Richard Lutz checks into Hotel Ballotbox.
Let’s see, politician A is pretending to play a guitar with an embarrassed weird smirk on her face as she sits next to a real live musician; Pol B is in a jacket and tie in a boxing ring with red gloves on taking stupid jabs at the press; Pol C resembles a sloppy haystack mockingly asking his Cabinet (whoops, hint there) “Are we up for it?” (and me asking myself what IT really is anyhoo); Pol D has a new smart grown up haircut telling a bored press pack something about £50 billion and looking for all the world like a smartypants head girl in a very good school and, then, then, there’s a guy with a dicey moustache and the body of a sumo wrestler looking serious in front of Parliament.
And then, wow, then, there’s another commentator in front of The Thames River in Westminster, London, England and she has a smart black coat she nailed from her newsroom clothing allowance and she too is of that smarty pants variety who was head girl at that very good school..and…and….
And,Jesus, it’s five weeks until the election when the brexiteers and remainers and the bozos and the loudmouths and the indifferent and the bored and the angry and the half interested and the very bored cast their vote.
Line up a hundred of them and you’ll get 103 variations how it’ll all end – hey, where’d those extra three opinions come from?
Well, I’ll add a 104th.Johnson derails and can’t muster a majority, just like now. The Libdems won’t form a second coalition with them because they were conned and manipulated and humiliated when they were junior non existent partners with Cameron (see footnote, David Cameron, former ex-erstwhile PM). That leaves the DUP, who have crawled back under the rock from whence they came after being betrayed by the Tories and Sinn Fein who never vote because that’s what they don’t do and the Greens who are out planting winter brassicas and you have..The SNP.
Pol E with the Scots accent, healthy tum and longwinded speeches will go to Labour, pound the table with his chubby fists and form a partnership. But only if Labour boss Jeremy Corbyn vows, swears, guarantees on a stack of Marcuse tomes another Independence referendum.
So, Labour get into Number Ten and Nats get their second vote to go their own way (and in scenario 3611) apply for Euro-membership after Blighty goes Brexit…and…and life goes on with another 103 different views about what happens next as the Gurkhas man the Roman Wall, we are forced to speak Gaelic in all schools and rivers of Irn Bru and Tennents lager are taxed to bejesus as they hit customs somewhere near Gretna Green.