Wherefore Art Thou Bootle?

I was brought up to believe that my family were Liverpool born and bred down the generations.  Taken by the sad urge to find the family history, the reality was different. The terrible torturing truth was that Bootle appeared in the records. Others have been prey to this deception in many ways.

One is to give the place name of Waterloo, a posh place on the Southport line and in the past thought to be respectable people of a status in society able to tell the difference between British Sweet Sherry and British Ruby Port.

To understand the nuances and subtle meaning of all this is not easy.  The Land of Scouse has many tribes and distinctions (and deceits) of class, faith, football, and fancy cakes.  I have no doubt that Cherie Booth, later Blair, said to be of the Waterloo petite bourgeoisie, was brought up on Samples cakes and not plain Co-op. 

One of the sayings about family history is "rags to rags in three generations".  In the case of Euan Blair, son and scion of Cherie and Tony The Traveller, it is Bootle to Bootle. 

His hat is in the ring, or gauntlet thrown down as one of Celebocracy, to have right of ownership of the title to be the Member of Parliament and Lobby Lord of the Manor of Bootle.

Once in a more romantic past there were proud people of Bootle who claimed that while Liverpool was working class it was Bootle men who did the work and referred to the border at Breeze Hill as the Khyber Pass of Merseyside.  But less us move on from all this to the present.

After a long working life of several years sweating at the computer face at the investment bank Morgan (give us your money to lose) Stanley and later the Sarino Russo work agency helping the losers to claim benefits, Euan deserves a well earned retirement at the taxpayers' expense.

Where better than at the Westminster Home For Poor Progeny of Politicians?  There he will have subsidised drinks, cut price cuisine, many home comforts and free interns to do any work.

So long as he keeps his hands to himself and makes sure his personal forensic accountant keeps the books straight he can look forward to a long profitable life.

He will have been prepared for this.  Silvio Berlusconi, the man himself, will have taught him how to distinguish between a decent Tuscan Montepulciano and a Chateauneuf du Pape at Waitrose as well as the difference between a lap dancer and a Labour Party activist.

I do hope that someone will take him to one side first and explain in a kindly way what the "Gladstone" in Gladstone Dock stands for and what goes on in such a place.