A day in the wretched life of a Red Wall voter, by a Guardian writer
By Joanna Kramer
NOT many people have heard of Clecksleydale in Yorkshire, the obscure Red Wall town where Martin Bishop was brought up and now endures a daily living hell.
When I arrived to meet retired electrician Bishop, the signs of economic decline were everywhere – a poorly attended Costa, several charity shops selling unwanted Compare The Market meerkats, and no restaurants I would consider visiting.
Bishop begins his day trying to find a traditional cafe for breakfast. Once, he only had to walk five minutes to find one. Now it takes seven. Logan blames the immigrants and wishes the Labour Party would have the guts to acknowledge his concerns.
Bishop said: “There’s no young people anymore in Clecksleydale. They all moved out in 1984 when there were no jobs to be had, thanks to Michael Foot and the Labour Party.
“Everyone’s forgotten about us. Once there’d be a BBC TV crew here every day asking what we thought about Brexit. Now we’re lucky if they come twice a week. It’s as if they’re just not interested in our rambling, confused opinions anymore.
“Shops are closing down all over the place, which is probably the immigrants again. We can’t get out to these big megastores. What are we supposed to do? Answer me that, Jeremy Corbyn.
“I’m still voting for Boris. He talks the language of real people like me – complete bollocks.”