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Gilbert Murray MP's Westminster Blog
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I was trememdously honoured this week to have been asked to unveil some new statuary at Saint Bodkin's church in the village. As you will no doubt be aware, Reverend Murray (no relation) has been overseeing an ongoing series of changes to the church ever since its conversion to the Church of Zeal or no Zeal back in 2006, with the aim of removing inappropriate Christian iconography and replacing it with something more suitable.
This week saw the unveiling of the latest statuary to have been added to the church, and I have to say, I think the new statues make an admirable addition to this historic place of worship.
The first statue to be unveiled was a new bust of the Great Prophet Noel Himself, which is located in the south aisle, replacing an original 14th Century statue of the Madonna and Child. The vicar is most pleased with the likeness that the sculptor has managed to achieve, with the Great Prophet Noel staring directly at the congregation with a suitably stern look on His face. I have to say that the statue reminded me more of one of those chaps from Abba than of the Great Prophet Noel, but I kept my opinions on that matter to myself during the (suitably reverent) unveiling ceremony.
The other two statues are perhaps a tad more controversial in some eyes. The vicar tells me that he didn't want to fill the church solely with statues of the Great Prophet Noel - who apparently is a very modest messiah - so he engaged a couple of local sculptors to produce statues of two highly-respected public figures. Unfortunately, the two highly-respected figures that the vicar chose didn't stay highly-respected for very long, but in both cases, it was too late to cancel the commission.
This explains why we now have a Liz Truss gargoyle on the north-west corner of the tower, replacing an extremely eroded medieval original.
I was aware of a degree of ribaldry during the unveiling, and I heard one wag asking why we were replacing one irreparably-damaged gargoyle with another. Thankfully, the gargoyle is high enough up that you really need a pair of binoculars to see it.
The third statue is more of a success in my eyes. Boris Johnson may be something of a tarnished public figure nowadays, but nobody could deny that the sculptor has managed to capture his likeness beautifully in the new statue that now graces the plinth to the side of the south porch - 'Boris Johnson's descent into the underworld' - which replaces the original 13th Century statue of St Peter. I was somewhat surprised by the public reaction as I whipped the cloth off the statue - several small children screamed and ran away in terror, and the chair of the Gypping in the Marsh Women's Institute fainted on the spot - but I am sure that in time, the villagers will come to love this magnificent addition to the exterior of Saint Bodkin's.
After the unveiling, the vicar treated us all to a little extra scourging and excoriation for the good of our souls, followed by a nice cup of tea and cream buns in the nave. I admit that I may have spiced up my tea with a little tipple or two from my trusty hipflask - all that unveiling was hard work, especially in the heat.
I asked the vicar what had become of the old statues that had been replaced with the three I had unveiled. He informed me that they had been broken up with sledgehammers and were going to be used as hardcore for an upcoming extension to the church car park. A fitting end for such heretical items, I'm sure you'll agree.
Regarding constituency matters, I'm pleased to be able to say that I've now appointed the aforementioned Mr Beaker as my new PA. Despite the fact that he was the only person to put his name forward, I'm sure he will make an excellent fist of the job. He's certainly an interesting chap: he's held a number of different jobs in the village over the years, from inventor's assistant, to verger at Saint Bodkin's, to butler at Hemlock Hall. His personal hygiene leaves a little to be desired (and that's putting it mildly), but I'm sure this is something we will be able to work on.
Beaker is now busying himself with his first task: sorting through my bins, looking for correspondence from constituents that looks as if it's worth me spending my valuable time on. If you have any issues you need my help with, please do approach Beaker. And if you want my advice, make sure you're upwind of the man as you do so.
As I write, I see that preparations are well underway for Saturday's Gypping in the Marsh Clown Festival, with the village green full of marquees and stalls being erected. Looking from my study window, I see that the beer tent looks admirably large and well-stocked. I look forward to seeing many of you there.
Gilbert Murray MP
Gypping in the Marsh's first Clown Festival took place on the village green last Saturday, and I'm happy to report that a good time was had by all. It was marvellous to see what looked like the whole village out enjoying themselves, and an impressively large number and variety of clowns turned up and performed. It was lovely to see the village children screaming with excitement (well, I think it was excitement) as they watched the colourful clowns perform. A whole-hearted well done to Mr Murray (no relation) of Gypping in the Marsh's very own Flying Circus for organising such a magnificent event.
As I'd hoped, Fromage turned up. I've always known he's a bit of a crowd-pleaser, but I have to say that I was taken aback by how completely he immersed himself in the experience. I can only think that given the people he's been working with in his various political parties down the years, he probably felt right at home. He was even happy to have himself made up as a clown, which endeared him to the crowd no end, and he got a mighty cheer when he presented the medal for the most outstanding clown at the end of the day. Many people in the crowd shouted out that Fromage himself should be given the award for being the biggest clown of the day. It made me proud to see such remarkable generosity of spirit from my fellow villagers.
I was damn glad I'd invited Fromage along to the festival. My intention had been to try to mend a few fences between the two of us, and it certainly did the trick. So much so that back in the bar of the Cock and Bull, Fromage made me a very interesting offer. Over a pint or five, he told me that he was in the process of divvying up jobs between the various Deform UK MPs. Given the dearth of talent there (present company excepted, of course), I can appreciate what a difficult task that must have been for the man. Anyway, he said that he'd heard my name mentioned in the bars of Westminster in connection with foreign affairs, and that given my past experience, he'd like to offer me the foreign affairs role.
While it's undoubtedly true that I have a lot of experience when it comes to foreign affairs - my (regrettably ex) wife could testify to that - I'm not sure they're quite the sort of foreign affairs that Fromage had in mind. However, I wasn't about to disabuse the man of his beliefs about me, so I accepted there and then on the spot. Before he could change his mind.
Thinking about it, I do have a fair amount of experience in foreign affairs. Back when I was an MP in the early 2000s, I had important dealings with security companies in the Netherlands and Ghana, and I made a number of other valuable contacts that could prove useful. There was Tom Davis, the UN diplomat, and Lucky Taylor, the nephew of the disgraced ex-president of Liberia. Admittedly, both of those relationships ended somewhat acrimoniously... but I'm sure that if I got back in touch, I could get things back on track with both individuals.
And then there was Georgy, the Russian sailor I came across (quite literally) in the middle of Dam Square back in the summer of 2004. Ah, what a memorable foreign affair that was - the one that ended both my marriage and my previous parliamentary career, as it happened - but I wouldn't have changed anything for the world.
Georgy was a wonderful chap. A charming companion, with a keen interest in British politics. We whiled away many an evening in a discreet little London restaurant just around the corner from Kensington Palace Gardens, chewing the fat about the political events of the day. It was such a shame he disappeared when I was turfed out of Parliament: as soon as my first Commons career was over, I never saw him again. I can only imagine that his ship sailed at last. I often wonder what became of him.
Anyway, enough reminiscences. Some of the clowns stayed in the village for a few days after the festival to have a look around the area, and it's a damn good thing they did. On Monday night, following some fake social media reports that a Cornish family had moved to Gypping in the Marsh, a rent-a-mob of violent louts appeared in the village, seemingly out of nowhere, and massed on the village green. Things looked as if they were going to get ugly, but thankfully the visiting clowns got together and managed to drive the mob out of the village. I'd like to extend my thanks, and the thanks of the rest of the villagers, to the brave clowns who steadfastly defended our little village against the mob. When the chips are down, there's nothing like a clown.
Incidentally, I was hugely saddened to read that the recent riots and disturbances that took place across the country have been orchestrated by Tommy Robinson, while sitting on a sunbed in Ayia Napa, of all places. I was a great fan of Robinson's work presenting Time Team, but he's gone right down in my estimation now.
Now, time to pour myself another little post-breakfast snifter and find out how Beaker's getting on with all that correspondence. It's easy enough to locate the man: one just has to follow one's nose. We really will have to do something about that.
Gilbert Murray MP
It's been a bit of an odd week, if truth be told. There have been strange goings-on in Gypping in the Marsh, and that, taken together with the anti-Cornish protest that was thankfully averted at the last minute last week, has left many people in the village feeling rather unsettled.
It all started with an innocent little photo of a Land Rover, nestled gently in Gypping Marsh, which I posted on Twitter - or 'X', or whatever that Musk chap is calling it this week - to show people the beauty and serenity of this part of the country. The Land Rover's been sitting there in the marsh, slowly sinking, for a number of years now - ever since I stopped using it when the transaxle failed - and it's gradually become an accepted part of the landscape. It's quite attractive really, especially the way the late evening sunlight picks out the colours in the oily sheen that sits on top of the surrounding water.
I thought nothing of it, until I woke up the next day to find that some blighter had dumped a second scrap Land Rover in Gypping Marsh. That just wasn't on. One rusting Land Rover dumped in the marsh = a charming, if somewhat offbeat photo opportunity. Two rusting Land Rovers dumped in the marsh = a ruddy eyesore. And the next day, a third scrap Land Rover appeared. The day after that, no fewer than five scrap Land Rovers appeared in the marsh! I hurriedly dashed off another post on X, in an attempt to nip this flagrant Land Rover dumping in the bud and to prevent Gypping Marsh from becoming a scrap heap:
But that was nothing compared to the sight that greeted us the following day, when an entire ruddy train carriage was dumped in the marsh overnight. The X post I fired off after that appeared says it all:
To top it all, while I was busy trying to contact Lincolnshire County Council to arrange for these items to be removed from the marsh, Cambridgeshire Police got in touch with me to admonish me for appearing to suggest that people dump their scrap Land Rovers in Cambridgeshire! I had to issue a clarification, pronto, to keep them sweet (and to keep them from prosecuting me). You would have thought they had enough on their plate, what with all these far-right, anti-Cornish protests going on everywhere. Honestly, sometimes you can't do right for doing wrong. It's enough to drive a man to drink.
On a more positive note, Lincolnshire County Council have promised to remove the offending scrap from the marsh in the next few days. Let's just hope no other outsiders think it's amusing to dump their scrap items in our beautiful marsh.
A few days later, an item of a very different kind was discovered in the marsh. People have been going on this week about new artworks by Banksy being found across London. We may not have a Banksy here in Gypping in the Marsh, but we were fortunate to have been left a 'Bonesy' sculpture at the edge of the village:
Word soon got out, and it wasn't long before Gypping in the Marsh was packed with art lovers, keen to get a look at the new sculpture. The village may have been a little crowded at times, but it was very good for our local businesses. It really put us on the artworld map. I even heard that Charles Saatchi was planning to make his way to the village to view the artwork.
Unfortunately, people's spirits were dampened somewhat when a local farmer accidentally reversed his tractor into the new sculpture, smashing it to bits. Hats off to Mr Murray (no relation), our local butcher, who has offered to make a replacement, once he's butchered a few more carcasses.
And then the day after the first 'Bonesy' sculpture was smashed to smithereens, we woke up to find a second 'Bonesy' on the edge of the village. I'm not quite sure what Bonesy is trying to get across here - the inherent emptiness of Boris Johnson's soul, or the fragility of his ego, perhaps? - but regardless of what it all means, it's certainly a striking sculpture. What with the sculpture outside Saint Bodkin's and now this, people are going to think we've got a thing about Boris Johnson in Gypping in the Marsh. Anyway, the farmer is under strict instruction to be a tad more careful when manoeuvring his tractor in the immediate area of this new sculpture.
It was my great pleasure this week to visit a small rural business in my constituency: I spent the day on Friday touring Murray's Balaclavas (no relation). It was a joy to see the small, dedicated workforce busy manufacturing, marketing and selling their fine range of hand-made balaclavas. I was told that demand for balaclavas has waxed and waned over the years - fashion is a fickle business! - but apparently sales have rocketed in the past week, as balaclavas have seemingly come back into fashion again. Apparently sales are almost as brisk as they were in the 70's and 80's, when balaclavas were all the rage with our friends on the other side of the Irish sea. It was heartening to visit a true Lincolnshire success story.
Murray's Balaclavas were good enough to give me a free balaclava of my own after the tour of the factory. It's an especially fine example of a balaclava, a top-of-the-range model from their 'Provos' range, hand-knitted from the finest Angora wool and coloured with natural dyes. To publicise the company and their products, I decided to wear the balaclava all weekend while I was out and about.
That turned out not to have been the best idea. I was on my way to the village bakery to pick up some fresh bread when a police car drew up alongside me and two officers dashed out and arrested me. I tried to explain that I was the local MP and that I was publicising the products of a fine local company, but they were having none of it. "If you're the local MP, I'm the Queen of f***ing Sheba, mate," was the only response I got before I was bundled into the back of the car and driven off at high speed to the police station.
Now I have the highest respect for our boys in blue. Noel knows, I've had enough dealings with them in the past. But I was most unhappy with the way they handled this situation. I was some hours at the police station before they finally let me go. And to top it all, they confiscated my new balaclava. I shall be having words with the Chief Constable of Lincolnshire Police about this, you see if I don't.
It seems as if balaclava wearing isn't exactly de rigeur at the moment.
I'm pleased to announce that the date of this year's Deform UK Party Conference has been announced, and that I will be speaking at it. The conference will take place on 21st September, at Digbeth Working Men's Club, Birmingham, and I am pencilled in to be giving a speech at 13:30. Spaces are limited - extremely limited, given the choice of venue - so book your tickets now.
Incidentally, my new PA Beaker has mentioned that more than a few of you have contacted him to complain that you have written to me on some matter or other, but have yet to receive a reply. I would ask you to be patient while Beaker gets to grips with my filing system, and would like to assure you that most of you will probably receive a response to your letters as soon as is likely.
It's also worth noting that now I am on Twitter/X/whatever it's damn well called this week (my agent Winton's suggestion), this provides you with another way of communicating with me. Just search for 'Gilbert Murray MP' and you will find me there.
Gilbert Murray MP
I'm pleased to report that the past week has been remarkably unstressful - certainly when compared to the week before. Lincolnshire County Council have collected the motley assemblage of scrap that had been dumped in Gypping Marsh, no more scrap vehicles have appeared, and I haven't been wrongfully arrested for the simple act of wearing a high quality item of headgear. That counts as a good week, as far as I am concerned.
Sadly, when the council arrived to remove the scrap vehicles, they also took away my old Land Rover, which had been resting peacefully in the marsh, minding its own business, for some years now. I didn't realise they were going to do that, and I do miss seeing the old girl whenever I look out of the study window out onto the marsh. Oh well, c'est la vie.
I was pleased to be asked to open a brand new girls' dormitory wing at Saint Bunty's Home for Parentally-Challenged Children this week. The village orphanage has been through a rough time over the years as far as funding is concerned, and its Financial Director, Mr Murray (no relation), explained that as a result of this it's taken much longer than expected to get the new dormitory wing completed. Happily though, he reported that the orphanage funds received a welcome boost last year when 'a superfecta bet with four long shots in a row came good' (I'm sure that those of you with a good head for financial jargon will know what that means), and this meant that they were able to fund the completion of the new wing.
I have to admit that I wasn't the orphanage's first choice when it came to performing the opening ceremony. The Financial Director explained that they had originally pencilled in Prince Andrew to open the new wing. Apparently, he was initially very keen to be involved in the project, given his long-standing interest in vulnerable youngsters, and visited Saint Bunty's some years ago at the start of the project. But then financial woes put the project back some years and by the time the wing was complete, Prince Andrew had pretty much stopped doing any public engagements for some reason. Strangely, when the orphanage got in touch with him to try and arrange the grand opening, he claimed to have no recollection of having previously visited the orphanage and agreeing to carry out the opening ceremony, claiming that he had been at Pizza Express in Woking at the time - despite there being photographic evidence that shows he had indeed visited Saint Bunty's. I think the man's memory may well be going.
Anyway, yours truly was only too happy to step in at the last minute and open the new wing. Despite Prince Andrew denying any involvement with the whole affair, the orphanage has still decided to call the new wing 'The Duke of York Children's Dormitory', in his honour... mostly, I think, because they'd already had the sign made and they didn't want to splash out on a new one.
I'm pleased to report that I had a very enjoyable day at the orphanage. A group of the orphans gave me a demonstration in the morning of some of their daily activities, and it was delightful to see how much they seemed to be enjoying the oakum-picking and rock-breaking. We then had lunch in the refectory, where I enjoyed a hearty bowl of gruel with the orphans, and after lunch came the grand opening ceremony. The orphans all clapped and cheered (well, those with enough energy clapped and cheered) as I pulled back the curtain to reveal the new sign, which has been affixed to the bars on the door of the dormitory.
Handsome as the sign is, I do think I may have a word with Murray's Signwriters (no relation) in the village. The man's work is not improving as the years go by.
I don't claim to be an expert in matters architectural, but I have to say that in my opinion, the designer of the new dormitory has made it fit in perfectly with the existing buildings. I think it mirrors the Jimmy Savile Infirmary that was constructed in the 1990's quite beautifully. The orphanage's Financial Director is hopeful that they will be able to persuade Prince Andrew to visit the new wing at some point in the future, to spend some time with the orphan girls in their new dormitory. I can't imagine him not enjoying himself... and I'm sure that a visit from the Duke would be an experience the young girls would remember for the rest of their lives.
I also had the honour this week of travelling down to Windsor Castle with the 18th Earl of Gypping, accompanying him as he performed the annual 'King's Keeper of the Privy' ritual. This title has been proudly held by the Earl and his ancestors ever since the late 11th Century, when an ancestor of the Earl assisted King William I when he fell ill after eating a surfeit of lamprey. The somewhat onerous - and odorous - duties associated with the role have now been reduced to one ceremonial act per year (much to the relief of the present Earl), which takes place annually on August 21st.
Secrecy prevents me from disclosing precisely what the ceremonial act involves - indeed, only the Earl and the King were allowed into the Gilded State Toilet in Windsor Castle when the ceremony was taking place. However, I did manage to take a photo of the Earl in his ceremonial garb, standing next to the Gilded State Toilet while preparing for the ceremony. And I can reveal that King Charles was wincing and rubbing his posterior somewhat as he exited the room after the ceremony. I have to say, both the King and the Earl seemed to be very relieved to have got the ceremony out of the way for another year.
Gilbert Murray MP
I had a real treat last Sunday. The usual organist at Saint Bodkin's was unwell, so Reverend Murray (no relation) asked if I would help out by playing the church organ during the Sunday services. I do love tickling the ivories, so I was delighted to accept. Reverend Murray boasts that he has the largest organ in Lincolnshire, so I couldn't wait to run my hands over it.
I played at all three services on Sunday. The highlight for me was the end of the last hymn at the final service, 'Jesus, I Come' (obviously, the words having been changed to 'Noel, I Come'), when I pulled out all the stops and brought the entire congregation to a magnificent climax. I was weak at the knees when I got up. A truly unforgettable experience.
Reverend Murray had a surprise for us all at the end of the third Sunday service: he revealed that he has managed to obtain, at great expense, a relic for the church: a lock of the Great Prophet Noel's beard. He brought out the relic, which is housed in a beautiful, jewelled, golden reliquary, and showed it to the congregation, who were all rapt with wonder.
Reverend Murray explained that he had purchased the relic on Ebay from a renowned seller of hair-related artefacts - K9Kutz of Penzance - following a frantic bidding war. He also revealed that he is currently bidding for another relic of the Great Prophet Noel on Ebay - a fragment of a stripy jumper that the Great Prophet wore on several occasions when presenting Multi-Coloured Swap Shop in the autumn of 1978.
The relic is now available for veneration behind a screen of bulletproof glass in the south aisle of Saint Bodkin's church, close to the new statue of the Great Prophet Noel. Worshippers should form an orderly queue.
Now, to other matters. As you'll no doubt be aware, I'm scheduled to speak in the afternoon at the Deform UK 2024 party conference, on 21 September. Fromage has pencilled me in for 1:30 in the afternoon, sandwiched between GB News' Eamonn Andrews and some chap who calls himself 'Ant'. I can only presume that 'Dec' is busy, because he's not appearing on the bill.
I'd been wondering what to talk about, but then inspiration struck, in the unlikely form of tarnished comic Jim Davidson. My fellow MP Richard Trice invited '30p Lee' Anderton and me to Skegness the other weekend, to see Davidson's show at the Embassy Centre. I hadn't seen Davidson perform for years - I was astonished to see that he was still doing the rounds, to be honest - and it struck me that despite the fact that his material hasn't really changed for decades, he still had the audience falling about with laughter. Anderton - bless him - didn't really get the jokes and was laughing in all the wrong places, but Trice was laughing so much that he literally soiled himself! He did his best to clean himself up in the interval, but I ended up having to move seats in the second half to get away from him.
Anyway, I digress. The point is, I realised that Davidson's material still does the business among a particular stripe of person, and I think the audience at Davidson's show had a similar make-up to the one we can expect at the party conference. I used to be quite the thing on the stage in my Oxford days, and I realised that the type of jokes that had the Oxford Young Conservatives rolling in the aisles - and that got me banned from the Oxford Union back in 1971 - would probably go down well with a Deform UK crowd in 2024. So I've been dusting off some of my old jokes to spice up my speech.
Fromage has also asked me if I'll do a light-hearted turn on the Friday evening, before the main conference on the Saturday. I jumped at the chance. I don't know whether Fromage is aware of it, but I used to do a cracking ventriloquism act back in my Oxford days. It's something I haven't done for decades, but I'm planning to revive my act specially for the pre-conference show.
I had a great dummy in those days - 'Little Adolf' - and I developed a hilarious routine with him which was hugely popular with the Young Conservatives at Oxford. Sadly, I won't be able to use Little Adolf in September; he was irreparably damaged during a somewhat poorly-judged routine I performed at a bar mitzvah back in 1972, after which I had to throw away his charred and splintered remains. That's a day that remains firmly lodged in my memory... almost as firmly lodged as the seven-pronged menorah that I had to have surgically removed that evening in the local hospital.
Anyway, I'm a dab hand at wood carving - it's one of my many talents - so I've set myself the task of producing a new dummy to use in my routine for that Friday night. I'm not going to make a new 'Little Adolf'; this dummy will be a complete surprise to everyone when I unveil him on the Friday night. It really will be a show you won't want to miss, so do get your tickets booked if you haven't done so already.
Regarding constituency matters, my PA, Beaker, has now finished working through the backlog of correspondence from my constituents. Unfortunately, some correspondence was lost when the bins were emptied early one morning before Beaker had started work, but Beaker has been able to review the vast majority - well, some - of the letters I have received since the election.
Beaker informed me that a recurring thread in the correspondence was opposition to plans to site the largest solar farm in Europe in the fens around Gypping in the Marsh. Nobody could ever call me a NIMBY, but I'm not having that in my backyard - it would spoil the view from my study window entirely. I would like to reassure you all that I am firmly against this flagrant despoilation of the Lincolnshire fens, and have contacted the so-called 'Secretary of State for Energy Security and Net Zero', Ed Miliband, to make him aware of my strong opposition to the scheme.
I do understand that as a country we need to become more self-sufficient as far as energy is concerned, so I will be promoting an alternative proposal from Fockett & Burnett-Hall PLC (I'm a major shareholder) to develop an opencast mine and coal-fired power station. Gypping in the Marsh and Lincolnshire always come first as far as I'm concerned, so this proposed mine and power station will be sited in Cambridgeshire instead. Some smart-alecks have attempted to pour cold water on these plans by pointing out that there are no coal deposits in Cambridgeshire, but this is the kind of pettifogging negativity that lost us the Empire. I'm sure that if we dig deep enough, we'll find something we can burn. And if not, Fockett & Burnett-Hall PLC has major holdings in a number of large Russian coal mines that could provide an almost limitless supply of cheap coal. I will keep you all informed on this matter.
Gilbert Murray MP
Read more about the goings-on in Gypping in the Marsh in 'The Orphanage Director', in which Gilbert Murray proves willing to do just about anything to save Saint Bunty's Home for Parentally-Challenged Children from closure, and in which a bogus lawyer proves spectacularly willing to embarrass himself time after time in a shameless attempt to get his hands on the orphanage's money.
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