By Ben Pensant.

What did you get up to last weekend? If you’re anything like me you probably spent it sprawled on the settee, pretending to write an essay on the white supremacist subtext of Steven Spielberg’s Star Trek trilogy and generally contributing as much to the world as you do every other day of the week.

Perhaps you took the occasional break to peruse The Guardian, check your privilege, or send death threats to anyone on Twitter who dared to poke fun at that picture of Comrade Abbot and Shami JackRabbitSlim on the set of the upcoming intersectional remake of Lethal Weapon.

However you occupied your time, I’m sure you achieved just as much in the name of #resistance as I did, though I’d be gobsmacked if you went through half as many Space Raiders and boxes of Kleenex. But believe it or not, some spent last Saturday carrying out a public service even more noble than white-knighting for a pair of Labour grandees as they embarked on a UK tour as the most joyless Pepsi & Shirley tribute act ever.

Because while the uneducated proles of Macclesfield were assaulting their feral children with rolled up copies of The Daily Mail, Owen Jones was getting amongst it, dealing with the dirty stuff, fighting tooth and nail to save their smacked-arse of a town so they don’t have to. You’re welcome.

But what was he doing? Feeding the homeless? Rescuing kittens from trees? Unlocking the talent of the black community by demanding the council employ only Caucasian bin-men? All noble pursuits but Owen had bigger ideas. For while less committed activists waste their time working on solutions to actual problems, a week ago today Owen was knocking on doors urging people to unseat Ben Bradley because of something he wrote on the internet six years ago.

Wow. For the first time in my life I was actually envious of the savages who inhabit this grim midlands hell hole. And I’m sure they felt honoured to have their day off interrupted by an Oxford-educated quasi-colonialist telling them how ghastly their local MP is while saying sweet fuck all about who his replacement will be or what their policies are.

Indeed, as Owen pointed out in a blistering video released days before he and his pussy rode into town, there isn’t even an election coming up. No, Owen simply wanted to make Macclesfield aware of the vile, hideous comments Bradley made in 2012; comments so vile and hideous Owen was forced to repeatedly embellish and misrepresent them just in case anyone missed their vile hideousness.

All of which was fantastic preparation for his contemporary re-staging of the Jarrow March, which replaced 200 cold, hungry shipbuilders trekking from Tyneside to London with a handful of iPad-wielding Corbynites in American Apparel flouncing around a housing estate like Jehovah’s Witnesses with added zealotry.

His main bone of contention was Bradley’s disgraceful view that ‘unemployed wasters’ need vasectomies. Indeed, in the days leading up to the walkabout barely an hour passed in which Owen didn’t repeat this claim, which by the end of the week had evolved into a widespread belief that the vile Tory had ‘called for poor people to be sterilised’. Job done.

Of course, as anyone familiar with Owen’s stellar career knows, this wasn’t the full story. In fact it was barely the story at all, as the disgraceful 2012 blog post in question mentioned neither sterilisation nor poor people, and at no point ‘called’ for the former to be done to the latter.

Luckily, Owen and his fans have a healthy disregard for facts and completely ignored requests from right-wing trolls to look up the actual comments, preferring to gleefully characterise Bradley as a mad scientist intent on eradicating the underclass by cutting their knackers off. Which was a clever move, as the sixty seconds it takes to find out what Bradley actually wrote would reveal that Owen’s interpretation was about as convincing as his oft-repeated claim that ‘transwomen are women’ (a mantra he publicly states twice a week just in case Lily Madigan gets offended and firebombs his penthouse).

In the real world, the 22-year-old Bradley had written a gobby blog post attacking a benefits system which allows jobless families to ‘make vastly more than the average wage just because they have 10 kids’, a repugnant, extremist view which is fairly commonplace among normal people. Which explains why Owen was so appalled by it.

But nasty Bradley wasn’t done, going on to detail his diabolical plans for the mass castration of poor people. Or rather, express the entirely unremarkable opinion that if someone can’t afford to look after children they probably shouldn’t have any. Before exposing himself as the most evil eugenicist since Joseph Mangle with the sickening punchline: ‘Vasectomies are free’.

The fact that Bradley never called for anyone to be sterilised makes it even more impressive that Owen spent an entire week claiming he had. But as those of us who have endlessly attacked the Leave campaign’s promise of £350million a week for the NHS know all too well, the modern left have no time for the archaic concept of ‘suggestion’. Especially not when there’s a Tory MP’s career to destroy.

Which has been Owen’s pet project for the past fortnight, also condemning Bradley for comments made during the London riots of 2011. ‘We need to come down hard on these morons before somebody gets killed’ raged the foul right-winger, urging the law to ‘find the ones hanging around town centres with their faces covered’ and issuing a chilling call to arms: ‘For once I think police brutality should be encouraged’.

Grim stuff which Owen predictably redefined as proof that Bradley is a keen advocate of the police assaulting innocent people. Rather than someone who simply once said he’d have no problem with a copper giving a good hiding to marginalised youths who loot properties, set fire to shops and run over shopkeepers with stolen cars. A vile fringe view shared by about 90% of the population. The bastards.

All of which was perfect preparation for Owen’s assault on precinct Macclesfield, which was given a huge boost by Bradley sending a disgusting, libellous Tweet accusing Jeremy Corbyn of being a communist spy. Quick as a flash Owen informed the Dear Leader of the outrageous smear, which Bradley was forced to delete under threat of legal action:

‘Sue him, @JeremyCorbyn. This straight out libel is indefensible in a court of law and an example has to be made’ he beamed, no doubt relieved that Bradley doesn’t share his lust for legal action bearing in mind Owen had repeatedly accused the MP of calling for poor people to be sterilised when he quite literally hadn’t.

But Bradley’s tweet couldn’t have been a better PR coup if he’d confessed to having a shed full of blind refugees fashioning blue rosettes from butterfly wings. And the thrill of grassing up a Tory to Lord Jezza gave Owen such a buzz he even posted a picture of himself basking in the post-snitch afterglow:

Fortunately Owen’s zero tolerance policy towards dumb stuff MPs said in their early twenties doesn’t extend to everyone. That would be silly. So while The People’s Puritan spent last Saturday knocking on doors urging people to unseat a Tory MP because of offensive comments he made when he was 22, last October he wrote a column urging people to give Labour MP Jared O’Mara a second chance after he was suspended for offensive comments he made when he was 22.

‘We have to accept MPs who once sprayed their stupidity and bigotry online, as long as they prove they have learnt from their mistakes’ he pleaded. Which explains why there is no record of Owen wandering around Sheffield telling people to unseat the man who as a daft youngster called gay people ‘fudge packers’ and wrote a comedy song about punching women in the face: Jared has clearly learnt his lesson. And this willingness to embark on a journey of self-discovery and change for the better is what separates him from scum like Bradley. Despite the fact that O’Mara is reported to have made comments in the last year which were every bit as misogynist as the ones he was suspended for.

Still, as demonstrated by the pleas for understanding which echoed around social media after St. Brendan of Cox confessed to being a serial sex-pest, the modern left are dab hands at holding their own to a much lower standard than everyone else. Indeed, many of the same MPs and columnists who feverishly demanded Toby Young be sacked for talking about knockers were determined to forgive the grieving widow for going one  better and grabbing them.

And they were up to their old tricks again this week after Labour handed plum roles to Andrew Murray and Munroe Bergdorf. Needless to say, despite usually being the first in line to demand people are fired for expressing dodgy opinions Owen was remarkably relaxed about his beloved party giving top jobs to a Stalin apologist and a racist bigot. Indeed, he approached the two appointments the same way he deals with Al Quds Day and simply pretended they never happened. Good lad. He should be a journalist.

But I’m sure Owen would have sent warm wishes to both if he weren’t still worn out from last weekend. Indeed, rumour has it the post-canvassing knees-up in an exclusive Macclesfield micro-brewery was a riotous affair, with at least three of The Groovy Gang staying out until midnight, two having a food fight in the back of a taxi, and one hell-raiser being sick under a table after giving herself a poorly tummy giggling at a condom machine in the ladies.

Lions every one of them, and I’ll be thinking of them this afternoon when I hit the streets of Newcastle to tell my fellow Geordies how stupid they all are. Sadly, as I live in one of the safest Labour seats in the country I don’t have a Ben Bradley figure on which to focus my wrath. Instead I’ll be examining every parked motor vehicle in a five-mile radius before unleashing merry doorstep-hell on anyone found in possession of The Sun, environmentally unfriendly tyres or one of those micro-aggressive dashboard hula dolls that make Antifa activists cry like broken eggs.

Or at least I will as soon as Judge Rinder finishes and this snow melts. I might be principled but I’m not a bloody lunatic.