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Some political leaders leave office and quietly retreat into the background. Others spend their retirement writing memoirs that nobody reads and giving speeches that nobody remembers.
When a political movement cannot quite explain where Britain should go, it apparently finds comfort in explaining where Britain used to be.
There is an eternal, almost Newtonian law of modern politics: wherever a politician loudly proclaims they are "standing up for the forgotten working man," you will inevitably find a discreet corner table in a private Mayfair club where someone is eagerly trying to launder foreign money.
John Major's government never intended "Back to Basics" to become a punchline. Launched in 1993 as a pitch for moral and civic renewal, family values, personal responsibility, respect for the old certainties, it was retail politics in the purest sense: cheap to announce, easy to photograph, and entirely disconnected from the actual machinery of governing a mid-sized post-imperial economy adjusting to the ERM's wreckage. Section 28 sat quietly in the background as inherited scaffolding for this mood music, and the Education Act 1993's sex-education clauses supplied a fresh, deniable coat of paint. None of it required legislative heavy lifting. All of it signalled seriousness to an audience that wanted reassurance more than reform. The scheme collapsed, memorably, when half the cabinet turned out to be failing the basics they were instructed to return to.
Just weeks ago, Keir Starmer announced his resignation, making him the seventh Prime Minister to be chewed up and spat out by the British political machine in ten years. It turns out that whether you approach Brexit with right-wing bravado or Labour's "sensible manager" energy, objective reality remains entirely undefeated.
