The One That Wants Frank . . .

So, the monocular, snot-gobbling, nokia throwing, old lady insulting, macavity impersonating, foaming at the mouth, tantrum expert, denialist supreme, prime mentalist has finally faced up to the inevitable.

But of course this is the Labour party, so it won't happen, can't happen, overnight. It'll drag on until September. In a way this is bad, as this really needs to be sorted out sooner rather than later. It is also a good thing, because the scramble to jump into Brown's grave, plus the huge egos of those involved means it will all be conducted very publicly and members and non-members alike will be thoroughly sick of the sight of them all come conference season.

It could actually be very entertaining. No-one bitch fights like a socialist going for the top job. The smears, innuendo and tears will be wonderful.

I am however not without sympathy. And that sympathy is squarely with the long time, traditional membership of the party. Why? Well, let's look at the early runners, shall we?

• Miliband Majority
• Alan 'Postman Pat' Johnson
• Harridan Harperson
• Badger Brows Darling
• Blinky 'Kick Me Inna' Balls
• Miliband Minority
• Andy 'Max Factor' Burnham
• John Cruddas

Cruddas aside, who whilst undoubtedly representing the views of the largest section of the membership has the ability to make people shuffle away from him looking in the opposite direction, none of them are representative of that party's membership.

The Milibands? Really? I mean. . . really? The banana boat captain and the work experience boy?

Alan Johnson? Because? What? He's not quite as bad as the others?

Harman? Imposing an 'equality and diversity' programme at all costs, even to that of her party. Unless of course it's her husband.

Darling? Jesus Christ on a little purple trike.

Balls? Hated now. Would make Brown look popular after six months. Would lose his rag three minutes into his first PMQs. And then there's his wife.

Andy Burnham? Out of his depth in a bird bath.

Really Labour party members, and I say this with real concern for your views and your party, if this is the best your party can muster, then I could weep for you. Your ideals and views have been sold down the river completely. You've been evicted by a family of cuckoos who stole your legacy from you on the promise of a few days in the sun.

Now the sun has gone in, and they will all squabble and fight amongst themselves. Don't worry, you're not expected to do anything. Just smile and nod and elect the person you're told. Just like you did with Blair.

I do not, will not and never have agreed with the Labour party, but at least under Foot they stood for something. At least when The Beast, Skinner, opens his mouth he does it because he cares deeply about those he represents. Sit him on the awkward squad bench. Keep an eye on him. The snakeoil salesmen hate him, and with good reason, he sees them for what they are.

For fuck's sake Labour members, take your party back. Make it speak for what you want, you'll never have a better chance, or a better time.

Jesus, look at that list. Come on! Where's Frank Field? Where's Tom Harris? I don't agree with them that often, but they have substance, they have conviction, as an outsider they sound like you. Come on, apply some pressure, get yourself a leader I can at least respect, someone who holds opinions that don't need to be rejected out of hand.

I want Frank.