I have spent the better part of the morning staring at a coffee stain on my desk because, quite frankly, it possesses more depth, character, and structural integrity than the current state of British conservatism. But alas, the news cycle demands fresh meat, and today the sacrificial offering is Robert Jenrick. We are told by breathless commentators—those eager spaniels of the press—that Jenrick’s latest political maneuver is “massive.” We are told he is a “big political character” adapting to a “new political tribe.”

Let us pause here to appreciate the sheer, unadulterated hilarity of describing Robert Jenrick as a “big character.” This is a man who exudes the charisma of a mid-tier accountancy firm’s reception area. He is the human equivalent of a default avatar. And yet, here we are, forced to watch him attempt to reinvent himself as the savior of the Right, a spectacle that has all the dignity of a divorced dad buying a leather jacket and trying to learn TikTok dances.

The premise of the news is simple, though the implications are depressingly stupid. Jenrick is pivoting. He is shifting his weight from the sinking vessel of moderate, “One Nation” Toryism—that wet, ineffective puddle of nothingness—toward the jagged, populist rocks of the Hard Right. He is “adapting to a new tribe.” In the animal kingdom, when a creature changes its colors to match its environment, it is a survival mechanism. in politics, it is a confession that you have absolutely no core beliefs other than the burning desire to remain employed.

But the real comedy lies in the second half of the equation: the “poisonous row” that this move threatens to ignite. The article suggests that Jenrick’s move could cause a bigger fight on the Right. Well, one can only hope. There is nothing quite as satisfying as watching a political ideology that has spent the last decade tearing the country apart finally decide to eat its own children.

The “fight” in question is the inevitable friction between the established Conservative party—a rotting carcass of aristocracy and incompetence—and the insurgent forces of the populist Right, the Reform crowd, who are essentially just the Tories but louder and with worse breath. Jenrick, in his infinite wisdom, thinks he can bridge this gap. He thinks he can be the conduit. He believes that by adopting the rhetoric of the populists while wearing the suit of a statesman, he can unite the tribes.

It is a delusion of staggering proportions. The modern Right is not interested in unity; it is interested in purity spirals. It is a movement defined by who it hates, and eventually, once they run out of external enemies, they simply hate each other. Jenrick’s attempt to court the hardliners while maintaining his status as a serious politician is doomed to fail because the people he is trying to impress view “seriousness” as a weakness. They don't want a shapeshifter; they want a flamethrower. And Jenrick, bless his hollow little heart, is at best a lukewarm radiator.

This “massive move” is not a strategy; it is a panic attack disguised as policy. It speaks to the utter intellectual bankruptcy of the modern political class. On the Left, you have the performative moralists, terrified of their own shadows, policing language while the infrastructure crumbles. On the Right, you have this: a greedy, desperate scramble for relevance in a world that has moved on. The Tories are terrified of being outflanked by the populists, so they become the populists, shedding their last remaining shreds of dignity in a bid to retain power.

The tragedy is not that Jenrick will fail. The tragedy is that we have to endure the theater of it. We have to listen to the pundits dissect his “strategy” as if he were Napoleon at Austerlitz, rather than a man frantically rearranging deck chairs on the Titanic while shouting about immigration statistics. This “poisonous row” that is brewing? It isn’t a battle for the soul of the party. It is two bald men fighting over a comb. It is a dispute between the incompetent and the insane over who gets to be captain of the shipwreck.

So, let them fight. Let Jenrick posture and pivot. Let the factions of the Right tear each other into confetti. It won't solve the economy, it won't fix the housing market, and it certainly won't restore any semblance of national pride. But perhaps, if they generate enough heat in their poisonous little row, we might at least stay warm while the lights go out. I, for one, will be rooting for injuries on both sides.