‘What’s Big Ange up to?’ was a question Sir Keir Starmer had to ask himself basically every day of his premiership. The fact that the bigger threat came from a totally different Mancunian doesn’t mean that tracking Ange’s manoeuvres was a bad idea. Inevitably, having helped defenestrate her former boss, she’s now angling to work out the next job she’s going to be sacked from. In aid of this, she’d taken to the airwaves, standing in for the cursed James O’Brien slot on LBC.
This was Big Ange’s sunshine radio roadshow – it being her stated aim to be ‘really optimistic’, to shine a light on some ‘good news stories’ (for which read: policies she’d come up with). This was not an even-handed radio session. I’m surprised she didn’t start it with ‘Manchester calling, Manchester calling’ – Lord Haw-Haw meets Oasis.
Still, all credit to Ange, the sun was shining, England had won and anything was going to be better than seeing O’Brien’s signature pockmarked gurn of contempt on a Monday morning.
As expected, Ange, giving Melvyn Bragg a run for his money, began with the weighty intellectual issues of the day. ‘We’ve had some really good weather, a bit good for a ginger from Manchester if I’m honest. I’m starting to wilt a little bit, my colleagues, they say Angie you look really miserable. It’s like, no, that’s Northerners once you get past 34 degrees.’
Things got even better once the general public were involved. First we heard from Abdi from Tower Hamlets, who wanted to know how the Burnham government would work to recognise Somaliland’s statehood. Big Ange immediately dropped a reference to ‘never here Keir’ and tried to change the subject to the cost of living and hope in the country. ‘I’m feeling really optimistic about what we can all do when we collectively come together,’ trilled Ange. Abdi replied that he felt optimistic too – about Burnham stepping in on the ‘Somaliland recognition bill’. Ange’s sunny day phone-in had suddenly come right up against what Labour is actually dealing with – rabid ethno-partisanship. Someone who said in no uncertain terms: ‘I don’t really care about living standards in Britain, I want to talk to you about a hyper-specific internal African politics issue.’
Next we heard from Abigail, the angriest woman in Dewsbury, who wanted X to be banned to combat the far-right. ‘I’m SHOCKED of what you guys are doing,’ she screeched. ‘Abigail, if we could just bottle up some of your energy’, said Rayner. Yes, we’d have to cover it in concrete and bury it far below the ground. In their way, the first two callers were a neat microcosm of Labour’s voting base; ethno-nationalists, but for somebody else’s country, and a furious middle-aged person who wants to send anyone who’s ever liked a tweet to jail.
After came an entrepreneur, who politely asked Rayner how the government was making it more attractive to hire people. Given that Rayner herself is the architect of much of the employment overreach the entrepreneur complained about, this was a bit like asking King Herod for babysitting advice. When in doubt, Rayner would revert to generic, vibes-based slop. ‘When people go to work, they’ve got to feel good about themselves,’ she trilled. There was a surreal aspect of this part of the conversation, an other-worldliness to Rayner explaining job creation to someone who actually did know something about it. Her attitude to the world of work recalled Neville Chamberlain’s assessment of Czechoslovakia: ‘A far-off land of which we know nothing.’
In response to one caller who went on an extended moan about her health, Rayner didn’t offer any practical solutions but suggested that perhaps the woman could join her ‘movement for kindness’. ‘There’s no placards, you just say something nice.’ Quite the Damascene moment for someone who famously referred to all members of the Conservative and Unionist Party as ‘scum’. There followed a lengthy monologue on Nigel Farage’s business dealings. As an expert in people being booted out for financial irregularity, here at least was a topic Rayner was qualified to speak about!
Next we heard from a man who Rayner was adamant was called ‘Tristian’, a name she had either misread or entirely invented. ‘Tristian’ sounded like he might have been committing an act of self-abuse, so excited was he to speak to her. ‘Absolute privilege to speak to you, Angela. Huuuge fan.’ Another caller complained of their sadness that Rayner wasn’t going to be prime minister. ‘I’m a striker’, she replied. I presume this was a football reference but it can also mean someone not doing the job they’re actually paid to do, for political reasons.
While Rayner is considerably more popular than her departing nemesis, it was as if whoever had done the vetting for LBC had gone out of their way to find the most fanatical Angela-fans imaginable. Then again, people with nothing better to do in the middle of a working Monday probably self-select into that category anyway.
The final caller seemed determined to ruin Angela’s sunshine campaign
The final caller seemed determined to ruin Angela’s sunshine campaign. We heard from John, the miserable Scotsman from central casting. How are you today, she asked. ‘Well, unhappy,’ he said. Rayner managed to hear this as ‘I’m happy’, and replied ‘good!’, which further enraged him. The reason for John’s unhappiness was, inevitably, other people’s joy. ‘I now have less teams to beat England to support,’ he complained. Rayner replied that she often cheered for Scotland and had been happy to see them participating in the tournament.
‘A quarter of the woruld qualified’, huffed John, refusing to take even this minor compliment. ‘Obviously I’m supporting Norway,’ he continued. And on that sour note, Ange’s happy radio fun time was over. ‘John, it’s been a pleasure speaking to you,’ she said. With one final lie, Rayner was off. Presumably, back to lobby Andy Burnham for a job and thus avoid having to deal with members of the public full-time.
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