Twas the night before Christmas, and in Labour’s houseNot a creature was stirring, not even a mouse.The stockings were hung by the chimney with care,In hopes that St Jeremy soon would be there.Corbynistas were nestled all snug in their beds,Political utopias danced in their heads.It’s ok, they dreamt, don’t pay heed to the polls,The party… Continue reading Twas the night before Christmas (with apologies to Clement Clarke Moore)