A little thread about my mum:
Yesterday my mum’s neighbour, let’s call him Ralph, asked her where Corbyn was going to put the gulags.

I understand why he asked her that. She is, after all, one of these dreadful Corbynistas we hear so much about. My mother was probably wearing her fairly traded red hat with the Vote Labour badges. She was an embarrassment in my teenage years, frankly.

My 78 year old ex-nurse mum might have been fresh from campaigning for her local Labour MP @DavidEDrew who works long hours with an overwhelming caseload for the most vulnerable people of Stroud. Who claims some of the lowest expenses of all MPs, travelling everywhere by bike.

When Ralph saw my mum, she may have just left the Alzheimer café that she runs for dementia sufferers and their carers. She might have been looking after her half blind sister, who’s too proud to accept help from anyone else.

My mum may have come from the dementia poetry group she (voluntarily) facilitates. She might have been running a fair trade stall, or an Oxfam coffee morning, or ferrying a frail old lady to hospital and back.

On this occasion, though, she was walking Ralph’s dog. Something she does every single day because, at ninety, he no longer can.

I can see why Ralph was triggered. I can see why he’s worried about a tide of Socialism washing over this country.

My mum and her mates are coming for you, Ralph. They’re driving you to polling stations (even though you vote Tory), and they’re walking your dog.