Bless them, it couldn't last. All that talk of brotherly love. Something had to go ping. Not Dave and Nicky, the happy honeymooners. We're talking serious split here, tears at bedtime and in between too.
It's about David and Ed. Miliband. Doomed they were, right from the moment Gordon stuffed his sporran into a suitcase and shuffled off to lick his wounds. The slanging match is on. Ed reckons David is an android, with no people skills. David says he is the best man by far, with way more experience. Question is, why would either of them want it? The Leader of the Labour Party job?
Nobody gives a cat's cuss about Labour. We're all agog to see what Nicky and Dave are up to behind closed doors. The Miliband bros can kit themselves out like Lady GaGa and sing a duet on top of Nelson's column with a dead pidgeon around their necks and we will not pay them a blind bit of notice. We just don't care.
But can't blame them for trying. More than you can say for Diane Abbott. She's been in that place so long with so little result that we've all forgotten she is still alive. And guess what? I'll eat that sporran if she wins.
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