Hazel Blears gets toothache on the surface of Mars

I’ve always been clear about the factual reality that politics is all about connecting with people. Real people. Engaging with their concerns and, ultimately, giving them what they want. Often people say to me: “Well you say that, Hazel but how do you, sitting there in your Westminster bubble, really know what people want?”

I’d had enough of that. The sniping. The cynicism. The middle class, know-it-all, BBC, Hampstead, cous-cous, I’m-better-than-you, taramasalata. I said: “right, I’ll ask the people of Salford what I, Hazel Blears, could really do for them.”

And now here I am on the surface of Mars. Bex, my researcher, claims she only put that option in the online poll as a joke. I gave my constituents four choices of what I could do for the constituency:
(a) campaign for better public services
(b) campaign for much, much better public services
(c) campaign for amazingly better public services
(d) spend three months living on the surface of Mars.

Option (d) got 72% of the vote.

At first, I can tell you, I was shocked. But then I told myself: “Hazel, the only way we can rebuild trust in politics is if we, the politicians, keep our promises.” I can assure you that my trip to Mars has not been paid for with taxpayers’ money. In fact, I was delighted to discover that, as soon as I announced my plans, private sector sponsors were queuing up to pay for the trip.

The rocket has been paid for by Russian energy specialist, Gazbagg. Apparently, they have funded the trip on the basis of research into the effects of the unusual climate on my distinctive ginger hair.

So far, I’m enjoying life on Mars. Of course, it is very different to how it’s commonly portrayed in the BBC drama series that is so popular with hard-working families in my constituency but it’s been an overwhelmingly positive experience.

The only downside is that I’ve got a vicious toothache. When I say vicious, I’m talking Margaret Beckett after a rough night in the caravan. It feels like someone’s got a little axe and they’re chopping at the side of my face, and with each chop it goes through the side of my face and through the gums to my teeth. I should clarify that that isn’t actually happening but that’s what it feels like. This is not what I want myself and my family, and it’s not what I want for my constituents and their families.

Unfortunately, I have contacted mission control and they’ve told me that provision of dental services in this part of the galaxy is patchy to say the least. Dimitri informs me that I am light years from the nearest dentist and, even if I do find a dentist and make an appointment, he is likely to refuse to treat a human, or, if he does agree to treat me, the treatment is likely to involve an unpredictable form of electro shock therapy that may have disturbing repercussions for my wider health.

Clearly, this is an example to hard-working families in my constituency of the value of the NHS. Although the NHS doesn’t have many dentists, most people will be able access one within a hundred miles, within a couple of months in an emergency. And, having made an appointment, it is likely that they will receive treatment that is loosely appropriate for their species.

Mission control has advised me to battle on until the end of my stay on the planet. They believe I can deal with the pain by taking a strong course of industrial strength painkillers and experimenting with transcendental meditation. What would LS Lowry have said if he’d been out on the streets of Salford with his charcoal and he’d seen his matchstick cats and dogs doing transcendental meditation?

I imagine he would’ve thought: “this is the kind of social progress you see after 12 years of a modern, social democratic government that wants and delivers the best for hard-working families and their relatively hard-working extended families.” And how right he would’ve been. If I take back anything from trip to Mars, it will be that.