davids hall while you were preening and pontificating as the leader of the Labour party in front of the TV cameras. That was me . Those loveble rogues who you threw snowballs back at and got some prime "Lovable Neil man of the earth getting down with the yoof" TV footage from.

Want to know what happened the second the cameras were off?

Some very big nasty men lovingly pinned us to the wall by our necks, took our wallets and wrote down our names and address from them and after a nice headbutt to say farewell told us in no uncertain terms if they saw us within 100 feet of the glorious windbag they would break our legs.

Even after your cronies did this Mr Kinnock and beat up his son for the crime of throwing snowballs, My Dad was devoted to you.

Even after you snatched defeat from the jaws of victory in 1992 and let the grey man have another 5 years he still thought you were hard done by.

Until he saw you go into the European gravy train with the gusto of a starved pig.

And found the trough so fullsome you dragged you wife in to scarf up a bigger share.

When you finally showed your true colours, a little part of my father died there and then.

When Blair came to lead the Labour party it finished the old man off.

He voted Tory for the first time in his life and was dead from the cancer less than 2 weeks later.

For that Mr Kinnock, I can never forgive you.

To drive a good honest decent man like my father to turn against all he held dear and for him to see the start of the rot that became New Labour which has given us the monsters that are Blair and Brown.


I met you myself again, without a snowball in my hand this time, at a function in Cardiff a few years ago.

"You met my grandfather" I said

"Wonderful" you said

"Treorchy in the early 70's, he always regretted his punch missed" I said.

You looked at me for a moment, blinked and turned away without a word.

This time at least I didn't get beaten up by your stasi.

I look forward to reading your obituary you traitor!
( RadG Drinking Mojitos in the sun, Sat 6 Mar 2010, 19:38, 8 replies)

This!
Oh very this. And clicks like an arthritics hips.
(porkylips looks better as the sun goes down., Sat 6 Mar 2010, 20:12, closed)

I'm in Treherbert living at the moment. Not exactly Vegas, but it has its charm.
(aarghapanda, Sat 6 Mar 2010, 21:19, closed)

My Auntie Dolly lived in Treherbert all her life. Was there for her funeral just a couple of years ago.

There is something about the valleys that keeps me sane. They keep me grounded and never let me forget where I came from no matter how far I wander.
( RadG Drinking Mojitos in the sun, Sat 6 Mar 2010, 21:36, closed)

click
lovely post. Maybe a few less linespaces/
( Amberl was stripey and dominated Europe, Sat 6 Mar 2010, 21:39, closed)

he's a big softy
well compared to his wife, she is a nightmare. Sounds about par for the for the course with him sadly.
(The kneeling rifleman Is slowly getting there.., Sat 6 Mar 2010, 22:08, closed)

This
I very much like. It also made me feel sad.
( Herb Alpert's Taxi Driver I have very beautiful lips, Sat 6 Mar 2010, 22:44, closed)

Learn something new every day.
The 'stasi' bit, I mean. The troughswilling, that's pretty damn obvious.
*click*
( Fathter Puddytat Kill Kill dat widdle boid is mine on, Sun 7 Mar 2010, 19:55, closed)

Sheeeit
I *love* this.

But can we have some b3ta posters from Sedgefield Labour Club please? From what I've heard they'd make this sound like a mild grievance.
(Guy Debord cette mauvaise réputation..., Sun 7 Mar 2010, 23:29, closed)