The tribes are disturbed –
archaic Tory tebbits murmuring in the shires – what is going on? And what’s
this? Apathy? Disempowered? I don’t know his people! On the street other voices
chime in, I think he’s asking for a kicking and Uncle Wally’s shoulders shake
in soundless mirth.
For a few moments our slumber was
disturbed by this kid on the telly. People were talking about it as though we
thought he might be saying something radical or important. We perked up! But,
fortunately, not for long because our attention span was already stretched to
breaking point so it was a relief when it all got back to business as usual in
a dirty joke. The last I heard he had crept into bed with pink Dave Camisole
though it’s not to be imagined what monster might be bred from this union, even
if Uncle Wally was of the opinion that they look very sweet together, perhaps
made for each other.
But I have a sudden unsettling
uncertainty – what do they talk about the following morning, waking from their
post-coital dozing with a fag (haha!) and cups of lapsang souchong – one is
feeling a little delicate, you understand.
Democracy aka the open society
can cut up rough when you’re least expecting it. Often in those moments of
being caught between one’s habitual cowardice and a certain frisson of
foolhardiness having just discerned that it’s within the realm of possibility
to survive for a few more years; the inconsiderate belligerence of mortality
pushed aside for half an hour.
What was that you said!? Temperature
rising. Shocking business this democracy. All sorts of people thinking they can
say just what they feel like. No respect.
Uncle Wally’s looking
disconsolate* – like he’s just lost a few grand instead of receiving the
promised prize, banked on in anticipatory glee. Ahhhhh, the soft sigh shuffle
that you were thinking you heard.
*Come to think of it he looks
rather like GB before resigning.