David Cameron

Mad Dave 2 – the best bits of David Cameron’s biography, Call Me Dave. Chapter1: Posh chums and racist friends

Mad Dave Cameron


Welcome to the second instalment of Frank Bukowski’s serialisation of excerpts from Call Me Dave, the unauthorised biography of David Cameron, by Michael Ashcroft & Isabel Oakeshott.

Phew, I’m breathless. And I’ve only just read the first chapter. Already it feels like I’ve lifted the lid on a Pandora’s Box and peered into a very dark and murky world, nothing like what I expected.

It’s as though, well, the person who appears on our television screens every night, whose words ring out good and true from our radio sets, whose sagacious pronouncements are quoted in the media as the wisdom of our great leader and Prime Minister David Cameron, are in fact the lines of an actor. An imposter, pretending to be someone he isn’t. Feigning values and standards that couldn’t be further from his own.

As I read Chapter 1 it felt as though the scales were finally falling from my eyes. As if my illusions about the establishment, the great and the good who set themselves up as our leaders and betters have been, if not a little dented by a light traffic incident at the crossroads, perhaps shattered forever.

But enough. I’ll let Lord ‘revenge is sweet’ Ashcroft and Ms Oakeshott pick up the story, from pp3-5

“Chapter 1 Chipping Snorton

New Year’s Eve, 2008. In the grounds of a honeycomb-coloured Cotswold farm, thudding music from a giant marquee reverberated into the night…

The setting was a property in Sarsden, epicentre of the infamous Chipping Norton set. Inside the marquee, more than 500 of the richest and most powerful people in Britain were seeing in the New Year in style…

It was the annual New Year bash for ‘the set’, one of society’s hottest tickets, a party so exclusive and impenetrable by the paparazzi that guests conditioned to restraining themselves at social occasions for fear of capture on camera were able to relax…

The guest list was hand-picked and tightly controlled… [including] the Queen Bee of them all Rebekah [Brooks nee] Wade. Flame-haired protégé of Rupert Murdoch…

Every potential invitee required the approval of all – a process designed to ensure nobody inappropriate slipped through the net.

Among the guests that night was David Cameron, then Leader of the Opposition, and his wife Samantha, who live a mile or two away in the hamlet of Dean…

The party was in full swing – loud, boozy and perhaps not entirely free of class-A drugs… social gatherings among the upper echelons of society in this part of west Oxfordshire have acquired a reputation for featuring narcotics. So much so that some affectionately dub Chipping Norton ‘Chipping Snorton’.

As the clock approached midnight, guests in varying conditions trooped out of the marquee for a spectacular firework display. Many seemed euphoric, including Mrs Cameron… dragging on a cigarette…

Not everyone was happy, however. A newspaper executive well used to scenes of excess reveals being shocked at the concentration of power and money.

‘It was incredible to see all these people letting their hair down. But something felt wrong. There were just too many people in too many powerful positions, too close to each other. I remember saying to the person I was with, “This will end in tears.” It wasn’t right.’

Emerging from the toilets later that evening, the former newsman, a working-class boy made good, bumped into Cameron.

‘You’re not one of us, are you?’ the leader of the Opposition quipped cheerfully. The guest was left wondering whether the remark was a reference to his politics, his social status, or both.”

Not one of us. So there it is. At least now it’s in the open, and we know without any doubt that old Etonian David Cameron is a bit of a closet snob. Who’da thunk it. Despite his claims to be on the side of working people, Mad Dave is a raging toff who looks down his nose at ‘commoners’. Hell, if you shook his hand, he’d probably go and wash it.

But hey, that’s not all. According to pp5-6, he and his prim and proper missus are also a couple of raging pissheads:

“A first-hand account of a private Conservative Party fundraiser held at the Georgian stately home of Cameron’s millionaire friend and neighbour Lord Chadlington, for example, makes unedifying reading…

There was a huge marquee full of ladies with big hair and even bigger jewellery. The entertainment for the evening was Dave in conversation with Jeremy Clarkson, who seemed to be smashed off his face. There was a lot of drink around. David was loving the whole laddishness of it…

There are other embarrassing snippets. One member of the set has told how the Prime Minister became so inebriated… that he lost his mobile phone. ‘He was wandering around drunk, asking if anyone had seen it.’

When she feels as if she is in safe company, Samantha herself can be extraordinarily indiscreet, once regaling guests at a private party with a colourful account of how she and Cameron became so intoxicated on holiday in Morocco that they vomited.”

What this chapter tells me most of all is that Mad Dave and his Tory friends aren’t really what they pretend to be in public. They never were. All that posturing as paragons of virtue and propriety – those qualities we thought entitled their positions of power and influence over us – was all bullshit. A big act. All along it turned out they were just a bunch of pigs in posh clothing. Deeply privileged, snobbish pigs. An inward-looking club of wasters and ne’er do wells whose friends number some of the shadiest characters on the planet.

Mad Dave’s best friends are people like Rebekah Brooks, the newspaper editor whose staff thought it was fun to hack the mobile phones of murdered teenage girls. And Jeremy Clarkson, famous for calling Asian men “slopes”, and naming his pet black dog “Didier Dogba”. A drinking buddy whose opinion of striking public sector workers is that they “should all be shot… I would take them outside and execute them in front of their families”?

An able-bodied mucker who parks his cars in disabled bays because he doesn’t give a shit about anyone but himself, who casually uses the ‘N’ word and describes Mexican people as “lazy, flatulent, feckless, overweight”.

A close confidant who refers to former Labour Leader Gordon Brown as a “one-eyed Scottish idiot”, and who thinks it appropriate to tie a dead cow to the roof of a Chevy Camaro before reversing the car and flinging the animal to the ground, for a laugh.

The kind of friend who, while being filmed driving a lorry, has been known to quip hilariously: “What matters to lorry drivers? Murdering prostitutes? Fuel economy?”

My question is, Mad Dave. As our beloved PM and the UK’s foremost ambassador on the world stage, responsible for our immigration, social, economic and foreign policies (and lest we forget, the man with your finger on our nuclear button) do you really think it’s okay to hang out with unreconstructed racists whose social and political views would probably get them excluded from the BNP? If that’s your idea of good judgement, god help us.

Welcome to the world of spin, Mad Dave.

Finally, here’s a great #piggate video that I didn’t have room to fit in Mad Dave 1 last week, about Mad Dave’s pigrophilia habit. Quality.

I can’t wait for Chapter 2.

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Mad Dave – the best bits of David Cameron’s biography: Call Me Dave

Mad Dave Cameron

Just the other day I took delivery of Mad Dave Cameron’s unauthorised biography, Call Me Dave, by Michael Ashcroft & Isabel Oakeshott.

For anyone who’s been living in a cave for the last few months, the book is widely acknowledged to be Lord Ashcroft’s revenge for being dumped by Cameron after bankrolling the Tory party for a number of years to the tune of £8 million.

Ashcroft expected to be rewarded with a cushty post in Mad Dave’s cabinet. But as the world now knows, Dave reneged on him. He did the dirty. Scared off by Ashcroft’s allegedly dodgy non-dom tax status (which Dave had apparently known about for donkeys, but kept schtum, in a kind of, semi-legal kind of way).

Anyhow, when Mad Dave needed Ashcroft’s money to get elected, he practically car-washed Ashcroft’s bell-end with his tongue, metaphorically speaking, for years. Then when he became Prime Minister and didn’t need Ashcroft’s dough any more, he dumped him like an old boyfriend he’d grown out of.

Hey, who needs enemies with friends like Mad Dave.

Well, here’s a thing. Apparently it seems Mad Dave thought that that would be the end of it. Ashcroft would be done and dusted. And that basically he would shut up, crawl under a rock and die. But Ashcroft didn’t read that script. He wrote his own instead. Payback time.

At 600 pages I’m sure it’s going to be a ripping yarn that keeps me entertained right up to Christmas. I thought it would also be a service to mankind, especially to those too poor to afford their own copy (whose number has grown to millions under Mad Dave’s government) to serialise my own unauthorised excerpts from the book over the coming months. To pass on the real juicy bits that show Mad Dave at his maddest, without all the air-brushed spin and PR. Without the lies. Without the deceit, the media bias. Just Dave. Mad Dave. Mad Dave Cameron.

In one of those little gifts from the Gods that you sometimes get, the arrival of Mad Dave’s biography has coincided with the week of the Tory Conference in Manchester. During which, as it happens, Dave has made a number of statements aimed at convincing the British Public what a stand-up guy he really is. Stuff like, Mad Dave the anti-poverty campaigner. Mad Dave the champion of multi-culturalism. Mad Dave the bouncer looking after our national security. And above all, Mad Dave the trembling, emotional, bulgy-eyed raving hypocrite.

For the alert reader there’s a bit of a clue in that last sentence, as to how Mad Dave’s new nickname – ‘Mad’ – came about.

I coined it after listening to Dave’s barking speech at the Tory Conference this week. I had to pinch myself to make sure I wasn’t in some kind of surreal alternative universe, in which ‘up’ was ‘down’, ‘black’ was ‘white’, ‘left’ was ‘right’, and the Tories were the party of fairness, social justice and equality. The only conclusion anyone with even half a brain could reach was, he’s gone totally mad. Dave’s gone mad.

For instance, during his keynote speech, Mad Dave pledged to fight poverty. Nothing wrong with that in the abstract, if it weren’t for the fact that his own savage tax and benefit changes were about to make 3 million workers worse off, plunge 200,000 more children into poverty in 2016, and raise the total number of working households in poverty to over 2 million by 2020. Completely mad.

Mad Dave also vowed to fight racism, only 24 hours after his own Home Secretary, Theresa ‘Enoch’ May, stood at the same podium declaiming in her own ‘Rivers of Blood’ speech, an apocalyptic vision of the effects of immigration on our country, equivalent to the great plague of London in the 17th Century. If we let them all in, we’re doomed! Barking.

And of course, the man whose term in office has completely decimated our armed forces, leaving us with basically an under-sized squadron of Sopwith Camels, a couple of leaky canoes firing pop-guns, barely enough soldiers to quell an outbreak of disorder at the annual Gloucestershire Cheese-Rolling Contest, and a BIG FUCK OFF NUCLEAR MISSILE, talked much about our national security. Mad Dave foamed at the mouth as he warned us about the woes that would befall us if mild-mannered, humanitarian Jeremy Corbyn ever got into power. “We cannot let that man inflict his security-threatening, terrorist-sympathising, Britain-hating ideology on the country we love.”

As Seumas Milne said in his excellent article, Mad Dave’s Tories aren’t so much colonising the centre ground of reasonable politics, as colonising its ‘rhetoric’. They’re basically lying, to their back teeth.

“When Cameron and Osborne wax lyrical about protecting working people, it’s strictly for the cameras,” says Milne. Adding, ”A Conservative party funded by bankers and hedge funds that now claims to represent working people is preparing to drive down the incomes of supermarket workers and cleaners, deepening inequality in the process, while its multimillionaire health secretary, Jeremy Hunt, insists that losing the cash from the public purse will give them ‘dignity and self-respect’. Add to that the trade union bill now going through parliament, which will not only effectively outlaw most strikes but will strip Labour of the majority of its trade union funding, and the authoritarian, anti-worker inspiration of the Cameron-Osborne administration can’t be seriously doubted.”

But I digress. To get to the truth, why not let the facts speak for themselves, by diving straight in with the first excerpt from Mad Dave’s thrillingly unofficial biography. The excerpt, in fact, which every foreign spy on the planet will already have tucked away in their secret dossiers of Mad Dave, as the blackmail opportunity without equal. Let’s go straight in at the deep end for my unauthorised serialisation of Call Me Dave, excerpt No1, from pp73.

“In any case, the Bullingdon was not necessarily the forum for Cameron’s worst excesses. It has emerged that he was also involved in another notorious Oxford dining society, the Piers Gaveston, whose gatherings were the scene of more shocking behaviour. During the course of our research, a distinguished contemporary of Cameron’s at Oxford claimed the future Prime Minister once took part in an outrageous initiation ceremony at a Piers Gaveston event involving a dead pig. His extraordinary suggestion is that Cameron put his penis in the animal’s mouth… a little more detail. He claimed the hog’s head was resting on the lap of a Piers Gaveston society member while Cameron performed the bizarre act.”

Nice work, Dave. Loving the homo-erotic overtones. Makes me feel a whole lot safer knowing the country, and our nuclear button, is in the hands of a man who likes to hump the living daylights out of a pig’s mouth being cradled in the lap of a fellow debauchee.

And later on p74:

“Furthermore, there are a number of accounts of pigs’ heads at debauched parties in Cameron’s day. The late Count Gottfried von Bismark, an Oxford contemporary of Cameron who became notorious after Olivia Channon, the daughter of a Tory government minister, died of a heroin overdose in his Christ Church bedroom, was an enthusiastic member of the Piers Gaveston society and reportedly threw various dinner parties featuring pigs’ heads. The Piers Gaveston, named after the lover of Edward II, specialises in bizarre rituals and sexual excess. Its gatherings, typically held amid great secrecy in country houses, were described in a 2014 article in society magazine Tatler as ‘basically a very well-organised orgy’.”

So now we know. Mad Dave’s a player. He likes to play dirty.

And the secret to gaining the keys to the highest office in the land? Be a sexual pervert. A rich sexual pervert. Now tell me something I didn’t know.


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