News From The Nutters: The Fantasy World Of Ian Bone And His Hobby Political Party Class War

In Friday’s local elections in England, Ian Bone’s Class War (which is essentially his party as much as Captain Rainbow’s Universal Party was George Weiss’) told the Twitterwebs about the forthcoming breakaway by the huddled masses of North Kensington to strike a blow against their cruel oppressors in the south and declare independence.

Pity no one told them. If they had, they were suffering from Chronic Empathetical Constipation (i.e. no one cared a shit).

It’s like the sort of unfunny offal joke party candidates come up with, declaring themselves Earl Of Tyneham or saying they’ll make wherever they’re standing for tax-free by making it part of the internet micronation the Kingdom Of Lovely. The sort he’d have been the first to sneer at back in the 80s and 90s when they still took him seriously.

Look children, they’ve even included the North Korean star in their banner – hey Gramps, you’re a real edgelord, throwing the shade. Now sit down before you wet yourself with excitement again.

Bone appears to be a man searching perpetually for some sort of reason to exist, and what he’s convinced himself in spite of all evidence to the contrary is that he is a man of destiny – the only trouble is not having a clue what that destiny is, and ignoring all evidence pointing to ‘laughing stock.’

He was in Cambridge last year on the behalf of the proletariat, did zero, yet still bragged on the web about how he’d come up from London to show all those poncy students what the working class is all about.

Of course you did dear, now run along and play.

The pretext this time was an inventive protest at the lack of affordable anything housing within the Cambridge environs where some enterprising students graffitied some hideous to look at and hideously expensive new housing. Bone promised to show solidarity with the oppressed masses, without realising it was students who were doing the protesting – the clue was in the graffiti, done in Latin.

Bone’s never forgiven Cambridge after a visit six years ago was lampooned by the student newspaper The Tab, where much the same scenario played out – he and his equally aged mates arrived with an attitude of ‘you’re all snobby, drink champagne, ride polo ponies to lectures and get your butlers to do your essays’, and was laughed right out of town for the arseturnips they were.

This didn’t stop Bone and his sycophants (who all think this aged loser is ‘proper naughty’ right down to his mockney accent, so bad Damon Albarn would be embarrassed for him) hailing it as some sort of major blow for the working classes. The ridiculous Karen the Thurrock Heckler even tried to present their debacle as a revolutionary triumph.

‘From the heart of Cambridge … onto Midsummer Common for the rally … the rowers assembled on the balcony spied us coming and all of them slunk away inside where they could be out of earshot of our taunts and heckling. … when confronted with any form of opposition to their privilege, simply haven’t got the bottle to even listen to a few verbal jibes. There were only twenty of us and we had that impact… Then it was time for some liquid refreshment in a riverside pub – taking it right onto their turf also means drinking in their pubs… to show we have the nerve to take it onto what is to all intents and purposes, enemy turf.’

Some hormonal teenager with a litre bottle of industrial cider and energy drinks would have achieved as much, if not more.

Perhaps this is what these sad attention whores’ barking behaviour is really about, the mid-life crises of those realising they threw away their youth and have nothing to show for it in a world that’s passed them long by. Even more galling, some upstart called Jeremy Corbyn has shown what they could have become if they’d been smart enough to not only keep up with the times but bide their time.

Oh, Ian! One could almost weep for you.