Labour Won the UK Election with 20% of the Possible Vote
July 5, 2024 by Doctor Vernon Coleman
Statistically speaking, Labour is surely already the least popular government in British history. Starmer and Company received just 20% of the nation’s votes. That means that 80% of the population did NOT vote for them.
As a result of this absurd election, while the rest of the world lurches to the right, the UK has lurched to the far left and, having had a statist quasi communist government for much of the last 14 years, we now have a real bright red commie government. The commies aren’t under the bed. They’re now in it.
I suspect that two things are certain.
Labour won’t win the next election.
And within twelve months Labour will be the most unpopular government in history.
But surely, I hear you say, Labour has won a resounding victory.
Oh no they haven’t.
Look at the facts:
There was a 60% voter turnout. One of the lowest turnouts in history.
Labour got 33.7% of the vote.
They won 9,698,409 votes and 412 seats in Parliament.
That means that each seat cost them 23,539 votes.
Conservatives got 23.7% of the votes.
They won 6,824,809 votes and 121 seats.
That means that each seat cost them 56,403 votes.
Reform got 14.3% of the votes.
They won 4,114,287 votes and 5 seats.
That means that each seat cost them 822,857 votes. Liberal Democrats got 12.2% of the votes
They won 3,501,040 votes and 71 seats.
That means that each seat cost them 49,310 votes.
Greens got 6.8% of the vote.
They won 1,941,227 votes and got 4 seats.
That means that each seat cost them 485,306 votes
SNP got 2.4% of the vote.
They won 708,759 votes and got 9 seats.
That means that each seat cost them 78,751 votes.
Plaid Cyrmu got 0.7 % of the vote.
They won 194,811 votes and got 4 seats.
That means that each seat cost them 48,702 votes.
And that’s what they call democracy.
Starmer received far fewer votes than Corbyn received in 2019 – and Corbyn was considered less than successful.
As a result of this utterly absurd election result, we can all expect our oil, gas and electricity supplies to become rather expensive in 2025. David Lammy (see my recent article about him) has been appointed Foreign Secretary. The Labour Party is almost certainly going to make sure that the oil and gas in the North Sea stays where it is. And the supplies from Russia have been cut off. That leaves the UK with having to import supplies of oil and gas from the USA. (Unless the Labour Party brings the stuff over in yachts it will be brought over in diesel powered tankers). Lammy famously described President Donald Trump as a sociopath and as `a racist KKK and Nazi sympathiser’. If Trump becomes President of the USA it does not seem likely that these comments will help secure lasting trade agreements between America and the UK.
So why on earth did Sunak call an election when the Conservatives were clearly unprepared?
How about this for an explanation.
Maybe Sunak was TOLD to call an election because he was stumbling about and not doing enough to take us into the Great Reset without delay. Maybe the plan was to allow Starmer to form a Labour Government because it was known that he would take us into Net Zero and the Great Reset without any delay.
If you want to know what’s going on please read my book `Their Terrifying Plan’. It is available through the bookshop on www.vernoncoleman.com
Dr Bullock’s Annals – Diary of a Victorian Doctor
Dr Vernon Coleman
January 1st 1853
Yesterday, on the last day of the Year of Our Lord 1852, I completed the fifth year of my Apprenticeship with Dr Hildebrand Challot, Apothecary, Barber Surgeon and until today the only professional medical man in the village of Muckleberry Peverell.
This morning, at six, I awoke Dr Challot to remind him that my Apprenticeship has been completed. He awakened for just long enough to confirm that I am now a fully licensed practitioner, Surgeon and Apothecary and entitled to call myself Doctor John Bullock.
I am, in consequence of my having completed my full Apprenticeship in all the healing arts, as dignified under the terms of our agreement, legally entitled to perform all those activities associated with the noble profession of Medicine. I am licensed to dispense medicaments, operate on the sick (or, indeed, the well), remove gangrenous limbs, extract teeth, shave away unwanted hair on the scalp, face or other body parts and facilitate extreme Purgings of the bowel. I am allowed to do all these things without supervision and, most vitally, am entitled to charge a fee for my services as a Surgeon-Barber and for what medicaments I might consider essential. Naturally, the fees I charge have to be accounted for and Dr Challot takes three quarters of my regular earnings.
In a way, my life will not change notably. It is true that I am now officially entitled to practice without supervision but I have been practising without supervision for a good while.
Indeed, I have been running the Practice pretty much by myself since Dr Challot first succumbed to the gout, the dropsy and a deeply troubled liver and prescribed for himself more or less permanent Bed rest with six meals a day, unlimited supplies of porter and mead and the constant attentions of two nurses who are permanently by his bedside or, more often within the bed, warming the cockles of his heart and, no doubt, other parts.
Dr Challot is a short, roundish fellow, no more than five feet four inches in height in his boots. He is as bald as the proverbial coot and wears a thick beard which is, he claims, a leftover from the Crimean War but he was never close to the Crimean War. Indeed, he wasn’t alive when it was fought. He wears the beard because he is a constitutional lusk and far too lazy to shave. For as long as I can remember it has been a motto of his to put off until tomorrow anything you cannot be bothered to do today.
After confirming my elevation in professional status, Dr Challot kindly presented me with my own Leech pot containing what he claims are 24 fine river Leeches. He took the pot from the cupboard beside his and handed it to me, with all the pride and delicacy that might be afforded by the Archbishop of Canterbury handling the Royal Crown, to celebrate the conclusion of my indentureship.
The pot and contents stank something fearful, and at first I thought he had used it in lieu of his chamber pot (which as is usual had not been emptied for several days) but on examination I could see that it was the foul looking Leeches which were responsible for the unpleasant stink. I suspect that the Leeches were brought in by Osbert Gibbon, a pot boy from the Peacock Inn who, I know for a fact, collects the Leeches he sells to us from the stagnant pond adjacent to the cesspit at the Everard Blossom’s stinky farm. Osbert is a professional liar, a Thief and a rascal on his good days and although he is but 14-years-old, he already has signs of the pox, caught I have no doubt from one of the Barmaids at the Peacock, neither of whom are better than they ought to be and both of whom are reputed to be willing to blow the grounsils with any man who can spare one and a half farthings. They both have suppurating sores on the lips that are visible to all and sundry and there are doubtless matching sores present on those lips which are not so immediately on show.
On close examination of my graduation gift, I could see that at least four of the Leeches were dead and putrefying, and it is not my intention to begin my work as a fully qualified Doctor by using putrefying Leeches so I fed them to the cat which did not seem to mind the putrefaction and ate them with relish, smacking his lips with apparent delight.
Dr Challot, customarily never entirely sober, was not too drunk to remind me (as though it were necessary) that according to the terms of the Apprenticeship which my naïve but well-meaning father signed for me when I was 16-years-old, I am obliged to work as his practice Assistant for ten more years or until one of us dies. If I wish to leave this employment I must pay Dr Challot a penalty of 30 guineas. The chances of my ever acquiring 30 guineas are about as remote as the chances of Queen Victoria summoning me to the Palace and begging me to stick three brace of my putrefying Leeches upon her Royal personage.
As Dr Challot spoke, I tried to work out whether or not he had acquired an additional chin. Several editions of that notable feature had already been published and it seems that there has not yet been an end to it. If Dr Challot had been blessed with friends I suspect that even they would have agreed that despite his shortage of stature there was probably too much of him.
Five years ago my father handed over 100 guineas for me to be indentured. This which was the sum total of his savings and when he died two years later there was not one penny left to me. I have no doubt that my father meant well but I would have much preferred it if he had not Apprenticed me but had merely handed me the 100 guineas. Still, one road is as good as another when you have no particular destination in mind.
As an Apprentice, I received free board and lodging. My board consisted of a small room in the attic which I shared with a large and ever expanding family of rodents and my keep, shared with the cat, was a barely edible diet of Turnip soup and stale bread. I once worked out that in five years I had drunk 1,478 bowls of Turnip soup.
My circumstances have now changed considerably for during the period of my Assistantship I will be entitled to keep one quarter of the fees collected for my labours when treating existing patients of the practice. In theory, one third of the remaining three quarters will go for the purchase of medicaments and for the upkeep of the surgery premises, and the other two thirds will go to Dr Challot to be spent on essentials such as wine, beer and the two gorbellied and ever-drunken strumpets who he ambitiously describes as Professional Nurses when making up patients’ bills. There is a clause in the contract which gives me the right to keep all the fees which are paid in relation to the care of new patients and all fees paid in respect of new treatments which are my own invention. I suspect that Dr Challot would have smiled when this clause was inserted for, since there are no other Doctors in the village of Muckleberry Peverell, all existing citizens are already, ipso facto, patients of Dr Challot’s practice.
And the chances of my inventing a new treatment seem as remote as the aforesaid likelihood of my being invited to attend Buckingham Palace with my new pot of Leeches tucked under my arm.
THATCHER WAS HATED BECAUSE SHE FORCED FREE LOADERS TO WORK BY CUTTING OFF GOVERNMENT AID AND REFORMING GOVERNMENT, THE BRITS WERE BROKE, ALL BUT THE RICH/ROYALS. REAGAN AND MANY AMERICANS PRAISED HER.