Over the past couple of years (so strange to think that he was an almost complete unknown before being thrust into power in 2015. Perhaps it’s a sign that we ought to remain hopeful. People can work conscientiously for decades and eventually ascend to a platform in line with their relevant work experience and fervour for the job rather than power itself. Either that or I’m romanticising in the face of bleakness and divorcing my world view from reality. It’s a better bubble to exist in though), we’ve been treated to a few bits and pieces regarding the inner life of Corbyn the man.
He makes jam and enjoys spending time on his allotment. However, did you also know that he is a fastidious keeper of ducks? He sounds more like the rector of a quiet country parish than a London based member of parliament let alone a modern potential Prime Minister. Then again, all I really know about Theresa (mainly because I haven’t been paying all that much attention) and her personal life is who takes the bins out (and even then I’m not entirely sure which of them said they did it, I merely know that it came up in an interview with Mrs May and her husband). What one does in the comfort of their own home probably doesn’t have all that much bearing on their professional life. Unless it’s serial killing.
Anyway, Jeremy was out late at a campaign rally or it might have been yet another media appearance. He’d been in such a rush in the morning that for the rest of the day he couldn’t be sure as to whether or not properly secured the duck house (or wherever his avian friends live). He could have sent an aide to check but it simply didn’t seem proper. Once it had been established that the ducks had indeed got out though, that was a whole different ball game. Jeremy was more than happy to enlist the help of the police in rounding up his errant flock of quackers.