Election Photo Oppertunities: The Best and The Worst


David Miliband really doesn’t like surprise birthdays


It is astonishing how important image can be for politicians. Photo ops are carefully crafted, with whole teams dedicated to ensuring that their candidate will not end up looking foolish. Its not hard to remember some of the more recent gaffs; Ed Milband eating a bacon sandwich, his brother David being terrified of ballons or Gordon Brown looking ridiculous wearing a helmet spring to mind. And while the most memorable photos from campaigns tend to be the leaders looking silly some can show the true nature of the candidate. Here is a look at the best and the worst.

Nicola goes bowling


Dope new album dropping soon

Nicola Sturgeon went bowling last week and it provided a number excellent photos. However, this was by far my favourite. Here it looks like she’s trying to appeal to both young and old by combining a sport in which participants tend to be older, whilst also looking as though she’s about to release the sickest grime album of the year.  It’s the expression, the hands and the jacket that all combine so perfectly. Also, the fact that she genuinely looks as though she’s enjoying herself brings this one higher in the rankings. All she’s lacking a gold chain. A stroke of genius. 8/10


Tim gets chased by a dog


Tim prances through a field


This one is harder to judge. Tim Farron either looks like he is having the time of his life or he was traumatised by a dog at a young age and that’s the reason for the brown trousers. Either way, it makes him look human like he can experience emotions like happiness or fear. You know, like a normal person. Connecting with the electorate was probably one of the Lib Dems leaders problems but this picture definitely helps solve that problem. 6/10

Willie meets some floating voters


Can you spot the odd one out?


While on the subject of the Lib Dems here is a picture of their Scottish leader, Willie Rennie, with two alpacas. I’m not quite sure what the context is here or if this a good or a bad photo. With his eyes not looking at the camera, it looks like he’s spotted an even better looking alpaca in the distance meaning that he’s going to abandon these two, leaving them to fend for themselves. Or perhaps he looks like one of Cruella DeVille’s henchmen and he is leading them to the slaughter for her new coat. Who knows eh? 7/10

Jeremy plays ball


Arsene Wenger is keeping tabs on this excellent English prospect


Pardon the pun but Jeremy Corybn has scored an own goal with this one. A middle age man, no matter what his profession, should not be playing football, with a shirt and cream trousers on, in public. I can understand the awkwardness of this photo. He most likely had arrangements later and he can be showing up caked in mud. What baffles me, even more, is why he made the choice to go in goals? Surely he’s capable of playing the same flowing, passing game of his beloved Gunners. Instead, he shot himself in the foot. 3/10

Theresa tries to act normal


All she’s missing is a pint and she’d be the spitting image of Nigel Farage


Eating. Nobody looks good eating. So why when you know the nation’s media is watching you would you go on an eat in public. Its never going to end well. To be fair, at least she’s not been caught mid-bite and is eating something relatively normal. Although I can’t say I can imagine Theresa May eating chips t any other time than during an election.  5/10

Jeremy wins the heart of the nation


Whisper sweet nothings to me.


Oh Jezza, what a heart throb. Look at how intensely he’s smelling that rose. If only he could give it to the entire nation then, maybe, just maybe, we might all fall in love with him and not just his progressive policies. 9/10

Tim sells his used car


I wouldn’t buy a used car from him.


There is nothing in this picture that is good for Tim Fallons image. The handshake and the smile make it look like he’s just managed to get rid of a banger that won’t even make it to the end of the road. Or perhaps as he’s gone to shake this ladies hand he’s done a very audible fart which everyone is now laughing at. Either way, this is a masterclass in how not to look like the next leader of the country.

Theresa’s 9th of June

On the back of an election defeat which she should have won, Theresa May contemplates what went wrong.

It was the next day and she was still in shock. Twenty points ahead when she announced the election. How could she have lost such a resounding lead? Theresa knew where she had gone wrong but there was nothing that she could do about it now. Fox hunting, it had all started with fox hunting. She couldn’t help it if she loved the sight of one beast tearing another to shreds. I mean, it goes down better in the opinion polls than ripping poor children apart. And the public could never know about how she fantasised about that, just like they couldn’t know the pleasure that Dave gained from buggering that pig. She supposed that hadn’t been his final blow. But that had been where it started.


It was all the small things that built upon each other until the public’s opinion became insurmountable. Who would have thought that people, rich and poor, would not want their family homes taken while their bodies were still warm? Worse still was the u-turn and, worse yet, the fact the public had figured out that it wasn’t even a u-turn.  She would have to ensure that Rupert had calibrated his societal brain conversion rags properly next time. She knew that after that fiasco she hadn’t looked “strong and stable”, that she had started to lose control.


As she sipped on her brandy her hand began to shake. She was thinking about the man who stole it, her premiership, away from her. Jeremy. Holier than thou, Jeremy. He was everything she wasn’t. Principled, able to smile and, the trait she hated most, one of the people. Theresa couldn’t get his socialist ideals out of her head. Who would have thought that he would have made sure that his manifesto had been fully costed? Who would have thought that he would pledge not to snatch lunches from almost one million children, build more houses for the young and that the vast majority of people wouldn’t mind taxing her pals a bit more in order to fund the NHS. Never mind that he believes that the Human Rights Act was a good thing. Typical Communist.  Theresa still couldn’t believe it. He was supposed to be the one running the dysfunctional party, not her.


The party machine had thought it would try a new way to smear Jeremy. He had been in contact with members of the IRA around the time of the Good Friday Agreement. Their friends in the press had pressured him about this. But he was prepared. He pointed out the hypocrisy of the attacks on him for talking to members of the IRA while the government actively supplies the Saudi Arabian government with tanks, aircraft and weapons to fight illegal wars. No attempt was being made to try and discuss a peaceful settlement. Surely that must be worse than conversing with IRA affiliates he said? Theresa had tried explaining that we needed the money from the Saudi’s so that we could fund services like the NHS, without taxing her fox mauling pals more.


Panic overcame her like the landslide the day before. How was she going to explain the extra nine-hundred-million that had been added to the deficit? She had only been in power for a number of months, true, but she had been part of the government for the past seven years. She had wasted millions on trying to curb immigration, was all but useless when campaigning against Brexit. She was as guilty as Hunt and Boris. She would have to deflect, be strong, be stable.


Theresa had decided that she would remain the leader of the conservative party, the only remain that she had ever felt strongly about. She had only been the leader for a matter of months. Her species life span would be able to survive for a great number of year, meaning that she could slowly wear down the electorate, until such a time as Rupert could be relied on again. Until then, she decided, she would have to re-enter her tomb. And wait.