Oh, bless his cotton socks. Keir Starmer, the man who once promised
us grown-up government, has thrown his toys out of the pram and stormed
off Twitter like a sulky teenager who’s just been told he can’t have
pudding before his veg.
Five whole days. Not a peep. Not a single sanctimonious thread, not
one carefully curated photo of him looking statesmanlike in a hi-vis
jacket, not even a retweet of some sycophantic local councillor praising
his “vision”. The account sits there, still open, still blue-ticked,
still collecting dust while the rest of the Labour circus carries on
without him. The official @UKLabour account is merrily posting away,
Angela Rayner is firing off memes like it’s 2019, Wes Streeting is
tweeting about the NHS as if he’s personally invented penicillin.
Everyone’s still at it. Everyone except the Prime Minister.
This isn’t strategy. This isn’t “digital detox”. This isn’t even a
principled stand against the platform’s evils. This is the action of a
petulant child who’s been told off one too many times in the replies and
has decided the only way to win is to take his ball home and sulk in
the corner.
What’s got his goat this time? The endless memes about the £22
billion black hole that wasn’t? The mockery of his winter fuel betrayal?
The relentless pile-on over Hermer’s Guantanamo payout? Or perhaps it’s
just the dawning realisation that the public aren’t buying the “tough
choices” schtick when the only tough choice he’s making is between
another tax rise and another U-turn. Whatever it is, he’s had enough. So
instead of facing the music – or, heaven forfend, actually engaging –
he’s gone full stroppy toddler: arms crossed, bottom lip out, no more
tweets for you lot.
Meanwhile, the country burns, the bills rise, the queues lengthen,
and the Prime Minister is playing hide-and-seek with his own social
media profile. Statesmanlike? Hardly. It’s the behaviour of a man who
can dish out lectures on leadership but can’t take the heat when the
kitchen gets a bit toasty.
Five days, Keir. Five days of glorious silence from the man who told
us he was here to lead. Perhaps he’ll come back when the replies have
cooled down, or when someone tells him the optics are finally good
enough. Until then, the rest of us will carry on without him – just like
the Labour Party already is.
Yours in weary amusement,
Ken Palarse
P.S. If you’re enjoying the spectacle, share this far and wide. Every
retweet is a reminder that even Prime Ministers can’t hide forever.
