WHEN the Labour Party was formed at the beginning of the 20th century, its main aim was to turn Britain into a proto-Marxist state.

But among all the communistical twaddle, there was always a noble goal. It wanted to look after the little guy.

The miner who spent 27 hours a day at the coal face. And the factory worker who spent all week not quite making Austin Allegros.

The trouble is that today there are no pits, and robots do most of the heavy lifting in the car plants.

So the Labour Party has switched its focus to a new type of little guy.

The oppressed minorities.

It doesn’t matter how mad these minorities might be, Sir Starmer’s merry band of weird beards is always ready to give them a hug and a cup of ginger-infused nuclear-free peace tea.

Transgenderists. Vegetablists. People from the far end of the LGBTQIAP+ acronym.

The Just Stop Oil mob and their mates in Extinction Rebellion.

All these people are the new miners.

And this is what frightens me about the inevitability of a Labour victory in the next general election.

Sir Starmer may stand there under his Playmobil hair, pretending to be sensible, but behind him there’s an army of Corbyn enthusiasts who don’t really care about the economy, or law and order, or immigration.

Those are middle-class issues, mainstream issues, so they don’t matter.

What does matter in the socialist heartland — the sixth-form common room — is the little guy.

So, there will be new laws to ensure that if you so much as look at a ginger in a funny way, or you express displeasure at some herbert who’s glued himself to the road, or you employ a man, you will be charged with a hate crime.

It’s already hard enough for older people to keep up with the changes.

I had 60 years of knowing for sure that women didn’t have penises.

And then, in the past three, I’ve been told that actually, some of them do.

And I must accept that or else.

And there’s more.

All of the jokes we laughed at in the Seventies will become illegal.

All the things we said to our friends.

All of the TV shows we watched.

All the chants we sang at football matches.

Every WhatsApp we’ve ever shared.

We must forget them all and accept that everything we’ve ever thought or learned or said or done is now offensive and wrong.

That’s going to be hard.

Let me put it this way.

If you took a kind-hearted lefty from an uber-woke town like Brighton and made them live in Tehran, they may try to fit in.

But at some point they’re going to accidentally do something they didn’t even realise was a crime.

And they’ll wind up with no head.

Banger out of order

IT happens every year. People have bonfire night parties. Rosy-cheeked kids tuck into toffee apples and wave their sparklers about.

Dads let off a few rockets they bought at the newsagents and everyone goes home full of mulled wine, feeling happy.

Then the next day, friendless people who were not invited to any parties because of their poor personal hygiene pop up on social media to say that their dog was frightened by the noise and that firework parties should be banned.

And guess what? That’s exactly what’s currently being discussed in Scotland.

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One proposal is that only licensed, government-run displays should be allowed, and that made me so cross that hair started to grow on my teeth.

When will people realise that those in government can’t run anything? Trains. The NHS. Planning disputes. Immigration. Nothing.

Governments are useless and local government is even worse.

So let’s ignore these calls for a ban and accept that when it comes to providing an enjoyable spectacle on November 5, your mildly drunk dad is always going to do a better job than some council health and safety wonk in a high-visibility jacket.

Coining it… out

THE Isle of Man’s government is thinking of dropping copper coins, saying it costs more to make them than they’re worth.

So should we do the same? Or has it already happened?

Vending machines are a thing of the past.

Parking meters are electronic. And phone boxes are gone.

I simply can’t remember the last time I used a coin.

I don’t think there’s a single one in the house.

Which was good news for the poppy seller I managed to find this week.

I rummaged around in my pockets and all I could find was a £20 note.

As it seemed a bit mean to ask for change, he got the lot.

Robots plane stupid

SO, his Kingness put on a sparkly hat this week and announced to a room full of men in tights that self-driving vehicles will soon be among us.

One of the first to get the technology will be tractors, and I find that a bit sad. Because I enjoy my time in the Lamborghini.

It’s therapeutic to be out there in the fields, listening to the radio and trying to do the best possible job of driving in a dead straight line.

I’m sure a machine is more likely to make a better fist of it, but that’s like saying a woman is more likely to get pregnant using syringes and pumps. Yes. But where’s the fun?

And it’s the same story with cars. Sure, robotics can steer a car around town more safely than a person.

But lots of people like driving. Me included. And there’s another thing that needs thinking about.

Most plane crashes are caused by pilot error. So it would make sense to do away with them and use technology to do the flying.

That’s easy. It’s fitted to all planes already.

But would you board an aircraft if you knew there was no one in the cockpit? Me neither.

It’s gone too VAR

LIKE everyone else, I was transfixed this week by the mad football match between Chelsea and Spurs.

Five disallowed goals. Two red cards. And a hat-trick. It was brilliant, and I was very jealous of my son, who was actually there, watching it live.

He told me afterwards though that it had been rubbish, because half the time he had no idea what was going on.

On television we could see what the VAR referee was watching, but when you’re at the ground you can’t. The game just stops and you have no clue why.

Apparently, it was the same story when Man U played Copenhagen on Wednesday.

I’ve racked my brains to think of a reason why the powers that be are doing this and can only assume it’s all part of the European eco-drive for net zero.

A fan sitting at home watching the match isn’t producing as many carbon emissions as he would if he went.

Carol can’t shout at Tories forever

IT seems Carol Vorderman was given a choice by her employers at the BBC.

Carry on with your anti-Tory tweets and lose your job. Or agree to stop and keep it.

Carol had a think and decided she’d be off, which I’m sure is very righteous. But I wonder. Is it wise?

Because we all know that in a year’s time, the Tories will be gone.

So then she’ll have no one to shout at AND no job.