The Shop Steward Of The Constitution

The use of the verb 'grooming' to describe the alleged behaviours which got Damian Green in chokey is one of the nastiest corruptions of the English language I've seen in a long time.

Possibly it's the prospect of their getting their own collars felt that has the massed ranks of the commentariat jumping up and down with justified outrage; yet one cannot really take the protestations of Denis McShane too seriously. His defence of the oafish Michael Martin is indefensible.

Many of Glasgow's Catholic poor of Martin's generation possessed a style, a polish and a class which seems to have deserted their descendants; Martin seems to have none. He has been a disgraceful Speaker, totally unsuited to an office demanding a higher level of political skill and finesse than he had ever before been seen to display. His elevation was Glasgow Labour politics in the raw, smeared across the United Kingdom - gie ra joab tae Big Mick.

When the cops came to the Palace of Westminster looking to intimidate a member of the House of Commons, Big Mick could have reverted to type and acted as the constitution's shop steward; but no, he waved them through. Maybe he's the proof of an old Labour song about shop stewards -

"The working class can kiss my arse,

I've got the foreman's job at last".