The Annihilation


Not since Prince Andrew’s triumph of an exchange has an interview been so heralded. As bank-breaking hooligan Aaron Bastani recognised minutes after the airing of the BBC Corbyn-Neil spectacular last night, “Corbyn nailed the Andrew Neil interview. How? He was well prepared, repetitive in what he said and ultimately…boring. People watching will think ‘this guy doesn’t seem particularly radical’. And they’d be right.”

Meanwhile, back in the real world…

It was horrible. It was a pulverisation. A liquidation. A humiliation. An old school drubbing. Not since the battle of Carrhae in 53 BC – that classic example of complete destruction of one side by the other – has a leader been so puréed. Corbyn as Crassus was defeated terribly by Andrew Neil’s Parthian probing – surely now the exemplar of crushing political defeats in British TV political interview history. This wasn’t a car crash, this was what happens when a Trabant goes under an HGV side on – this was a bone-crushing pancaking.

Corbyn refused to say he would order an attack on an Isis leader. Corbyn couldn’t say if he was for or against Brexit. Corbyn failed to see how nationalisations created debt yet said they’d be paid for by selling GILTs (debt). Corbyn couldn’t answer why someone on £14k will pay £400 more in tax a year under Labour’s Magic Money Tree spending plans. Corbyn explained how WASPI women’s £60B would be paid for by borrowing then denied it would be paid by borrowing. Corbyn refused repeatedly to apologise for – let alone admit – the dramatic rise of anti-Semitism in his hijacked Labour Party. Corbyn dismissed his friendships with Britain’s enemies as “listening to all sides of the argument” and “peace-making”. Neil was a Gatling gun – Corbyn a shredding vegan pasty.

All the while this wannabe Prime Minister squirmed and rolled his eyes, getting increasingly angry at Andrew Neil’s questioning. The look of “how dare he!” appeared on Corbyn’s face. Then that evil glare we have become used to witnessing – as the absolute boy imagined the wall in Socialist Britain that Neil would be shot up against. Corbyn’s contorted Mr Bean seating stance – offset by a pair of recorder teacher black shoes from Peacock’s – grew ever more defensive to the point where one could imagine Andrew Neil getting a cough load of poison spewed onto him. This rat was inescapably cornered – if the clock had not stopped, Corbyn was left only with the option of spitting.

This denuding of Corbyn was public service at its best from Neil – exposing public service at its worst. Boris Johnson should have a few stiff ones before he takes a seat before this interview master. Thus far, Neil has stuck Klebb from north of the border, he’s now skewered Steptoe. One fears for Viking FM’s squawking tombstones and tits. Beware, politicians of Britain – Neil’s on form.