Afilonius Rex and Martyn Jones

Picture the scene. It’s Prime Minister’s Questions, the great gladiatorial stage of British democracy, less Gladiator and more Blazing Saddles at a town planning meeting in Swindon. Keir Starmer, sensible Labour’s hero, their knight in gleaming, sensible shoes, rises from the opposition bench. That look on his face, you know the one, shows a man who’s just alphabetised his law books and is ready to go. Across the gallery, Rishi Sunak sits there, gleaming, like a waxwork who’s been told he has to look “empathetic” by 5 p.m. or he’ll be back in the dock. Starmer adjusts his glasses and launches into one of his trademark cross-examinations. It’s like watching a lawyer interrogate a spreadsheet. “Point one, Mr Speaker!” He declares, and you can hear the ghost of Mel Brooks shouting, “What’s wrong with this guy? Where’s the dynamism?” He cites a statistic: a 17.3% increase in NHS waiting times, in case you’re wondering, and it isn’t. Then another: a £3.2 billion shortfall in council budgets. It’s meticulous, it’s legal, it’s as if he’s building a case to prosecute a toaster for breach of warranty. By the time he gets to his witty quip, “The failure of this government isn’t just a policy, it’s a personality trait!”, he drops like a Gregg’s custard tart allowed to fall by a woman worried about her cleaning bills.

Now, my key man, Stewart Lee, would stop there, wouldn’t he? He’d stare at us, expressionless, and say, “I mean, it’s not even a good one-liner, is it? It’s the line you write at 2 a.m., trying to impress your colleague who’s doing a political science course at the Open University. And you think, ‘Yeah, they’ll stick with this.’ But no. It just sits there, like a soggy Rich Tea biscuit in a room full of people who’ve already decided they’re on a diet.” The House of Commons is silent. Its own MPs are scanning the X, probably looking for cat memes that seem more passionate about public services than their leader.

One Conservative MP, I swear I saw him, mouthed, “Is it over yet?” before Starmer could get to the third question. It’s like watching a man perform Young Frankenstein, but forgetting the part where Gene Wilder shouts, “He’s alive!” And that’s the tragedy, isn’t it? Parliament isn’t a court of law, it’s a theatre: a vast, chaotic, pantomime for the rabble where you have to deliver. A theatre in Bedlam Hell. “Look out! He’s behind you!” or at least a bit of slapstick to keep people awake. But Starmer? He does it as if he were still in his prosecutor’s office, combing through the small print on a parking ticket.

Mark Steel would chime in here, with his Cockney indignation: “Blimey, Keir, mate, this isn’t a statement! This isn’t a bloody conveyancing seminar! Give us some fire! Throw in a joke! Call Sunak a puppet, or at least wink at the camera like you’re in on the joke!” But no. He finishes, sits down, and the room exhales, not with a roar, not with righteous fury, but with the low, mournful fart of a balloon someone didn’t tie properly. That’s Starmer’s problem, right there in a nutshell. He has all the data, all the statistics, all the competence of someone who could file your taxes in their sleep. But fire? Passion? The spark that makes you want to storm the barricades, or at least stay awake past the fourth question? No. It’s as if he’s directing The Producers, but forgot the part where he’s supposed to be funny.

Starmer is not the epitome of the Cult of Personality, but its antithesis: the cult of mediocrity. So, what is that?

In British politics today, we are witnessing the quiet triumph of what might be called the cult of mediocrity. This system not only tolerates blandness but actively rewards it. People suspect charisma, consider boldness a liability, and avoid or manage vision as a risk. Instead, we get competence drained of character, caution masquerading as maturity, and leadership that succeeds by not making waves.

This mediocrity isn’t accidental; it’s institutionalised. It’s a preference for the safe, the steady, and the aggressively inoffensive. In this climate, ambition is trimmed to fit the narrow corridor of polling data. Style is sterilised. Ideas are diluted until they’re too weak to offend and too vague to inspire, and too bland to be meaningful.

Keir Starmer stands as the high priest of this movement. Diligent, deliberate, and entirely unthreatening, his appeal lies precisely in his lack of drama. Admirers call him “grown-up” and “serious,” which now seems to mean “won’t scare the horses.” The bar is no longer set at leadership but at the avoidance of collapse. Don’t dream big, just don’t blow it.

But this is not a neutral posture. In an age of escalating crises, managerialism isn’t just dull; it’s also dangerously flawed. It opens the doors to all the extremely nasty elements in politics. The cult of mediocrity doesn’t fill the vacuum; it preserves it. And in doing so, it loses the very purpose of politics: to shape, not merely steward, the future.

So, how did the highest expression of mediocrity become the Prime Minister of the UK and Northern Ireland?

After the incessant demonisation of Jeremy Corbyn by the media, press, on social media and in all the main political parties, even in Labour’s liberal ranks, the left of the Labour party ceded ground to traitors, smearers and liars. This led to Starmer, a key backstabber, being elected as the leader of the Labour Party.

After a succession of terrible Tory PMs and evil cabinet ministers, a general election was called, and the Labour Party gained a majority in Parliament.

So, how did that come about?

The electorate is nothing like as discerning as political pundits and electoral experts would have it. The general public didn’t want great policies, bold initiatives, or social justice; they craved comfort, wealth protection, and a nanny state for the few, not the many. A trap that many people were too stupid to see, but nonetheless a trap.

After years of Tory misrule, much of the electorate sought reliability. But what they didn’t realise is that comfort is not the same as leadership, and that genuine leaders don’t just steady the ship, they change its course. Hoping for a repeat of Blair’s success, voters selected Starmer, but they were misled and mistaken.

But what did we get from PM Starmer? Simple! What we saw was a string of policy reversals from welfare cuts to fuel payments. We got savagely brutal and uncaring Tory policies from a vindictive and opportunist Labour Government. These weren’t wins, they were capitulations to the establishment. Each U-turn chipping away at both Labour’s authority and trustworthiness. Not for nothing is Starmer known as Sir Kiddy Starver and Sir Granny Freezer. And his and his party’s amoral, criminal and degenerate support for Israel, even in the light of the slaughtering of so many Palestinians, many of whom were children, is morally repugnant.

Here’s a concise and direct list of Keir Starmer’s most notable policy reversals while in office:

Winter Fuel Payments: Starmer first announced cuts to winter fuel payments for pensioners, making them means-tested, scrapping universal eligibility. After public and backbench backlash, he reversed the decision and restored the payments.

Disability and Universal Credit Benefits: A plan to tighten eligibility for disability benefits (PIP) and reform health-related Universal Credit payments was drastically scaled back after more than 120 Labour MPs rebelled. The changes now apply only to new claimants, protecting existing recipients.

National Insurance for Employers: Despite manifesto promises, Starmer increased employer National Insurance contributions, breaking his pledge not to raise taxes, even if targeted at businesses.

National Grooming Gangs Inquiry: Initially dismissing proposals for a statutory inquiry into grooming gangs, Starmer reversed course following mounting political and public pressure.

Aid Budget Cut: Starmer slashed the international aid budget to funnel funds into defence spending, abandoning earlier pledges to restore pre-2021 levels of aid.

Transgender Recognition Stance: Following a Supreme Court ruling on the definition of “woman” under the Equality Act, Starmer revised his position on gender identity, signalling a retreat from earlier definitions.

Green Investment Pledge: The ambitious £28 billion green investment promise was quietly dropped and replaced with scaled-down proposals via Great British Energy.

Tuition Fees Promise: Before taking office, Starmer walked back commitments to abolish tuition fees, aligning education policy more conservatively.

Benefit “Two-Child Cap”: Promised removal of the two-child benefit cap, but under his government, supported by the despicable Chancellor Reeves, the cap was maintained, disappointing grassroots supporters.

Bankers’ Bonus Cap: Despite early promises to reinstate EU-style regulators on banker bonuses, the policy was dropped before the election.

Starmer and his Labour Party lack a compelling narrative and emotional appeal. They don’t inspire, and they are also terrible administrators. To gullible fools, they may have the appearance of governance, seeming stable, uncontroversial, and possessing democratic credentials, which are hard to justify even with a massive degree of benevolence. It’s a lack of talent and a lack of teeth. They are tough on the vulnerable and weak with the establishment and vested commercial interests.

With their lack of sound moral convictions, the Labour Party under Starmer is fomenting apathy. And it cannot be overstated that technocracy without traction leads to stagnation, rather than long-term success in transformative times.

If I were a Labour member, I would want Starmer to change course radically or to go.

I am not a Labour member, and I would like to see Starmer and his whole stinking cabinet crew, including those in the pay of foreign governments, fuck off and never come back.

Thanks for reading.