Andy Burnham wants Makerfield’s seat so badly he convinced an MP to resign for him. The constituency has responded by seriously considering whether a seven-meter inflatable novelty figure would do a better job.
This is what happens when the machinery of national politics grinds into a small town with all the subtlety of a tank rolling through a garden center. Josh Simons stepped down because Labour was “imploding.” Burnham cleared to run. Wes Streeting quit as health secretary over lost confidence in Starmer. The Prime Minister is being picked apart by his own cabinet like a rotisserie chicken at a vulture convention. And Makerfield residents, watching this unfold, have decided the logical response is to elect something that cannot think, cannot speak, and cannot disappoint them.
The inflatable candidate—which locals have named Derek, though some prefer the working title “Literally Anything Else”—has already polled better than expected. Derek has no policy positions. Derek has never broken a promise. Derek cannot resign mid-term to pursue a leadership challenge. Derek will not appear on television looking exhausted and betrayed. These are, apparently, the qualities Makerfield is now optimizing for.
When BBC Radio Manchester asked constituents what they thought of the by-election, the overwhelming consensus was less “this is a chance to shape our democracy” and more “we are being used as a chess piece by people who have forgotten we exist except when they need votes.” One resident reportedly said: “At least the inflatable won’t puncture our dreams. It’s already deflated.” Another asked if Derek could be registered as a protest candidate, which would require paperwork, so probably not.
The absurdity here is not subtle, but it is instructive. Burnham’s move—leaving his role as Mayor of Greater Manchester to chase the top job through a by-election—is perfectly legal and perfectly cynical. It is the kind of thing that happens in democracies all the time. Someone sees an opening, moves the pieces, and tells themselves the story makes sense. Simons stepped down “to help.” Burnham is running “to serve.” The machinery keeps grinding.
What makes Makerfield different is that the residents have stopped pretending the machinery is anything other than machinery. They have stopped performing the role of grateful constituents grateful to be consulted. Instead, they are pointing at Derek and saying: if the choice is between a leader who will use us and a giant inflatable that will at least be honest about being useless, we pick the inflatable.
The betting odds on Derek have not been published, but that is only because bookmakers lack the irony to take the bet seriously. They should. Makerfield has spent years being treated as a by-election swing seat and a stepping stone for ambitious politicians. Derek represents something these residents actually want: a candidate with no hidden agenda, no leadership ambitions, and no ability to betray them further. In the hierarchy of political honesty, a deflatable novelty item now ranks above several cabinet ministers.
Burnham will probably win. He is a serious politician with serious backing, and Makerfield will vote Labour because that is what Makerfield does. Derek will not make it onto the ballot. The system will work exactly as it is designed to work, which is to say it will work for everyone except the people actually living in Makerfield.
But for one brief moment, in one small constituency in the North West, residents looked at the political theatre unfolding around them and asked the only rational question: why are we not voting for the inflatable. It is the most honest thing anyone has said about this election.