Jackie Weaver is everything that is wrong with this country. The men whom she shut down were elected members. She was some sort of support staffer; it is not even clear why she was there. But of course she took over, out of an overwhelming sense of her own entitlement, and out of a well-founded expectation of her own way.
That is what public sector middle-class women have been doing to Britain ever since the economic changes of Thatcherism created them as a class. Jeremy Corbyn’s Labour Party was a partial exception, so look what they did to him. Mind you, he let them.
Like everything else, the Labour Party is once again run by the White sisters, one of whom automatically wrote C at the top of everything that you handed in without having read it (the end of exams is a terrifying prospect for the working-class, the politically black, and the male), while the other peremptorily banned you from seeing your children and called them by your ex-wife’s maiden name on all the paperwork. Weaver has that written all over her.
Where the public sector becomes the things that are ancillary to it, one of those creatures has been the bane of my existence for over a year. The people who are supposed to defer to her theologically repugnant authority clearly despise her, pretty much openly regarding her as engaged in a conspiracy to send a man either to prison, or to death by his own hand, and she does not care which. Yet on she plods, out of an overwhelming sense of her own entitlement, and out of a well-founded expectation of her own way. She is not going to get it.