Shared Opinion

23 August 2008

It didn’t occur to Cameron that White Van Man might be trying to pat him on the back

Of course, he’s usually a certain type of Everyman, as widespread as Vannish tourism may be. He smokes fags, and they aren’t Marlboro Lights. He has tattoos, although they aren’t as chic and discrete as the one on Samantha’s ankle. He’s probably a bit loud, a bit noisy, a bit sexist, a bit prone to obesity and a bit binge-drinky, too. He’s an Everyman, but he’s not the Everyman that Cameron is after. He’s not an aspirational Blue Eggshell Everyman. He’s not fussed about having a nice little deli on his corner. And he doesn’t recycle. He can’t be arsed.

White Van Man voted for Thatcher, because she gave him a reason to own a van, and she gave Johnny Foreigner what for, and she was doing something about them bloody unions, too. White Van Man voted for Blair because by now he was bit richer, and because New Labour had somehow tapped into his burgeoning sense of civic pride in the Spice Girls, and football, and having an All Bar One on every market-town high street.

There has to be some reason, aside from the hopelessness of Gordon Brown, for White Van Man to vote for David Cameron. It should be the Broken Society, but I don’t think that’s going to work. You see, I’ve a hunch that David Cameron thinks White Van Man is the Broken Society. And that’s why it didn’t occur to him that White Van Man might just be patting him on the back. Because maybe, as far as David Cameron is concerned, there is absolutely no reason for White Van Man to want to.

White Van Man to White Dog Man. Or rather, Tintin. You may heard how, on the Continent, an adult, updated version of the adventures of Hergé’s famous boy reporter-detective has been withdrawn from shelves. According to the estate of Georges Remi, who was to Hergé what Eric Blair was to George Orwell, The Pink Lotus ‘perverted the essence of the personality’ of Tintin himself. In it, we apparently see Tintin as an older, unhappy, unethical tabloid hack; a borderline alcoholic and a womaniser.

This does, indeed, pervert the essence of his personality. The Tintin I loved was inseparable from a bearded sea captain, and always carrying around his tiny hound. They spent their life gallivanting around the globe, and were seemingly unhappy in the constraining embrace of home. Their only female friend is a blowsy opera singer, but they prefer the company of professors, butlers, and a pair of chaps called Thompson and Thomson who, despite being unrelated, wore the same clothes, had the same moustache, and were never seen apart. Hack, maybe. Alcoholic, possibly. Womaniser, no.