First Rod Stewart, now even Terry and June are turning their backs on the Conservatives. Voters resembling the characters from the sitcom, played by Terry Scott and June Whitfield, switch allegiance to the Labor Party.
The show ran from 1979, the year Mrs Thatcher became Prime Minister, to 1987, the year of her third landslide victory.
Terry and June were a typical middle-class, middle-aged married couple living in Purley, Surrey, in the heart of stockbroker country. Along with other BBC comedies, such as The Good Life and Ever Decreasing Circles, Terry And June epitomized conservative ‘little C’ and ‘big C’ Britain.
But now a new survey of 9,000 people reveals that middle-aged suburbanites are deserting the Tories in droves. Not only are they worried about the cost of living, but they are increasingly adopting fashionable enlightened attitudes.
First Rod Stewart, now even Terry and June are turning their backs on the Conservatives. Voters resembling sitcom characters, played by Terry Scott and June Whitfield, switch allegiance to Labor
When the True Blue ridings of the Gin’n’Jag Belt turn red, the Conservatives must be in even bigger trouble than we thought.
Rod Stewart set off alarm bells when he called for a debate on Sky News urging Rishi to step aside and give Keir Starmer a chance.
Stewart, a longtime Tory supporter, has been left devastated by the NHS crisis. His speech made headlines, but those of us who tuned in a little longer discovered that the disillusionment ran much deeper. Terry and June aren’t the only ones who have had enough.
Our next questioner is a Mrs. Margo Leadbetter, from Surbiton.
Hello? There you are. I like to think of myself as the silent majority. I’m not one to call the TV stations, but I just heard this singer, Andy Stewart, and I totally agree. The NHS is an absolute disgrace.
Rod Stewart set off alarm bells when he called for a debate on Sky News urging Rishi to step down and give Keir Starmer a chance
Jerry tore out what was left of his hair trying to get an appointment to see a GP about him, well no matter what exactly.
Since he was, uh, fired by the agency, we just can’t afford to go private anymore.
And Dolly Mountshaft of the Pony Club has been waiting for over a year to get a gastric band. She better go see a vet.
I was forced to ditch my weekly Waitrose delivery and shop at something called Aldi.
Have you seen the price of quinoa these days? At this rate, we will have to wash to make ends meet and we will have to dig up the hydrangeas to grow our own vegetables.
I’m starting to think Tom and Barbara next door had the right idea all along.
Terry and June were a typical middle-class, middle-aged married couple living in Purley, Surrey, in the heart of stockbroker country. Along with other BBC comedies, such as The Good Life and Ever Decreasing Circles, Terry And June embodied ‘small-c’ and ‘big-C’ conservative Britain.
Thanks Margo. On the second line we have Mr. Alf Garnett from Wapping.
Good, my dear. Now listen, you might learn something. I’ve been a curator, king and country forever. Enoch was right, we have way too many strangers here. Needless to say.
I mean, when we voted to leave Europe, we were told that we were taking back control of our borders. Remember Brexit means Brexit? Moo stupid. It’s a giggle, innit. Boatloads of buggers arrive across the Channel every day.
And what is this so-called Conservative government doing about it? Nuffink, what is it. Might as well try that asshole Scouse’s job.
Let’s go to Torquay and Mr Basil Fawlty, who keeps a hotel.
Hotel? That’s what you call it, isn’t it? More like a youth hostel these days, since it was requisitioned by the government to house asylum seekers landing on Paignton beach.
Talk about lowering your tone. I thought the Germans and Americans were pretty bad. But these Albanians. Absolute riff-raff.
They ate me Waldorf salads and drank dry sea bass. And don’t talk about containment. I mentioned it once, but I think I got away with it. Didn’t touch a dime, went through the safety net. Manuel returned to Barcelona after Brexit and I cannot hire staff for love or money.
Skyrocketing energy bills, rising corporate taxes. That’s it, I’m leaving. Never vote Conservative again.
Mr. Martin Bryce is in the Mole Valley. Works in the floodgates and manages neighborhood watch.
Yes hello. Thank you for answering my call. I’ve always been a “small c” conservative, sort of a JFK conservative if you will, even though he was a Democrat, if you know what I mean. Don’t ask what your neighborhood can do for you, ask yourself what you can do for your neighborhood.
(Go ahead, Martin – Ann.)
Good, well. As president of Neighborhood Watch, I try to work closely with the police, but these days I find that they just aren’t interested in what I call everyday crime. For example, when Howard and Hilda had their lawn mower stolen by members of the traveling community, they didn’t bother to investigate.
Yet when we complained and said we knew who the culprits were, they arrived in a patrol car painted rainbows, blues and two blazes, accused us of committing a hate crime and threatened to arrest Howard for racism.
I play with the Lib Dems next time, but Hilda says more and she votes for the BNP.
More bad news from central England for the Tories. Is there anyone who will vote Conservative next time? Let’s ask Mr. Wolfie Smith of Tooting.
All right, sister. Call the instigators, because there’s something in the air. We have to come together sooner or later, because the revolution is here. And you know it’s true!
A general strike, millions paid to sit at home doing nothing, taxes at their highest since WWII, record government spending, open borders, unlimited immigration, drugs effectively legalized, cops on the street , Net Zero, thousands of millionaires fleeing the country. . .
What’s not to like? That’s what we expected.
Power to the people! Vote Conservative!
A pop-up wash and blow-dry
A maintenance worker has been killed after being run over while working on a ‘telescopic toilet’ outside the Palace Theater in London’s West End.
A telescoping toilet is a pop-up urinal that emerges from the sidewalk late at night to keep revelers from being taken aback on the street.
Since councils began shutting down old-fashioned public amenities, they have resorted to increasingly expensive and elaborate alternatives. One of my first columns for the Evening Standard 35 years ago was about a tramp who had fallen asleep in one of those new self-cleaning, self-contained, self-cleaning French-style toilets installed by the Westminster Council.
He was unhurt, but when police finally rescued him, he had been soaped, rinsed and blow-dried half a dozen times. It was the cleanest it had been in years.
Laughed out loud at the bizarre photo reconstruction that sought, and failed, to prove that Air Miles Andy couldn’t have frolicked in a bath with Virginia Giuffre. Who was this masked man? Or masked woman, come to that. It could have been an old cliché of John Major and Edwina Currie.
