No 99: What this country needs:

As we stand on the verge of the closest election the UK has seen for a generation I have finally worked out the solution. It came to me on Sunday as I slogged my way around the Tough Mudder course. For those unfamiliar with Tough Mudder it involves running a half marathon through some of the most exacting and muddiest terrain that the nutters who organise these events can find. Running a cross-country half marathon clearly isn’t enough of a challenge, so every half mile there is an obstacle that men better than me probably find challenging, but which just struck fear and loathing into my heart.

For example, the ‘Ice Bath’ obstacle where contestants entered a 5 ft deep trench of muddy water and had to swim underwater to avoid a series of obstacles on the surface, all done while ‘helpers’ tipped buckets of ice overhead.  Or ‘Everest’ where you had to sprint at top speed at a parabolic surface that stretched 15ft into the air, throw yourself at the highest point in the vain hope that someone at the top might catch your hand and pull you up. If they didn’t (and they mostly didn’t) you smacked down hard on the smooth wet surface and slid back in a crumpled heap to the bottom, only to have to try again. And again. And again. All while braying crowds cheered/mocked your every attempt.

And I am not going to even attempt to describe ‘Birth Canal’ suffice to say it involved one of the most claustrophobic and crushing experiences of my life. (Well….for the past 45 years, 5 months and 28 days anyway). Other obstacles involved fire, electricity and tear gas. They were all bonkers.

I was part of a team with my work colleagues, their partners, and my two eldest sons. For reasons best not explored too deeply we decided to do it in fancy dress: morph suits of various colours (see attached). We realised, probably a little too late, that morph suits don’t leave much to the imagination.

The original plan was that we would be a happy rainbow of colours (also it is so much easier to find the body if it is in a bright colour?). However it quickly became clear that our colours matched those of the political parties currently slugging it out for our votes. This was when I realised what it is that this country needs. As we trudged our way around the course enduring a peculiarly British mix of sun, rain and torrential hail we bonded, becoming a truly cohesive team. There was no room for unaligned agendas; we just had to get to the end. There were no personal space barriers left unbroken. You simply can’t lift your team members over a 12 foot vertical wall without a degree of pushing/probing/yanking that in all other circumstances would be grounds for a tribunal.

Therefore I think all the aspiring politicians should don figure-hugging morph suits and collectively bond in a mud-pit. When (if?) they emerged, they would be a closer knit team, better prepared to face the monumental task of running the country. That is what this country needs.

Final point: I was dressed in the pink morph suit. After about 7 miles I passed a man who was clearly struggling to keep it together. As I passed by him he turned to his team mate and said, in mild exasperation ‘For a moment I thought my penis had just run ahead of me’. After a pause he then added, with perfect comic timing, ‘Apart from it’ s not quite big enough’. Male groin-humour never changes, never tires.